There's Something About White Mane...

by Guy_Incognito

Rating: mature
Tags: Other, Romance, Original Character, Comedy, Sex, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 67763

White Mane wants to find true love. Piper just wants his roommate to be happy. What's the worst that can happen?

(M/M Clop.)
White Mane is an Earth pony with 'a face destined for marble statues and hips that could put any filly to shame'. He's a college student, a failed Royal Guard recruit, and all he wants from life is to find his special somepony (even if that means lifting his tail for every stud with a winning smile along the way). Piper, his roommate, has his best friend's interests at heart and wonders why he can't get him out of his head.

(Spinoff/Semi-Sequel to Different Strokes with cover art provided by the lovely Kill Joy)

Published 2013-03-20 07:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-31 21:18:13 UTC

Stormy (Part 1)

Stormy (Part 1)

Stormy (Part 1)

“Oh Piper, fuck me harder!”

Piper stared down at the back of his lover’s head. A tussled, sweat drenched head of winter white coloured strands met his vision and he fought the temptation to dive into it and bite a mouthful of mane. Instead, he pressed his hooves to her sides and gripped onto the flesh through her golden coat for stability. Focused, determined and now with a firm grip on his lover, Piper proceeded to give her what she wanted.

He took a minute to pause and reflect. He felt comfortable with her. He wasn’t sure why exactly that was, but there was a familiar warmth she exuded, a relaxing aura to her that made him want to lean himself against her back and kiss, bite and lick the gape of her neck in an intimate expression of how he felt.

He wasn’t entirely convinced that this was the perfect time to find that kind of warmth with her, so instead he summoned every ounce of lustful strength he had in his body and thrust into her.

“Mmm, yeah baby. Just like that!”

Her body moved spastically underneath him. She moaned into the pillow and threw her flank to meet the rhythm of his glistening, throbbing member as it slowly filled her tight entrance.

Piper gave a heavy groan. Shy and quiet as he was most times in life, right now he needed to be adventurous and confident. He slid himself slowly out of her, until only the head of his cock was inside of her. He heard her pout into the pillow and grinned. He gripped her sides a little tighter, arched his back and in a quick and heavy motion thrust himself into her.

He could feel the vibrations she gave off, tremor of pure pleasure pulsed up his cock, past his balls and finally when it hit his brain, he couldn’t help but hang his tongue loose out of his already opened mouth.

No pony ever said that nirvana was supposed to feel this good.

They continued like this for hours; him fucking himself inside of her, and then her meeting his erect member with her hips, swallowing him with the infinite wetness of her marehood. When he felt himself drawn to the proverbial edge, and just as he was about to fill her with his intimate love seed, she broke her face off from the pillow and turned towards him.

All pleasure escaped when he realized he was staring into the face of his very much male roommate. White Mane. His golden cheeks were turned upwards in a goofy grin and his baby blues reflected Piper’s worry in them. For a colt who was, apparently, being rutted raw, his face seemed particularly devoid of any signs of arousal - -or, from an alternative standpoint resentment. He just seemed happy to see him.

His mouth opened and he spoke.

“Hey, Piper. Are you cumming?”

Piper's body shot upwards and covers fell from his waist. It took a few quiet minutes of breathing to calm himself down and realize that he'd only dreamt about having sex with his roommate. This came as a double edged sword...

... and speaking of 'swords'; Piper noticed that there was now a tent made out of soft linen sheets between his legs in the bed.

Sigh.

This was the third time in less than a month that he’d had this dream...Not that there was anything overtly psychological about it. It was totally normal for a young colt to have sexual fantasies that started off normal then slowly turned into a sweaty, passionate, butt-fucking session with his gay roommate.

Right?

“I said ‘Are you coming, Piper?’.” He heard his roommate’s soft voice call from the open door of the bathroom.

Hearing White Mane’s voice, Piper’s ‘pitched tent’ gave a twitch.

“I was going to go meet Scout and the others for breakfast." White Mane explained, "Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Piper mumbled back, quietly. “Just give me a second...”

“Okay.” His roommate sing-songed in response. “Are you feeling okay? It sounded like you were having a really bad dream or something? I could hear you groaning from the bathroom.”

Bad dream?

That was a bit of an understatement.

The pitched tent was still at full attention and he was worried that today, like the few other times he’d had this dream, he’d have to sneak into the bathroom after White Mane left for breakfast and ‘relieve’ himself....

...And hopefully not to the mental image of his roommate this time.

“I’m fine.” Piper answered back. “I’ll just meet you down there, okay? I... um... I need to shower still and get dressed. I don’t want to hold you up or anything.”

White Mane poked his head out of the bathroom. Piper jerked the pillow from under his head and slapped it on his lap. Hiding his shame. White Mane lifted a brow, curiously, and Piper responded with a casual smile.

White Mane smiled back -- that silly, goofy and totally not at all adorable -- little smile of his and ducked back into the bathroom. The sound of a faucet turning on came a few seconds after. Piper exhaled a relieved breath and rolled onto his side. While White Mane did whatever he was doing in the bathroom, Piper tried to think unsexy thoughts

A pre-school on fire.

Two Manticores mating.

His Grandmother.

Piper ran his hoof through his mane and sighed for the umpteenth time.

He could already tell it was going to be a long day.

***

Down in the cafeteria there were five of them with a circular table and separating the bodies of a wicked selection of fine specimens who called themselves freshmen at Camden arts school.

White Mane sat in the king’s crown of the table -- front and centre. Beside him was Scout’s Honour; a pegasus, the same age as White Mane and Piper, who majored in musical theory. To the right of Scout’s Honour was his roommate Vincent. Also a musical prodigy, Vincent was certainly an interesting site at Camden. He was one of less than a single percent of the population at Camden who came from The Gryphon Kingdom.

He didn’t talk about that aspect of his personality much.

From what little White Mane had learned in high school about Gryphon traditions, it seemed Vincent hailed from different plains that most Gryphons who immigrated to Equestria; The black feather’s of his face, coupled with the darker grey of his coat and tail, were synonymous with the ‘Low Lands’ tribes.

To White Mane, Gryphon culture was a fascinating thing. To Vincent, it was a boring repackaging of his life.

On White Mane’s left and rounding out the group, were Sunny Side and his roommate/lover Honey Drop. Both were unicorns and both were drama majors.

White Mane had met both Honey Drop and Sunny Side (who’d also met each other, romantically) in his theatre class. Piper, had met Scout’s Honor (and, by extension Vincent.) in musical theory, and after a few mutual hangouts, the friends, and friends of friends became a tight knit group.

That was the practical shorthand history of why three gay drama majors, two musical theory majors and a--by this point very much late and presently unaccounted for--‘Film Studies’ major all spent their mornings, lunch periods and most evenings together.

White Mane’s interest was divided between the conversation at the table, and elsewhere in the dining hall. He smiled and laughed whenever Scout or someone at the table would crack a joke, or make a witty statement, but his mind was miles away.

Present today in the dining hall was none other than Brawny Brawler, and it only took seeing him to put a frown on White Mane’s face.

Today, like many other hungover mornings for the athletic colt, Brawny entered with his entourage; a revolving door of colts and mares who surrounded him. Laughed with him. Smiled with him and worst of all, in terms of his feminine company, brushed against him.

This upset White Mane.

It hadn’t been more than a month since the Freaks and Geeks party and ever since then, each and every time he’d spotted Brawny anywhere on campus, the older colt would go out of his way to completely and intentionally avoid White Mane’s presence. Their eyes would meet, only for a brief second, then Brawny would frown/glare/whatever at White Mane, turn away and force a laugh at something one of his little cronies said.

White Mane watched him do that exact same thing today; he slapped a hoof -- today it was to a pegasus named Rumblejack’s shoulder -- then bellowed a laugh loud enough that every pony in the cafeteria with an unrequited crush on him got the sense that he was totally invested in the conversation.

Realizing that this was their relationship was troubling to White Mane. The way Brawny acted towards him echoed the idea that for as long as he would know Brawny Brawler, he’d always do his best to avoid him. To pretend their little fling hadn’t happened and, above all else, that he was perfectly committed to heterosexuality.

White Mane tried to take his mind off of this new revelation in his mind by focusing back on the conversation he’d been avoiding. There was a quiet lull now which meant it was anypony (or Gryphon)’s turn to speak their mind.

Sunny Side saw it necessary to do just that.

“You’ll never guess who asked me to take notes for him in cultural studies yesterday.” he announced quite ecstatically to present company.

“Who?” Honey Drop questioned back.

This was the build up of a game Sunny Side liked to play with Honey Drop. Playful banter and mild flirting under the guise of showing interest in a good looking colt who was most times straight and showed no interest in him. Usually, Sunny Side would try to make Honey Drop jealous by name dropping some colt who was good looking and pretend that he’d shown interest in him so that Honey Drop would spend the rest of his day feeding Sunny Side’s ego by latching onto him both physically and emotionally.

It seemed sort of mean spirited, but, who was White Mane to question it?

“I’ll give you three hints; He’s gorgeous. He’s a senior. And, he’s the only colt on campus I’d let buy me dinner in a heartbeat...” Slight pause for Honey Drop to glare daggers at him “, except for you, love.”

Honey Drop responded aggressively, he stroked a hoof against Sunny Side’s cheek and dove in for a quick peck on the lips. Sunny Side kissed back and before the other bodies present were aware of it, they were watching two very much in love ponies make out in front of them.

Slowly, Sunny Side pulled away and grinned. Beside him, Scout rolled his eyes.

“Ahem,” Scout coughed, drawing their attention. “We’re still waiting...”

“Oh, right.” Sunny Side purred.

He turned to Honey Drop and gave him a low, sultry, look then back at the others.

“Well, any guesses, then?”

“Iron Will the self help guru?” Vincent shrugged. “He’s your type, right?”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Sunny Side pouted. “White Mane?”

Drawn from his lustful glaring at Brawny Brawler, White Mane sprang to life.

“I did what now?” He mumbled to questionable stares from around the table. Slightly worried, he managed to politely smile back. “Sorry... what were we talking about?”

“Sunny Side’s telling us about some colt he wants to bang or something,” Scout groaned. “He wants you to guess who it is.”

“Oh, um...” White Mane wracked his brain for colts, on campus, who were attractive, fit and fell within Honey Drops’ definition of ‘sexy’ (Which, to be totally honest, meant any colt who knew how to shower, dress nice and weighed more in muscle than body fat.)

“....The Colt from Las Pegasus?”

Sunny Side scoffed at this, though, he raised a curious eyebrow.

“You’re getting warmer...”

“Um,” White Mane really wasn’t all too interested anymore. “...The Handsome Dunce?”

“Oh, White Mane.” Sunny Side breathed happily. “You’re so close. He’s much better looking than The Handsome Dunce, although, they do hang out a lot. I’ll give you another hint... he’s totally gay.”

“Um,”

White Mane, in all honesty, was both clueless and by now entirely uninterested. It was very typical of Sunny Side to turn what he thought was a fun little guessing game, into a pretentious and drawn out affair.

This was one of those times.

“...You already said it wasn’t The Colt From Las Pegasus, right?”

Sunny Side nodded.

“You guys are really bad at this.” Sunny Side groaned. “I’ll just tell you; It was Stormy!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stormy?” Scout’s Honor exclaimed from where he sat in a mix of disbelief and astonishment. “As in, Jagged Horn’s roommate? That Stormy?”

“The very same.” Sunny smiled back.

“...And he’s gay?”

“Yes. Positive.” Sunny Side cheerfully injected. “Gay, and absolutely gorgeous. This kind of cute colt in my Introduction to Nursing class said they hooked up at The Winter is Coming Party last month. He’s supposed to be an absolute animal in bed.”

“There’s no way, Sunny!” Scout’s Honor groaned. “I saw Stormy leave that party with a chick. That kinda butch girl from ‘Res. The one I was about to leave with, before you,” Scout paused to throw an accusing hoof at Vincent. “, totally cock blocked me.”

“Yeah, about that.” Vincent started, then coughed. “I didn’t want to say anything at the time, because I thought it was pretty funny. But, that chick was pretty clearly a guy, Scout.”

“She so wasn’t!” Scout argued back. “Come on, I wasn’t drunk enough at that party to start hitting on guys, Vincent!”

“Well, you say that...” Vincent chuckled.

Around the table, Scout peered at shit eating grins and coy smiles.

“Oh, that’s really funny guys.” Nervously, Scout laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “I get it, pull a fast one on old Scout for being a dick.”

No one else laughed and Scout sank in his seat a bit.

“Whatever...” Scout groaned. “You guys can pretend all you want, but she was definitely a mare and Stormy’s too cool to be gay!”

“Oh, and colt cuddler’s can’t be cool?” Honey Drop chimed in.

“Well, I mean not like Stormy.” Scout shot. “Look, you guys,” He paused to wave a hoof at the now hugging gay couple. “, are cool because you’re open and happy. You two don’t take any shit from anypony for being the happiest gay couple on campus. That makes you two cool.”

“But?” Honey enquired with an eyebrow raise.

“But, Stormy’s like straight cool.” Scout defended. “I mean, he just doesn’t seem like he’s gay. You know?”

“Excuse you?” Sunny Side, and Honey Drop gawked and by now, even White Mane had to admit he was a little upset with his friend’s choice of words.

“No, no, no. Not in a bad way. It’s just like... that dude’s really like laid back and chill. And, no offense, but you guys are like all girly and stuff.”

“Hey!” White Mane huffed in anger. “That’s a hurtful thing to say, Scout!”

Around the table Scout was met with upset and angry eyes. His face dropped a bit, he tried to smile, failed then just sighed.

“I’m sorry, guys.” Scout winced. “You’re really okay. It’s just sometimes you two” He paused to wave a hoof at the now cuddling couple who leered back at him. “, are really....insatiable.”

“What an astute observation, Scout.” Sunny Side said, rolling his eyes. “, 'Insatiable’ is a rather large word for a musical theory major.”

“Hey, whatever.” Scout said. “You guys are like rainbow suspenders and cutoff shorts gay. If, and I’m not even entirely convinced you’re telling the truth about this, but, if Stormy happens to enjoy a bit of sodomy, he’s definitely the coolest gay colt on all of campus.”

“Sodomy? Really, Scout?” Honey Drop asked, gawking at the pegasus. “You make it sound so.... disgusting.”

“Well, it is kinda gross.” Scout groaned. “I mean you do poop from back there.”

“Yeah, and what’s up your poop chute, today?” Vincent asked. “You’ve been in a shitty mood since you woke up.”

Again, Scout’s face fell flat and he bit his lower lip.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, looking down at the floor. “I mean, you guys are... You look so happy together, and...” He paused and stared off for a second, before coming back to the conversation. “...My parents are splitting up. Again.”

Around the table all the angry or un-amused faces suddenly turned soft and apologetic. White Mane patted a hoof to Scout’s shoulder and rested his head on it.

“I’m so sorry, Scout.” He said, smiling softly. “Are you going to be okay?”

Scout smiled back at White Mane.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. Totally.” He said. “They do this all the time. They’ll be back together in a few months. Maybe in a year. It just sucks when they do this, because now I’m going to have to pick which one I wanna spend Hearth’s Warming Eve, with.”

“Hey, you’ll be okay buddy.” Vincent smiled, slapping a claw to Scout’s other shoulder. “Just forget about it, right? Besides, The End Of The World party is tomorrow night and I can’t have my wingmate down in the dumps if we’re going to pick up chicks.”

Scout smiled, then turned to Honey Drop and Sunny Side, who sat hugging across from him.

“We’re... okay, right?” He asked, staring inquisitively at the potentially offended couple.

They smiled back in unison and nodded their heads.

All present company seemed at peace now. Tempers were cooled, minds at ease, and suddenly, a noticeable missing presence was felt around the table.

“Hey... where’s Piper?” Vincent asked.

All eyes fell on White Mane, who was left wondering himself where his roommate was.

“He said he was just taking a shower,” White Mane said. “But, that was almost an hour ago.”

“Maybe he skipped breakfast?” Vincent pondered aloud. “He probably just went to class or something. Doesn’t he have film studies today?”

“Probably...” White Mane shrugged.

***

At the present time Piper was very much NOT at his film class, in fact, he was still in his room; laying on his bed. The sheets underneath him, his head rested on a small bundle of pillows his left hoof clutching tight the sheets of his bed, while his right hoof was filled with his half hard stallion hood.

Today was certainly not the best day for Piper.

His shower had taken a lot longer and been much more introspective than he’d liked in a good soak; in fact, he’d skipped the ‘self explorative’ aspect of his shower when he felt guilty about using the mental image of him and his roommate going at it like a couple of rabbits.

Now, for the second time in less than two hours, he was fighting the urge to polish himself to that same thought and instead filling his head with visions of beautiful mares on campus, surprised to find that by the time he’d gotten halfway through his spank bank -- The barista who worked at Monk’s cafe -- he couldn’t even call himself aroused anymore.

This was troubling.

So, maybe, just maybe, he had a bit of a crush on his roommate. That much he was disturbingly aware of. And, maybe, just maybe, he liked the idea of tossing White Mane on a bed, tearing his clothes off with his teeth, kissing him hard on the mouth, wrestling his tongue with White Mane’s while he ground his pelvis against his roommate’s, grabbing the silly colt by the waist, flipping him onto his stomach and then fucking him silly until he was a screaming, writhing mess.

What could he do about it?

White Mane was interested in Brawny Brawler, who was interested in keeping his latent homosexual behavior a secret and avoiding the lustful gaze of his best friend whenever he could. That was something of a problem for the two of them ever becoming ‘the two of them’.

Soap opera fallacies aside, Piper had settled after a long time of thinking -- in and out -- of the shower (and then later, a second time, on his bed) that he’d just have to keep his insatiable lust for his roommate a secret.

And, that is what he was going to do... right after he used that same insatiable lust to settle his now once again growing ‘attraction’.

With a firm grip on his mental state, and a firmer grip on his stallion hood, he got to work.

He started slow. He traveled his length, with his grip soft against the warm flesh, then, when he reached the head of his cock, he stroked down a little faster. Up, a little faster than that, down, again, quicker, until he had a quick and nice pace.

Him on top of White Mane, biting hard at his soft and supple neck.

This was starting to feel good.

His hooves roaming White Mane’s delicate little body.

Like, really good.

Him brushing his stallion hood against White Mane’s.

Goddess, this was the best clop session he’d had in eons.

Him, gripping White Mane’s flank hard. Kissing his roommate with passionate intensity.

He was so close. Just a few more seconds.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

Oh, shit! Climax!

With a feeble half pant/half moan, and one last thrust of his hips, Piper sprayed his load across his chest.

Quietly, and ever so slightly ashamed of himself, he stared down at his chest where much of the fur was matted with a glistening white pearlescent liquid, then his hoof, then the door where whomever had unintentionally interrupted his clop session was still knocking.

“Hello?” A voice, muffled through the wooden frame separating him or her, and Piper, pondered a thought. “Anyone home?”

Panic. It crept up his spine as he tried feebly to assess the situation, here was ‘he’, with a chest mostly soaked in his love seed, as was his hoof, while a stranger -- or maybe even his roommate -- stood at his door begging for entrance.

Oh, fudge.

Thinking quickly, Piper grasped his sheets in his unstained hoof and patted himself dry; the sheets now carried his seed on them, but, that was fine. He could either wash them later today, or, alternatively, burn them if need be.

The knocking continued and Piper leapt from his bed, dashed to the bathroom and grabbing a bundle of toilet paper, soaking it in a mix of tap water and soap, cleaned himself of his shame. Checking himself over, then over a second time, he realized he was as ‘clean’ as he’d ever be and moved towards the doorway.

Opening the door he was met with a very unusual sight.

Piper now stood face to face with a stranger. His visitor was a colt--smoke grey coat, wicked ink mane and an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

From his experiences at Camden, and reputation, Piper recognized this stranger in an instant as Stormy. Jagged Horn’s (AKA The Handsome Dunce) roommate. Though, why he was standing in the open doorway was very much still a mystery.

“Are you, Piper?” Stormy pondered, staring curiously at the blushing and quite out of breath colt before him.

Piper nodded.

“Cool, cool.” Stormy grinned. “My roommate told me you might have a copy of The Fallacies of Starswirl the Bearded that I could borrow from you?”

Piper’s had been curious, but now, Stormy and his craving for what Piper easily regarded as one of the finest books written about one of his favorite historical figures in Equestrian history had drawn his full attention.

Noticing Piper noticing him with a quizzical look, Stormy slighted for a brief second, then realization -- or what looked very much like it -- dawned on him and he spoke.

“Sorry. I’m Stormy.” He introduced himself with an extended hoof. “My roommate, Jag, said you guys were in the same classic lit’ course before he dropped it, and that you’re like, well, probably the pony to see on campus about borrowing a book?”

Well, now at least Piper had method to go along with the madness. That was comforting.

“Um... yeah, I have a copy of it.” Piper smiled. “That is, if you don’t mind a hard copy?”

Stormy smiled back.

“Of course not.” He paused for a second and raised a brow when he noticed Piper shifting on his hooves.

Inconspicuous as he wasn’t, Piper was still trying his best to quickly and quietly dismiss the colt at his door and on top of that, reassure him that he hadn’t in fact interrupted a very intimate moment between himself, his mind and a bottle of hand lotion.

Stormy seemed aloof, his brow lowered and he smiled again.

“Do you mind it I come in?”

At first, Piper was hesitant, inviting a stranger into his dorm seemed like something his R.A. had advised him against during his orientation. But, then again, he was never one to miss out on a chance at meeting a new acquaintance with similar academic interests and then befriending them.

Besides, Piper was almost entirely convinced he’d done a bang up job of cleaning his mess.

And so, Piper nodded and invited Stormy inside.

Piper led the way and did a double take at his bed; The sheets! He’d totally forgotten about the sheets. There was a rather particular dark and damp spot that stuck out like, well, a cum stain on an otherwise spotless pair of sky blue sheets.

Quickly, and realizing it was the lesser of two evils, Piper leapt on the bed and nuzzled his flank into the mess that was his latest midday emission, smiling inconspicuously at Stormy as he hid his self made mess.

Stormy, aloof to Piper’s situation, smiled back kindly and lay flat on White Mane’s bed. He rested his head on White Mane’s pillows and kicked his hooves up on the bed’s railing. This earned him a curious, almost offended, look from Piper.

“Sorry,” He said taking note of Piper’s glare. “Jag..uh, he had a couple of girls over last night for a quick game of ‘Which one of you has the lowest standards?’and kicked me out.”

Stormy gave a heavy sigh and relaxed into the pillows.

“I guess your invitation got lost in the mail?” Piper grinned, trying to ease the tension.

From where he lay, Stormy chuckled.

“I guess so.” He paused and scratched at his stomach. “Anyways, I spent last night sleeping on a couch in the art lounge until The Colt From Las Pegasus and his new girlfriend came in to break in the couches.”

Piper watched Stormy yawn, stretch his hooves upwards, then shut his eyes and lay back in the bed.

“I haven’t slept in like,” slight pause to yawn, again. “twenty hours, dude.”

“That’s rough.” Piper said.

Stormy nodded.

From his seat, Piper got to his hooves and stared silently at the bookshelf, then at Stormy, then at the now not so apparent stain in his bedsheets. He withheld a sigh when he realized after Stormy left, he’d have to shower, again, to clean himself off, but, that didn’t quite matter now.

Right now Stormy needed a book that he owned, and Piper was more than happy to oblige him.

At first, Piper was a tad hesitant to lend it to a colt whose roommate had a reputation on campus as a total--and proud of it -- degenerate, but, Stormy seemed relatively harmless by comparison; a kind hearted, well intentioned -- at least from what Piper could gather from him -- who just had the misfortune of being associated with his drug addicted, mare laying, pill popping roommate.

It was Jag’s fault, really.

There was an inherent and prevalent kindness to Stormy that made Piper truly believe lending him this book was both doing him a favor, and laying the groundwork for a potential future friendship at Camden.

With that in mind, Piper made the decision to indeed lend Stormy his copy of The Fallacies of Starswirl The Bearded.

“Let me grab that book for you.” He said.

“Cool.” Stormy replied.

Piper moved towards his small library of books. He’d come to Camden knowing he couldn’t bring his entire collection, just the necessities, so it wasn’t nearly as impressive as it could have been; just a few dozen novels, novellas, biographies, autobiographies and even some printed copies of scrolls sent and received by The Princess Celestia herself.

Again, it was nothing too impressive.

Rifling through the works of Shakes Spear, then Poe, Dickinson, S. Thompson, Lundegard, his hoof finally found what it had been raised to receive; The Fallacies of Starswirl The Bearded: Second Edition. He plucked it from the shelf and tossed it gently at the base of the bed where Stormy lay.

Stormy grabbed the book, stared at it for a brief second, then up at Piper with a curious gaze and cocked eyebrow.

“This,” He said. “ is a second edition copy. This...has got to be over fifty years old, at least?”

“Um,” Piper mumbled. “... one hundred and thirty seven years, actually.”

“I can’t borrow this!” Stormy stated holding the book now like some precious jewel, gently clutched in his hooves. “Dude, If I lost this, or if Jag wrecked it... I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Well,” Piper smiled. “I guess you’ll just have to take good care of it.”

Stormy’s eyes went soft and wet for a brief second, then he smiled -- ear to ear -- and gave a half of a chuckle.

“Piper, listen... I really appreciate you lending me this. I promise I’ll return it exactly as it is.”

He halted for a brief second, stared down at the book and ran a hoof long across the cover, like he were petting a cat, then stared back up at Piper.

“But, let me buy you a drink or something? He asked. “I owe you. I mean, this book is worth...at least five hundred bits. It’s the least I can do.”

Piper scratched at his mane; he hadn’t exactly planned out his evening, and, Stormy was certainly a kind enough pony to accept, but, then he thought about White Mane and what he was doing tonight. Surely, it would be rude to leave his roommate stranded tonight. WIth that in mind, he smiled to himself. Piper had just planned a fun and exciting evening for the two.

“Sure.” He said. “What time works for you?”

Stormy grinned and tucked the book into his saddle bag. He got off the bed and walked to the door, then turned to Piper.

“Oh, great,” Stormy said ecstatically. “How about seven at Nell’s?”

“Sounds fun.” Piper replied.

“Right on,” Stormy said, grinned, then flashed a smile. “Thanks again, Piper. I’ll catch you later.”

With that, Stormy exited the room and left Piper alone and with what sounded like a fun night out on an otherwise bleak and boring Thursday at Camden.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to tell White Mane the good news.... right after he took another shower to clean the mess off of his flank.

Le Fin Du Monde

Le Fin Du Monde

He woke up that morning laying on his side with his body sunken into the frame of a memory absorbent foam mattress and sandwiched between the thousand thread count, silken bedsheets beneath him and the linen, gold laced comforter with a floral pattern wrapped around his frame.

A thundercloud of searing pain clouded his mind. Neurons fired without any deeper purpose while millions of thoughts barely worth conjuring raced in and out of his train of thought at rates faster than any pony could possibly measure using science. This was a hangover. This was his body's way of punishing him for something he couldn't remember doing. This was shaping up to be one of the worst mornings of his life.

Discovering where he was and just how he had ended up there was the main problem for him, but the solution was nothing that a heavy bit of snooping and a lighter touch of sleuthing could solve. Memory was the key here, and for the life of him he simply couldn't recall the events of the last night that had led him to this moment.

He tried anyway.

Let’s see: he’d been out drinking...with his roommate...and a colt named Stormy. A game--a drinking game--had been played. Alcohol--and plenty of it--had been consumed, but, after that, everything came wrapped in mystery.

A ripple in the bedsheets drew his attention to the fact that he wasn’t alone. There, laying cloaked in the same satin sheets with the same floral design as him was the unmistakable body of a male. A colt. An openly gay colt, to be exact.

The world around him started to spin; colors melted together. The walls, windows, posters, desks and bookshelves in the room all took a sideways slant. Vertigo gripped his nerves and clouded his mind and to remedy the situation he lurched forwards and sat up in the bed. Reminded of an old remedy he learned in his youth, he took deep, concentrated breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay Piper?”

It was Sunny Side, who Piper now recognized as the colt in bed beside him, asking this, but, no Piper was very much not ‘okay’.

“I think I’m...” he started, until bubbles of citric acid exploded in his stomach. Waves of half digested food, beer and whatever else he’d gotten himself into last night crashed against the inner lining of his gut and suddenly, Piper was doing the big spit; upchucking a potent mix of green bile and brown yuck onto the bed.

“Oh goodness!” Sunny Side shouted. “Honey, babe? Get a bucket!”

When he finished and his stomach had nothing left to expel, Piper wiped a hoof clean across his mouth. Little bits of bile and half digested food clung to his fur. He burped--not puked--a few times, then finding that happy place inside himself, he inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly and turned it into a meditation. His body quelled its rage not a minute later, and at peace with the world around him that he'd just sullied, he chose to speak.

“What... happened last night?” He asked to nopony in particular.

Honey Drop dashed through the open doorway levitating a small mop bucket in a glowing green aura. He placed it beside Piper’s space on the bed. Impractical now, Piper felt comfortable having it near him incase he repeated this embarrassing episode in the near future. He decided, however, to shovel hoofs filled with his vomit off of the expensive sheet and into the empty bucket.

Honey Drop fell on the bed and crawled between Piper and Sunny Side. His hoof found Piper's mane at the neck and he pet him as if he were a dog. Though, Piper still found comfort in it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, still patting him.

Piper swallowed. Nodded.

“Good. Just breathe,” Honey Drop urged. “I’ll bring you some Gravol and a glass of water.”

Piper thanked him with a polite, but short head nod. Honey Drop slinked his way between the two colts.

“...I’m sorry, Piper.” Sunny Side said after Honey Drop exited the room. “We both thought it would be funny if you woke up and found me in bed laying next to you. But, that’s not exactly funny anymore, is it?”

Piper shook his head ‘No.’, then sank into the bed and sighed.

“What... happened last night?” He asked. Again.

“You don’t remember?” Sunny Side asked, raising a curious brow and smiling, knowingly, as if he held some majestic secret that the other colt was unaware of.

“No. Nothing...” He paused to think. “Well, I remember being at the bar... with White Mane and... Stormy,” he said the name with malice. Like it were a poison on his tongue. “...then, it all got kinda...”

“Blackout?” Honey Drop asked, emerging from the doorway, levitating a commemorative ‘Wonderbolts’ sippy cup with Soarin’s grinning face, and a duo of circle shaped pills that he dropped, gently, onto the bedside table.

“Yeah...” Piper replied. He lifted the glass and popped the pills into his mouth, swallowing them down with a sip of water.

“So... you don’t remember... saying anything, erm,” Again, Sonny Side seemed like he had something on his mind and it was a matter of tactfully getting it out that stopped him from saying it. “About White Mane?”

Oh shit.

“What did I say!” He shouted.

His hooves, desperate and wild, latched onto the fur of Sunny Side’s chest and pulled the startled colt towards him. Realizing the severity of his actions, and reaction, he released his grip on the still shaken gay pony then sunk into the bed.

“...I said something stupid, didn't I?” He stopped to stare with pleading puppy dog eyes at the two gay colts who stared back with a nervous discomfort at him. “About him?”

“Um...” Honey Drop sighed, then sucked a sharp breath of air. His hoof nervously ran along the back of his mane, and he stared, imploringly, at Sunny Side. Begging the other to take up the mantle of conversation.

“Well, you see...”

Both colts stopped and stared, nervously, at each other, then at Piper. Each other again. Then Sunny Side the ceiling and Honey Drop the floor.

“...I told you I liked him, right?” Piper moaned.

Solemnly, both colts nodded.

What came next was the weirdest mix of relief and embarrassment he’d ever felt in his life that. On the one hoof, he felt horrible with himself for revealing what he’d up until now kept as his most intimate, personal secret. On the other, it felt almost nice to get it off his chest and confide in somepony (or, ponies in this case.) who were certainly well attuned to the touchy subject matter.

With a sigh, Piper shuffled in the bed.

“I swear,” Sunny Side claimed, enthusiastically gripping Piper and shaking him by the shoulders. “We won’t tell anypony. Not a soul! Right, Honey?”

Honey Drop nodded.

A painfully awkward silence followed this. Not a pony in the room quite knew what to say, or how to say nothing, and stared, nervously, back and forth. This was until Sunny Side broke the silence with a quandary for Piper.

“Would...you like to talk about it?”

Silently, Piper sniffed then nodded his head.

“I’ll make us some brunch,” Honey Drop chimed in.

***

They were sitting at the dining table now, a perfectly prepared meal in front of them courtesy of the wonderful culinary skills of Honey Drop. Food, of all kinds, delicately crafted to the peak of the taste buds delight; Twelve grain toast, lightly buttered with low fat margarine and honey. Strips of hay-bacon, grapefruits, a pitcher of orange juice, a pitcher of vegetable juice and bowls of cereal.

This was brunch and, since Piper had never had a proper brunch before, this was all a new experience to him. As were the questions and the answers he had to respond with being asked to him by his two closest gay companions.

“How long have you felt his way about him? Sunny Side asked, levitating a piece of toast towards Honey Drop, who bit into it and smiled, longingly, at his lover.

“A few,” He wanted to say ‘days’ and pass this off as just a fleeting crush, but, here were two colts--both professionals in the realm of same sex attraction, who were offering their guidence free of charge to him. “Weeks.”

“Oh, my.” Sunny Side gasped.

“I know!” Piper grunted then his face fell into his hooves. One of the colts, it didn’t matter who, rubbed his back, but this came as little comfort to him. “I just... I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Piper, do you mind if I ask you something?” Honey Drop spoke up.

Piper, for better or for worse, shook his head ‘No.’

“What exactly is it about White Mane that attracts you to him?”

Piper paused to ponder this; what was it about White Mane that had him so transfixed. The answer came naturally.

“At first, I think it was because he’s-”

“Aloof?” Sunny Side asked.

“Naive?” Honey Drop pondered.

“No, no, sweetie." Sunny Side spoke up. "I think the word you're thinking of is ‘gullible’’?”

“I was going to say ‘cute’.” Piper blushed.

“Oh, so it’s because he looks like a mare, not acts like one?”

“What? No!” Piper leapt to defend his roommate (And recently admitted crush) and his honour. “I don’t just like him because he-”

“-has an ass like a high school girl?”

“...I was going to say is really sweet.” Piper grunted.

“Sorry,” Sunny Side chimed in. “Go on.”

“I mean, yes he’s really good looking. But, I don’t just care about how he looks. He has this really sweet and innocent personality, you know? At first I thought he was maybe a bit... erm... 'aloof' like you said, but, I think he's just insecure about himself.” Piper nibbled on a piece of grapefruit. “That night after The Freaks And Geeks party-”

“-where he went down on Brawny Brawler?”

“I told you that, too?”

“You really don’t remember much about last night, do you?”

“Hun, that’s beside the point...”

“Right, right. Sorry Please continue,” Sunny Side, again apologized for his unrestrained nature.

“I just..." He sighed. "I wanted to be there for him and tell him it was okay to make mistakes. He looked so ashamed, and so heartbroken. I think he really thought he had a chance with Brawny...” Piper paused again to stare solemnly down at his plate. He licked his lip, nervously, then raised his head. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. We're both guys, and I don’t even know if I’m gay! I just... I want him to be happy. I want to make him happy.”

“Oh, Piper...” Sunny Side cood. “That is so romantic.”

“But, he went home with Stormy last night, and, I mean...what can I do about it? What if Stormy just dumps him like Brawny did? Or, what if they start going out?"

He bowed his head again on the table and, for whichever reason, his eyes grew damp.

“You need to tell him, Piper.” Honey Drop insisted. “If you care about him, you need to tell him how you feel.”

“But...” Piper pouted, his lower lip quivering. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin our friendship? What if he hates me for liking him?”

“You’ll cross that bridge later, Piper.” Honey Drop took a sip of orange juice, then set the glass down and hunched his head onto his crossed hooves, staring intently at Piper. “Bottling this up isn’t going to make either of you feel good.”

“But... what do I say? What do I do[?” Piper huffed with modest worry and concern. “I’ve never felt like this about a colt before! I've never felt like this about anypony before!”

“Oh, Piper, you silly colt, you.” Sunny Side sighed. “This is part of life. Do you think Honey Drop just fell into my lap?”

“Well, actually, there was that one time,” Honey Drop purred. Sunny Side giggled, then batted his hoof at Honey Drop, who smiled -- low and sultry.

Piper cleared his throat and drew their attentions back towards him.

“Right, sorry...” Sunny Side coughed, then tore his eyes from his lover. “No, I had to romance this handsome hunk for almost a month when we met. I knew he was gay, and he knew I was, but it wasn’t like we just ‘clicked’ at first.”

A faraway sigh escaped his throat.

“Yes it’s true. I, Sunny Side, being of sound mind, body and soul, had to court this magnificent stallion for weeks before he finally asked me to dinner.”

Pridefully, Honey Drop puffed his chest and grinned.

“Hmm, and you remember our first date?”

“Goodness, it would be hard to forget.” Sunny Side beamed. “I didn’t think anypony could make studying for an improv exam seem so sexy.”

Again, the two lovers shared a sultry look. Somehow, incredibly, they found the strength to tear their eyes apart and stare back at Piper.

“What Sunny Side is trying to say Piper, is that you need to put in the work if you want to win White Mane’s affection. You need to show him you care and then when you do, you need to woo that lucky colt off of his hooves.”

“But...but...but...”

“Butts belong on stallions who wear spandex shorts to the gym.”

Both Piper, and Honey Drop, stared completely baffled at Sunny Side, who shrugged casually, then sipped the orange juice out of his glass from a straw.

They ate in silence for a while, until the clock chimed in the kitchen and all three colts realized they had spent their entire morning talking about the situation Piper was in, while offering a heaping dose of homemade remedies that may or may not work.

It was lunch proper now--Twelve o’clock on the nose--and the daily meeting of friends was minutes away from commencing at the library. Hurriedly, they decided to wrap up brunch and their conversation, and meet up with the others. The unspoken notion that this had been a private, personal, sort of conversation, was felt mutually by all three parties present. None would bring it up with the others, and Piper felt comfortable knowing that he had two new allies in what was slowly becoming a concerning conflict in his life.

He pushed that thought out of his mind for the time being, and trotted behind Sunny Side and Honey Drop on his way to the library.

***

“Oh, I don’t know if I could do that...”

This was White Mane speaking to his audience, who were the pegasus Scout’s Honor, and the Gryphon, Vincent. This was the gang in the library during the lunch break between classes. Missing were Honey Drop, Sunny Side and Piper, but, time passed with or without them and so did the conversation.

“Really, you’ve never considered it?” Scout’s Honor asked, leaning forwards in his seat. Eagerly anticipating the answer.

“No... not really.”

“But, mares are so hot, dude.”

"They are very pretty, but I don’t think I could do that with them.”

“Wow, you really are gay, aren’t you?”

Their conversation wasn’t the sort of academic focused drabble that they usually engaged in during their time together, but, White Mane was less comfortable with Scout’s Honor than he was with Sunny Side and Honey Drop. Scout was closer to Piper in that sense. Vincent, however, he was quite comfortable with.

“Hmm, Scout.” Vincent grunted. “I think what White Mane is trying to say is; he doesn’t look at mares like you do.”

“I know,” Scout grumbled. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

This was when the three missing parties to the conversation and group approached. Sunny Side, Honey Drop and Piper, strolled into the corner table of the library and took their seats. Whiet Mane’s eyes followed Piper’s movements and when he was seated, he smiled.

“Good afternoon, Piper.” He smiled. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

Piper smiled back shyly. His eyes moved from his roommate, to Sunny Side, then Honey Drop, both who grinned, but said nothing.

“Yeah,”

“Honey Drop and Sunny Side took good care of you?”

Piper nodded.

White Mane turned to them and his face brightened with a smile that made Piper flush. No pony present, save for the two gay colts who grinned like jackals, seemed to notice, however.

“Thank you both so much for taking care of Piper last night. I hope he wasn’t any trouble?”

Sunny Side’s little grin expanded.

“Oh, it was no trouble,” he said “Piper is a wonderful guest, he was very polite and courteous. You’re such a lucky colt to have him as your roommate.”

If being blatant was a brush, Sunny Side was painting in broad strokes.

“Oh, I already knew that,” White Mane giggled. His eyes fell once again onto Piper, who sunk into his seat, like a foal prematurely taking a seat at the adults table before he was ready or a proper size to fill the seat.

This. White Mane’s uncanny ability to make Piper feel so mighty and yet so tiny at the same time was going to drive him into the madhouse, or, the bottom of many bottles. He hadn't decided which one came first.

He stared to Sunny Side and Honey Drop for some kind of reprieve from his situation. They stared back, sadly, but said and did nothing else.

Scout, also, seemed to notice the silent looks and physical communication, though his reaction was far different from the three colts ‘In-the-know.’ and the sole colt who was the cause of so much heartache.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He waved his hooves wildly, drawing everyone’s attention towards him. “What’s going on here? What are you guys talking about?”

White Mane looked to Piper, who looked to Sunny Side, who looked to Honey Drop, who looked to White Mane, who sighed.

“Well, last night,” He began. “Piper and myself had a few drinks with Stormy. You know: Jagged Horn’s roommate?”

“Right, the gay one?” Scout pondered.

White Mane blushed and sighed, dramatically, but with the slightest touch of satisfaction.

“Yes, the gay one,” he sighed, once again. His smile brigthened, like an elderly colt recalling a pleasant memory, then he continued. “And, well, Piper got a little...erm...sick, so we dropped him off at Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s place...”

“Wait...’we’?”

White Mane blushed.

“Well, Stormy and I...” He said, leaving implications in the air.

"Yeah, you and Stormy dropped Piper off. Then what?"

“Well," White Mane cooed and broke out into a wonderfully charming ear to ear smile. "We had a very lovely evening.”

Piper bit his lower lip. From the moment he woke up alone in Sunny Side's bed, to the second after he figured out how he'd gotten there, he knew what had happened between White Mane and Stormy. It only took hearing it form the pony's mouth to boil the blood in his veins in anger, and, jealousy.

“Oh, no way!” Scout laughed. “You two banged?”

White Mane sucked his teeth, then tapped his hooves on the table. Piper continued to feel crushed and emasculated.

“You make it sound so repulsive...” White Mane sighed. Scout shrugged his shoulders, then stared around, waiting for somepony else to speak, before he realized it wasn’t going to happen and stole the spotlight.

“So...what happened after?” Scout asked. “Where is he now?”

“Well, he said he had to a busy morning. So...”

“...You got ditched?” Of course it was Scout’s Honor saying this, with that brash mix of ignorance and lack of empathy. Regardless, White Mane found the strength to answer.

“No, of course not!” he defended, angrily. “Stormy just had to go to a lecture he wanted to see this morning.”

“Uh, there, um...” Vincent interjected, softly, scratching his neck with his claws. “...aren’t any lectures scheduled today, White Mane.”

“Well...Well...” White Mane looked momentarily hurt, then it passed and he smiled. “He said he was going to meet me at The End of the World party tonight.”

White Mane seemed like he was grasping at straws. As if he were aware that there might be a sort of lack of proper chemistry between the two and that it, in fact, had been another example of his aloof nature getting the better of him.

Drawing comparisons between the two--Stormy and Brawny--was easy for Piper, not that he wanted too. It filled him with a bit of selfish joy to imagine that this latest heartbreak for his roommate with Stormy would be enough to turn the younger colt off of jerks, and onto more well adjusted pinto colts in the future.

“Oh, snap.” Scout grinned. “The End of the World Party is tonight? Dude, that’s gonna rock cocks!”

All eyes drew to him, and he stared back startled.

“It’s going to ‘rock’ what?” Sunny Side questioned.

“...cocks” Scout mumbled quietly.

The eyes still stared and he frowned.

“What? Ponies say that!”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before.” Vincent stated.

“Well, you guys are just weird!” Scout shouted. “Back home. Where I come from. Ponies say it all the time! It’s totally not gay!”

“No one said it was.”

Scout’s face fell flat.

Nothing was said, ponies just continued to stare, questioningly, at him.

“So, everyone is going, right?” Vincent asked, drawing the attention off of his roommate and onto himself.

All the heads of the ponies around him nodded ‘Yes’ in response.

Vincent smiled.

“Tonight could be a lovely bit of fun,” Sunny Side smiled. “It’s been awhile since either of us,” Slight pause to drap a hoof, longingly, over his lover’s shoulder--who nuzzled his head against the fur of his neck--then continued. “Have been out.”

“Oh, you two are plenty out.” Scout grinned.

“Scout, you are so clever.” Sunny Side droned, prodding his tongue from his mouth. “However do mares keep managing to let you slip away?”

“Hey, I got plenty of tail back home!” Scout countered. “I mean, I was getting laid like, six, seven, times a week! And, they were always top shelf brand, too!”

“And your luck with the ladies somehow took a dramatic nosedive when you came here?”

Scout huffed.

“No, I’m just... playing the field you know?” He defended. “I mean, I could get laid anytime I wanted to, I just don’t think it would be fair for Vincent if I kept kicking him out, night after night.”

At this, Vincent raised a curious brow.

“Really, now?” he asked.

Scout seemed panicked now, like some small rodent caught in a corner with nothing but traps ahead of him. He took a second, rubbed his chin with his hoof and pondered how to proceed. This was done with the leering gazes of the ponies around him, who hoped to see him stumble his way through whatever came next.

“Yeah, totally.” He said, realizing his prolonged silence had turned awkward. “Listen! All I know is that tonight involves two thing; me getting nice and drunk, and me getting my dick damp.”

Sunny Side snorted a condescending sort of laugh at Scout’s crass display of youthful excitement. This urged a snarling face from him.

“Really, Scout?” Sunny Side mused. “You think between now and then, you can find a pony on campus who will sell you some roofies?”

The colts around the table--minus Scout--all contained themselves, until a snicker from Vincent unleashed the floodgates and suddenly, everyone present, even Scout himself, were laughing. It didn’t matter that he’d just been mocked, this was all light hearted ribbing. Friends, at the prime of their lives, celebrating their youthful ignorance.

These were the mornings and afternoons that Piper enjoyed more than anything. It didn’t bother him as much it usually would that White Mane wasn’t particularly interested in him romantically, or sexually. He had a safety net now; Sunny Side and Honey Drop were there if he needed them, and, even if he never got the chance to tell White Mane how he felt, he felt confident that they wouldn’t share his secret with him themselves.

Laughing, smiling and cheering. That was how they spent the rest of their afternoon.

Not much else was done with their day. Classes were skipped with no consequences while the gang of friends shared stories from their lives. Piper, White Mane, Scout’s Honor, Vincent the Griffon, Sunny Side and Honey Drop, all colts (And a singular winged hybrid of beasts) who had through some miraculous stretch found each other as friends and couldn’t imagine life without the others.

This was Camden. This was their lives. This was living life to its fullest.

This was Piper at his happiest.

Things were good.

***

“Are you kidding?” Scout shouted over the noise of the dual bass cannons blasting loud and angry rap music that shook the house. “She’s totally checking me out!”

This was The End of the World party now. Yet another Camden spectacle better to live through, then observe from afar. A hundred and more ponies packed into a frat house on the edge of campus, fueled by alcohol and sharing the joys of victory over the forces of sobriety and clear consciousness.

Another friday night at Camden.

Tonight, Scout, Vincent and Piper found themselves cornered into a quieter spot near the couches. Scout’s Honor had been referring to a mare he’d been eyeing over the course of the night in the same way a timberwolf would eye a lonely pony traveler lost in the woods--hungrily. Like an absolute predator.

His unlucky victim tonight was a mare--pretty, with a wonderfully flowing pink mane and a slim build hidden behind her cream colored coat--who sat alone, on a couch with a drink of gin and tonic in her plastic cup. As was Scout's Honor's way, he'd singled her out as lonely and self concious after the friend she arrived with had left her after being asked to dance. This was Scout's time to shine. Like the vultures he unintentionally modeled his lady killer approach after, he was swooping in on somepony he assumed defenseless and left stranded in a wasteland.

A braver soul and a better friend would have warned him that she glared--which was the proper word for it--at him with the same pair of nervous, worried, eyes that a tourist visiting a dangerous metropolis like Manehattan or Baltimare, stared at brick walls while walking through a back alley; nervous. Bemused, slightly curious, but mostly nervous.

“No,” Vincent grunted in response to his question. “She’s not staring at you because she thinks you’re good looking. She’s staring at you like that because she probably thinks you’re going to put a something in her drink the second she breaks eye contact with you.”

“Agh!” Scout groaned. “What is it with you guys today and thinking I need to drug girls to get laid? I’m not a sexual predator!"

“Allegedly...” Vincent grinned.

“Alright, you fucking naysayers!” Scout stated, popping his shoulders forward and raising his chin high in the air. “Stand back, and let the master show you how it’s done.”

He broke off from Piper and Vincent, then trotted towards the mare on the couch proudly. His eyes never leaving her form while hers grew more and more fearful with each step he took. When he finally approached, he smiled and mouthed something that looked like “Hi.” Her face fell flat, she rolled her eyes at him then mouthed back something that looked awfully close to ‘Not interested.’

Scout did a hundred and eighty degree turn on his hoof, never letting his face fall while he did, then walked back with the same skip in his step. As though his brain hadn't yet grasped the idea that he hadn't just been turned down, or, alternatively, that it was so used to it, it hardly affected him anymore.

“That went pretty well.” Vincent chided, prodding him on the shoulder with a hoof.

Scout grinned an arrogant and silly little smirk.

“Yeah...” he said, exhaling a breath and checked to see if there was dirt lodged into the cracks of his hoof. Super casually. “I wasn’t really interested in her. I'm pretty sure she's a lesbian, actually...”

“Must be.” Vincent smirked.

Piper, meanwhile, had been distancing himself from the conversation and focusing himself across the room where White Mane stood by the stereo with Sunny Side and Honey Drop. They were laughing, smiling, drinking from plastic cups of red wine or top shelf vodka. He’d been tempted to approach, but, he wasn’t quite drunk enough to add much to the conversation.

White Mane broke his eye contact with Sunny Side and Honey Drop and stared at something across from him. Piper followed his eyes; There, standing alone in the kitchen, was Stormy fixing himself a drink. Feeling a frown growing on his face, Piper ignored his feelings for the moment and stared back at White Mane, who had excused himself from his group and moved towards Stormy.

Piper bit his lower lip. Sighed. Then downed his drink.

“I’m gonna go top myself off,” He told Vincent and Scout, excusing himself. They responded with polite head nods, then went back to engaging in a rousing, philosophical discussion about why Scout’s Honor lacked the ability to pick up girls.

Piper waded his way through the crowd. As packed as the part was, Piper still moved with the grace and folly of a colt who’d spent the better part of his life navigating his way around heavily populated areas. Always mentally a step ahead of where he needed to be, smiling politely at the faces that disappeared into the crowd. After a minute of swimming through the crowd, he reached the place where the dynamic duo of colt cuddlers still stood and gawked at the outfits worn by some of Camden's elite.

"You'd never catch me dead in that shirt." Sunny Side was saying, until his eyes fell on Piper and he smiled. “Now, what Piper is wearing...” he growled. "There's a shirt I'd love to tear off of a pony."

Piper stared down at the baby blue button up from Hoity Toity's Fall Collection his father had sent him a few weeks back. It looked alright. It wasn't special. It was tight at the neck, loose at the shoulders and the bottom button often came undone for no good reason. He was sure his father had spent way too many bits on a shirt from such a big name designer, but, somehow knowing it drew the fashionable queer eye of his friend made him feel alright with it.

“Ignore him,” Honey Drop urged. “He gets a little...flirty when he has more than a few drinks.”

“Do not!” Scout pouted. Honey Drop nudged him. Piper sighed.

“So, White Mane’s over there talking to Stormy?” He asked, already knowing what the answer was. Sadly, Honey Drop nodded while Sunny Side seemed to find himself transfixed with rubbing his face against Honey Drop’s muscular chest and shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Piper.” Honey Drop said, taking a sip of what was probably cheap boxed wine from the colour of it. “I know this is...hard to take.”

Piper, despite how he really felt, just shrugged. He noticed the box of wine--which no doubt Sunny Side and Honey Drop bought for themselves, but had been sharing with White Mane as well--and filled his cup with what smelt a little like watered down paint thinner.

“It’s...bullshit.” Piper grumbled. “Look at Stormy, standing there, thinking he's so cool and hot! I...I could be so much better for White Mane!"

Sadly, Honey Drop sighed. He allowed himself to break away from his lover and moved towards Piper. Up until this very day, Piper had never thought anything more of Honey Drop than a companion piece to Sunny Side. They came as sort of a package deal; a 'Earn one friend, get the other for free' sort of deal. It made sense that they were individuals, it just never really occurred to Piper. He had met them when they were already dating through White Mane and one of his many acting classes, but he never really got to know them much better than...well..really, 'Sunny Side and Honey Drop the colt cuddlers'.

There was a companionship in the works between himself and Honey Drop, something strictly platonic, but still intellectual and emotional, which Piper was really starting to enjoy.

“I can’t imagine how this feels for you,” Honey Drop said, taking a sip from his cup. “But, good things happen to good colts, and I can't think of a colt I know who's more deserving of nice things than you are, Piper."

“Thanks.” Piper sighed, then realizing how harsh and severe he sounded, rebounded. “Really, I mean that. You’re...really good friends.”

Honey Drop draped a hoof over Piper’s shoulder.

“I used to think you were just like Scout. Another silly breeder who loved 'pounding vag', watching hoofball and drinking domestic beer." He paused, sipped again from his cup, then finished his thought. "It's nice to know that you're a sweet guy."

Piper laughed. Honey Drop laughed. Sunny Side fell onto the floor in a clump.

“White Mane would be lucky to have you,” He finished, then smiled at Piper and, in a move that startled him, wrapped hooves around the sexually confused colt and pulled him into a hug. “Just remember; whatever happens, Sunny and I are here for you.”

Piper broke off from the hug and smiled.

“Thank you.” He said. Honey Drop smiled back.

Politely, Piper stared away from Honey Drop and let his eyes wander until they found what he’d been yearning for all night; his roommate.

The scene set itself out like a page out of a corny romance novel. There was White Mane, smiling flirtatiously, while he ran a hoof along Stormy’s back. The older colt, Stormy, looked disinterested in him and focused his attentions on a new player to the game; Gentle Strokes. The wannabe artist from some hick town with a name like Dodge Junction or Appleooza.

This rubbed Piper the wrong way. Here was a colt who was willing to bear his heart to Stormy, and there was Stormy, acting incredulously towards him and trying, it seemed, to draw the eye of a colt that, as far as he knew, was straight and uninterested.

Ugh! Stormy!

Gentle Strokes, the farm pony, laughed at something that Stormy said. Stormy grinned. White Mane frowned. Stormy said something to White Mane that made the younger colt smile, but shy away, like he were interrupting something. Gentle Strokes and Stormy broke away from White Mane and headed for the rooftop balcony while White Mane, still smiling, made his way back towards the trio.

“Oh, Piper!” He greeted with the kind of cheer that made Piper’s head feel light. “Isn’t Stormy so wonderful!”

No! He most certainly was not.

“He seems...” He paused to stare at his companions for some kind of enlightenment. Honey Drop shrugged. Sunny Side still remained on the floor, cradling a plastic cup of wine he sipped from. “...nice.”

White Mane sighed cheerfully, then took a sip from his plastic cup.

“I know,” He said. “He had to run off to compare notes with that silly farm pony from Dodge Junction, but, he’ll be back for me.”

Piper fought urges in his body to correct his roommate's assumptions. No, Stormy would not be back for him. That much was clear and evident to anypony not madly in love with him. Unfortunately, it seemed his roommate didn’t agree with that viewpoint.

“White Mane,” Piper poked his roommate, drawing his attention.

Staring at White Mane now and noticing that hopeful little gleam in his roommates eyes, that no matter what he had to say, White Mane would find a way to twist it around. Nothing he said would urge White Mane to consider the fact that, maybe, his fling with Stormy was exactly that; a fling. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Piper bit his tongue and said nothing.

***

Time passed. The party continued. Music blared. Ponies danced, and Piper still found himself drawn to his roommate’s pleasant aura.

White Mane had spent the better part of a half hour searching the room for Stormy’s presence in between the occasional trip to the bathroom and refilling his plastic cup with cheap red wine. Piper, meanwhile, had spent that time studying his roommate and drinking in his movements.

It was the little things that White Mane did that really made Piper smile. He would puff his cheeks out and make an adorable little pouty face when a song he didn’t like came on the stereo. Or, when one that he did like came on, he would bob his head from side to side with his eyes closed and an unwavering smile on his face. He’d bow his head, kick his hooves along with the beat of the bass and whip his mane back and forth. It looked silly, but, that was part of the reason Piper liked it.

Piper sighed, took a powerful sip from his drink, then tapped his hooves impatiently on the countertop. White Mane caused stirs in him that he hadn’t felt for any pony in ages. The fact that he was a colt and White Mane was a colt didn’t really bother him nearly as much as it might with other ponies. This was college, colts were supposed to experiment and if that meant he got to get in bed with a colt like White Mane he was more than happy to try something new.

He finished his drink and stared across the room. That was when something different happened.

White Mane, and by extension Piper, had been watching a scene unfold between Gentle Strokes, the farm pony, (and apparent apple of Stormy’s eye), Jagged Horn (or, The Handsome Dunce as he was known in their group of friends.) Stormy, and The Colt From Las Pegasus.

Harsh words were shouted between Jagged Horn and The Colt From Las Pegasus. Something about a mare, dancing, drugs and being choked with a belt. Then, a kick thrown by The Colt From Las Pegasus hit Jagged Horn, who fell to the floor. The party seemed to pause and all eyes fell onto the form of the fallen colt.

Stormy looked like he were about to leap into the fray himself, his face contorted, his hind legs lowered, rear raised--like a cat about to kill a stuffed mouse--when, quicker than anypony could make sense of it, Gentle Strokes--the farm pony from Dodge Junction--was ontop of The Colt From Las Pegasus, twisting his forehoof behind his back and forcing his face into a puddle of stale beer on the hardwood floor.

The music stopped, the dancing with it while every pair of eyes in the room watched, silently, the set piece presented before them. Gentle Strokes was twisting The Colt From Las Pegasus’s hoof to the point of breaking, and The Colt From Las Pegasus was fighting it. A few more seconds of twisting and he stopped and cursed an apology. Gentle Strokes let him go not long after, and he raised himself to his hooves and glared incredulously at Jagged Horn, Stormy, then Gentle Strokes--who had a look on his face like the next wrong move that The Colt From Las Pegasus made would be his last.

The eyes of every pony in the room followed him as he walked out of the party; his head hung low, snorting and huffing obscenities about ‘Fags’ and ‘Queers’ under his breath.

It seemed like an end to the party was near, but, it surprised him that the music turned back on and everypony resumed dancing like nothing at all had happened. The only thing that happened worthy of noting was a look shared between Stormy and Gentle Strokes; their eyes lidded and filled with excitement.

The next thing that happened almost shocked Piper. Stormy softly bit Gentle Strokes’s tail. It wasn’t a drastic move, but while Piper had expected the farm pony to offer something in the form of protest, he instead happily followed Stormy who dragged him from the dance floor of the party, to the living room. Once there, he threw Gentle Strokes--quite violently--backwards onto a couch then leapt on top of him. Gentle Strokes’s hooves ran along Stormy’s body, while Stormy kissed his way from the gape of Gentle Strokes’s neck, up his throat, his chin, and then, hungrily their mouths met.

Just like that Gentle Strokes--the hick outsider from Dodge Junction with a chip on his shoulder--came out to all of Camden. If he hadn’t just psychologically bitch-slapped The Colt From Las Pegasus, this might have been the most shocking event of the night, but now it just seemed almost normal. Or at least as normal as things like this happened to go.

No one seemed to pay it much mind, save for the sniffing, damp eyed colt with the golden coat and snow coloured mane, who turned away from the scene like he’d just witnessed his parents getting murdered, and darted out the back door.

Impulsively, Piper followed him.

***

When Piper found White Mane, he was standing on his hind legs and leaning against the railing. Mentally, Piper drew comparisons between this moment, and the moment in all of his least favorite movies where the protagonist comforts his love interest. All that was missing was a sun setting in the distance over a lake and bad indie music playing in the background.

“Hey, White Mane,” He called, softly.

White Mane turned to him and tried to speak, but his lips faltered and he sniffed instead. Piper faked a smile, then moved closer to his roommate and wrapped him in a hug. White Mane nuzzled his face into Piper’s chest and this time, unlike the other times, the other colt hardly even blushed.

Right now wasn’t about silly crushes or sexual tension, it was about one being there for the other.

“...can we go home?” White Mane asked.

Piper nodded.

***

On the way back Piper and White Mane stopped for a late night coffee at a place called Monk’s where Piper bought himself a coffee (two sugars and cream), and White Mane a Choi Mocha Latte with whipped cream and sprinkles.

Relaxed, White Mane seemed to have mellowed out over the time it took to leave the party and get to Monk’s. He smiled, and Piper smiled too.

To Piper, buying White Mane a night cap coffee wasn’t much, and it probably didn’t change the state of their relationship, or imply the feelings he had, but it felt nice to know that he had the power to cheer his roommate up during his darkest hours.

That was when a warmth, familiar and inviting, filled Piper's body.

They spent the rest of the night talking about things specifically not related to Stormy. Piper told him about how Scout had tried and failed to pick up the mare sitting alone, and White Mane giggled. White Mane told Piper about how Sunny Side tried to invent a new dance and had ended up kicking Honey Drop in the face, and Piper chuckled.

With lifted spirits and coffee filling their bellies, the two best friends left Monk's coffee shop and headed for home. On the way, it dawned on Piper that White Mane walked quite close to him. Close to the point where his flank would brush against his roommate's, and vice versa. All Piper could do about it was smile something silly.

Maybe, just maybe, things would be alright.

Young Equestrians

Young Equestrians

It was a cold autumn morning, mid semester and on a Saturday when the wind that came in from the north was strong enough to shake yellow and red leaves from trees and still not be bothersome. Today that same wind blew into the opened plexiglass window of a two story house painted a charming auburn hue. Wind ruffled the purple velvet drapes and blew them open just enough for rays of light sunlight to break through the cracks and shine into the room.

When sunlight struck the face of a sleeping colt, baby blue eyes blinked awake.

Honey Drop greeted the morning like he did every other thing in life; with restrained enthusiasm. There was a warmth to his body, despite the breeze, and it occured to him that he shared this warmth with a colt who had joined himself with him; a hoof was thrown overtop his chest, and a sleeping face was snoring into his neck.

Pride and joy were worn across his face in a broad smile as he looked down at the still sleeping body who had decided to use him for a pillow. This was, until he noticed a dampness in his coat and an incriminating trail of saliva that led back to the bright pink tongue that hung out of his boyfriend's mouth.

The fact that Sunny Side drooled in his sleep was something Honey Drop hadn’t come to consider an attractive quirk to dating Sunny Side.

Most colts might have found it offputting to find their fur being used as a sponge, but Honey Drop wasn’t most colts. Drooling or not, Sunny Side clinging onto him was more than ‘most colts’ got to wake up to in the morning and Honey Drop was a colt who always counted his blessings.

Still, it was morning, and a quick glance at the digital alarm clock told him it was time to start his day. He wiggled his hoof from underneath Sunny Side, and in doing so, woke him up.

“Good morning,” Said Sunny Side.

The vibrations of his words tickled his belly.

“Morning.” Honey Drop replied back. He dropped his head to meet Sunny Side’s and a grin spread up his lips before he spoke again, “You’ve got a little something on your chin.”

Suny Side’s eyes went wide in shock and one of his meringue coloured hooves wiped the offending liquid from his lips and chin, and then on to the silk/satin sheets.

“How very uncouth.” smirked Honey Drop.

Sunny Side’s eyes rolled in his head. He leaned his face forwards and kissed Honey Drop on the chin. He pulled back at the same time Honey Drop purred.

“Oh, don’t be such a brute.” Sunny Side stated, batting his right hoof against Honey Drop’s cheek. “It’s too early to be my usual, charming, self.”

Honey Drop huffed a chuckle. Sunny Side started to lift himself up off of Honey Drop’s chest, but got caught in transition when Honey Drop kissed an apology onto his pursed lips.

“You should brush your teeth.” Sunny Side suggested, “Your breath still tastes like merlot.”

Honey Drop blew into a closed hoof and sniffed what his lover had tasted. He caught a whiff of last night’s bottle of Beaute Winged mixed with hints of an aged gouda. As a couple -- and in that respect also young adults -- both colts had decided early in their relationship to add a little culture into their lives. Now, on every second and fourth friday night of every month that they had been a couple living together under the same roof, after taking part in 'Stir-Friday', they engaged in ‘Wine and Cheese’ night. A celebration of the finer things. Last night Sunny Side had chosen an imported Gryphon wine suggested by Vincent, while Honey Drop had picked up a rather expensive wheel of gouda from a shop in Barstow.

“Hmm,” Honey Drop mumbled to himself. He mulled over his options, on the one hoof he had hardly a strong desire to separate himself from the bed and his lover, on the other, it didn’t exactly strike him as desirable for either of them for him to continue to neck with Sunny Side while his breath stank.

The result of his slight mental struggle that morning saw him rise out of bed. He made a move towards the window then tore open the purple velvet drapes. Sunlight, golden gleams of an early morning sunrise, greeted them and cast a mystical glow over bodies and objects alike.

Honey Drop turned back to face Sunny Side and had to pause. He lay on his back in the bthe covers pulled to his waist. He was staring back at him and smiling. Whether it was something in his smile, a twinkle in his eyes, or the way the sun painted his body, Honey Drop found an urge in him to do something spontaneous.

He dashed back towards the bed and when he stood at the base, he lowered himself onto the sheets and crawled up to Sunny Side. He kissed the surprised colt on the mouth and wrapped hooves around his frame, pulling his body to him. Sunny Side kissed back, his own hooves roamed across Honey Drop's spine and before either knew it they were rolling over top each other on the bed. This, the passionate, loving embrace that they held, carried on for several minutes; all the while hungry mouths continued to crash together and wild hooves travelled up and down their back and sides.

As they rolled and tumbled, neither colt seemed aware that they were slowly veering closer to the edge of the bed, and both were just as shocked when they reached it the momentum launched them both over side.

Their fall to the ground was less than graceful and shattered their loving embrace. Regardless, Sunny Side, laying flat on his back beside Honey Drop, who lay on his side, traced a hoof teasingly up the side of his leg and tilted his head to face him. Leaned his face forwards, Sunny Side planted his lips softly on Honey Drop’s wet nose.

“Where did that come from?”

“Dunno,” Honey Drop panted, catching his breath but never breaking his dazed smile, "But it felt right."

Sunny Side felt his mane, then his chest, and realized a dampness from sweat had hit him. Honey Drop too was sweating.

“Shower?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow invitingly towards Honey Drop.

The other colt grinned then nodded.

***

Showering was a joyful event for Sunny Side and Honey Drop. Despite the ideas that two colts who loved each other being locked into a glass cage and made to get soaking wet might bring to mind, showering together was far less sexual for them and much more sensual.

There were spots that Sunny Side said he just couldn’t reach on his back, and that only Honey Drop could. In the same breath, Honey Drop wouldn’t ever grow tired of the feeling of Sunny Side massaging shampoo into his mane.

Today, while lukewarm tap water beat against their backs, Honey Drop leaned against Sunny Side’s back and kissed the tips of his ears, revelling in the sounds that Sunny Side made and how they echoed against the glass.

“Wait,” Sunny Side gasped.

Honey Drop kept kissing the back of his ears, his hooves roamed down to his waist and he pushed himself up against the other’s bottom.

“Hmm?”

Sunny Side turned back to him and gave a soft, sad, smile. He pulled himself away from Honey Drop.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “About Piper and White Mane.”

Honey Drop’s sigh echoed against the marble walls of the shower.

“I thought we said we agreed that the shower was a no conflict zone?”

Sunny Side smiled softly up at his boyfriend.

“I know, I know,” Sunny Side cood, “But, I can’t stop thinking about them.” He sighed something that sounded pained and echoed in the shower. “They’re so good for eachother.”

“Sunny, darling,” Honey Drop grunted. “You promised you wouldn’t worry too much about it.” He leaned his weight onto his right side and lifted his left hoof to stroke Sunny Side’s wet cheek. “They’ll figure it out on their own.”

“Yeah…” He said, “It’s just… Piper could be so good for White Mane. And, White Mane, he could be so happy with Piper...” Water beat against his back and he sighed. “Besides, how absolutely adorable would a double date with them be?”

Honey Drop didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted the colt’s face towards him, he leaned in for a peck on his lips when Sunny Side’s eyes widened and he suddenly stood upright and proper.

“Sorry,” He said, turning away from Honey Drop and pushing open the glass door. “I really have to pee.”

“Oh…”

Honey Drop showered cold and alone after that, and when he came out, Sunny Side was toweling himself dry in front of the mirror. He was pressing his right hoof into the fur of his stomach. His face looked pained. Anguished. When he heard his boyfriend approach from behind he turned to face him.

“Hun,” He said. “Am I getting pudgy?”

Honey Drop walked towards him and kissed him on the cheek. He wrapped his hooves around his waist, and like Sunny Side had done, squeezed his stomach.

“You’re crazy.” He whispered in his ear, “If you’re anything, you are too thin.”

Sunny Side stared himself in the mirror. His hooves cupped Honey Drop’s and he pressed them into his lack of a belly.

He grinned at his reflection, then winked.

“You think?”

Honey Drop nodded.

Sunny Side pulled his hooves from his tummy and grinned at his reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah,” He said, still grinning. “I do look good, don’t I?”

“That’s what taking the stairs to class instead of the elevators will getcha.” Honey Drop chuckled.

Sunny Side moved himself away from the mirror. “Mhmm.” He agreed, while shaking a hoof through his heavily pampered mane.

***

They sat at the same oak cut dining table as they did each and every morning. Honey Drop, and then Sunny Side, both seated decidedly beside one another, and both picking and choosing from the breakfast/brunch that Honey Drop had prepared just a half hour before.

“I was thinking about bringing snacks to the auditions today,” Sunny Side stated, smiling towards Honey Drop. “I know Ziggy wants everyone to run lines, but, it’s a chore to do scenes on an empty stomach no matter who you are.”

“I can’t speak for Ziggy,” Honey Drop said, “But I’ve got your back if she decides to throw down.”

Sunny Side poked his tongue through his pursed lips and Honey Drop chuckled.

“I could take her,” He boasted. His chest puffed out and he flexed; the muscles in his upper legs sprang to life, pulsed, then deflated. “I have male privilege.”

“I don’t know…” Honey Drop mulled, “I’ve seen her chew out an understudy for messing up past and present tense during a rehearsal once.”

Sunny Side grinned.

“Poor, Cobalt,” He said, “Though, any colt who can’t memorize his lines three weeks before curtain really does have it coming to him.”

Honey Drop nodded in agreement.

“Babe,” he said, “Can you get the mail?”

“Why, of course I can.” Sunny Side stood up in his seat “I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself this early in the morning.”

Honey Drop faked a laugh, a mockingly obnoxious three note ‘Ha-Ha-Ha’ while Sunny Side stood up and walked out of the room. When he returned, his ears had drooped, his soft smile faltered, and Honey Drop worried.

“What’s up?” He posed, to a questionable look from Sunny Side.

“There’s a letter here,” He answered, and pushed an opened letter towards Honey Drop “It’s from your mother?”

Honey Drop’s left eye twitched and lips that had once been smiling flipped upside down in a nervous frown. He grabbed at the letter and then scanned the letters which formed words.

Minutes wrapped in tension and fraught with dread passed. Occasionally, Honey Drop would murmur a ‘Hmm.’ or huff air through his nostrils, but the noises he made only that stood to worry Sunny Side more. When he was finished, and the letter was read, Honey Drop placed it flat on the table, brought a hoof to his head and groaned, before speaking.

“My sister is coming to visit.”

Sunny Side. Each and every single fibre of his being, repulsed. His brow lowered, his lip with it and even his eyes suddenly became soft and weak.

“When?”

“Today.”

“Oh dear.” Sunny Side tried to smile. “When is she coming in? Will we have time to set up the guest room? Its still a bit messy from when Piper stayed over the other night.”

“Nine.” Honey Drop read. “She’s taking the first train from Canterlot.”

Silence met the two colts for some time. Two pairs of eyes tore away from the other to stare at the Wonderbolts themed clock which hung just a few inches above the oven. A cartoon depiction of Soarin’ stared back at them and, below his chin, he showed -- in analog -- the time. 8:13. A.M.

“This seems sudden.” Sunny Side said, “Fair warning would have been nice.”

“I know,” He -- who was Honey Drop -- grunted. “Goddess, this so typical her. Did you know she hasn’t written to me once this semester? She didn’t send me a letter when I told her I found a place off campus! Or when I moved in with you? And now, all of the sudden, she just decides to come visit the same exact weekend we have our busiest schedule of the semester!”

Sunny Side crooked his head upwards and his lips found Honey Drop’s chin.

“We’ll be okay,” he said, “It’s only your sister.”

“Oh, you don’t know Singer!” Honey Drop groaned. “She’s absolutely the worst.”

“How bad can an unemployed high school graduate be?”

When Honey Drop didn’t answer, Sunny Side found himself feeling uneasy.

“She is… rational, right?” He posed. “If we tell her we have plans already, she’ll understand… right?”

Honey Drop kept quiet, though his eyes seemed to have found a sudden fascination with the floor his hooves kicked at.

“Um,” Honey Drop licked his lips. “Sure?”

“We can work through this,” Sunny Side, always the optimist, suggested, throwing a hoof around his boyfriend’s shoulder and kissing his cheek. “We always do.”

Honey Drop smiled.

That was their morning.

***

Barstow was a town a half hours walk from the refurbished frat house that Honey Drop and Sunny Side had claimed as their own. The town itself was small and boasted few amenities, but for those who hailed from Camden it was the place where they had first stepped hoof, proverbially, from their old life and into their new.

Honey Drop and Sunny Side stood in the Barstow terminal of the greater train station that made up the Equestrian tour. In the few weeks that had turned to months since Sunny Side had been the significant other of Honey Drop, he’d seldom heard stories of his boyfriend’s life outside of Camden. He knew not about Honey Drop's home life, less about his family, and literally nothing beyond that 'Singer' was his sister's name and that she was, in his words, 'Absolutely. The. Worst.'.

This worried Sunny Side. Still, he stood just as eager as Honey Drop at the train station and waited.

Flashing lights against the mid afternoon soon blinded their eyes, and short seconds later, the train stopped in the station and bulky doors

Sunny Side held his breath while Honey Dropped looked on.

She emerged through a cloud of smoke of her own making, and Sunny Side was upset to find she looked like something the proverbial rat had dragged from the sewer. Black lensed glasses in the shape of cartoon hearts covered her eyes. Her mane, dyed a dark black, grew wild, uncombed and free on her head and down her face. A cigarette, already burning, hung out of the corner of her mouth and when she gazed on her brother, she didn’t crack so much as a smile. Instead, lips coated in purple lipstick pursed and a ring of smoke escaped out of them, then another, and another, until she was standing steps ahead of them, blowing smoke rings at them.

“What a shithole.” She greeted cheerfully while stepping off the train. “This place smells like onions and mud.”

Honey Drop’s right eye twitched, his hooves nervously joined together, and he only felt comfortable when Sunny Side’s hoof touched his shoulder.

“Its nice to see you, Singer,” He said through a forced smile. “How, um, how have you been?”

Singer -- his sister -- blew smoke out of her nostrils and levitated a black duffel bag in a purple aura from the train.

“Simply wonderful,” was her monotone reply. “I broke up with Stash, and mom said it would be an ‘absolutely positive experience for me’ if I came to see you for a few days. Honestly, she’s always one sangria away from telling me I need to get out of the house and ‘get on with my life’.”

Honey Drop raised a single eyebrow.

“Who was Stash?”

“Just some boy I was seeing,” She said. “He was part of this band; Black Mistakes. They were a neo-progressive post-punk band. They mostly did covers.”

“I… see..”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “He was great in bed, but, he had a lot of intimacy issues… he actually called me ‘mommy’. Twice.”

Sunny Side, not Honey Drop, coughed out a gasp and in doing so drew Honey Drop and Singer’s attention to him.

“You must be ‘The Boyfriend.’?” she said, levitating her cigarette onto the ground, squashing it with a hoof and then replacing it with another unlit menthol.

Sunny Side’s face glowed with pride, he smiled at her and held his hoof out to meet hers.

“Yes.” He said, turning once to face Honey Drop and giving him a look filled with tenderness, “Yes I am.”

She shook it, daintily, then drew it towards her and brought it to her face. She stroked the underside of her chin for a few brief seconds while, no doubt, the eyes hidden behind her glasses roamed the body of her brother’s boyfriend.

“Hmm,” She purred, “You’re heavier than I thought you would be...”

Sunny Side’s lower lip trembled and his eyelids sank. He bowed his head to the floor. He didn’t stare back at Honey Drop, or up at his sister. Instead he turned away while mumbling “It’s so nice to meet you.” to the ground.

“Singer!” Honey Drop scolded, staring hard against his sister’s sunglasses. “Mind your manners.”

Singer shrugged.

“Well,” she said, tapping her hoof impatiently against the train station floor. “Wouldn’t you like to show me your place? Mom says you’ve been refurbishing an abandoned drug den or something?”

“Its a two story,” Honey Drop defended in a quiet grumble, “And yes, Sunny Side and I are very proud of it. Aren’t we?”

He turned to face Sunny Side, who was busy sucking in, then blowing out his stomach.

“Great,” She said, stomping out her second cigarette. “We’re going to have to get food somewhere on the way, I can’t eat on trains. Everything they serve just tastes like sawdust.”

“There’s an, um, lovely little cafe that we like,” Honey Drop nudged Sunny Side, begging the colt to join in on the conversation, but, again he said nothing.

“It sounds quaint.” She smirked, “Lead the way, dear brother.”

And with that they were off.

***

Monk’s was the sole coffee shop at Camden that didn’t belong to a larger conglomerate or franchise. It was smaller than Star-Bucks and the drinks were pricier. Regardless, it had earned a place in the hearts of Sunny Side and Honey Drop as being the first place they had ever shared a cup of coffee together as more than friends.

Rich lore and romantic history aside, it was also the only place on campus Honey Drop could imagine his sister would find quiet enough to have an earnest and honest conversation. The food court was always crammed full of students. He didn’t imagine she’d care for the library, or the arts lounges, and even the gallery where flourishing artists showcased their works didn’t quite seem up to his sister’s speed.

That, and he aimed to keep her as far away from frat houses, frat boys, and the knowledge that some students at Camden made time in their schedules to piss away their days drinking from kegs and hosting mid afternoon contests to see who could fill their guts with more beer before passing out. Since the walk to his and Sunny Side’s house passed right through the neighbourhood of underachieving Camden students, the longer he could prolong the inevitable, the better.

So, there they were, the three of them. Sunny Side sat close to Honey Drop on one side of a round table. Sunny Side sipped from a Lo-Cal Choi Mocha Latte. Honey Drop stirred skim milk into his black coffee. Singer emptied her third sugar packet into an ink black cup of dark roast.

“How,” Honey Drop began to say, “Are mom and dad?”

Singer took a minute to answer. First she sipped her coffee -- loudly enough to draw the leery eyes of colts and fillies away from textbooks, and onto her -- then she levitated another menthol into her mouth and, ignoring the leers from colts and fillies around her, lit it.

“Fine, fine.” She drawled. “Ever since you left for Camden they’ve been going at it like it was their second honeymoon. Its every night with them, sometimes in the afternoon, too.”

Honey Drop nearly dropped his cup of coffee. Thankfully, his grip on the porcelain cup was stronger than his grip on his mental state in that moment. He contorted his face; his lips pursed together and his eyes squinted.

He said nothing but waved another one of Singer’s smoke clouds away from his face. His sister sipped more of her coffee.

Sunny Side still hadn’t broken his self appointed vow of silence, but seemed to be getting over the idea that he was fat. A breakfast scone -- a little wonder of modern baking -- was surrounded by a purple glow and split down the middle. One half fell out of reach of Sunny Side’s magic, and the other, floated towards his mouth.

He chewed it silently.

“Singer,”

It was the first word that Sunny Side had spoken in the conversation since they had arrived.

“Yes?”

“I hate to sound rude, but, why exactly did you decide to visit?”

Honey Drop nudged Sunny Side with his leg underneath the table. Sunny Side responded by resting his hoof on Honey Drop’s lap and innocently rubbing his thigh, shutting him up indefinitely.

“It wasn’t really my choice,” She answered. “After I broke it off with Stash, mom thought it would be motivating, or, I don’t know uplifting, I guess, to come down and see my successful, big brother.” Singer’s teeth chewed tight together and her lips peeled back into a savage looking grimace, “She’s such a psycho.”

“And… how long will you be staying?”

“I’m not really sure.” She sighed. “Stash said his sister went to Coltlumbia for a semester, until she O.D.’d the night before an exam and had to drop out. I bet the parties here are just as intense?”

Honey Drop hesitated to answer honestly. Camden parties were wild, fun and more than dangerous to attend for a self admitted hedonist who lacked the shame and discipline to control herself, or her actions. He also knew, from his limited experiences with members of the same sex who didn’t prefer members of the same sex, that Camden was full of characters whom liked to take advantage of ponies in his sister’s position.

“Well,” Sunny Side smiled to his right. “Wouldn’t you like to see some of the campus? You know, our place is only a fifteen minute walk from the university center. We could show you around?”

He couldn’t see it from behind her glasses, but he could imagine Singer rolling her eyes. Still, she smiled sweetly at him.

“Thank you for the offer,” She said with an amicable sweetness in her voice. “But, if it’s all the same, I’d rather show myself around campus. You two aren’t really up to my speed. No offense.”

Offense was taken.

Neither Sunny Side, nor Honey Drop, responded. Instead, time passed slowly while the three ate in perhaps the most uncomfortable silence known in Monk’s coffee shop before that day. Singer didn’t seem to notice, or, if she did, she hardly seemed to care. Sunny Side nibbled his scone, Honey Drop chewed the other half and time continued to pass.

Ponies came and went while they ate. First came a group of mares who wanted them to sign a petition of the ethical treatment of buffalo -- which Sunny Side and Honey Drop signed and Singer flatly refused on the grounds that buffalo were capable of helping themselves out. Stormy and the farmer from Dodge Junction came in a short time after that. They didn’t seem to notice the judgemental stares from Sunny Side or Honey Drop, instead deciding to focus on sitting extremely close together and hovel overtop an opened Cultural Studies textbook.

No more than two weeks had passed since The End of the World party and ever since that time Stormy and the colt who they had come to learn was ‘Gentle Strokes’ from Dodge Junction had been an inseparable item. The allure of befriending a new gay couple on campus was deftly met with the distaste both colts had for Stormy, and his treatment of White Mane, who was their friend.

This was neither here, nor there, though. Their presence wasn’t enough to shake the foundation of their day, and they wouldn’t dare mention it, even in passing, to anyone but themselves. It was just a curious distraction from the awkwardness that had grown at the table.

Then, all at once, the door to Monk’s swung open, the bell chimed, and through it walked a curious site: a winged beast. Bipedal with the hind legs of a large jungle prowling cat, and thick, clawed fingers attached to thick forearms in his front. A gryphon. Vincent.

Salvation had a curious face today.

He held under one arm a thick book and nothing in his other. His eyes scanned the room, and once they fell on the table where Honey Drop, his sister and his boyfriend sat, he smiled broadly and guided himself towards them.

“Hey,” he greeted. “What’s up?”

Sunny Side smiled, Honey Drop smiled, Singer’s mood stayed calm, though she tilted her sunglasses with her hoof and her eyes drank in the newcomer. She made a sound, something that sounded deftly close to the satisfied purr of a housecat, and invited him to seat with the wave of her hoof over an empty chair beside her.

“I’m Singer,” She introduced. “Honey Drop’s younger sister.”

A sultry emphasis was put on the word younger.

He extended an open claw to her awaiting hoof and curled the fingers around it. He smiled politely when he shook her hoof.

“Vincent,” He introduced. “It’s nice to meet you, Singer.”

Singer’s tongue traced along her lips, slowly.

“Likewise.” She said.

Vincent smiled, then stared down at his textbook and flipped it open.

“You’re taking musical theory?” She asked. Her body moved forwards a few inches, and she propped her head onto her crossed hooves.

Vincent cracked one eye from the textbook, smiled politely, and nodded.

“That’s very interesting,” said Singer, “What do you play?”

Across from them, Sunny Side nudged the soft flesh of Honey Drop’s stomach with his elbow, then leaned forwards so that his mouth was by his ear.

“I just had an idea…” he whispered, “If we can convince your sister that Vincent and Scout are worth spending time with…”

…then she would be in good hooves/claws for the foreseeable future while they carried out their daily struggle.

It was foolproof.

Then a thought hit his mind.

The plan might have been foolproof, but was it Scout’s Honor proof?

“What about Scout?” Honey Drop whispered back. “I can’t leave my sister with him…”

“Scout is perfectly harmless.” said Sunny Side. “He may be a walking hard on. But, I really don’t see his pornogragphy collection impressing your sister. In fact, if we’re lucky she’ll be so repulsed by him and his limitless, misplaced libido that she’ll swear off sex for life.”

Honey Drop grinned.

“Okay,” he said, “I think this can work.”

“Just follow my lead,” Sunny Side said.

He pulled away and leaned forwards, towards Singer and Vincent, who had engaged themselves in a discussion about music that seemed, honestly, quite intellectual.

“I hate to interrupt,” Sunny Side leered at the two, “But, I just remembered that Honey Drop and I have our auditions today.”

Honey Drop nodded along. Vincent cocked his right eyebrow.

“I thought they were at noon?”

All four bodies at the table stared at the clock.

It read: 9:30. A.M.

“Yes, well,” Sunny Side said, “Ziggy, our stage manager, is very insistent on being punctual, and, in fact, she actually asked us to show up early to help with-”

He paused here and nonverbally begged for an assist from Honey Drop, who read the subtle signs his face made -- His nose scrunched up and his left eye blinked. Twice.

“-Set design.” He finished Sunny Side’s thought. “She thinks that since we’re both gay we’re both more qualified than the straight ponies she has working for her-”

“-Which, granted, is true. Even if it is a somewhat offensive stereotype-” Sunny Side interrupted.

“-So, we really should be going.” Honey Drop said. He stood up, then turned his head to face Vincent. “Vincent, you wouldn’t mind showing my sister around campus, would you?”

“Uh…” Vincent peeked over at Singer, whose eyes had grown wide with excitement. “I… guess not.”

“Great!” Sunny Side and Honey Drop replied, their voices joined in unison. “Singer, you don’t mind do you?”

Singer shook her head, but her eyes and their wide pupiled glance never once left Vincent’s body.

“We’ll be back at our place by nine tonight.” Sunny Side said, “We’re having a small, tiny, get together with the cast, but we’ll tidy up the guest bedroom and leave the back door unlocked for you-”

“-And only you!-” Honey Drop insisted.

“-So whenever you feel like coming home and crashing you can just walk right in.” Sunny Side finished. "We'll even take your luggage for you."

Both colts seated at the table rose, and the gryphon, Vincent, with them. Honey Drop eyed him skeptically. Rather then press the issue, Vincent saw fit to drag both colts a table length from Singer, whose eyes followed him the entire way.

“Why?” He asked, and nothing else.

“Why?” Honey Drop repeated his quandry.

“Yes. Why are you leaving your sister with me?” He brought a claw up to scratch the fur between his eyes. “I don’t even know her.”

Honey Drop exhaled sharply. He veered his head over Vincent’s shoulder, staring on at his sister, then back at the gryphon.

“I… can’t stand her.” grumbled the unicorn, “She’s lazy, unmotivated, spoiled and bohemian. I know I’m asking alot, but it would be doing me and Sunny a huge favor if you could keep your eye on her for a few hours? Just to make sure she stays out of trouble?”

Vincent took a second to think. He stared back at Singer, who stared back at him, then he returned his eyes to Honey Drop.

“Fine,” He sighed. “But, I want something in return.”

“Vincent,” Sunny Side faked a gasp. “You mean to say that you won’t do two of your closest friends in all of this continent, and yours, an itty bitty teeny weeny favor out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Hardly,” Vincent laughed. “It’s not a big deal or anything, just an ‘itty bitty teeny weeny’ favor to go with yours?”

“And that would be?”

Vincent’s smile grew broad across his mouth and rose up his cheeks.

“You’re having that cast party tonight, right?”

Sunny Side looked at Honey Drop, who nodded, then he looked back at Vincent.

“Yes,”

“And all the cast is coming?”

“Yes,”

“And friends?”

Sunny Sighed sighed, low and heavy, then shrugged.

“I suppose we can open our doors to a few friends of the cast also…”

“Great,” Vincent grinned. “I promise to have Scout on his best behavior.”

“It’s all we’d ask.” Honey Drop smirked. “That, and, make sure he doesn’t make a scene?”

“Of course not,” smiled the Gryphon. He held his claw out, uncurling the claws and imploring any, or either, colt to shake his and seal the deal.

Reluctantly, Honey Drop met his claw with his hoof.

“It’s a deal,” said Vincent, “I’ll have her back by nine.”

***

A yellowed claw, ripe with sharp nails, curled into itself to form a fist that beat against the locked door. It took a second, but Vincent’s knock was answered by a voice, panicked and jittery.

“Don’t come in!” insisted the voice behind the door. “I’m busy! I'm studying! I’m reading a book! Give me a minute!”

The voice was fast and panicked, and Vincent, the Gryphon, turned to Singer -- his friend’s sister -- and shrugged his heavy shoulders.

She smiled back.

From inside the room attached to the door came the noise of hooves stumbling across the carpeted floor in a mad dash. Then a drawer opened, slammed shut, and the hooves came closer and closer to the door, which swung open to the visage of a very antsy young colt.

Scout’s Honor.

He stared first at Vincent, then at Singer, then bowed his head.

“Sorry,” He said, “I was… uh… just… writing a letter to my parents.”

“I thought you said you were studying?”

Scout snapped his head backwards, stared at something in the room, then back to his roommate.

“Yeah,” He mumbled. “Oh, yeah, right. Just studying." He sighed, relieved, then kept going. "You know how it is with all those... books and reading and words...”

Vincent said nothing. He peered past Scout's shoulder and wondered just what kind of studying he'd been doing with a tub of vaseline, a box of tissues and a snorkel. There wasn’t even a textbook in sight.

He shrugged it off.

“This is Singer,” He introduced, waving his claws towards the form of the young mare who leaned casually in the door frame with a menthol hanging loose out of the corner of her mouth, spilling ash onto the floor. “Honey Drop’s sister.”

A predatory smile, as there was really no other word for it, built on Scout’s face. He slicked his wild, sweat stained mane back with his hoof, then extended it.

“I’m Scout,” He greeted. Singer shook his hoof with great hesitation. “Let me just say that it's an honor to meet my best friend’s sister.” She drew her hoof back and he kept smiling. "He never said you were so pretty."

Singer’s eyes rolled in her head and she shoved past him on her way into the dorm room.

“Goddess,” She croaked while she flopped herself uninvited onto Vincent’s bed, “How can you two live in this freakin’ broom closet? My cabin on the train was bigger than this.”

“You should see your brother’s place,” Scout insisted, cracking a grin, “It’s like something out of one of Hoity Toity’s wet dreams.”

At this, Singer snorted, and Scout’s face fell red with blush. He scratched at his mane and took a seat on his bed opposite side of her.

“So,” Vincent danced his hooves along the bed frame, staring first at Singer, then at Scout -- who had himself transfixed on their friend’s younger sister. “Is there anything you’d like to see while you’re here?”

Singer gave a low, anguished grunt -- the perfect pitch to betray all the resentment and hatred she held towards academy -- then fell back onto Vincent’s bed. Her hooves sprawled out behind her then curled inwards to form a pillow underneath her head.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She moaned. “My brother is the golden child. I get it! My mom -- the freakin’ psycho -- thought if I came down here, some of that stupid fairy dust of his would rub off on me and suddenly I’d stop wanting to bang musicians, blowing my trust fund on parties, and crack into some of the classics.”

At the phrase ‘bang musicians’ a spark seemed to shine in Scout’s eyes. He leaned his body against the side of the bed and fired his hooves underneath. Seconds later, he was pulling a black guitar case -- with a collection of stamps and stickers advertising bands he fancied -- from underneath and unlocking it.

“You, uh, like musicians?” He was asking while he drew an acoustic from the guitar case. “Cause, I play a little bit.”

“Yeah, I guess…” She never turned her head to face him when she spoke. “I mean, I was dating this guy, Stash, back home. He was just the bassist in his band, so I guess he wasn’t really a musician, but, he could do this thing with his tongue-”

Singer continued to repeat stories from her life while Vincent watched Scout strap the guitar across his back, and pluck the strings with the tips of his hooves. The sound from the guitar was soft, but ugly all the same.

“-And after I caught him sleeping with one of his bandmates, this skinny little Goth boy, I knew we were over. I mean, I was sleeping with him too, but, you know-”

“-Mhmm, mhmm,” Scout nodded along, still tugging at strings on his guitar, but never once finding a tune to stick with. “-He sounds like an ass.”

Singer shot up in the bed and threw her hooves out.

“I know!” She agreed with unrestrained gusto. “That’s what I said, too!” She turned to Scout, smiled softly and filled his face once again with a crimson hue. “You know, for some reason my brother said you were like the dumb one in his group of friends… I don’t see it.”

Scout greeted her unrestrained cheer with a simple head nod. After that, he continued to strum his instrument. The strings to the song ‘Blackbird’ were plucked, albeit, harshly, and all the while Scout kept his eyes tight shut and melancholy.

“Your brother is kind of gay.” Scout insisted, raising his head and aiming it towards Singer. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that…”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me!” she exasperated. Her head shook, from side to side, as if she was troubled by the fact. “I knew my brother was gay when he asked my mom to sew him a Princess Celestia costume for Nightmare Night when he was twelve.”

Scout laughed. Singer laughed. Vincent curled his claws over his mouth and gave a half arsed chuckle, but nothing more. It seemed disrespectful to talk about a pony behind his back. Especially when he had no way of defending himself.

“How are you so cool?” Scout posed, leaning his frame over his guitar and staring imploringly at Singer. “I mean, not that your brother isn’t, but… y'know what I mean, right?”

Singer sighed.

“I buckled under the pressure.” She admitted, with a hint of sarcasm to her voice. “Honey Drop was always the charming, handsome, exquisite, one of the two of us, and I was always the ‘wild child’. After a while I kinda learned to live with it.”

Scout, in his selfish wisdom, kept nodding along.

“I’m the same way!” He added in, “Well, actually, my dad just said that if I didn’t go to college after high school he was gonna send me to work with my cousins on a rock farm, but, like, semantics, right?”

Singer nodded, smiled, then leaned back. Scout continued to strum the guitar, occasionally lifting an eye to stare up at Singer.

Vincent stared at the clock.

“Hmm,” grunted the Gryphon, raising himself up from his seat. “I have a class in a half hour. Are you guys going to be okay if I run out for a bit?”

“Ugh,” Singer sighed, and dropped her head backwards against the pillow “I know my brother probably told you otherwise, but, I’m not actually six.” She exhaled a sharp, pained, whistle through her teeth, but never moved her body so much as an inch. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Vincent huffed an obscene and mildly misogynistic comment under his breath. Thankfully no one seemed to hear it but him.

“We’ll be fine, Vince.” Scout smiled up at him.

Somehow, Vincent knew Scout was lying, and that leaving the two of them alone together was asking for trouble. He was betraying Honey Drop’s trust in him, and, should anything happen to them -- and quite honestly he could come up with nothing short of a million scenarios where the two alone wound up causing mischief and mayhem for the pure and innocent -- he was solely responsible...

...and yet, the girl who sat beside him in Anthropology was probably going to be in class today. And, she had just recently discovered the joys of wearing yoga pants outside of a yoga setting…

He knew he was wrong, and he’d regret it much later, but Vincent The Gryphon decided then and there that leaving Scout and Singer in a room together was an affordable sacrifice he was going to make.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” said Vincent the Gryphon, “Please don’t make me hate myself for leaving you two alone?”

The way that both ponies smiled back at him did little to ease his mind. On the flip side, he had places to go and the backside of mares flanks to see. Today, Celestia willing, those flanks would be nicely cushioned behind a pair of the tightest pants that polymer fibers had ever formed.

Author's Note

I owe a huge amount of thanks to Einhander, The Illusive Badgerpony, Nothing Is Constant, Scribble Script and anyone and everyone who helped edit this chapter. I can't link to any of their profiles but you should do yourselves some favors and check out the stories that these fine folk have written (Except for Nothing Is Constant, he doesn't write. He just solemnly sulks and provides much needed moral support to this lonely cat lover.)

Also, If I didn't mention you make sure you scathingly chew me out in the comment section and make me feel miserable for it.

Lady Stardust

Lady Stardust

The stage was set.

Literally.

House lights -- a dozen, or maybe more -- were aimed at the two of them and were firing their payload of two hundred and forty watt electric light over their forms. It was Piper, and White Mane, standing alone on the same stage where countless other flourishing thespians had practiced their craft.

Now, it was their time. White Mane and Piper’s.

Piper stared at White Mane and fire coursed through his veins. His heart raced in his chest. A whimper got caught in his throat, which was self admittedly much too dry.

He wanted to do this. He had to do this. He was going to do this.

...he just needed a minute.

“Whenever you’re ready.” An omnipresent voice spoke. The words came out with a static hiss from above the heads, and to the right and left sides, of both colts.

A minute he didn’t have, apparently.

White Mane. Proud and confident -- the polar opposite of Piper -- nodded his head towards his audience just once.

He was ready.

Piper, however, had to swallow his hesitation.

This was going to be interesting...

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” He -- White Mane -- said, and he paused. His head lowered to the floor. His eyes stared solemnly down at his hooves, which scraped dust and dirt from the hardwood floor as they ground the floor beneath him. If his hooves kicked the floor any harder he’d have scraped a coat of varnish from the floorboards.

It was White Mane’s reputation to be a consistent reminder to himself, and everyone around him, that every cloud had a silver lining. That life was a grand, epic adventure just waiting for him and anyone who cared to join him.

That was the side of White Mane that Piper had fallen in love/lust with.

Looking at him now, and the way his face wore all the negative emotions he could possibly muster, he seemed like an alien. Like some utterly miserable wreck of a pony had traded lives with him. Some stranger masquerading as White Mane.

White Mane reared his head up, and at Piper, and then, in a whisper he spoke a sentence that would etch itself into Piper’s young mind for the rest of his life.

“The thing is… I love you.”

His coat was soaked and matted down with his sweat. It glistened in the light from over his head and reflected in Piper’s eyes.

A quiet, surprised and startled, “What?” came from Piper’s mouth without him ever realizing he’d said it.

“I. Love. You.” White Mane repeated.

He spaced the words between breaths.

Piper swallowed another lump in his throat. Their eyes met. Piper’s felt warm and wet. White Mane’s were hard as stone.

He was serious.

Dead serious.

“How do you expect me to respond to this?”

White Mane never broke eye contact with Piper. He stamped forwards in steps that were frighteningly commanding and stopped only when their faces were inches from touching. Piper could feel the heat radiating from White Mane’s body.

It warmed his heart in the weirdest possible way.

“How about, you love me too?”

Never in all of Piper’s life had he met a colt who could just switch it on quite like White Mane. Contemplatively, Piper imagined his roommate’s life before he had been his roommate. There was a time once when White Mane had taken orders. Where a drill sergeant bellowed instructions at him and he was forced to listen. It seemed only fair to assume that this recent bout of unwavering confidence drew inspiration from those times.

As Piper’s mind drifted back to reality, the very true to life realization that he was standing on stage and staring at that same colt hit him hard. White Mane was waiting for a reply. Piper had to speak.

“How about,” His voice was octaves below shouting, but just barely, “I’m leaving?”

He broke White Mane’s hold on him and his shoulder crashed into White Mane’s chest when he shoved past him. A hoof slapped onto his shoulder and grabbed the fur hard. Piper stopped. Ice ran through his veins. White Mane spun him around so fast and with such force that Piper got lightheaded.

Face to face with White Mane again.

“Doesn’t anything I’ve said mean anything to you?”

It was White Mane’s turn to shout now.

Piper wiped the wetness out of his eyes. They stood so close now that the breath from White Mane’s nostrils tussled the fur around Piper’s mouth.

In a different time and another place, Piper might have loved being this close to White Mane.

“I… I’m sorry,” He sighed, then wiped the dampness out of the left eye. “I know it’s Hearth’s Warming Eve. I know you’re feeling… lonely. But, you can’t just show up here, tell me you love me and expect that to make everything alright!”

He bowed his head. He didn’t want to look at White Mane. He couldn’t look at White Mane.

He did anyway.

That smile of his -- the perfect blend between foalish innocence and adult earned pride. That showed no teeth and ended in those charming dimples -- was gone. In place of it, his lips were pressed tight together. Flat. His whole face looked absolutely blank as if joy was a foreign emotion to him and had been for all his life.

It hurt to see him look like this.

“That’s…” Piper was going to hate himself for this. “That’s not how this works…”

He took a few steps away from White Mane, who dashed after him. Again, when their bodies touched that warm feeling ran through Piper’s body, only this time White Mane stuck himself firmly in front of Piper, blocking his melodramatic escape.

“How about this way.” White Mane insisted “How about, I love that you get cold when it’s seventy one degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour to order a sandwich. I love that I can still smell your cologne on my clothes a day after I see you, and, I love that you’re the last person I want to see at the end of my day...”

Speechless. Piper was absolutely speechless. There were words he knew he had to say. Words to keep the conversation going. Words he had to speak so he didn’t ruin this moment for White Mane, but, they weren’t coming.

Out of context, everything he’d just heard White Mane say had been what he’d wanted to hear for so long, and yet, right now, it hurt more than anything knowing that they meant nothing.

White Mane stared at him silently for a minute. Two. Three. By the fourth the serious look on his face melted into panic. His brows raised, his jaw opened and he mouthed what looked like an urge for Piper to speak.

Still, the words never came from Piper.

“Um… scene?”

The voice came over the speaker.

The house lights came on. Warm light flooded the room and whatever illusions of there had ever been of romance in the room left with them.

Piper caught sight of his audience; two ponies -- male and female. Respectively. -- who sat in the mid row of the theatre. Before them a foldout poker table acting as a makeshift workdesk. The mare -- cloaked in the shade beneath the lights -- scribbled notes on a clip board, while the colt -- who Piper knew to be Honey Drop -- looked to be grinning at them.

The smug bastard.

White Mane turned away from Piper with a glare and not a word spoken. He faced his audience, leaving Piper to worry alone on stage.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” White Mane gushed, “There’s more. Really! It’s just, um,” And here he turned back to face Piper and licked his lower lips. “My partner forgot his lines and…”

The mare leaned towards a microphone stand before her. “It’s alright.”. she said, “Honestly. That was great you guys.”

White Mine’s eyes grew until the light blue orbs became all encompassing orbs that the spotlight reflected in. He turned to face Piper and smiled broadly.

Piper smiled back.

The mare leaned towards Honey Drop, her mouth inches from his ear and spoke into it. What she was saying Piper couldn’t hear. He could, however, see the smile growing on Honey Drop’s mouth and he knew right away that something uncanny was about to happen to him.

“That was really, really, great guys.” Said Ms. Microphone. “But, we’d like you two to do it again,”

White Mane nodded his head, almost violently.

Piper didn’t know if he could go through with this again.

“But,” Ms. Microphone reprimanded, “We’d like you two to switch roles this time.”

White Mane froze up.

“Um, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, quietly. “Did you say… ‘switch roles’ ?”

“Yes.” answered the speaker above them.

White Mane stared at Piper. Piper stared at White Mane. Honey Drop, with his pre-struck knowledge of their ‘scenario’ stared at the two of them and grinned like an asylum patient. If anyone was getting a kick out of this specific scenario, it was most certainly him.

“Right,” White Mane faked a smile. “From the top?”

Piper bit his lower lip hard.

“Yeah..”

He faked a smile. White Mane’s was genuine.

The things he did for his roommate/crush/love interest.

“Whenever you two are ready…” reminded their overseer.

Piper swallowed another lump in his throat.

He knew the lines. He’d heard White Mane go over them so many times over the past few weeks that he would dream about his roommate saying them -- and often when he did, White Mane would also be crawling into a bed with him. But that was beside the point -- and so that much he wasn’t worried about. What did worry him was having Honey Drop, who was fifty percent of the ponies in Equestria who knew about his feelings for White Mane, watching him.

Then, when he stared at White Mane, he was reminded about just how much this audition meant to him, and how, if he failed to please White Mane, he’d still end up feeling worse on his own than White Mane would make him feel later.

With a sigh, a grumble, and then a very obvious frown towards Honey Drop, he decided that this was just another sacrifice he’d have to make for White Mane’s sake.

“I..”

He stared down at his hooves. This was just a scene. Nothing more. This wasn’t real. Nothing he said to White Mane in this moment and time was going to mean anything…

… and knowing that made it hurt that much more.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” He said, frowning, “And the thing is…” He realized, suddenly, that he was grunting the words. They were coming out slowly and spaced between deep breaths that he told himself he needed to take to keep going. “That I. Love. You.”

He could see out of the corner of his eye Honey Drop’s stupid grin grow.

White Mane’s line came next. The passive, doe-eyed stare from White Mane’s soft ocean blue eyes leered through Piper’s pair.

“What?” White Mane prosed.

His stare turned sharp, hurtful and mean.

He was a fantastic actor to see working, and a terrible love interest to share a faux-confession of all of his unspoken feelings with.

Piper continued the scene.

“I love you.”

And it came from the heart, and it must have shown on his face, because when he caught a glimpse of his audience out of the corner of his left eye Honey Drop was biting the cap of his pen so hard he was almost eating it. Beside him, Miss Microphone’s eyes danced from him, to White Mane, back to him and then she was jotting down more words to parchment. She whispered into Honey Drop’s ear. Honey Drop bit the pen harder.

All of this happened in a flash.

***

The scene unfolded with little else substantial to it. Piper confessed all of his unchecked emotions to the object of his heart’s affection, White Mane, in accordance with his lines, responded and before either knew it the stage lights were smiling on them again and he was done saying what needed to be said.

He could smell the sweat that drenched his body. The lights, and the heat coming from them, didn’t help. He’d given this performance more than his one hundred and ten percent and he felt entirely drained from it.

White Mane, too, looked tired. He’d shifted his weight onto his right side and let both of his left legs hang loose. Both of them now waited for the reformation of Honey Drop and whoever Miss Microphone was, who had stepped out minutes after Piper had bared his heart and soul on stage before them.

“That was really, really, good Piper.” White Mane said, breaking the uneasy silence. “You’re a natural.”

Heat rose to his face, but Piper couldn’t tell if it came with an attached blush.

“Thanks.” He said, smiling with his roommate.

Even if it hadn’t meant near as much to White Mane as it had to him, Piper took a great deal of pride in knowing he’d at the very least earned a newfound respect from his roommate. It didn’t get him any closer to White Mane romantically, sure, but it did further strengthen the bond they had as friends.

And he was quite alright with that.

The doors to the theatre came open with a harrowing sound worse than a Gryphons claws dragging across a chalkboard. It had been far too long since they’d been oiled. With the sound of the doors came the noise of hooves descending a stairwell until the two bodies of his, and White Mane’s, audience were once again in their seats. Honey Drop’s face was cloaked in shadow, his partner’s -- Miss Microphone -- was not. She leaned her face to the microphone and spoke.

“We’re going to take a quick break before the next audition.” she said, flatly. “But, you two were really fantastic up there.”

A flush of crimson broke out on White Mane’s cheeks. His posterior -- Piper watched carefully -- shook triumphantly and when he was sure neither Miss Microphone or Honey Drop were watching, White Mane kicked himself off of the ground and threw his front hooves in the air. Triumph over the forces of ill unjust luck in his movements.

He landed with the grace of a housecat.

“Piper,” he sighed. Piper liked it when he did this; the way his name rolled off of his roomate’s tongue was high pitched and filled with the same enthusiasm a foal gave to a parent. “Thank you so, so, so, so, soooo much for helping me with this.”

And, before Piper knew how to feel about it, White Mane was on him. His hooves were tight around his throat, his body -- sweaty as it was -- pressed firmly against him, and the furry cheek on the right of his face was rubbing against Piper’s left.

“No-”

He didn’t ever want to break this embrace.

“-Problem.”

The girlish squeal of utter delight that came out of White Mane’s mouth was one that made Piper’s cheeks run hot. White Mane broke his hug with Piper. His hooves touched the ground and when they did, he wasted no time before launching into a jovial skipping session. He hopped -- front legs first, back legs last -- in circles around Piper, and sung him praise. Piper was the best. Piper was the kindest. He was the sweetest. He was the best friend any colt could ever have. White Mane could kiss Piper he was so happy, unless, that sounded weird?

Did it?

No. Not at all.

Of course, Piper didn’t say this. Choosing to say absolutely nothing instead and try to get through the rest of his day/week/month/lifetime without wondering how White Mane would have acted if he’d suddenly grabbed him by the cheeks and planted a soft, slow and sensual -- hopefully tongue involved -- kiss on his roommate’s mouth.

There was a tiny island, just off the coast of a land called ‘Pity’, somewhere fit between the landmass of ‘Pathetic’ and province of ‘Desperate’ called ‘The Friend Zone’. Piper lived on that island. All alone.

Big dramatic sigh.

“Piper,” The robotic voice of the microphone said, attracting his attention, “I’d like to meet you outside if that’s alright?”

Many years ago his father had taught him about the dangers associated with listening to omnipresent voices. And, while the age of eight was a curious time for a father to teach a son about the declining mental state of a much loved grandparent, Piper chose to ignore his father’s words and listen to his latest command.

***

“Hi,” was the first word that she spoke to him and it did a little to settle Piper’s curious mind.

Before him stood Miss Microphone. In the flesh.

No longer wrapped in shadows like she had been in the theatre -- instead, illuminated with the amber glow of an overhanging fluorescent arrangement -- Piper could make out every inch of her being. She stood a half a hoof taller than he. Thinner, in a feminine way, with shapely curves in her thighs and shoulders, a flat stomach and not a single inch of flab to be found on her entire body. She looked older too.

She was pretty. White from head to toe -- the colour of porcelain-- and wore her apple red mane long and wild -- bangs chopped jagged in the front. Heavy over the ears and the rest a contained mess behind her head. Her body was fit, and tight in all the right places.

Piper shook his head to stop himself from staring.

He -- Piper -- was a colt in his late teens, going on his early twenties whereas, she, looked to be at the latest mid-way from teens to proper adulthood. If he had to guess -- and he’d often been taught it was improper to guess a mare’s age, so he wouldn’t ever speak it out loud -- she was somewhere between the age of twenty and twenty three.

“I’m Ziggy,”

This was how Piper met Ziggy; Stage Manager of the play he’d just helped his best friend audition for.

She smiled. It was sweet, and showed two rows of perfect teeth. Her hoof pulled a few loose strands of her crimson mane behind a snow coloured ear.

“Well, actually, it’s Stardust.” She admitted softly. Still smiling. “But most ponies just call me ‘Ziggy’...”

Piper chuckled, “That’s pretty clever.”

Illusions of fading rockstars clinging onto their relevance to society filled his mind. As quick as these thoughts came on, they left all at once when she -- Ziggy/Stardust -- rolled her eyes. Her lashes tickled her brow. She spoke again.

“That’s the kind of highbrow humor you get from a mixed gender private school in Manehattan,” She droned. “Thank you so very much, Le Joice.”

“You went to Le Joice?”

Trust fund babies were introduced to powerful connections at Le Joice. Lawyers. Bankers. Politicians. Ponies of power and influence were spit out of the garish halls of the private school and shoveled into colleges like Coltlumbia. For her to come from such proud roots and wind up at an -- admittedly top tier -- arts school was something of a spectacle.

“Mhmmm,” she sighed. Her shoulders lifted with a shrug.“From middle school until grade twelve.”

“Oh, wow,” Piper huffed, "That's actually really impressive, y'know?"

He was being totally, completely, honest.

Sparks turned to flames that danced in her pupils. Her smile, a simple thing, turned prideful and heartfelt and grew. She opened her mouth. Her eyes closed. She shut her mouth and shook her head from side to side.

“Thanks,” She brushed long flowing strands of her mane behind her ear and turned away from him "That's nice of you to say, but, my parents kind of forced me into it."

Piper, for the first time in a very, very long time, didn’t know what to say. Silence followed. He scratched an itch on the back of his neck, tussling strands of his pumpkin mane around. He wanted to say something. Anything. But his mouth felt heavy and his stupid cheeks felt too damn warm.

Ziggy with her infinite wisdom gained from a career of studying faces for a living, sensed his tension.

“That was a really powerful performance back there,” She said. There was admiration in her tone. She was being sincere. “Honestly, Piper. I swear to Celestia I could feel the tension…”

“Yeah, well, White Mane has really been putting in the work.” He laughed, selfishly, while his brain conjured up images from a series of nights in the past few days of his life. “Last week, I swear he woke me up in the middle of the night mumbling his lines in his sleep.”

She laughed. A simple three note crescendo that sounded lovely coming from her. Her hoof touched his shoulder.

The touch felt nice.

“No, no,” she chuckled. “White Mane's performance was really good, but your performance... I haven't seen a colt put that much heart and soul into an audition in a long time.”

“Mine?” He stumbled on the word, so that when it came out it sounded like more so like it were spoken by a pony with a speech impediment.

‘M-M-Mine?’

H-H-He was being a-a-absolutely r-r-ridiculous right now.

The room seemed smaller now than it had before and suddenly he felt like he were two sizes too big for the hallway he stood in.

“Yes yours,” Again she laughed and a calm washed over him with it. “You were fantastic! It was so refreshing to see a colt pour so much heart and soul into his work.”

Piper’s cheeks felt hot.

“Oh… Uh…” His hooves joined together on the floor. He stared up at Ziggy. “Er…”

At least he wasn’t adding a stutter his grunts.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank.’ and ‘You.’?”

His cheeks had never felt so hot in his life.

“Right... Right...” Once more the words were caught in his throat. “Thank you.”

He said the words like he had a debilitating mental illness. They came out sounding so soft and so flat that he almost considered the idea that he did, in fact, suffer from an ‘Antisocial Personality Disorder’. Or at the worst, a heavy blow to his cranium at a young age.

Somehow -- for some reason -- Ziggy was smiling again. This time it was more of a grin though. A kind one. Playful even.

“Which part were you trying out for?” She asked, “Because, I think you’d really nail the lead, and-”

This was where Piper took pause, because he didn’t have an answer. Or, he did, but his answer was that he actually wasn’t auditioning. Somehow it felt… strange to tell the girl who had just complimented him on his apparently above average acting skills this fact.

“Me? Oh no. No, no, no...” He gushed, waving his hooves out before him. “I’m not an actor. I’m a film major.”

“Really?” Her curiosity peaked, she cocked a curious brow, rubbed her chin and smiled. “Yep. I can see it.” she said after momentarily studying him, his frame, his stance, and anything else about him it apparently took to make such an observation. “You certainly have that look.”

“Uh...” He nervously probed his mane. “Thanks?”

“So,” she hummed through pursed lips, still maintaining her studious gaze on him. “Why did you audition if you’re not interested in the play?”

“I’m just here for White Mane.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Her gaze, however, surveyed his body. She studied his face, then his body, before returning to his eyes and smiling in a way that spoke about her mental state. A thought, or an understanding, seemed to be reached far within her mind.

“Isn’t he just the sweetest colt who ever lived?” She asked, in reference to his roommate. “Its so nice to meet a freshman, especially an actor, who isn’t a pretentious asshat.” She sighed and craned her neck to the side. “But, then again, all of you guys seem to be like that.”

“Yeah, he is really sweet.” Piper agreed in a whisper, until a thought hit his mind. “Wait… you’re not a freshman?”

She laughed.

“If only,” She continued to chuckle. “Sorry to ruin the illusion, but, no, I’m not. I’m a senior.” Then she stopped, and acceptance washed over her. “...I hope that doesn’t make me seem lame?”

“No, no..” Piper defended. “It’s just… you just seem… young.”

“Oh, Mistah Piper,” her tone changed. A credit to the tips she must have picked up running with a theatre crowd, her tone was spotless. Slow as molasses and just as heavy. A proper southern drawl. “I do believe you’re being too kind.”

She threw her head backwards and a thousand strands of burgundy mane flew with it. She draped a hoof over her eyes, mockingly shocked, and waited a second before lifting her hoof and peaking out from underneath.

Piper stood tense, unsure of what to say or how to react to this. He shifted his jaw, left to right, and ground his hoof against the floor.

Ziggy's weight fell onto her front right hoof, which tapped the floor, nervously.

"Sorry," She mumbled, "Was that... too weird?"

"No," Piper smiled, "You do a really good Southern Belle..."

“Well, I declare,” She exasperated, putting on her Southern Belle once again, "You are a silver tongued devil in the flesh."

Piper flushed, then when it subsided, chuckled.

Ziggy laughed too.

“All joking aside,” She said, returning the conversation onto a simpler subject, easier to read subject. “You were excellent on that stage. I don't want to impose, but we’re putting up the cast list tomorrow. Why don’t you, at the very least put your name down?”

Piper mulled his options; joining the cast would take time out of his schedule. Time that would otherwise be spent… lusting over White Mane. Yearning for White Mane. Craving White Mane. If White Mane got cast, and he didn’t, that meant he’d get to spend less time with him. But, if Piper just signed up for a part as even an extra that would mean they could spend more time together.

“Sure,” He shrugged, trying to act casual. “Why not?”

The smile on her face reached a new height, showing, again, her perfect teeth that were quizzically transfixing for Piper, who stared at them, and then her, dazed.

“Great,” She said. “I have a few more auditions today, and… Hey, are you going to be at the party tonight?”

He’d heard White Mane talk about it all week. Sunny Side and Honey Drop were hosting a soiree at their house for several of the colts and mares who had made up their theatre department. He hadn’t been back at Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s place since his encounter with Stormy and his latest experience with drinking games at Camden, so he’d decided, at first to refute the offer. But now, he was practically a member of the cast, and so it made sense to put aside his history with their home and look forward to a better, brighter future.

“I… uh,”

Her smile was so inviting.

“I think so…”

“Great,” she said, again. “That’s really great.”

Piper didn’t exactly see what was so ‘really great’ about it. If this party was anything it was going to be a three hour -- or longer depending on when White Mane wanted to leave -- affair featuring a body of students at Camden who held themselves heads and tails above the rest of the crowd. Actors were like that. Sunny Side was like that. Honey Drop, who was a director, did his best to curb his boyfriend’s superior lifestyle, but flashes of his desires to act pretentious still shone through.

White Mane, somehow, hadn’t let the acting bug get to his head.

Either way, he smiled courteously at Ziggy.

“It should be a good time,” He said, “Sunny Side and Honey Drop have a very nice place.”

This was true. Their renovated two story home had often acted as a secondary hangout for himself, White Mane, Scout’s Honor and Vincent. He knew it well. Almost as well as the owners. It was spacious enough to host many, and luxurious enough to distinguish itself from the frat houses that surrounded it.

“I’ve never been,” Ziggy admitted. “Are their parties fun?”

Piper laughed. ‘Fun.’ and ‘Party’ were two words that meant opposite things to him then they did to Sunny Side and Honey Drop. Where he was from ‘parties’ were gatherings of upwards of fifty ponies in a parent’s townhouse. Parties were binge drinking. Parties were avoiding all the drugs and addicts that came with them. Parties were coming home when the sun came up. Parties at Camden were almost exactly the same as parties back home, only, Camden traded all the palm trees, beaches and pretentious wannabees for oak and spruce trees, green grass courtyards and… pretentious wannabes in berets and scarves.

To Sunny Side and Honey Drop, parties were quiet intellectual gatherings where red wine was served room tempature, white wine was served cold, and cheese was cut into thin -- calorie smart -- slices was served, Old Jazz from a parent’s collection, or New-Wave rock, was played and politics, fashion trends, colts on campus who had great bodies and girls who had gotten fat since the start of the semester were discussed.

He licked his lips. “They’re… um...?

“Not so fun?” she finished for him.

“Yeah…”

Yes, he was throwing Sunny SIde and Honey Drop under the proverbial cart. Yes, their parties were lame, tame and paled in comparison to festive outings like the ‘Dress to Get Bucked.’ party, or the ‘Come Where You Are.’ student mixer.

Lying to Ziggy and saving face with Sunny Side and Honey Drop felt wrong.

“It’s not going just going to be a bunch of ponies sitting on couches, drinking wine, using coasters, eating cheese and talking about who’s banging who, and who’s getting fatter, is it?”

When Piper didn’t answer Ziggy chuckled and slapped her hoof to her forehead.

“I love those two,” She said, “But, they’re not exactly the living definition of ‘exciting’.” She stopped, to make sure her words hadn’t struck a chord with Piper. Which they hadn’t. “You must know what I mean…. right?”

Piper nodded, and she smiled, relieved.

“Oh, phew,” she exhaled. “I was worried that made me sound… insensitive or something?”

“I think you’re in the clear.” chuckled Piper, prodding her with his hoof. “You can find gay ponies boring without being a hate monger, y’ know?”

In a dramatic change to the dynamic of the conversation, her cheeks -- and not his -- fell red with flush and she turned away.

“Oh, you are such a little jerk.” She snickered, trying not to look at Piper, who grinned back at her. Seeing him smiling, the eyes rolled in her head and she pushed him back. “A tenacious little rascal.”

She was doing another accent now. It was posh, upper class, and reminded him of his mother.

“Yup. That’s me.” He sniggered back, playfully, “I’m a real monster.”

“I can tell.” She beamed, still keeping the accent. “You’re simply terrible.”

A static crackle came from above their heads. A speaker came to life and seconds later Honey Drop’s voice muffled by an electronic filter spoke.

“Uh, Zig’? We need you back in the theatre.”

She sighed; a sharp breath left her mouth and her body inflated.

“Busy day?”

She stared up at him.

“I’ve been up since six,” She said, “Auditioning since seven. I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet…”

“Ouch.”

“Mhmm,” She nodded. “The good news is; I only have six more colts and three mares trying out. That shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half-

“-And then you can just nap at the ‘party’ tonight...” Piper finished her thought.

Ziggy giggled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, still chuckling, “I promise it won’t be that bad.”

“Well, of course not,” She said. Her eyes, which turned onto Piper, slowly narrowed and Piper thought it curious. “I’m going to be there after all…” She brushed another lock of her mane out of her face, and, Piper wondered how she managed to keep it the length she did. It seemed to have a mind of its own. “And, if it turns sour you can sneak out with me and head to Saltee’s for a few drinks. Its only a few blocks from their place. They probably won’t even notice...”

“I’m glad to see you have such unshaken faith in tonight,” Piper smirked.

The mechanical, electrical, cackle again came from over their heads.

“Uh, Ziggy?” Honey Drop’s voice begged. “Whenever you want to, you know, ‘stage manage’ would be great…”

“Ugh!” Grunted the mare, shaking her head from side to side. “Listen, I need to run, but you need to sign up for this play, and I need to have a drink with you at the party tonight.”

“Right,” Piper nodded. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you Ms. Stardust.”

“And you as well, Mr. Piper.”

She turned away from him, and Piper found himself watching her fleeing form until she was in the theatre and the door had shut behind her. And then, he watched for a good few seconds after wondering why his stomach felt light and where the sudden boost to his mood had come from.

There came a familiar low pitched humming from a corner not far from where he stood. White Mane with a goofy smile came from that same corner a second later. There was that familiar, giddy, skip in his step and Piper couldn’t stop the smile spread up his cheeks if he wanted too.

“Hello, Piper,” White Mane sang when he noticed his roommate. “Were you just talking with Ziggy?”

Piper nodded.

“Isn’t she just ah-maze-ing?” He spaced the ‘amazing’ out in a way that, if it had been any other pony, Piper would have found entirely annoying, but from his roommate’s mouth, sounded utterly tolerable and a little bit enjoyable.

“Mhmm.” Piper nodded. “She’s nice…”

“Yup, yup.” White Mane gabbed, still smiling, “She’s the best stage manager I’ve ever had. Well, she’s the only stage manager I’ve ever had, but, she’s really nice, right?”

Piper’s eyes diverted from his roommate, back to the door, and he found himself smiling.

“What’d you two talk about?”

Non-sequiturs. Who went to school where. How he might be joining the cast. The usual stuff freshmen film majors talked about in hallways with senior stage managers.

“This and that.”

“Did she say anything, um, about me?”

White Mane’s eyes had grown wide like a housecat’s; two enormous baby blue pupils stared at him.

“A few things...”

“Like what?”

White Mane lunged forwards and darted until he he stood barely an inch before Piper.

“Well, uh…”

It felt alright to extend the truth to White Mane in this moment if the good vibrations from his small, itty bitty, teeny weeny, white lie made his roommate’s entire day. Right?

“She was very impressed with you.”

He could have swooned. He could have squeeled. He could have done any number of other eccentric actions that were characteristic of him and that Piper had come to expect -- and, honestly, look forward too aswell. When he remained calm and cool Piper found himself ashamed that he’d expected at the least a tight hug from White Mane.

Instead, he swished a lock of his mane away from his face.

“I knew it,” He said, non challantly, “I knew I aced it!”

Piper bit his lower lip. Said nothing.

“Thank you, Piper.”

It wasn’t the first time White Mane was thanking him that day, but, it felt just as comforting then as it did now.

Still hardly a breath away from him, White Mane lifted to his rear legs and stepped forward. His hooves ran around Piper’s neck and held his face tight against White Mane chest.

“You’re such a good friend.”

The S.S. Romantic Closeness passed by the island of Friend Zone and a crowd of onlookers gathered on the deck, clung to the railing and waved goodbye to the island’s sole inhabitant.

Piper bit his lower lip and said nothing.

“Can we grab some lunch before we head home?” White Mane asked. “I know how silly this sounds, but, I always like to have a big chocolate milkshake after an audition.”

Piper couldn’t help himself; he laughed loudly and wrapped a hoof over White Mane’s shoulder. He pulled the other colt to him and held him tight, for a minute, then released.

“Sure thing” He said, “But, only if you’re paying, though...”

Softly, White Mane punched his hoof into Piper’s cheek and the other colt faked his injury. His face shot sideways, his pumpkin mane flying wildly with it, and he even faked a stagger, before bouncing back.

“Fine, fine,” He laughed. “I’m buying.”

White Mane smiled.

“Thanks, Piper.” He said.

He shoved his face towards the colt and nuzzled it against his throat. Piper could smell the cologne -- which was a more masculine scent than he’d expected -- in his coat, which, mixed with the sweat he’d earned onstage, gave him a nice musk that Piper, embarrassingly, found himself taking a few choice whiffs of.

“Want to leave now?” He asked, pulling his face away from Piper. “I think we should be able to beat the lunch crowd at Nell’s.”

Piper stared at the door, then noticed, for the first time, the signup sheet for the cast hung attached to a clipboard. His mind flashed to Ziggy. Her pride in his performance. How she’d complimented his acting range and how she’d, actually, been the first to ever do such a thing.

“Go ahead,” He insisted, gliding away from White Mane and towards the signup sheet, “I’ll catch up with you…”

Nonplussed, White Mane smiled, nodded, then skipped through down the hall while Piper wrote in proper cursive his name down on the casting list, wondering all the while if he was making the right choice.

***

The front door to the two story household swung open with a humbled ‘swish’, and in walked a colt fresh from a day spent with his nose to the grindstone.

“Sunny, I’m home.” said Honey Drop.

“In the kitchen, hun.”

Honey Drop glided on light hooves through the front entryway and into the kitchen, where, he found his significant other, garnished in a white, frilly, apron with ‘Respect The Chemistry’, pacing in front of the unopened stove. He threw himself over Sunny Side’s back. Wrapped hooves around the delicate frame of his boyfriend and nuzzled his face deep into the back of his well kept mane. The aroma of baked goods mixed well with whatever Sunny Side used as conditioner.

His boyfriend smelled fruity.

“Today was such a hassle,” He grunted, kissing first, and then nibbling on strands of Sunny Side’s mane. “Auditions shouldn’t ever drag that much out of a pony.”

Sunny Side turned himself away from the oven and met Honey Drop’s mouth in a soft, neutral, kiss and found himself taken back when Honey Drop spun his body around, so that both their chests touched, and draped a hoof to the supple flesh of his right flank. He -- Honey Drop -- deepened the kiss; his tongue -- the wild pink menace -- invaded the far reaches of Sunny Side’s mouth. It licked molars, fangs and stopped only when it wrestled against its equal -- Sunny Side’s own tongue.

Breathless, both colts pulled their faces away but still kept their hooves attached to the waist of each other’s bodies.

Sunny Side, staring longingly into the eyes of his boyfriend, resting his head against his neck and kissed the throat belonging to his boyfriend.

“I just spent all afternoon running errands, picking up groceries and setting up for tonight.” said he before he took a gentle nip at Honey Drop’s windpipe. “So, don’t you dare tell me about how busy your day was…”

Honey Drop responded with unrestrained aggression. He kissed, bit, then suckled, Sunny Side’s right ear, until he earned a moan from his boyfriend and decided that he was very much satisfied.

“Sure. Sure.” He laughed, pulling away. “You got to spend all day baking pastries and putting coasters out. Meanwhile I only had to decide with Ziggy who makes it past auditions, and who in the theatre department I never want to make eye contact with again…”

Sunny Side’s chuckle rumbled against Honey Drop’s chest.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” he sighed, “How did it go, by the way?”

Honey Drop sighed. Low and heavy.

“Well,” he began backing away from his other and clearing a fake loogie out of his throat. “Most of the ponies who tried out were almost worse than terrible.” He threw a hoof to shield his eyes in mock-dramatic fashion. “I’ve seen Timberwolves who could recite lines better than a good population of what passes for drama students these days…”

“-And the ones who didn’t suck?”

“They were good. Mostly.” He sighed. A sparkle developed in his pupils. “But, oh Celestia, you should have seen White Mane’s audition. He did lines from some rom-com flick… he even had Piper play opposite of him. ”

Sunny Side’s pupils expanded.

“Oh my gosh.” He gasped, trying to catch his breath. “How adorable was it?”

Honey Drop bit his lower lip. A frown broke out and sullied his once neutral face.

“He was… adequate.” Said Honey Drop, nearly drawing blood from his lower lip. “Very, very, adequate…”

“But… not so great?”

“Well,” Honey Drop stopped abruptly and hooves that had once been tapping against the limestone tiles of the kitchen, suddenly found themselves ruining an otherwise well kept mane. “White Mane was... alright.”

“But?” Sunny Side, probed.

Honey Drop’s lower lip quivered and he found himself staring away from Sunny Side, transfixed first by the Wonderbolts analog clock on the wall, then, by the slowly dripping faucet behind his boyfriend’s head.

“The thing is; Piper was really, really, good.” He said, “And, well, I’m not exactly sure why… but… Ziggy thinks he’d be great in the play-”

“So, you have to cast him. So what?”

“Well… Ziggy thinks he’d be perfect for the lead…”

“That’s fantastic!” Sunny Side, shouted excitedly. “I didn’t even know Piper could act.”

He frowned when Honey Drop shook his head in defeat.

“Which is the exact same role that White Mane was auditioning for.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

The second hand of the clock ticked away. Then the minute hand. Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes of silence.

Sunny Side took it on himself to kill the deadness in the room.

“Can’t you cast them both?” he asked, “If Piper is only in the play to be closer with White Mane -- Which is totally adorable by the way -- then why don’t you just cast him in a smaller role and give White Mane the lead?”

“Because… Ziggy says...”

“Don’t you let her bully you into making a decision,” Sunny Side was frowning. “She’s just stage managing. She might have seniority over you, but you’re still the director.”

Honey Drop’s grunt filled the room and gave his boyfriend the impression that perhaps this was a topic he wanted to avoid.

“The thing is, I think she’s right. I love White Mane, but, I can get a better performance from Piper…”

He stamped a hoof hard against the floor. Glasses shook in their shelves.

“Honey. Darling.” Sunny Side moved forwards. His face, again, nuzzled against the other’s chest. “You’re going to get wrinkles with all this stress. Why don’t you just relax for tonight. You don’t have to make any serious decisions until tomorrow night, correct?”

Honey Drop’s head perked up from the floor.

“Yeah.” He said.

“Then, come lover.” He summoned Honey Drop with a brush of his tail against his boyfriend’s cheek. “We are going to open a bottle of Merlot. You’re going to relax. We’re both going to get a nice, mellow, buzz on before any guests show up. Agreeable?”

“Very,” Honey Drop grinned.

His magic, a neon blue aura, surrounded a bottle of Merlot and lifted it from the counter. In the calm minute that followed, Honey Drop took a moment gaze at the fruits of his boyfriend’s labour.

There were crystal glasses, and a silver tray with an assortment of different cheeses -- Gouda. Cheddar. Mozzarella -- all sliced neatly. Beside them a neat arrangement of sliced vegetables. Tomatoes. Olives. White and Red onions. This was garnished with two thick stalks of what smelled like basil.

Sunny Side had really given this his entire day’s effort.

The merlot lead the way for the two colts, who exited out of the kitchen and into the living room. Honey Drop flopped onto the rustic sectional with Sunny Side beside him. Sprawled out, Sunny Side lay himself against Honey Drop’s chest and fixed his body so that he used his other’s chest as a pillow.

Honey Drop opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

There were tough decisions to make in his future. The kinds that could spell certain disaster for a production he intended on putting all of his effort into, or, alternatively, potentially ruin a friendship. These were things he would tear hooffulls of his mane out about later. Right now he planned on getting a nice buzz and spending time with his boyfriend.

Another neon aura gripped the wine glass and brought it to his mouth. Two long sips -- gulps more so -- and the glass was empty. Mellow feelings washed over him. His eyes scanned the room, fell on bulky designer luggage bags and his inner zen was broken.

He topped off another glass of wine.

“Singer,” he grunted the name.

“Yes?” his boyfriend purred against him, half concerned, half not. “What about her?”

“Do you think she’s alright?”

For Sunny Side, the familiar concern for his sister was sweeter to hear than being reminded of the nightmare they had waiting for them for the next indeterminable time of their lives.

“I’m more worried about Vincent and Scout,” he said. “But, I haven’t heard any rumors about any ponies being arrested for sexual harassment, or Gryphons being deported for murder, so they must be doing alright…”

Morbid humor aside, Sunny Side’s point was well met by his boyfriend.

“Yeah,” was all Honey Drop had to say about the matter.

He sipped long and methodically from his second glass of wine.

“I’m sure they’re doing fine.”

***

Vincent the Gryphon held his head high and smiled politely at the passing section of pretty mares who trotted by him on the park bench. The girls smiled back. One of them -- a blonde with a grey coat -- whispered something to one of her friends and then all three were taken up in with a vicious case of flirty giggles. Vincent gave them a grin. The girls waved at him. The red and black checkered scarf that the blonde mare wore blew with the breeze.

They walked away still giggling. Vincent raised a large styrofoam cup to his beak and inhaled the aroma of a Pumpkin Spice Latte. There were many, many things he loved about Pony Culture that a gryphon simply didn’t have the opportunity to have and seasonally flavoured lattes were one of them.

“Vincent,” A feminine, voice rich with an exotic accent that tickled his eardrums, purred.

Vincent raised his head to face his audience.

He wasn’t sure who he’d expected. There were only a clawful of mares he knew who knew him by name on campus, and her voice carried a much too youthful and upbeat tone to be one of his professors -- she’d also addressed him under casual pretense, without the much professional ‘Mr.’ attached before his name.

And there before him was a mare. A pegasus, pretty and young with an impressive teal wingspan. Hints of her same coloured coat poked out from the throat of the chocolate fall jacket she wore. On her hind -- hips to her well past her calves -- a pair of ink black yoga pants hid her rear. Skin tight as they were, they were putting in the work of showing the tone and defined muscle of her legs.

“Hey,” greeted the gryphon. “What’s up?”

“I hate to be a bother,” she said, “But, I took a bathroom break during the lecture today and missed about a page worth of notes. I don’t suppose…?”

She didn’t have to say it for him to realize what she was asking.

“Of course,” Vincent responded.

He reached his claw into his shoulder bag and searched for his notepad. He kept his head up, his gaze on her, and smiled, politely. She smiled back. His claw touched against the roughness of faux rawhide. In one precise, swift movement, he pulled his notepad out and held it before him.

“You’re a life saver,” she sighed. She grabbed the notepad in her and tossed it into a suede saddlebag hung over her left shoulder. Her head lifted again. “I’m pretty sure I flunked that test last week and I really, really, need to ace this class to boost my G.P.A. I’m trying to get into Coltlumbia for grad school...”

“I could help you study?” he offered. “I’m sitting on an A- for this class.”

Her brows, both of them, raised curiously.

“Seriously?”

Vincent smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. The prof’s lectures are boring as sin, but if you can get past how much he talks about his divorce pretty much everything else he says is on the tests.”

She giggled.

“Well, uh, listen,” She said. Her hoof began curling a lock of her mane and her lower left hoof brushed the cobblestone. “I have a History of Equestrian Cartography make up test at four, then I have to meet my study group for Cultural Studies at six, but I’m free after if you are?”

“Ugh,” he grunted, scratching the underside of the park bench. “I have this… party that my friends invited me too.”

“Oh…”

It sounded like a defeat was in his future and if Vincent was anything else, he was strongly opposed to that.

“But,” he said, grinning, “I’m allowed to bring a plus one, as per the invite...”

When the words left his mouth he considered the idea that he might have gone from ‘charming’ and ‘quirky’, to ‘desperate’ and ‘needy’ in record time. He clicked his tongue in his mouth, waited, then prayed to a higher power for a time machine.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she said. Her hoof rubbed her chin, contemplatively. Vincent again humored the idea that perhaps he wasn’t as smooth and suave as he once thought. “Would anyone I know be going?”

“I couldn’t really say?”

“Why’s that?”

"We don’t really hang out enough for me to know your friends.”

“Wait a second,” In a heartbeat the soft features of her face turned hard. Her eyebrows furrowed together, her pupils shrunk into slants and her smile faltered, fizzled, then dropped. “Do you even know my name, Vincent?”

Vincent coughed into his curled claw.

This was the point where, if he was Scout’s Honor -- who wouldn’t have made it this far with a mare anyway -- he would pray that the powers that be guided his brain to tell his mouth the answer he was looking for. But, since Vincent the Gryphon was not his roommate, and had more than a shred of honor about him, he decided to act honestly.

“...No.” He sighed and stared down at the floor. He didn’t have to watch her walk away in anger.

The wind blew heavy and rustled the feathers on the back of his neck.

“Vincent,”

He peaked his head up to see her still standing before him and smiling.

“I was just messing around with you.”

He smiled back at her, and tried to contain his desire to wipe the sweat from his forehead. She made a move. Her hoof raised to him and she held it before her, aimed at his chest, ready for his claw to meet it, grip it and then shake it. Which he did.

“I’m Effy.”

“Effy?”

“On paper I’m Miss Turbulent Flight.” She stated, “My parents had a dark sense of humor.”

“Effy though?”

“It used to be ‘Flighty’, then I realized after I turned eleven that no one should ever self impose that on themselves, so I trimmed the fat a bit and went with ‘F.’ for a while, then, ‘Effy’. sort of came after that..’.”

Vincent nodded.

“Well, Effy, it’s nice to know you and then meet you. In that order.” said Vincent, “I’m just, Vincent. My parents were a different kind of cruel than yours.”

“The pleasure’s all mine Just Vincent.” She said, a crooked grin crawling up the side of her mouth. "And, as much as I'd love to come and hang out with you and a bunch of strangers, I really do need to study for at least one of the tests I have next week.

Vincent scratched a hoof under his furry chin. His jaw cracked left, then right. In a moment of calm his eyes popped out of his head and an agreement was reached in his mind.

"Compromise?" He suggested.

Effy raised a well earned brow.

"Come out with me tonight?" He stated, in a question, "We'll have a few drinks. You bring your friends? I'll introduce you to mine? We can make up for all the time we waste tonight by getting together and studying tomorrow?"

Effy said nothing for a quiet minute. Then a smile crawled up her cheeks and she spoke.

"Deal," She said, "But, you have to promise not to judge me based on my friends? They're all history majors so they're not the liveliest bunch."

Vincent laughed.

"Hey, fifty percent of my circle of friends are out of the closet drama majors."

Effy's turn to laugh. Vincent found it relaxing to hear.

"Should I be worried about you, Mr. Just Vincent?" She prosed, followed by a snarky giggle. "You know 'Birds of a feather' and all..."

Vincent puffed his chest out.

"I assure you," He said, grinning, "I am, and always have been, fascinated by the feminine form."

"Oh, really?" Effy snickered.

Vincent, not blushing, scratched his claw into the fur of his right arm.

"Relax," Effy said. She leaned forward and her hoof struck his chest, "I have faith in you..."

She pulled her hoof back and reached it into the pocket of her saddlebag. When it came out she held in her hoof a pack of menthols. The same brand -- he noted with wavering resentment -- that Singer, his friend's sister, smoked. She fished two out, one for her, one for Vincent.

"Smoke?" She offered.

Vincent shrugged and accepted.

Back home, in gryphon-land, most everyone smoked cigars. Fat, tobacco wrapped tubes that smelt like kibbel and tasted like stale vegetables. There were gryphons, of course, who smoked cigarettes, but they were less common. Vincent was one of them.

She puffed her cigarette like a cigar. Occasionally, Effy would blow smoke clouds. But, mostly she didn't. Vincent, for what it was worth, inhaled and exhaled methodically.

"Your friends are nice?" She asked, blowing another smoke ring. "I mean, they won't mind me showing up with some friends?"

Vincent, exhaling through his nose like a dragon, shook his head.

"Nah," He said, "They're all good ponies."

Effy smiled.

"Good, good." She said in response. "I'm always in the market of expanding my circle of friends. I haven't had a gay best friend since high school."

Vincent laughed. Low and heavy.

"White Mane is the way to go if you need a gay best friend," He jested. Grinning. "He's the nicest colt, who ever liked other colts, that I've ever met."

"Didn't he used to go out with Stormy?"

Vincent, surprised at her knowledge of his friend's love life (Or, rather, lack thereof.) found himself frowning.

"You know Stormy?"

"Please," Effy chuckled, "Every sexually active colt at this school knows Stormy..."

"There was a... thing between them. Yeah." Vincent shrugged, "I don't think White Mane got over it, though."

"That poor guy," she hummed.

"Yeah..." was all Vincent said to the matter.

Maybe she could tell it was a touchy subject, or, maybe she couldn't. One way or the other, Effy the Pegasus decided to change the subject.

"I should get going," She said. "It's been a slice."

"Wait,"

Effy waited.

"What's happening with you, and me, and the party tonight?"

Effy grinned, playfully.

"Do you have a pen?" she asked.

***

And that was how Vincent the Gryphon met Effy the Pegasus. Not long after -- sometime between when he was finished celebrating his personal victory over the forces of defeat, despair and rejection and when they parted ways -- he traded information with her about studying, parties, and who knew who on campus.

His night went as follows; At eight she was going to meet him at his place. If all went well, Scout would curb his enthusiasm at having Vincent invite not one but two mares to their dorm room long enough for Vincent to familiarize himself with Effy.

He had just the thing for the occasion.

Beneath his bed in a solid steel lock box, beside a small fortune of unsigned travellers cheques, postcards from his family, his passport, and a seldom used pack of rolling papers, was a bottle of Flor De Cana. Top shelf brand rum imported from home that had cost him a more than he’d care to admit -- he wasn’t the type to brag -- and aged for thirteen years.

Black feather gryphons of the lowlands -- of which Vincent was one -- had earned a reputation over centuries as providers and suppliers of the finest spiced rums to quench the thirsts and fog the minds of ponies and gryphons alike. Ponies were renown for a wide range of liquors -- Earth ponies had Cider and Bourbon to pride themselves on. Unicorns Gins, Liqueur and Brandy. Pegasi Vodka and Tequila -- but nothing beat a properly made bottle of gryphon rum.

Flor De Cana was just that.

Now all he had to worry about were Scout and Singer. The two wildcards who had the potential to stand in the way of his plans. If luck would have it, maybe they’d decided to use the time together that he’d given them to play the longest game of ‘Sitting silent and doing nothing’. He felt, however, that after dealing with Effy his luck for the day was properly tapped.

Only time would tell...

***

On the branch of a timeless spruce tree, overlooking an impressive Camden courtyard, right next to a row of windows attached to dorm rooms on the third floor of one of many student housing buildings, two white bellied squirrels sat perched and watching a scene unfold.

Through the window, and well beyond the realm of their understanding, a creature of black feathers and golden claws was surveying an otherwise empty room. Shirts, trousers and boxers fit for the size and shape of a pony were strewn across the floor.

The gryphon scratched its head with a golden claw. Confused.

He rifled through the wardrobe on the floor, tossing clothes onto a bed, until he stopped and stared at something that piqued his curiosity. Something shiny, square shaped and opened. If squirrels existed anywhere higher on the great Equestrian totem pole they would have recognized this as a lockbox. Or, rather, an opened lockbox.

Anger resonated on the gryphons face. Something, it seemed, was missing from the his collection of very much private possessions.

This was when the squirrels decided to carry on their days, blissfully unaware of the bomb about to explode.

***

Vincent, snarling, breathed heavy.

The lockbox -- His lockbox -- had been opened with a hairpin and though his fortune hadn’t been touched, nor his passport, two things were missing; half a pack’s worth of rolling papers… and his very expensive bottle of rum.

The rotten scoundrels responsible were nowhere to be found. Scout’s Honor and Singer had fled the scene of the crime, and now, in their wake, Vincent the gryphon was left to ponder what he’d done to deserve this perverted sense of karmic justice. He was a good gryphon. He lived with an age old code of honor burned into his moral fibre. He was polite, courteous, and most of all, he’d treated both Singer and Scout with the utmost respect.

For them to do this to him was more than a slight. It was an outright offense.

In the back of his mind he knew it was his fault. He’d been entrusted Singer’s well being by Honey Drop, and in return he’d promised her safety. Now, she and his roommate were loose on campus, running wild with forty ounces of high priced rum and each other’s energy to feed off of.

The party at Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s was only a few hours away. He had a date, no rum, no roommate, no friend’s sister, and no one but himself to blame. He swore, then and there, that before the clock struck nine o’clock he would hunt down the duo of lockpicking, hooch stealing ruffians, discipline them properly, and still make it with just enough time to look presentable for Effy.

Which is what he now set out to do.

Author's Note

I have no people to thank more than Einhander, Cola_Bubble_Gum, The Illusive Badgerpony, Nothing Is Constant, Scribble Script, Turai, Maskedferret and Avorin The Editor for helping make this chapter possible.

Extra special thanks goes to Einhander, Cola_Bubble_Gum and Nothing Is Constant for helping invent the characters of 'Ziggy' and 'Effy'.

Hope you guys enjoyed reading.

Eight Ball

Eight Ball

“Because, he’s going to kill us when he finds us.”

His thin and lanky frame was hidden beneath the warmth of a wool-lined bomber jacket. Beside him, on the bench, was Singer. She sat close enough to him that every so often their legs would touch and he’d have to turn his face away to hide his blushing face.

Forty ounces of what the label described as ‘The perfect blend of spice and flavour.’, but was really just Vincent’s rum, sat in the space between his thighs so that it gingerly tickled his scrotum.

Once in a while, Singer would reach for the bottle and when she did it would tap him on the sack and he’d grunt under his breath. Singer said and did nothing to betray the notion she was aware of his condition in those moments.

“Seriously, Singer!” Scout grumbled the words with unrestrained anguish. “We have to put it back!”

Singer rolled her eyes and nodded.

“No. Really! He’s a Gryphon, and Gryphons hold these, like, ‘blood feud’ things!” His right hoof, frought with a terrible tremor, pushed his mane up from his face. “He will literally kill, and most likely eat, the two of us for this!”

Singer rolled her eyes again and reached her hoof over his lap. The shimmer of a smile -- a soft, almost unnoticeable grin -- crossed her purple stained lips when she saw the other pony tense up. She took a long sip of rum, wiped her lips clean with the collar of her fall coat -- a faux leather ensemble with silver studded spikes and buttons -- then belched loud enough to draw glares from strangers half a courtyard away.

It was then and there that Scout realized something that would change his life. They were now the walking dead. They couldn’t just put the bottle back now. The seal was cracked and two of the forty ounces had just been swallowed down the throat of his co-conspirator.

Only distance from Vincent was going to keep them alive.

Singer didn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation quite like he did. She wasn’t nervous as she lifted the bottle again with her purple magical aura. She didn’t understand that Vincent had ten talons sharp enough to slice both of their throats open with the flick of his wrist when she brought the bottle to her dark purple lips. When she kissed the rim of the bottle and tossed her head back Scout had already given up on life.

“Relax,” She said as her hoof wiped traces of rum from her lips. “He’s not going to commit murder over spilt milk, Scout.”

“Oh, you don’t know Vincent!” Scout grumbled. “Honestly, Singer, he’s gonna make a fur coat out of my hide and wear it to his trial!” Two trembling hooves reached up to his face, pushed into his cheeks then pulled his fur and skin down with them, “He’ll probably turn you into slippers and a bathrobe, or something.”

“Scout,”

His was a face rich in fears and worry. His eyes were wide and wild. His brows had lifted to comical heights on his head. Even his fur was damp with a powerful fear sweat. The ghost of a smile came across her lips. She placed a hoof down gently in his lap.

His cheeks turned red and he fidgeted in his seat.

“He’s not going to miss one little bottle of rum,” She purred. “He can always just buy more...”

With his face flush with hue, Scout sucked in his cheeks and turned away from Singer.

“I still think he’s gonna tear me a new asshole,” he grumbled half heartedly, and under his breath.

“Wow,”

Singer’s sigh was high pitched and whiney. She’d make a good housewife someday, Scout thought.

“I didn’t realize you were such a pussy.”

He scrunched his face like he’d just had the misfortune of eating a lemon by mistake. His tongue -- a pink little thing -- jumped out from his mouth and he made a sound like a fart.

“I am not a pussy!” Scout was very insistent on making this fact clear. His tone had become gruff. His voice had lost its cocky playfulness.

Scout’s Honor was finding his fangs.

Her smile back at him was a pretty one. Completely devoid of any cynicism or indifference. It was genuine. Her teeth were surprisingly white and perfectly aligned. This surprised Scout because as far as he could tell, Singer existed on a diet of menthols, coffee, sex and stolen rum.

“Oh,” The sunglasses fell a quarter inch down her nose, so that the whites of her eyes showed. Her pupils -- still hidden behind her shades -- were staring at his face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” He beamed. His hoof beat against his clothed chest. “Trust me. Back in Cloudsdale, I was like the Soarin’ of my circle of friends.”

“A closeted homosexual?”

“What? No!”

Scout was shouting now.

There were ponies across the way from them who were still staring at them. Their gazes mean and cold.

Singer, nor Scout, paid them any attention.

“Cool.” he shouted, pounding a hoof against the hardwood bench. “I was cool! I mean… I am cool!”

Singer smiled widely.

“Besides,” He said, again, “Those are just rumors about Soarin…”

“Aww,” Singer cooed. She raised her hoof to Scout’s cheek and brushed a few strands of his mane behind his ear. “Did I hurt your pride by implying that the leader of the Wonderbolts is into bumming dudes?”

“No…” Scout’s lower lip sucked against his upper one and his eyes fell downwards.

“Its okay to have a crush on a guy, Scout…”

“What?” He shouted. “I don’t have a crush on Soarin’!”

“These feelings you have for him are more than natural for a colt your age.” She said. She kept brushing his mane. Smiling all the while. “College is where most colt cuddlers discover themselves. I mean, just look at my brother…”

“I am not gay!”

“Shh,” She put her hoof against his lips. “It’s okay to be gay, Scout.”

The recently accused party grunted and puffed a breath of air from his nostrils.

“Scout,”

He turned to her. He was still frowning. She was grinning.

“Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“Oh..”

Burgundy and crimson hues stained his otherwise plain cheeks.

“I’m really not gay, though…”

“Of course not,” Singer grinned.

The rum floated from his lap to her lips once more she took an impressive swig. Scout watched her throat expand and collapse as she swallowed ounces of liquid courage. When she finished, she offered the bottle to Scout, who shrugged his shoulders. He was already a dead pony in the eyes of Gryphon inspired justice. Why not go out with a bang?

He swallowed a mouthful, then two, three, and then stopped by the fourth. His throat burned. His head was light and all the problems he thought he'd had an hour ago didn't really seem to matter anymore.

He looked over at Singer.

She was lighting a cigarette -- her fifth of the hour -- and her lipstick was staining the filter. In that moment of space and time, Scout forgot that other mares existed. He only saw Singer. Singer, smoking a menthol and without a care in the world.

She was so cool.

For some time Scout sat and watched her. He watched her as she took sips of Vincent’s rum. He watched her chase each sip with cola. He watched her as she did little else but shake her head, or roll her eyes in disdain towards students and faculty members walking by. When Brawny Brawler trotted past the two of them, Singer actually cursed under her breath and swore that if anyone at Camden looked like a closet case it was certainly that colt.

Scout laughed. Everyone knew Brawny Brawler was straight. Still, it was cute to hear her try and cheer him up.

He liked it.

He liked spending time with her.

“I am so bored!” Singer’s whine cracked the silence like a whip. “We have to do something.”

Scout nodded. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Something fun. Obviously.”

“Right,”

Scout scratched his chin.

“Well, we could go check out the library? Its free and it has a really great view of the gym, too. There’s always a bunch of girls who do yoga on Saturdays...”

Singer’s snicker was a throaty, raspy, one.

“Pass.” She sighed. “I’m so over girls.”

Scout’s eyebrows lifted. A twisted, crooked, sort of smile danced across his thin lips.

“You do girls?”

Singer’s tongue snuck out of her mouth, ran across her upper lip, then her lower one.

“Sometimes,”

She grinned.

Scout swallowed a lump that had built up in his throat.

“That’s-so-hot,”

The words fell out of his mouth in a semi-nervous and muted mumble.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.” He feigned a smile -- A full mouthed, toothy grin. “Just, um, that... you’re really cool, and stuff.”

“Thanks.”

Singer smiled back. She reached once more for the bottle in his lap, and when she did her hoof brushed against his left thigh. Scout gave something that sounded exactly like a cat’s meow. A low rumble came from his mouth, followed by a sharp exhale of air.

“So, tell me, Mr. Cool.” Singer said, pulling the bottle slowly from his lap -- bumping it against his crotch as she did -- “What do you like to do for fun?”

“Well,”

Scout puffed his chest out.

“I play in a band, or, at least I did, before I came to Camden.” He beamed. His chin was held high in the air. “We were the hottest band in Cloudsdale.”

“Really?”

Her tone was dry, but, Scout didn’t find it at all discouraging.

“Yeah,” he cheered, “We even played for Princess Celestia one time. It was a private show, so, you know, we had to sign a bunch of legal documents so we couldn’t, like, take pictures or anything of it… so there’s actually no proof. ”

“Of course,” Singer grinned, “That makes sense…”

Scout nodded.

“So,” Singer, with her eyes narrowing down on Scout the way a cat’s did before it made a kill, spoke softly. “What happened to you guys?”

“Um, well…”

Scout’s hooves danced in his lap.

“We broke up.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Singer feigned a look of shock, “What went wrong?”

Scout bit his lower lip. His brow dropped and his face morphed into a studious squint; one which looked vaguely reminiscent of a newborn biting a lemon.

“I… I ended up getting it on with a couple of Celestia’s guards,” he said, “She has an all mare battalion, they’re all like perfect tens, and, well, they heard me play and… well, you know how it is?”

“Yes,” Singer said, “Of course.”

“So, I was nailing all of them, right? And then my bandmates all got mad, ‘cause I wasn’t throwing them any bones, so they decided we had to break up.”

“That’s really too bad,” Singer said, smiling. “Do you have any CD’s I could borrow?”

“No…”

Scout scratched his hoof into the fur of his forehead.

“You see, um,” his hooves brushed against each other, “Celestia got so mad at me, you know, because I was banging all of her best girl guards, so she had all our names stricken from public records.”

“How dreadful.”

Her words sounded genuine, but, the toothy grin she wore proudly seemed to tell a different story.

“Yeah, its all for the best though,” Scout stated, “I’m gonna get my degree in Musical Studies, then, Musical Engineering, and after that I wanna open up a recording studio. I’ll probably sign Vinyl Scratch when her contract is up, too.”

“Wow, Scout,” Singer said in a breathy sigh, “Aside from the bullshit, that actually isn’t such a bad plan.”

“What bullshit?”

Singer just shook her head.

“You know,” She said. Her face turned to his and she smiled. “You’re kind of cute when you’re being stupid.”

Scout wiped his hoof across his forehead. Beads of sweat flew onto the cold grass. Singer never stopped smiling.

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly to himself.

She leaned her body into his and raised her hoof. She brushed it against the fur of his chest, then his stomach, and stopped at his waist, where she once more grabbed the rum and lifted it out of his lap. Her left hoof gently tickled the fur on his stomach when she raised her hoof -- and the bottle -- to her mouth.

Scout purred.

“So, um, what do you like to do for fun?” Scout asked, peaking a curious brow towards the mare who sat taking baby sips of rum. “Cause, we can do that if you’d like?”

When she was finished, she coughed, then looked over at him.

“Drugs,” She said dryly, “Salt. Hay. Spices. Whatever.” She tapped her nose with a hoof, “If it’ll get me high, it’ll get me by.” She smiled at him and one of her eyebrows raised. “How about you? You’re cool right?”

“Oh, yeah! No, I’m definitely cool!” He blurted in a squeaky mess of tones “I, uh, used to do drugs all the time. I love doing drugs, they’re like, my favorite thing to do.”

“Who do you pick up off of?” Singer asked, “I didn’t find anything when we were looking through your room earlier. We should pick up some salt or something.”

“Yes,” Scout ran his hoof through his mane, scratched the top of his head and put on a smile. “We should definitely get some drugs.”

“Right,” Singer agreed with a head nod. “Who do you know on campus who could hook us up?”

Scout knew just the colt for the occasion.

***

The Starswirl The Bearded Memorial Building was one of Camden’s finer, more high end dorm buildings on campus. Most dorms had public bathrooms and were little more than a single room with two beds shared between it. There was space for both parties to parade a small collection of items flaunting their interests -- bookshelves, walls for posters and the likes -- but this, The Starswirl The Bearded Memorial Building was different. The room design was the same but they came fully equipped with a fully furnished bathroom, to boot.

This was where Jagged Horn lived.

Jagged Horn was Stormy’s roommate. Scout didn’t make it his purpose to pry into the personal lives of others, but, Stormy was the colt who’d slept with White Mane and then moved onto another colt. It bothered him, yes, but it wasn’t enough to forfeit purchasing illicit substances from his roommate to impress a girl who would probably at the least give him a hoof job for services rendered.

Right outside the door that read 2-1-1-2, were now where Scout and Singer found themselves.

“This is your guy?” Singer asked.

Scout swallowed, then nodded.

“Sure,” he said, softly. “He’s… um… a guy to see about this kinda stuff.”

“So?” Singer threw her shoulders forward, “Is there like a secret knock, or...?”

Scout raised a shaking hoof to the door and prayed to Celestia that knocking a three note tune would signal the difference between a regular visit, and a business one. He knocked -- thrice -- on the door and wondered if Celestia’s infinite wisdom had room for a colt who needed to buy drugs from a stranger.

His knock was answered quickly.

The door swung open. A cloud of smoke that smelt worse than a skunk crushed under the weight of a carriage wafted to Scout’s nostrils. In the doorway, staring down at him was a pegasus with a broad chest, defined muscles and a heavy scowl on his face.

This was not Jagged Horn. Jagged Horn was a unicorn. Jagged Horn had taken half a semester’s worth of musical theory with Scout and had also once asked to borrow a pen from him which he never returned.

This pony was a stranger.

“Can I help you?” he greeted, not smiling.

Scout’s heart raced in his chest. His mouth was dry.

“Um, err. That is to say… hey... uh…”

“What-do-you-want?,”

Whoever this pony was, he shouted the words at Scout’s face. Then, his eyes shifted to stare at Singer. He barred a mouth full of sharp teeth at her. The front four teeth on his upper jaw were cased in gold plating. They reflected light from the overhanging fluorescent lighting.

Scout had just then decided that this was a bad idea and that Singer probably wouldn’t hate him if he dragged himself back into his dorm, locked the door behind him, curled up into a ball, pulled the covers high over his head and wrote an exceptionally long letter to his parents about how maybe transferring to Coltlumbia was a good idea.

He stared at Singer, who stood so stoic and unphased, and something from deep inside him came to life.

He could do this.

He was going to do this.

He was going to buy some drugs.

“You must be lost?” the stranger in the doorway insisted. “You’re with that tour group, right? The one for,” slight stop in his sentence so he can glare daggers at a trembling Scout “The special needs program?”

“I’m so totally not spastic!” Scout snapped, “My parents had me tested when I was seven!”

The pegasus with golden teeth and a penchant for accusations snorted a laugh. His nostrils flared when he did and big, black, lips creased to again show off a mouth filled with yellow and gold teeth.

“You’re too pretty to be a tour guide, anyway,”

He said this to Singer, who rolled her eyes and whispered a curse about how ‘every fucking time’ dealers fell in love with her.

If she was scared, she didn’t show it. Scout, however, had decided that if Vincent The Gryphon wasn’t going to be the one ending his life that day, this colt probably wouldn't hesitate to fill in for his roommate's slack.

Singer stepped in front of Scout and stared Mr. Gold Teeth down with the most menacing scowl he'd seen a mare wear. The only thing that came remotely close was the look his mother got in her eyes when she found lipstick stains on the collar of his father's favourite H'Armani button up that one time when he was six (Or was it when he was seven? The problem with repressed memories was that they were very much that.)

“We’d like to see Jag?” Singer said. Her tone was plain. Vanilla. Devoid of any hints of need or want. “Is he in?”

Mr. Gold Teeth snapped his tongue in his mouth. He nodded a few times to himself, then he smiled a rotten, ugly thing at the two of them.

“Sure is,” Said he, “Why don’t you come in?”

Mr. Gold Teeth led, Singer and then Scout, followed.

Inside the air was hot and wet. Ghostly apparitions -- Vapours -- floated by their heads. The room felt like a sauna though the stink of the place was far from relaxing. The skunky aroma had intensified. The smell of sweat wasn’t far from away either.

Scout only had to spy the glass coffee table right before the futon, with little white lines that looked like crushed up chalk, and a clear ziploc bag of what looked like flour, before he realized what this was.

This was a drug den.

Suddenly his heart was racing in his chest again and his breathing was coming out fast and heavy.

He was lying to Singer earlier in the day. He hadn’t ever done drugs before. He knew ponies who did -- Hoops and Dumbbell from Flight School (Two of the older kids) used to smoke spliff behind the bleachers -- but he himself had always abstained. He drank. Every pony drank. Drinking was fun and, most nights, after a few bottles of Buckweiser all the girls got hotter and he became more handsome and charming anyway.

Drugs had never been on the top of his list of new experiences he’d imagined from the college experience.

This, he decided, he didn’t want Singer to know.

“Jag’s in the bathroom working on a pet project,” Mr. Gold Teeth said. “Have a seat.”

He did so himself. He plopped down on the futon. There was just enough space now beside him for a pony to sit, and, he pet the empty seat beside his and smiled at Singer.

Singer said nothing. She sat down on the edge of either Stormy or Jag’s bed, and, instantly, pulled Scout down beside her.

Mr. Gold Teeth rolled his tongue underneath his lower lip, cocked his head to the side. He was staring at Scout. Not Singer. Just Scout, who was making eye contact back and forcing a polite smile.

For a few quiet minutes no pony said anything. Mr. Gold Teeth stared at Scout. Scout back at Mr. Gold Teeth. Singer staring off at nothing. Her hoof touched his lap and startled him out of whatever it was that had been going on between him and Mr. Gold Teeth. She ran it slowly up his thigh, then again back down. She lay her head on his shoulder.

Mr. Gold Teeth said nothing about this recent development. Instead, he nodded to himself again, pressed a hoof tight against his left nostril and dropped his head down to the table. His face pressed so tight against the glass that his open nostril left vapour trails on the glass. He dragged his face up to one of the lines of crushed up chalk. He aimed his nostril to the end of the line, aligned it so that he hovered just above it, and started to sniff the stuff up his nose.

Three seconds later what Scout had just now realized was the deadly narcotic ‘Sniffing Salt’ was gone and Mr. Gold Teeth’s head fired backwards.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

He beat his lower left hoof against the floor as hard as he could three times. His head rolled down and he had a sharp look on his face when he did.

“So,” Mr. Gold Teeth smiled up at the two of them, “What’s your situation?”

He looked at Singer, then at Scout. Back at Singer. At Scout. Grinned and opened his mouth to speak.

“Are you two fucking each other?”

Singer’s left hoof gripped the flesh of his leg so tightly that Scout’s leg went numb. With her right she grabbed him around the shoulder and hugged his body against her as closely as she could.

“Yes!” she claimed. She squeezed his leg tighter. “We’re madly in love!” She turned to face him and a broad, honest, smile came across her lips. “I’m totally ga-ga for this stallion.”

The lingering odors of cigarette smoke met his nose and then she was kissing him. Hard. On the lips.

Her kiss tasted like rum, menthols and cola.

Scout had to clenched his legs together to hide his pride.

“Lucky colt,” Mr. Gold Teeth grunted. “That’s too bad.”

Scout opened his eyes to see her pulling her face away from his slowly. When she did, she stroked her hoof against his cheek.

Scout was having a very hard time containing his excitement.

The door the bathroom swung open and a Unicorn emerged from it. Apple red in his coat. Jet black in his mane. He was tall, scrappy looking and grinning stupidly at everything in the room. Ponies and objects, alike.

This was Jagged Horn.

“Who’s this?” He asked.

“Here to see you,” Said Mr. Gold Teeth.

Jag laughed and smiled.

“You guys wanna see something funny?” he asked.

No one objected.

He held a bloated yellow water balloon in his hooves the way mothers cradled their children. Walking on his hind legs from the bathroom, he moved past Scout and Singer and towards the sole window which overlooked a Camden courtyard.

“Watch this,” Jag smiled, “There’s one of those ‘Epsilon Program’ psychos preaching about ‘traditional marriage’ down there.”

Jag motioned with his head to the world outside and below his window. He poked his head out the window, then half his body and then he dropped the waterballoon. A splash was heard, followed by angry curses against Celestia, and then questions about who was responsible.This all came muffled by the five floors of height between them and whoever had just been the target of Jag’s act against tyranny.

“That guy,” Jagged Horn huffed as he plopped down on the empty spot on the futon beside Mr. Gold Teeth. “Is going to smell like asparagus for weeks.”

“Asparagus?”

Mr. Gold Teeth chuckled to himself. Jag’s eyes fell relaxed.

“I filled that waterballoon with piss.” He boasted. “Can you blame me? Those dicks want to ban gay marriage in Equestria.”

“You’re gay?” Singer asked.

Jag shook his head.

“No, not me,” He said, “My roommate.”

“Stormy, right?”

It was the first phrase Scout had spoken since he’d walked into the room, but, it was one that drew a curious, but genuine, look from Jag.

“Yeah,” Jag said, nodding. “You know Stormy?”

“Kinda, yeah,”

Scout had recollected his confidence. Somehow, for some reason, impressing Jag seemed to be the only thing he cared about in this moment. Not the drugs he still had to ask for. Not Singer who was still rubbing his leg with her hoof. Nothing else mattered to him but Jag’s opinion.

In the least gay way possible.

“He and my friend, White Mane, sorta… had this thing together,”

Jag’s smile erupted across his cheeks.

“Oh, shit,” He laughed, “Dude, yeah, I remember White Mane. We played against each other at beer pong, once.” Jag was beaming, “He’s, um, Piper’s roommate, right?”

“You know Piper?”

“Oh, for sure,” Jag was still laughing, “That guy helped me pass my first two film studies tests. I owe him a lifetime of favors.”

“Well,” Scout’s chest pushed forward and his smile lifted, “Me and Piper are like best friends.”

“Right on,” Jag said, “That guy’s a damn decent pony.”

He cracked his neck backwards and folded his upper hooves behind his head.

“You guys seem alright,” he said without staring down at them. “How can I help you,” he lowered his eyes to stare down at them, then shruged his shoulders. “Um?”

“Scout’s Honor.” Scout stated emphatically. He hugged Singer. “And, this is Singer.”

“Scout and Singer,” Jag chuckled. “Nice to know you both.”

Mr. Gold Teeth leaned himself over towards Jag and whispered into his ear. Jag’s smile spread across his cheeks. He craned his head left, right, then brought it down. He lurched forward, pressed his two upper hooves against the glass coffee table and tapped them against the glass to an improvised beat.

“My friend here,” He said, still tapping the glass. “Sweet Deals. He says you guys might be here because you need something from us?”

“Yeah,” Scout scratched the back of his neck with his free hoof. Singer’s grip around his shoulder was becoming less and less tense and more and more relaxed and the hoof she had once had running up his thigh was now planted firmly on his left butt cheek. Squeezing it playfully.

“We were hoping you could-”

He stopped to look at Singer.

She was so pretty.

“-maybe, hook us up?”

Jag’s laugh vibrated against the walls of the dorm and stung in his ears. It was friendly sounding. There weren’t any hints of callousness or inherent danger about it. It seemed genuine.

Jagged Horn almost seemed nice. Aside from being a drug dealer who threw water balloons filled with his piss on ponies heads.

“Sure, why the fuck not?” he said. “I owe Piper a million favors I can’t repay him, and you guys are friends with Piper, so, in a way, I’d be paying him back for helping you out, right?”

If he was look for an answer from them to his dilemna, he didn’t wait for it.

“What do you need?”

“Probably just an eight ball of salt,” Singer said. She looked over at Scout, “That should be good, right?”

“Um,” Scout clicked his tongue in his mouth. “Do, um… do we really need eight balls of it? I mean, I usually do, like, four or five myself, but, eight seems like a lot...”

Jag exploded into laughter. So did Sweet Deals (The drug dealer/associate of Jagged Horn formerly known as Mr. Gold Teeth.) Singer joined them not long after -- though hers was a more restrained giggle that was surprisingly soft and gentle on his ears compared to the booming laughter of the two other colts in the room.

“Dude,” Jag slapped a hoof to his cheek, “You’re funny.” He chuckled a few more notes and wound down. “You’re a funny guy, Scout.”

“Thanks,” Scout, flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride, mumbled to the floor. “I guess.”

The laughter in the room died down. With it, Sweet Deals and Jagged Horn got involved in an impromptu huddle. Whispered words were said between them before they pulled away and Jag was smiling back at Singer and Scout.

“I can do an eight ball,” he said, “All we have here,” He motioned towards the sack of salt on the table, “Is about two grams, so, I’d have to pick it up. But, it won’t be a problem.”

“Wonderful,”

Singer’s tone was dry.

“How much?”

“Normally,” Sweet Deals took a turn to talk shop. “I’d charge all the trust fund babies at this place two fifty. I can do it for you guys for two hundred?”

Scout peered over at Singer, who bit her lower lip. He leaned his mouth to her ear.

“Is that, like, a good deal?”

Singer nodded.

“Done,” she said turning back to face them. “How soon can you get it here?”

“That’s the thing,” Jag grunted, “See, we gotta swing by Sweet Deal’s place to pick it up, and, I was supposed to have a few beers with Stormy and Strokes at Nell’s at around eight, so, I’d have to bring it to you..”

Singer looked worried. Scout was worried too, now.

“Hey, whoa,” Jag, sensing the emotions, spoke up. “We’ll get it to you. I promise. My word is my bond. In fact, look, tell me where to meet you guys at, like, eight-thirty? I’ll have it all ready and deliver it myself?”

Singer shrugged.

“Fine,” She said. “I’m staying at my brother’s place tonight. Why don’t you meet us there when you’re good to go?”

“Sure, sure,” Jag said, “Whatever works for you guys. I’ll take your cash, hook you up, and maybe we can do a few bumps together or whatever?”

“Actually,” Singer’s eyes lit brightly. “My brother is having some really faggy party for his theatre troupe. It would piss him off a lot more if you wanted to pop in and have a few beers?”

Jag looked to Sweet Deals, who shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno,” Jag said, scratching his neck. “Are there gonna be any girls at this… gay little outing?”

“Theatre girls.” Scout chimed in, smiling. “Most of them are pretty cute.”

Jag chuckled something that almost scared Scout. It was low and almost maniacal.

“Theatre girls fuck the best,” Sweet Deals stated. “They all just wanna piss off their daddies, anway…”

Jag nodded.

“Should I invite Stormy and Strokes?” he asked, “They’re both gay for each other. They’ll probably love it.”

“Sure,” Singer shrugged. “The more the merrier.”

“So, you guys jot down the address. We’ll show up with a couple cases of beer, some drugs, and kick start the party if it sucks.”

“Sounds terrific” Singer said, smiling.

She stood up in the bed and offered Scout her hoof. He took it and she raised him to his hooves.

“We should get going,” She said, “Show up whenever you want, but,” she stopped to glare with unparalled menace towards Jag and Sweet Deals, “I will castrate the both of you if you don’t bring the stuff tonight.”

Jagged Horn and Sweet Deal’s laughter followed them out of the door and into the hallway. It wasn’t until they were half a flight of stairs away from Jag’s dorm before Scout realized what he’d just been not only a witness, but a participating party, too.

He’d just arranged to buy drugs.

He’d just arranged to have a party of strangers show up to his friend’s house with drugs.

He’d also just recently been kissed on the lips by a very pretty and undeniably cool girl.

He felt at peace with that part of the deal.

For better, or for worse, the party tonight was happening. Now, in retrospect, Scout realized that Stormy in the same room as White Mane might be a problem. He also realized that drug addled ponies might also be a problem.

This was where Scout found himself worrying. It wasn’t a worry strong enough to make him unextend Singer’s invitation, because truth be told, Jag seemed like nothing less than a decent guy, but, Honey Drop and Sunny Side were his friends and if the party got too wild because of him -- realistically, though, it would almost entirely be Singer’s fault -- he’d have to hear about it for the rest of the school year from Sunny Side.

On the other side of the coin, Singer had left traces of her purple lipstick on his mouth from where her lips had touched his. As far as he could tell, he was now hers. She’d claimed him with that kiss, and, it also probably meant that she was interested in him. Sexually.

It sure would suck to be Sunny Side, Honey Drop or White Mane tonight. That was for sure.

His mind was completely devoid of any thoughts about Vincent The Gryphon’s vengeance, and the rum that would inspire it -- which was still sitting nestled in Singer’s saddlebag -- as he walked side by side with Singer, the girl who he liked and who liked him back.

Tonight was going to be fun.

All Tomorrow's Parties

All Tomorrow's Parties.

“Are you really going to wear that dress?”

Ziggy/Stardust stared down at herself wondering what offense her roommate could possibly have with the outfit that she wore. The dress in question was something her father had picked up from someplace in a town called Ponyville and displayed, with unrestrained gusto, the regal charms from where it came. There was nothing on it to compulsively draw the eye, no frills, no sequin trim around the throat. Just a nice plain satin dress from Ponyville.

The multipurpose army knife of dresses. Or, so she had thought.

The look her roommate gave her said otherwise.

Tonight was going to be a formal gather, and, in that spirit there were ponies tonight who would be dressing formally. Ziggy had every intention of being one of them. She was a senior and they were mostly freshmen. She wanted to look good.

Good.

Not great.

Not fantastic.

Just. Good.

Where was the harm in that?

“What’s wrong with this dress?” She posed, her eyes soft and quizzical. She did a quick spin, on the tips of her hooves, one hundred and eighty degrees to face her accuser.

Lemon Twist -- her roommate -- stood staring back at Ziggy. By virtue and by lifestyle Twist was every bit the opposite of Ziggy. Where Ziggy was strikingly beautiful, in the classic, literary, sense, Twist was pretty. She stood a head taller, was thinner and carried herself with flighty distinction. She moved as if the ground always beneath her was the floor of a bouncy castle. She was always moving, skipping, hopping, jumping. Walking a straight line was never an easily achievable goal with Twist.

“Nothing,” she replied, although Ziggy already knew that wasn’t the end of her train of thought.. “It’s just… you’re so pretty Ziggy and… well… are you sure that’s the right dress to show it off?”

Violent, angry waves of discomfort, disgust and depression crashed against the hull of the S.S. Self Confidence. The waves did damage; they shattered beams and cracked in half levels of the wooden frame, but never did enough harm to sink the ship.

Ziggy/Stardust stared down at her flat stomach, at her plain and regal legs, and then at her uninteresting rear.

She had confidence and self worth. She was pretty. She wasn’t ugly, or dumpy, or a nasty thing to look at. She liked herself. Maybe not enough get a conceited high off of -- that was more Twist’s thing -- but, she certainly wasn’t going to let herself slink into a depression over her looks.

“Oh, Ziggy,” Twist said, skipping over a pile of clothes fit for a lumberjack -- all plaid shirts in muted colours. She managed to pull Ziggy from her self assesment and when she did, Ziggy noticed that Twist was smiling at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

Twist moved a step closer and her smile grew with it. “Really. You’re totally gorgeous.” She paused and threw her braided mane over her face, melodramatically. It’s just… maybe you’re not so gorgeous in that dress, is all...”

Ziggy tore the dress off her body so hard and so fast that the straps at the top snapped in half. She threw it on a pile other outfits her roommate had shot down with extreme prejudice; The purple sweater with the cotton ball buttons and puffed out wrists made her look too ‘Dumpy’. The white sleeveless top with the Wonderbolts logo (Ironically, of course) made her look like a ‘Peasant’. The green checkered flannel shirt with silver buttons that her mother had sent from her latest trip to Canterlot was too ‘Grungy’. She looked like she wanted to hook up with some freshman whose major was in musical theory, said her roommate.

At this rate, and without Twist’s seal of approval, she’d go through her entire closet before she ever decided on an outfit.

“Why are you so particular about your clothes all of the sudden?” Twist asked raising an inquisitive brow while a curious little smirk lifted up her cheeks, “Isn’t everyone going to the party part of your drama class?”

“Yeah,” Ziggy turned away from her roommate and back into her closet. “So what?”

“I thought they were all gay?” Twist enquired cocking her head sideways and raising her brows ever so slightly up her head. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“That’s-”

Ziggy wanted to express doubt and anguish at such a simple-minded view. She wanted too, but it just so happened that Twist was almost entirely right. As far as she could tell, everyone attending Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s (Who were also gay. Together.) would most likely be fond of the same sex.

“-Mildly accurate.”

Two braided locks of amber (Twist would be appaled to call it anything less.) flew backwards and landed back down as Twist finished another skip over another pile of outcasted clothing. A bountiful smile spread across her face.

“Oh, I love the gays,” She claimed, “They have the most adorable parties. And, oh-my-gosh, they can dance!”

Twist rambled to herself -- and by extension, Ziggy -- about all the merits that gay freshman held. How they always were well mannered and courteous. How they drank wine even at frat parties. How she once slept with a colt because he said he was bisexual and she thought it meant he would be great (He wasn’t.) Ziggy exiled herself further into her closet and away from Twist, so that her words became muffled and she could play ignorant to the thoughts escaping her roommate’s mouth in rapid succession.

The task was more daunting than she’d imagined.

“Why worry so much about what to wear?” Twist asked, taking a break from discussing colts who cuddled with colts. “It’s not like you’re going to be catching anyone’s eye...”

The vision of a pinto colt with humbled bewilderment at receiving compliments, and an adorably modest sense of self worth filled Ziggy’s head. Piper. Sweet and innocent, Piper. For reasons she couldn’t explain she found him interesteing, and for reasons she wouldn’t tell her roommate, she was eager to have him say the same of her.

She bit down on her lower lip, hard, “No reason.”

Through the wall of the closet, muffled by inches of drywall and too many coats of matte paint, Twist’s high pitched giggle sounded almost manic.

“Oh-my-gosh,” Ziggy heard her squeal. “Shut up and tell me his name right now!”

“Don’t be stupid.” Ziggy fired back at her roommate through the wall, “There’s no ‘him’, Twist.”

Twist snicker was a three note crescendo.

“Oh, please.” she said, “You wouldn’t possibly be this worried about dressing appropriately for a bunch of queer drama students if there wasn’t at least one straight colt who would appreciate it.”

Her logic was far from misguided, but Ziggy didn’t intend to let her roommate know this.

“I repeat,” She stated in a strong, militant, tone, “There is absolutely no colt in my life who I am interested in right now. Plain and simple.”

“Sure, sure,”

She didn’t have to see Twist’s face to know she was grinning.

“I suppose I’ll just have to tag along with you tonight, darling,”

Ziggy coughed and the weak walls of the closet shook. A scrap of dry paint fell from the ceiling and landed an inch before her hoof. “Excuse you?”

“Yes,” Twist said, “I’ll throw off studying with silly Effy and her friends and attend.”

“No.”

Ziggy tore herself out of the closet with all the speed and determination of a Royal Guard called to duty. When her head was just out the open door, she stared coldly at her roommate, who remained entirely unphased.

“No, you will not.”

“Ziggy, please.” Twist laughed. “You’re being morose.”

“Twist,” Ziggy breathed heavy, sighing. “I love you, but you can’t throw yourself into my life like this. You’re as bad as my mother...”

“Well, excuse you,” Twist threw her head backwards and pulled a hoof over her eyes. “I have never been so insulted in my life.”

“Look… I’m… Sorry,” Ziggy muttered grimly. “It’s only that…” She stopped to click her tongue in her mouth, “Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, there was a colt I was interested in, and-”

“-I knew it!” Twist cheered throwing herself in the air so that her blonde braided pigtails bounced up and down her head and her heels -- all four of them -- clicked together, “I knew you weren’t turning into a lesbian.”

“Wow,” Ziggy rubbed her forehead, pressing hard into the fur and wrinkling the flesh along her browline. “I don’t even know what to say to that?”

Unphased, Twist smiled down at her roommate. The whites of her eyes reflecting light and her pupils dilated as if she’d spent half her morning popping ‘Pick me up’ pills from an unlabeled bottle.

“So, what’s his name?”

“I said ‘hypothetically’,” Ziggy reminded, shooting a distinct glare at her roommate. “Hypothetically if there was a colt I was interested in, who also happened to be at this party, what would you recommend I wear?”

“That dress at the back of your side of the closet, I think.” Twist said without missing a beat, “The black one with the white satin straps and the golden lace trim around the chest. It would look just darling on you, and, black really is your colour. It’s very… slimming.”

Ignoring the backhoofed nature of her roommate’s recent statement and subsequent breakdown of her entire character, Ziggy sought to take her roommate’s advice and indeed pick the dress that sat in the back of her closet. She wasn’t one for dresses to begin with. She knew there was a time and a place for them, yes, but to her credit she’d rather wear a sweater, or a shirt, anything to to shatter conformist ideals.

The idea that Piper might like to see her in a dress, was another concern she had. It outweighed her desire to come across as a post-modern radical idealist who had transcended gender roles and lived freely. Tonight wasn’t the right opportunity to show off her ideals, moreso, it was a perfect chance to give Piper an eyeful of her assets.

“I have to come along now,” Twist decided, bouncing her pigtails with her right hoof. “I mean, if only to meet this guy.”

Ziggy knew no string of words thrown together in a sentence could ever dissuade Twist once her mind was made up. Four years of close friendship had taught her as much. Twist was every bit determined when she had a strong desire. Ziggy thought it a shame that this logic didn’t apply to her scholarly pursuits at Camden, but, such was the way it went.

“Fine,” she ended up saying, deciding it the lesser of two very bad evils, “Just… if he’s there, please, please, please, don’t make it awkward?”

“Moi? Awkward?” Twist was shocked, or faking it. It was hard to tell with her. “Well, I’ve-”

“I know, I know,” sighed Ziggy, “You’ve never been so offended, right?”

“Well… no, I mean..” Twist, dumbstruck, tapped her hooves against the floor. “Okay,” she said, “I promise, honestly, that if you point him out I will not do anything more than introduce myself and shake his hoof. Deal?”

“Fine,” Ziggy nodded, “It won’t be very exciting, though.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Twist shook her head woefully and clicked her heels together. The dull and faraway look on her face told Ziggy two things; the first that she was already deciding on an outfit to wear tonight, and the second that she was already pairing herself off and dancing to a Salsa song in the company of a colt who also happened to like colts (And not in the platonic sense).

Typical Twist. She’d survived just as many semesters at Camden as Ziggy had, but unlike Ziggy, Twist didn’t seem to excel at anything. She switched majors on a whim. When they were first paired together Twist was going to become a criminal lawyer and only needed a reference from Camden to boost her chances of getting into Coltlumbia. Six weeks later her major was pottery. When she couldn’t make an ashtray for her mom (Her hooves were too small, she claimed) she switched majors to poetry. When she couldn’t rhyme anything with ‘Orange’ she decided that she’d actually always been fascinated by English Lit.

That was Twist’s entire four year tour de force at Camden. She came from money -- as most Camden students did -- and so her detour in post secondary education could last as long as mommy and daddy were fronting the bill.

“Oh, Ziggy,” Twist sighed the words and folded herself forwards until she touched the ground “Should I wear my dancing shoes tonight? Or my high heels?”

“Whatever.” Ziggy said.

Somewhere in the mess that was their closet was the perfect dress to wear. Now she only had to find it. There were treasures in Equestria with maps drawn by pirates or bandits which would have been less impossible to find.

How could she possibly own so many ironic tank tops?

She rifled through shirts and gowns, ignoring the idea that the homeless shelter in Barstow was always looking for handouts by imagining how awkward it would be to find a generation of homeless ponies wearing ‘Luna was right’ V-necks and ‘Democracy now!’ T’s.

“Should I do ‘I like to party’ pigtails, or an ‘I’m all about education’ bun?” Twist asked.

Far behind the sea of checkered button ups and ironic punk-tees, in all of it’s glory was that little black dress in a state of unwrinkled perfection. That was good. It saved her a trip to the R.A. to ask if using a flatiron was a fire hazard, and if it was, how much the fine for using said iron was going to be.

“It’s really up to you, Twist,”

She pried the fabric off of the hanger.

“Should we drink here first, or there?”

She slipped the dress over her head and felt comfort when it fit damn near perfect against her body. Not too tight. Not too loose. The halfway mirror in the back of the closet was a miracle. She spent several long moments staring at herself. She liked what she saw. Twist’s logic was sound and reasonable, Ziggy hadn’t ever been one for personal glory but she looked drop dead in the dress.

“Here,” she said to her roommate, smiling honestly. “I think we should start here and carry over to theirs?”

She stepped out of the closet and Twist’s jaw dropped.

“Ms. Stardust,” Twist breathed “You sexy, beautiful, butterfly.”

She moved towards her at a speed that didn’t give Ziggy enough time to dodge the hug she found her roommate forcing on her. Her hooves tight around her throat, Twist rubbed her face in the arch of Ziggy’s neck.

“You finally decided to come out of your cocoon.” said Twist, rubbing Ziggy’s back with her hooves. “You look so gorgeous.”

A flash of crimson spread across Ziggy’s cheeks and for once, she actually couldn’t think of a single mean spirited thing to say to her roommate. “Thank you, Twist,” she said and she was smiling. Sincerely.

Twist was smiling back.

“What time is the party?” Twist asked.

The clock in the room flashed ‘6:24’ in bright neon green. The party started at seven thirty. This was good. It meant she had enough time to get buzzed -- not drunk -- with Twist before the party. She wasn’t one to excess, but, a bottle of merlot split between the two would do just enough for her to have her walking into Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s place feeling cool and mellow.

Cool and mellow was what Ziggy/Stardust was all about.

***

“My goodness Nell’s was busy today.” White Mane, exasperated and short of breath, claimed as he led himself through the doorway to his room. Short a few paces behind him was Piper, who had just bought the two lunch. Because he was the best friend in the world.

Just as soon as he had entered the room White Mane had collapsed backwards onto his bed. The bedsprings sunk a few inches and White Mane grabbed a pillow then hugged it against his stomach.

“I am so full,” He grunted, staring at the pillow on top of his stomach. “I can’t believe I drank two strawberry milkshakes with lunch.”

“Yeah,” Piper chuckled. “If you’re not careful you’re gonna turn into a pudgy little pony.”

White Mane loosened his grip on the pillow. When Piper turned his head away from him and set about putting the doggy bags of leftovers from lunch in the fridge, White Mane made his move. He fired the pillow at the inattentive Piper. When it hit, it struck him on the side of the head and nearly knocked him to the ground.

“Take that back,” White Mane was shouting, but his tone was playful and childlike. He wasn’t mad at Piper. Not really. This was just the build up to a potentially epic pillow fight. “I won’t ever let myself get fat!”

Laughing, Piper lifted the pillow off the ground and shot it back at his roommate. The Royal Guard training printed deep in his mind kicked in and White Mane caught the projectile a half a foot before it struck his body. To counter, Piper rushed his roommate with the intention of a tackle, but, White Mane was prepared.

Piper pounced at White Mane, who swung the pillow at him. The marshmallow shaped weapon struck Piper on the right side of his throat while he was still mid pounce, startling him and stopping him dead in his tracks. He fell to the ground by White Mane’s legs defeated.

“You’ll never win a pillow fight against me,” White Mane stated in a bold voice. He pumped his chest out and flexed the muscles in his front legs, “Princess Celestia’s Royal Army taught me everything I know about combat and tactics.”

“Our tax dollars at work,” Piper grinned from the floor. He slapped at White Mane’s lower legs, then, when he gripped one, he pressed into the tense muscles and White Mane exploded with noise.

“Piper, stop!” shouted the colt between pants of laughter, “That tickles!”

Piper would do no such thing.

“Never!” he shouted.

White Mane’s legs kicked feebly, but Piper kept up his assault. On the bed, with his head rolling against a pillow, White Mane was laughing so loud -- which he tried to muffle by biting onto his hoof -- that glasses on the shelf above his head shook in place.

A muscle spasm overcame the nervous system in White Mane’s leg and shot it forwards and upwards and his hoof struck Piper’s right cheek with all the force that a Royal Guard recruit/drop out could muster by accident. In slow motion, the pinto colt’s head shot backwards and a groan from the depths of Tartarus came out of his mouth. When his back touched against the hardwood floor of their dorm room, Piper was done for.

“Oh my gosh, Piper!” shrieked his assaulter, “Are you okay?”

Piper, dazed, rolled his eyes around in his head. “I think so.”

The room was spinning and the words he’d just spoken echoed in his mind. He thought, for a brief moment in time, that he was suffering from a concussion but the idea quickly passed. Instead, he righted himself out and tried to shake the sounds of echos from his head.

“I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry, Piper,” said White Mane in a hushed tone. “I didn’t mean to do that… but, you were tickling me and, well, sometimes I accidently tense up, and-”

“-S’okay,” Piper said, trying to decide which one of the two White Mane’s he was staring at was the real one and which was the fake. “It was an accident… right?”

White Mane nodded without hesitation.

Finally, the room was centered again and only one apparition of his roommate was left. Blinking open and shut his eyes to be safe, Piper sighed. “I guess you win this round?”

He grinned at his roommate.

White Mane rolled his pink tongue out of his mouth and blew a raspberry. “I always do,”

There were times when White Mane said more with a look than he ever could with his words. It wasn’t because White Mane wasn’t fluent, nor did he lack a proper grasp of the langauge, it was a simple matter of him being outwardly expressive with his facial features. The look on his face at that moment was one of those times. His eyes wide with pupils the size of milk saucers, his lashes just barely ticking the tops of his brows while his tongue hung out his mouth and overtop his lower lip. How any pony could look at White Mane and not imagine the most innocent creature to ever walk Equestrian soil was a wonder to Piper.

Piper shook silly and dirty ideas out of his head and trotted towards the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

“Wanna have a few drinks before the party?” he asked, turning back to face White Mane “You have a couple bottles of Skynoff Ice in the fridge, and I could run out and pick up a six pack of Buckweiser or something?”

“Yes, please.” White Mane said, clapping his forelegs together and swatting his rear end with his tail. “You could have one of mine if you’d like? It saves you a trip.”

Piper shrugged, “Nah,” he said, “Those things are like all sugar, dude.”

“Nuh-uh” White Mane huffed. “They’re the Lo-Cal ones. I bought them in Barstow last time I went shopping. They’re only eighty calories each and they only have half a gram of fat per bottle.”

Piper was often astounded by the logic that White Mane used to guide him throughout his life. This was certainly one of those times. Regardless, he said nothing about it and reached for a pair of bottles from the fridge with his teeth. He took a few paces forward, set the bottles on the floor and catapulted one of the bottles to White Mane, who, caught it in the air. The second he kept for himself. He wasn’t going to pass judgement on diet alcoholic drinks without at least giving them a try.

He flopped backwards onto his bed and twisted the cap off with his teeth.

“Hey, Piper?” White Mane, who lay on his belly, called to him. “Did you have fun at the auditions today?”

Piper took a sip of ‘Skynoff Ice-Lite’ and smiled, “Yup.”

White Mane’s cheeks lifted and a smile of immeasurable joy came with it.

“That’s great!” he cheered, “You really are a natural when it comes to acting,” White Mane breathed, sighing. “It’s too bad you’re not going to be in the play.”

Piper swallowed and coughed into his hoof. “Yeah…”

He hadn’t yet shared any the details of his private conversation with Ziggy. He hadn’t told White Mane how Ziggy was fond of his acting prowess, nor how Ziggy had practically handed him the lead role in the play. Least of all, he neglected to mention how he had indeed signed his name onto the casting sheet.

Some things were better left unsaid, Piper thought.

“I’m sure you stand a good chance,” Piper, white lie on his tongue, said, smiling at his roommate. “Ziggy said she was really impressed with your performance…”

Sometimes a colt just had to lie to his roommate/crush/one sided love interest in order to make him a happy pony. White Mane rolled onto his tummy and kicked his lower legs against his back.

In Piper-Land, the pinto colt was far gone from the world he inhabited physically. His mind was a mess of ideas, fantasies, fallacies, hopes, dreams and desires. Ones that he'd never share vocally with anyone else in his life. Stuck in his mind, he waded past the province of White Mane, taking a sideways glance back, and then made it to Ziggy-Landia where he nestled on a tree and waited for ideas and thoughts about the older mare to reach him.

Ziggy wanted him to be in the play. Ziggy wanted to have a drink with him. Ziggy, Ziggy, Ziggy. Ziggy held the power to making White Mane happy. Ziggy made him happy. She was kind, and funny, and clever and witty, and, well, she was pretty too. She was older. Mature. He was young, but, also a leap ahead of the likes of Scout, Sunny Side and White Mane in terms of acting their age. The only two characters who held a candle to him on that level were Vincent and Honey Drop. And Ziggy.

Ziggy/Stardust.

Piper thought that if nothing else happened that night, he might just have to have a conversation with her about plays, drinking, and anything else under the sun he could possibly speak about.

***

“What do you mean you lost her?”

Honey Drop, glaring frown on his usually temperamental face, posed to Vincent The Gryphon and accented his statement by prodding him in the feathered chest with his right hoof. Taken back, Vincent winced and bowed his head. Nobility was in his blood. So was being honest.

“I don't really know how else I can explain it," Vincent mumbled, "Your sister was with me and now she isn't anymore." he scratched his claws along the back of his neck and his eyes fell into a humored squint, "What about that are you not getting?"

Honey Drop wasn't smiling. "Well, obviously the core concept, Vincent!"

He locked eyes with the Gryphon in the room and took a few paces forwards, never smiling, or grinning, but remaining entirely committed to his aggressive stance and mindset. This was troubling to Vincent, who had only ever known Honey Drop to be the 'passive' sort of aggressive. The kind of pony who preferred catty comments about improper mane care or who would make an observation to a room full of strangers about how squares of toilet paper were stuck to his claws.

Never had Vincent seen Honey Drop this upset. It troubled him.

“Alright look,” said the Gryphon, running a claw through the feathers at the back of his head, “You told me to be responsible for taking care of your sister, and I let you down. I can own up to that.”

Sunny Side stood behind Honey Drop. He too was glaring, though, truthfully, his glare was more subdued and understanding. If anypony present was going to appeal to Vincent’s side of the story, it would be him.

Honey Drop was not so easily swayed. “But?”

“But, she’s also an adult.” Vincent said, “And, you need to respect that about her.”

“Oh, please,” Honey Drop snickered, “She’s a spoiled brat stuck in a young adult’s body. She’s not nearly as mature as…”

Vincent cocked an eyebrow “You?”

“Yes, me.” Honey Drop said, nodding. He raised his head and held his chin at an upward angle, so that his eyes were barely visible to the Gryphon, who was rolling his own.

“You two were the ones who pawned her off on me,” Vincent grunted, “This is as much my fault as it is yours!”

“It most certainly is not!” Sunny Side chimed in, moving forwards and throwing his hoof over Honey Drop’s shoulder, protecting his own.

“It most certainly is.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is… Wait," Vincent stopped mid sentence to tilt his head sideways and gawk, "Are we doing a bit here?” He cocked his head to the opposite side and scrunched up his beak, “Is this some kind of improv thing?”

“Classic misdirection!” accused Sunny Side, throwing his right hoof at Vincent's face. “Your Jet-Eyed mind tricks won’t work on us!”

Vincent raised an eyebrow “Jet Eyed?”

Silence fell onto Sunny Side, who stood biting his lower lip and staring blankly first at Vincent, then at the equally as curious look on his boyfriend’s face. He bowed his head onto the floor and mumbled something about hearing the expression in a movie about space.

“I know I messed up.” admitted the Gryphon, “But, to be totally honest, she’s not exactly an innocent victim here, either.”

Sunny Side stepped forwards and placed a hoof gently onto his boyfriend’s shoulder, rubbing the muscles beneath his fur and earning a purring moan from Honey Drop. Flared as tempers might have been, Sunny Side tried to remain neutral.

“Please, do go on.” Sunny Side said, smiling sincerely and genuinely towards Vincent. “Anything can help us out here.”

“Well, I left for a class.” said the Gryphon. He thought to neglect the side information about his meeting with Effy, “And, when I came back to our room… somepony, or, ponies, had gone through all my stuff and stolen a bottle of Flor De Cana from me. Just the same, Scout’s side of the room was untouched and both ponies were missing. Coincidence?”

“Oh, that has Singer written all over it.” Honey Drop sighed, head shaking in anger. “When she was seventeen she stole two bottles of Johnny Trotter Blue from my father.” A little twitch in his face muscles and he was grinning. “He was more upset that she mixed them with cola than he was about her stealing, though.”

“I think what’s important,” Sunny Side interrupted, “Is that she is with Scout and he's responsible, mature and able bodied enough to take proper care of her.”

For the longest time of any of their lives nobody present made a sound, then, Honey Drop snickered, which made Vincent laugh and Sunny Side slap his thigh with his hoof and fall on the floor, howling with laughter.

The tension in the air was clear now.

Vincent found the strength to stop laughing and wiped a claw across his mouth. “I know I messed up,” he said, “But, you do have all of her belongings. Eventually, at some point tonight, she’ll have to come back here, right?”

Honey Drop nodded. The mood was relaxed and calming now. No one present was about to throw blame at a mistake like this onto anyone, no curses of bloody murder were going to be uttered, either. All three seemed neutral on the fact that while Vincent had certainly messed up, he also owned up to his mistakes, which was the reasonable thing to do.

The flipside was there was a worse criminal set loose in the cobblestone streets, back alleys, courtyards and frat homes of Camden: Singer. Her actions were fueled by rum and with Scout as her co-conspirator, there was no telling what mischief and monkey shines the dynamic duo could find themselves in.

Singer was the mastermind, Scout her hapless servant. The Igor to her Doctor Flankenstein. The lesser of two evils.

“Hey,” Vincent interjected, “I have, uh, this thing I have to do… It's for a class." He rolled the tongue in his mouth along his molars, "Would you guys hate me forever if I blew off looking for them for a few hours?” He asked this and uncurled a claw then tapped the fingers against the floor, “It’s… vaguely important?”

“You’d willingly abandon us in our darkest moment?” Sunny Side, grinning like a colt stricken with a sickness of the mind, asked. “When all hope is lost and you’re our last vessel of courage and inspiration?”

“You’re really getting some mileage out of this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, hush,” Sunny Side cooed, stroking a hoof against Vincent’s feathered neck. “Even though this is almost entirely your fault, we’ll find a way to forgive you, Vincent.”

Honey Drop, smiling at his lover, nodded his head. “I suppose there’ll be some favor you could do for us in the future.”

Vincent’s beak opened to speak and he raised a claw, lowered it and then shut his mouth. Every word he could speak would only be a shovel digging him deeper and deeper into a grave. He tapped the floor at his feet and claws, but made no noises otherwise. He knew when he was bested, and, this was one of those moments.

For the rest of the week, possibly the semester, Sunny Side and Honey Drop had something to hang over his head. A favor, which, truthfully, could be anything from a simple grocery run, to something abstract and decidedly gayer, like dressing him up in all manner of formal wear to settle an argument whether Gryphons could pull off a three piece suit or not.

Vincent shuddered at the idea.

“You’re thinking about us dressing you up in some delightfully eccentric outfit to settle a bet, aren’t you?”

On top of being gay, madly in love and, by their own admittance, well sought after dinner guests, Sunny Side and Honey Drop also appeared to be telepathic.

“No,” Vincent said, stepping backwards and throwing his wingspan around his body like a shield. “Don’t be silly.”

“Vincent, Vincent, Vincent,” Sunny Side cooed once again, “Some day, and that day may never come, we will call upon you to do a service for us. Until then, you can run along and be merry, but remember, we own you now.”

Vincent looked to Honey Drop, who looked just as astounded at this revelation as Vincent must have himself. Sunny Side, all the while, was laughing and smiling stupidly.

“Sorry,” laughed the colt, “I’m just getting prepared to face an army of actors tonight in one on one conversation. The best of them are such fickle little ponies...”

Not a soul in the room had a comment to make about his statement. If this was Sunny Side being nervous, Vincent -- and also even Honey Drop -- prayed to higher powers that they never saw him truly worried. He was delirious within his eccentric behavior, as if the thought of this night going southwards might ruin his social standing.

At least, that’s how it looked to Vincent.

“Right, well,” Vincent cleared his throat, “I’m gonna take off… and, uh, see you guys in a couple hours?”

“Yes,” Honey Drop smiled, “Sounds good.”

Vincent was halfway out the door when he heard a quote that left him ill at uneasy. From the mouth of Sunny Side, a terrible reminder of “We’ll be watching you.” echoed in his head and followed him out the door. When it slammed shut, Honey Drop turned to his boyfriend and leaned his face forwards. He pecked him on the left cheek and nuzzled his head against the wet stain he left behind.

“You seem tense,” he said. “Are this worried about Singer, or is about tonight?”

Sunny Side saved himself from saying a nasty comment, and instead sighed heavy. “Tonight..”

“Everything is going to be fine, babe” Honey Drop reassured. He pecked his cheek again, then, kiss by kiss, he moved past his cheek, down to his chin, then his neck and nibbled at the fur. “You’ll see.” he said when he surfaced for air.

Sunny Side sighed, “I just…”

“What?”

“Well, you know how every time we think something is going to go okay, something extra stupid and extraordinarily outlandish happens?" He asked nudging his boyfriend's stomach, "Remember last week when we were having wine and cheese night and you found out that we didn't have a corkscrew to open the merlot with, so we had to have that awful Chardonnay instead?"

Honey Drop nodded solemnly.

"Or, how about your sister coming in the same exact weekend that we're supposed to throw a cocktail social that could really, really, show the ponies here that we're not just another tacky gay couple?" Sunny Side sighed and dipped his head to the floor, "I think the powers that be love to see us suffer."

Honey Drop dipped the tongue out of his mouth and ran it just behind the cuff of Sunny Side's right ear, earning a muffled moan and a body shake. “And you’re worried that something like that will happen to us tonight?”

“Yes.” Sunny Side, wry and jittery, nodded, “Very.”

“You’ll get wrinkles from worrying so much,” Honey Drop laughed, nuzzling his mouth over the back of his head and then into the space behind his left ear, “Nothing could possiblie go wrong tonight.”

Sunny Side stared curiously. “Possib-lie?”

Honey Drop stopped, his head shot back and his eyebrows raised, "Oh sorry,", he scratched the back of his mane, nervously, and chuckled, "I meant ‘Possibly go wrong'."

“Right...”

“You know what will help you take your mind off of this?” Honey Drop asked, nudging his boyfriend in the side and giving a knowing smile towards him, “What if we put out those themed coasters you bought last week?”

Sunny Side’s face lit and a smile wider and more heartfelt than any his boyfriend had seen on his face in a long time appeared from the faintest look of nothingness.

"Oh,” he clicked his tongue in his mouth and his eyes went wide and wild, “Should we use the ones with the pictures of kittens hanging off of tree branches with inspiring phrases written in cursive? Or, the ones of paintings that look suspiciously like vaginas?"

“Would it be too campy to use both?”

Sunny Side leaned forwards and his mouth brushed against his boyfriend’s, catching him off guard. When he pulled back he was grinning at the happily sedated colt before him.

“Sometimes,” Sunny Side whispered, “I realize just how much I love you all over again.”

Sunny Side kissed Honey Drop again and when he did, the larger colt wrapped his hoof around his neck. Never one to be outdone, Sunny Side pushed his chest against Honey Drop, which was the wrong thing to do in that moment as it sent the colt backwards and onto the floor.

This wasn’t a problem for Sunny Side. He dove atop of him and together they nuzzled, kissed, caressed, stroked and toyed with and against each other. Honey Drop would nip at Sunny Side’s ears, and Sunny Side would pinch his rear to get back at him.

Honey Drop was right on all accounts Sunny Side knew this. The forces that be may transpire against him from time to time, but, as long as he had the support -- emotionally and more frequently physically -- of his boyfriend, Sunny Side was willing to face any hitches in his best laid plans for the night.

The party was in an hour.

What was the worst thing the powers that be could cook up for them in sixty minutes? After all, with Scout and Singer unaccounted for, it really only meant two less possible hitches in their plans. No Scout meant none of the mares at the party would walk out that night feeling like they were the victims of sexual abuse, and, without Singer, well, he didn’t want to imagine what kind of fresh hells she could bring to the table.

Things were going to be okay.

Smooth Operator

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.

Freaks And Geeks

Freaks And Geeks

“Goddess, you are sexy!”

White Mane blushed at the compliment, and with his left hoof gingerly brushed a few loose strands of his mane away from his eye. He batted his eyes -- invitingly -- at his suitor then gave a response.

“Oh?” He paused for a second to let the coy little compliment sink in. “Do go on...”

His suitor smiled cockily -- probably fueled by White Mane’s at this point less than subtle attraction to him -- then continued.

“You know you love it.” He grinned, “But, if it takes hearing it then it’s true; You are the sexiest, cutest and best looking colt on campus. Maybe even all of Equestria!”

His suitor was right on both accounts; White Mane did love being showered in praise. He lived for it. Thrived in it, and his suitor was certainly playing his cards right by feeding his addiction to it.

That, and he was also very much drop dead sexy...

Though it never hurt to be reminded.

At this point his normally gold face had turned a deep red. He broke eye contact -- knowingly -- to glance down at the floor. He knew where this was going and it would be damn near impossible for his suitor not to realize it also. Still, he wanted... needed to put up something resembling a fight, or else he ran the risk of coming off as slutty, and it went without saying that that couldn’t happen. He hadn’t abandoned an uncomfortable position as a Royal Guard (Well, ‘Royal Guard In Training’ on paper. But, who cared for semantics?), applied to a liberal arts college -- Camden -- and broken his family’s long standing tradition of military service, to earn a reputation as the ‘Colt on campus who’ll lift his tail for a stud with a winning smile.’

Even if that was where this was heading...

“Oh, please. I bet you say that to all the boys...”

His suitor stared hungrily back at him and something resembling a predatory smirk built on his face. The kind of look a Timberwolf got in it’s eyes before it made it’s kill, or, alternatively, a Colt Cuddler got when he realized he was most definitely going to be taking a pony home with him that night.

“Only the ones who are as sexy as you...”

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

White Mane, and his suitor, were both startled by the noise of a hoof beating thrice against the door. They took a pause for a brief second to regain their thoughts, drawn from the lustful haze that they’d been lost in, and stared at the source of the abrupt interruption.

“Dude... can you hurry up in there?” A quiet mumble came half muffled through the bathroom door. “I really have to take a pee...”

Piper!

It had to have been Piper. It was always Piper. Piper his roommate. Piper his best friend. Piper who had the most amazing ability to tarnish and destroy an almost perfect moment.

Ugh!

“Just give me a minute, Piper!” White Mane shouted back.

There came the sound of hooves pacing their way along the hallway outside the bathroom; Piper doing his ‘Wandering Bladder’ dance, which he was prone to do sometime after his third or fourth beer.

They -- Piper and White Mane -- had spent the last hour of their night in a hopeless pre-game for The Freaks and Geeks party at Brawny Brawlers’ place. Which was; Bel Air: frat house just a little ways off campus. Piper, being the more masculine -- yet sensibly so -- of the two was drinking Buckweiser, whereas White Mane -- The more adorably posh and uniquely pragmatic of the duo -- had been mixing diet ginger ale -- cutting calories where he could was what kept him so thin and good looking, after all -- and lemon flavoured Skynoff vodka.

That was the two of them: Piper and White Mane. Two total strangers assigned to live together for the better part of eight months -- or two semesters at Camden -- as freshmen. White Mane was the Earth pony with a delightfully attractive golden/white coat, his charming namesake pearl mane and downright angelic features -- A face that was destined for marble statues across Equestria and hips that could (and did) put fillies to shame.

Piper was also an Earth Pony -- though a Pinto -- with blobs of oak brown that broke the mould of his otherwise beige coloured coat. His body held a thin, but still athletic build, and he wore a wild pumpkin coloured mane. His face was thin and sharp, and he had the most alluring pair of teal eyes that White Mane had ever seen a colt (or filly for that matter) own in his entire life.

There was a history to their relationship as roommates, albeit a rather short one that bordered on cliche. During the first week of classes there had been an air of awkwardness between the two -- it was after all the first time either pony had left the comforts and security of home and lived on their own -- and neither knew quite how to approach the other sensibly. They were both wildly different in lifestyle choices; White Mane was a free spirit. He was boisterous, adventurous and easily excitable. He liked comic books, Waldorf salad, watching bad Kung-Hoof movies, and The Wonderbolts.

Piper, on the other hoof was generally shy around strangers, and also kind of an egghead. He read novels in anthologies. He listened to classical music when he studied. He liked junk food -- pizza, nachos and doughnuts -- and the only movies he tended to watch were strange silent films.

It was hard to adjust, for both of them, but after a few late night study sessions fueled by vodka (White Mane's choice), beer (Piper's choice) and laughter, they bonded over a few familiar interests; Sports. (Piper played professional frisbee in high school and White Mane found athletes sexy). Literature (Both roommates owned the collected works of O’Scar Wilde), and surprisingly, they both liked building pillow forts. So, one drunken attempt at turning their dorm room into ‘Fort Kickass (No Mares Allowed!)’ later, after the laughter died down and the R.A. gave them their first noise complaint, they realized that living together might not be all too bad.

That was them and that was their relationship. Now, Piper had a full bladder and was doing his best to ruin the mood.

And thanks a lot for that, Piper!

“Who are you talking to?” Piper’s voice begged. “I thought you were just going in there to get dressed for the party?”

White Mane groaned his response and shook his head. Piper wouldn’t/couldn’t/shouldn’t ever understand him and his ways. He could try and explain himself, but his reasoning and logic would just fall on deaf ears. There was no way Piper would ever find this normal.

“Wait... are you doing that thing where you flirt with yourself in the mirror to get all hyped up for a party?”

White Mane frowned, his lower lip quivered, slightly, and he turned to stare at the face of his suitor. In the mirror.

“No!”

Behind the door he heard Piper give a soft chuckle.

“Okay, okay, whatever, dude. Can I just come in?”

Piper didn’t wait for a response before he opened the door. With a proud grin and a mostly drunken step in his trot he entered the bathroom then stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on his roommate. Total and complete paralysis overtook him in that moment, his jaw slacked, then dropped, eyes bulged, brows lifted and his breathing even seemed to stop for a minute.

There, in front of him was White Mane sure as he’d expected, only he was dressed, well... like a mare.

Tight jeans -- something likely from the mares section of the Equestrian Apparel off campus -- hugged his feminine hips and gave his shapely flank a nice accentuation. His upper body -- torso to little past his waist -- was covered by a moss green hoodie (Also from the Equestrian Apparel Catalogue and also for mares) And, on his hooves -- all four of them -- he wore faux-furlined low cut boots.

Piper just stared open mouthed and shocked at his roommate.

White Mane smiled boastfully and, for a second time that evening, he flipped a lock of his mane out of his left eye and batted his eyes, this time at Piper.

“This works, right? He asked in a hushed tone. There was worry worn across his face, it mudled his features and made him seem almost depressed. “This look is okay?”

“It’s um...”

Piper was abnormally tongue tied, White Mane noted; Normally, he could openly discuss these types of things with Piper, and more often than that, he could even count on Piper’s hetero eye to help him with his outfit.

This was different, for some reason.

“Too much?” White Mane asked, again worried.

He stared at himself in the mirror and tried, desperately, to figure out which precise detail of his outfit it was that caused the panic in Piper. Was it the boots? It had to be the boots, right? Because most ponies didn’t wear them, so they must have looked ridiculously out of place on him. But, they were special and had a special purpose, so he was planning on wearing them anyway. Maybe it was the jeans? Ponies didn’t usually wear those either. Or, the hoodie?

Oh, Dukes; He probably looked absolutely ludicrous in this outfit!

“No!” Piper shouted, then paused and slapped a hoof to his cheek. “... I mean no. It’s just.... um....” Piper did a double take of his roommate. He really did look like a mare in those clothes -- and, not a bad looking mare at that, either -- “You look great! I mean... good... Um... yeah. You look very good in that outfit.”

White Mane squealed in delight and rushed towards Piper, tossing his front hooves around the colt’s neck and pulling him into a warm hug, nuzzling the other colt's head into his chest.

“Thanks, Piper!” He sing-songed. “You’re the best!”

Piper blushed.

“What’s up with the boots, though?”

Piper stared down at the offending footwear and White Mane felt a blush of his own build up on his face; they were kind of a stupid last minute addition, but there was a history to them and, if he and Piper weren’t such good roommates, best friends and platonic sleepover buddies (Because, sometimes White Mane got scared at night and liked to crawl into Piper’s bed for company. It wasn’t like it was hurting their relationship: White Mane was gay, but Piper was straight after all.) he wouldn't have told him their origin, but, well, Piper was all those things, and he felt comfortable enough to divulge secret information with his roommate.

“They’re my ‘Come fuck me’ boots!” He said cheerily, giving his front left hoof a dainty kick.

“They’re your... WHAT?”

White Mane felt a little ashamed at Piper’s wide eyed gaze; the shock that reflected from it and felt like his roommate was owed some kind of explanation.

“Well, I mean we’ve been going to school here for a while, Piper. And, I know you're kind of shy and everything, but don’t you want to experience Camden? Don't you want to meet somepony?” he enquired, giving Piper a pair of lost puppy eyes all encompassing orbs that reflected his roommate in their gaze. “Besides, Cosmarepoliton magazine said that 'One in five ponies meet their significant other at college.'.”

Piper’s face dropped a little, and looked like he was going to say something, but instead he just shook his head.

“Only you White Mane...”

White Mane just smiled up at his roommate, he glowed with a newfound pride in his outfit and the resolution that it didn’t make him look silly showed in his aura. He turned away from Piper, stared into the mirror and winked.

His ‘suitor’ winked back.

“Do hurry, Piper!” He called out as he trotted from the bathroom and towards the foldout couch, where he gracefully took a seat.

The sound of Piper’s urine slapping against the porcelain bowl of the toilet filled the room and White Mane fixed himself another drink: One part vodka and two parts diet Equestrian Dry. He squeezed a lemon wedge into the highball glass, then dropped the expended fruit slice in so that it sank past the ice and sat at the bottom.

Content, he took a sip of his drank and spoke again.

“I don’t want to be late...”

“We’re not going to be late, dude.” Piper’s voice echoed from the open bathroom door. “We’ve got plenty of time, and I kind of want to finish that six pack before we leave.”

White Mane took another sip and debated arguing with Piper. He recalled a piece in last month’s ‘Cosmarepolitan’, under the ‘Ten Do’s and Don't's To The Equestrian College Party’ that reflected his roommate’s logic, and he echoed the sage wisdom to his roommate

“Well, Cosmare also said being ‘fashionably late’ is really in right now. It makes you seem ‘Cool and relaxed.’.. I think.” White Mane called back. “So, I guess we have time.”

“That’s the spirit.” Piper chimed in from the bathroom. The toilet flushed obnoxiously loud, then the sink came to life and a few seconds later Piper flopped onto the couch and grabbed a fresh beer from what was left of his six pack. He cracked it open in a violent display of froth and liquid foam, then took a few long swigs from the can. He turned to his roommate, smiled softly and finished the beer.

“‘Come fuck me’ boots, hey?” he chuckled wiping a froth moustache clean off his muzzle.

“Yeah... come fuck me,” White Mane repeated, taking another sip from his drink. He paused for a moment, then gave Piper a desperate look and spoke again. “Piper, do you think there are going to be any... you know... gayer ponies at the party?”

White Mane was almost pleading for a ‘yes’ from Piper, and he felt obligated to answer accordingly. He leaned forward, cracked a fresh beer then smiled back at his roommate.

“Sure. Why not?”

He took a sip of beer.

“Really?!”

White Mane was unusually hyper, and Piper half suspected it was from the fact that he’d switched his Diet Ginger Ale for the regular, sugar heavy kind -- just a light hearted prank between roommates -- or, it could also have also come from a deep seated desire in White Mane to meet somepony who made him happy.

Either way the fact remained; White Mane was abnormally excited about tonight.

“Oh Piper,” White Mane sighed. “I just want to meet somepony, and be happy, and maybe if he’s the one we could get married, and then my dad will...”

Something about what White Mane was droning on about struck a chord with Piper, and, he began to feel resentment crawl up his spine. Not at White Mane. He could never resent his roommate. Ever. But, somehow listening to the other colt gloat about the joy his life could become after tonight, tussled his figurative feathers uncomfortably.

“Maybe we should hurry,” He interrupted to a curious look from White Mane, he shrugged it off and finished his beer. The feeling, whatever it was, subsided for the moment and he quickly cracked another beer open. “I mean... just in case we’re missing something good?”

White Mane nodded and finished his drink.

***

Half an hour after Piper and White Mane left their dorm room they were standing in the doorway of Bel Air. Before that Piper had finished the remainder of his six-pack and White Mane had finished three more Vodka/Ginger-Ales. Now both were quite drunk as they made their way through the doorway and into the ruckus that was The Freaks and Geeks Party.

The first thing that hit the two entering Bel Air was the noise; loud cymbal crashes, heavy bass drums beating to a tribal tune, record scratching and the booming voice of an angry Zebra screaming “It's Tricky!” pierced their ear drums.

The Freaks And Geeks Party was well under way.

They took a moment, in the confines of the doorway, to study and observe the crowd. Among the few dozen bodies that filled their vision, both roommates immediately spotted a variety of familiar faces; much of Camden’s party alumni were present and heavy into the debauchery.

Across from the doorway, leaning casually against one of the speakers was The Colt from Las Pegasus grinning behind a pair of Oatley shades, and watching a mare on the dance floor grind her body up against another mare and stroking his chin introspectively. Spotting White Mane spotting him, he snarled and White Mane quickly turned away.

No luck so far.

He kept observing. Studying the crowd and looking for Mr. Right. Or, at the very least 'Mr. Right for tonight'

Somewhere, near the corner of room and winning a game of beer pong -- using the oak dining table in the living room as his base of operations -- was The Handsome Dunce; An apple red coated unicorn with a jet black mane, handsome good looks and a curiously jagged horn attached directly in the middle of his forehead.

Paralysis hit White Mane when his eyes fell on the body of the colt who was playing opposite The Handsome Dunce. He stood a head taller than anypony present, with a body moulded to the peak of physical perfection and that handsome athlete grin he’d seen him wear in pictures printed in the Camden Inquirer after every game he’d won for the hoofball team, was a pony of great renown.

This was Brawny Brawler; The captain of the hoofball team. The colt who led The Camden Chariots to victory against The Coltlumbia Caraways two years ago. This was the colt who wore his Lettermane jacket -- the one with his name embroidered on the back above the numbers ‘49’ -- un ironically, and totally made it look natural. This was a colt who could have any mare on campus that he desired, and right now he was staring at White Mane with those soft gentle baby blues and winking.

If any other pony present was a Camden celebrity this was the definition of an ‘A-lister’. The fact that he was even acknowledging that White Mane existed in the same realm as him was more than enough to make the younger colt swoon. Suddenly, White Mane's legs were feeling kind of funny and it took a strength he didn’t know he had inside to keep standing.

During a break in the game, The Handsome Dunce spotted White Mane, then Piper and he grinned.

“Yo, Piper!” He shouted drawing his attention. White Mane felt tempted to ask how -- and why -- The Handsome Dunce knew his name seeing as how Piper was the shy one of the duo, and White Mane the social climber, but it seemed a moot point of interest; this was Camden after all.

“Dude, let’s double up? You and me versus Brawny and your roommate?”

Piper stared earnestly at White Mane, eagerly inviting the hesitant colt to join. But, White Mane’s mind had already been made. If playing a silly drinking game with silly drunk boys was going to get him even a hoofstep closer to Brawny Brawler there was no way he could say ‘No’.

Piper, perhaps sensing this, grinned back and the two of them headed towards the beer pong table.

White Mane noticed Brawny’s eyes follow him every step of the way, until he stood before him and extended a hoof towards him. Brawny smiled down at him, a gentle, calm and collected smile, and White Mane fought back a hard blush.

“I’m... White Mane.” he said in a quiet voice, just a few pitches above a whisper.

“Brawny.” he replied, taking the hoof and shaking it gently. He stared down, past White Mane’s face and surprisingly, at the hoofwear he wore and grinned. “I like your boots.”

White Mane bit his lower lip, and out of the corner of his eye saw Piper grin.

“Hey!” A loud voice shouted, forever shattering this perfect moment in time and space for White Mane. “You two girls can compare tampons later. Let’s get going already!”

“Just ignore, Jag.” Brawny said in reference to The Handsome Dunce. “He gets really cranky when it’s his time of the month.”

“Hardy-Har-Har.” Jag -- as it were -- groaned under his breath. “At least my girlfriend didn’t go down on half the hoofball team before I started seeing her. Course, I bet you both have that in common.”

Brawny huffed something under his breath, then turned his gaze to White Mane; there was a playful intensity in his eyes, and a grin on his face.

“How good are you at beer pong?” He asked. White Mane hesitated with his response; he’d, in all honesty, never played the game. He’d seen colts back home play it at house parties, and the rules were simple; two teams on two sides of a table set nine red dixie cups in a triangle -- four, three, two then one -- fill them with an ounce of beer and toss ping pong balls out of their mouths. If a ball lands in a cup that team drinks. If it doesn’t the ball goes to the other team.

Simple. Real simple.

“I’m... uh...” He didn’t want to lie, but, he also didn’t want to look like rubbish in the eyes of Brawny Brawler, so he did. “Pretty good. Yeah, I’m... I’m really good, actually.”

Brawny smiled--showing two rows of perfect teeth--and slapped a hoof to White Mane’s shoulder, startling him a little.

“Then, you’re gonna be our secret weapon.” He said, proudly, turning towards the table. White Mane followed.

“Whenever you girls are ready...” Jag grinned from across the way, beside him Piper practiced his best ‘War Face’, snarling teeth, his brow furrowed and a forced intensity in his eyes, but his inherent sweetness broke through though and almost made White Mane giggle. He looked like a foal trying to act like an adult.

White Mane was prepared to offer something back. A well thought out insult/taunt perhaps in the way of a ‘No! You’re a girl!’ or ‘Hey... shut up!’ when a white ping-pong ball whizzed past him; he watched it fly across the table, gracefully soaring the air, until it fell dead in a plastic solo cup -- the centre one -- and a hoof wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him tight into a warm, fuzzy chest.

Brawny was hugging him.

White Mane almost drooled.

“Dude, that was epic!” he heard Brawny roar above him, as he released the hold on the colt and threw his hooves into the air. “What do you think of that, Jag?”

White Mane sheepishly slunk away from Brawny, throwing the hood of the pullover sweater over his head, trying desperately to hide the flush in his face.

“Yeah, yeah...” Jag groaned. “Let’s see how your little girlfriend does.”

Brawny Brawler slid a white ping-pong ball on the table before White Mane, and gave him a friendly, encouraging smile. White Mane gripped the ball in his mouth, narrowed his eyes and tried to remember life advice his father had taught him years ago.

“If a stranger offers you something. Just. Say. No.”

That information hardly seemed relevant in this situation.

Regardless, puckering his lips around the silicone base, and pressing his tongue to the soft underside, he launched the ball to the best of his ability. Like when Brawny had done it a few seconds ago, the ball soared gracefully and landed in another cup -- furthest right and back -- and White Mane fought back a girlish squeal of pride, opting for a jig instead.

Brawny Brawler and White Mane: Two.

Piper and The Handsome Dunce: Zero.

Suck it, Piper!

He was startled for a second when Brawny raised a hoof to him -- he almost considered ducking back -- but then he realized it was just for a casual, friendly bro-hoof, he felt flattered that he’d earned one from Brawny and, met the extended hoof with his own.

Brawny smiled broadly.

“Dude,” Jag groaned, wiping a foam moustache off his mouth. “We’re gonna make a comeback.”

Piper was up to bat now. He grinned, his eyes narrowed when they met with White Mane’s and, there was something about the look -- maybe it was that he’d never seen Piper look so serious and determined in all the time they’d been friends or, maybe it was cause he winked, teasingly -- but before he knew it a white ping pong ball fell into a plastic cup with a quiet ‘Plop’.

Piper had scored on him.

That silly egghead!

This obviously meant war.

Brawny, Piper and Jag all stared at White Mane and he realized he -- not Brawny -- was meant to take this drink; which was a travesty because as long as he’d lived, White Mane had always hated beer. It was gross, tasted like gym socks and made him get a type of drunk he was uncomfortable being. Still, with Brawny staring down at him, he felt the need to impress.

Lifting the plastic cup daintily, he pinched his nose and fired back the gym-sock flavoured liquid. Swallowing it in one gulp.

He fought back an embarrassing wretch, furrowed a frown when he realized in the time it took for him to drink it, Jag; The Handsome Dunce, had fired, and scored, another shot on them and he was now recieving the same imploring stares from the other players to finish this beer too.

He sighed under his breath, lifted a second plastic cup of liquid fart and fired back another half beer.

***

The game lasted for too long and far too many beers. By the time one side had won the first game -- The Handsome Dunce and Piper -- no pony playing was sober, but, filled with an insatiable competitive edge that spurred a second game - -which Brawny and White Mane had won -- all four were now locked into the third which was the tie breaker.

Three cups left -- on both sides -- and it was Brawny and White Mane’s turn to throw, or more specifically, White Mane’s turn to throw. Narrowed eyes glaring at his target, the ball placed firmly in his mouth, he released it and when it sunk in the cup he felt pride on top of pride -- though that just as easily could have been the beer talking.

He felt a hoof slap his shoulder, lightly, then -- and maybe he was just imagining it -- but it almost felt like Brawny gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze after. Brawny’s warm body pressed into his, with the fur of his chest, and the material of his jacket, grinding against his body, as White Mane was again pulled into a hug.

White Mane blushed -- again -- when Brawny pulled away.

Brawny’s shot followed -- he missed -- Piper’s shot came after that -- he sunk it -- and Brawny swallowed back another cup of beer. When The Handsome Dunce shot, his ball missed, bounced off the table and landed somewhere behind White Mane.

As White Mane bent down to pick it up, he noticed himself stumble -- only slightly -- and, as he tried to find better footing on the floor, his flank shook in the air behind him. When he felt a hoof slap against his flank, he fell into a momentary paralysis. He bit his lower lip as hard as he could; his face felt on fire and he turned back to see Brawny Brawler grinning -- a stupid drunken grin -- and pulling his hoof back.

“Did you find the ball?” Brawny asked, super casual about the fact that he’d just pretty damn near spanked White Mane, in front of his roommate and The Handsome Dunce.

He said nothing as he gripped the ball in his mouth and dusted himself off. Ignoring whatever inside him told him that there was something up with Brawny (And that it might just be a more than friendship kind of thing, also), he lined up his shot. There was one cup left on the table, one ball left for their team and he’d be a sun of a biscuit if he was going to lose to Piper -- and The Handsome Dunce -- and let Brawny Brawler down.

Focus.

His eyes darting from the cup, to the leering eyes of the opposing team and past the tongues they wagged at him. (Brawny’s hooves gently massaging his shoulders and him whispering 'You've got this.' was a confidence booster) he fired. Sunk the ball past the rim of another red solo cup and couldn't fight the urge to shout his excitement.

And then it happened; Brawny Brawler hugged him again, only, this time it felt different. The hug was tighter than before and Brawny's hooves trailed slowly down his back and stopped when they found his flank. White Mane felt his face flush, then, he felt Brawny’s breath against his cheek. He almost wanted to say something, question it (It did seem a little forward even if Brawny was drunk) but in that moment he felt Brawny’s hooves grip his cheeks and White Mane gave a quiet--joyous--little squeak.

It could have been White Mane’s overactive imagination, but, if he didn’t know any better he could swear this was more than just a thing friends did with other friends, plus, the look on Brawny’s face -- a half drunk, half seductive little smirk and a glint in his eyes -- seemed like it helped sway the argument in his favor.

Still, Brawny was straight, so he must have been overthinking it. That, and, he had a girlfriend (Who, actually, White Mane had taken an Intro to Acting class with) and so, he was left utterly perplexed as Brawny broke off the hug and moved towards The Handsome Dunce and Piper, slapping them bro-hooves and laughing at a good game played. He did, however, turn his head to White Mane and give a sly wink -- which didn’t help the confused colt -- before the three friends disappeared into the crowd.

Drunk on Buckweiser beer, Skynoff vodka confused and with a full bladder, White Mane shook dirty, silly and comfortable ideas and presumptions from his head and set off to find a bathroom.

***

The downstairs bathroom was disgusting. Somepony had thrown up in the toilet and somehow overflown the thing, and some other inventive pony had decided that the sink would make a good replacement. It went without saying it was now un-operational and White Mane would have to find an alternative.

Fortunately, there was a second story bathroom, next to the rooms, that White Mane found in a bout of drunken exploration and, coming out of the bathroom now -- after double checking to make sure that his mane still looked as perfect as it did hours ago, and then making sure his face wasn’t too puffy or bloated from all the beer he'd been forced to drink -- he stared up to come face to chest with Brawny Brawler, who stood -- super casual -- against the wall, grinning down at White Mane.

“Hey,” He whispered, again, in some kind of almost seductive tone. "fancy seeing you here."

“I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. But, the bathroom downstairs was plugged, and I didn't mean to invade anyone's private space, but I really had to pee and... you're not mad at me, are you?” He asked, hesitant and nervousness clear and present in his tone.

Brawny broke off the wall and moved towards him. His steps were slow and methodical in a way that made the feeble young colt back away slowly, until he felt the infinite distance behind him end and he was backed into a wall. Brawny no more than inches away from him.

“You know... you look really cute when you're nervous.” Brawny said, taking a pause to stare down at White Mane. “I think it's your smile.”

Brawny chuckled and he dipped his head towards White Mane. His lips brushed against the flesh of his ear and, in a quiet whisper, he uttered a phrase that could have brought White Mane to his knees.

“Wanna' fool around?”

White Mane stared in complete silent awe; there was no way that that meant anything other than how it sounded.

“But, you're not... ? I didn't know that you were... ? Are you... ?” he mumbled as he felt Brawny push closer into him. Brawny's muscular chest rubbed into White Mane, and he could feel the older, taller colt's breath brush the fur around his ear. Sending chills up his spine. “Gay?”

“Gay? No!” Brawny huffed, drawing his head back from White Mane. He looked revolted, and he sounded almost offended. “I just think you’re really sexy.”

Well, that made sense...

“… Wait, what?” was all White Mane managed to get out before he felt Brawny’s head move from his ear to his face, and a pair of big, powerful lips pressed hungrily against his. He felt Brawny wrap a hoof around his waist and pull his lithe, delicate body into his chest. At first, White Mane was startled -- more so caught off guard, really -- but soon he realized this was in fact everything he'd wanted, hoped, and prayed could happen between them tonight, and so he just moaned against the older colt's mouth, melting into his chest.

The kiss could have lasted for hours, at least, that's what it felt like to White Mane, but, before he was good and ready for it to end, Brawny Brawler's lips broke off from his own. This left White Mane dazed, confused and, when he finally found the strength to open his eyes, Brawny was smiling down at him.

"Wanna see my room?" he asked with a chuckle. White Mane, his face nuzzled into the older colt's chest, just hummed a 'Mmhmm' in response.

White Mane sat alone on a futon and studied his surroundings; Brawny Brawler’s room at Bel Air had a certain charm to it that spoke volumes of him and his personality. Everything in the room was utterly captivating; framed movie posters, gleaming trophies, a bookshelf filled with more than just comic books and required course material; Brawny Brawler was more than just a jock. He was an actual pony. Just like White Mane.

He felt himself become drawn out of his interpersonal studying of Brawny Brawler’s character when he heard the door to the room shut. He couldn't see Brawny, but, the lights in the room dimmed to a golden glimmer, and a short second of hooves shuffling later, he heard the opening notes to 'Blue Sky by 'The Allmane Brothers Band' sing softly through the speakers that surrounded him.

The anticipation of whatever came next was starting to drive White Mane absolutely wild.

Then, Brawny Brawler appeared in front of him. In the low-cast glow of the lamp, his features looked more romantic and enticing. He was grinning, staring at White Mane and White Mane felt some kind palpitation in his heart when Brawny winked at him.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asked and moved towards the mini fridge by the dresser. "I think my girlfriend left a few Skynoff Ices here? I've also got wine, or...."

For all intents and purposes, White Mane felt he had to impress Brawny. By his logic, Brawny had picked him out of a crowd that included pretty mares, and, he desperately wanted to make Brawny realize he'd made the right choice. Personally, if he'd had to choose his beverage of the night himself, he'd have easily taken the Skynoff Ice, or the wine, but, he needed to seem non-challant in front of Brawny and so went with the third option.

"I'll have... an... um..." What would Piper drink? "... a Buckweiser."

Brawny flashed that handsome, rugged, grin again as he grabbed two fresh beers out of the fridge. He moved, slowly, and tauntingly, towards the couch and the table infront of it, before he plopped on the couch beside him.

White Mane tried to control the rising heat in his cheeks as he stared into the eyes of Brawny Brawler; round, soft and gentle globes of auburn met his and he could barely conceal his glee. If Brawny Brawler was inviting him to his room -- which he had -- and offering him a drink -- which he also had -- it didn't take a Lunar scientist to imagine what came next, all he had to wonder was which one of the two of them was going to make the first move.

Fortunately, Brawny Brawler stepped up to the plate. He slipped a hoof over White Mane's shoulder; it was done so casually and with a practiced smoothness that White Mane could do nothing but ease into the touch. He cradled his head against Brawny's muscular shoulder and nuzzled his face against his chest.

He could live here forever.

Brawny eventually finished his beer and put the empty can on the table with his left hoof--With the other still around White Mane's shoulder. When he released his grip on the empty beer can, he brought his now free hoof to White Mane's face and touched it gently against his cheek, tilting White Mane's face to meet his. The two colts locked eyes for a second, then Brawny lowered his face to White Mane's and again pressed his lips against his in a soft, sensual, kiss that was as much romantic as it was exciting.

The kiss grew more frantic as White Mane and Brawny grew more comfortable. White Mane, inexperienced as he was, was certainly not apposed to trying to take the reins from Brawny, and bit hard on his lower lip which the older colt seemed to love. The next thing he knew, Brawny was pushing him -- with White Mane still clamping his lower lip in his teeth -- down into the futon and straddling himself overtop of White Mane's.

Brawny, again, broke the kiss to a disapointed White Mane, though, this time Brawny looked like he had a profound thought so White Mane didn't mind nearly as much.

"You know, when I saw you walk in, wearing those sexy boots... I thought you were the prettiest mare in the whole room." He spoke, his voice just barely above a gentle whisper. White Mane was confused, but, said nothing. "But, now that I can see you're not, I'm not really upset about it either..."

Brawny was grinding his chest into White Mane's now, who was writhing in pleasure underneath him. Brawny adjusted his position so that his thighs rubbed against White Mane's and his front hooves met against the side of his head. Brawny leaned his face down, so that his calloused lips were mere inches away from White Mane's eagerly awaiting own.

"I'm glad you're not a mare..." He purred as he tauntingly brushed his lips against White Mane's. "Because, I'm kind of going through a 'phase' where all I want to do is just fuck a cute little colt like you."

White Mane felt his nether rejoin express it's comfort with the situation; he could feel himself grow against the tight fabric of his jeans. They'd cost a small fortune, but, the softness of the interior that tickled his growing rod and sent a joyful pulse through his body made them so worth it. His body--his dick especially--was aching for some kind of release from the tension so badly that it took everything in his power to not scream "JUST FUCK ME ALREADY!" at Brawny. Even if that's what he wanted.

It seemed like Brawny could sense his excitement because the next thing he knew he was kissing him again. It was that same hungry, excited kiss. The kind that White Mane had waited his entire life to receive from another stallion and now that it was happening, all he could think to do was open his mouth and invite Brawny Brawler inside. Which the older colt did without any hesitation.

The feel of Brawny's wet, moist tongue slide along his own was something White Mane didn't think he'd ever expected to be this amazing and not long after, Brawny began exploring his mouth. He brushed against White Mane's molars, licked the top of his mouth, then began wrestling with White Mane's own eager and awaiting tongue. Excited and intrepid, the younger lover felt a surge of something resembling lust overtake his body and he wrapped his hooves tight around Brawny's waist, pulling the athletic stallion's body deeper, clinging madly to him. He closed his eyes and let Brawny's tongue continue to explore his mouth, fighting back a low and guttural moan.

Adventurous hooves ran down his waist until they found his tight and supple bottom--for what he realized was the second time that night--and, again, White Mane gave a half pant/half moan into the mouth of Brawny Brawler when he felt him pinch the flesh of his flank playfully. Inticed by the noises of his younger lover, Brawny started humping his crotch, and his own engorged and erect member, against White Mane. He could feel the inches of warm flesh as they continuously slapped against his thigh and for the record, Brawny was certainly not dissapointing as far as length or thickness were concerned. Just as White Mane was lost in the passion, Brawny, again, broke another kiss. His body shot upright, his hooves gripped his Lettermane jacket and he tore it off. He pressed a single hoof to White Mane's chest, found the zipper of his hoodie and tugged it down desperately.

White Mane was certainly not going to fight having Brawny Brawler undress him.

His chest now as naked and exposed as Brawny's was, he was pulled into an upright sitting position and felt a hoof crawl up his spine, past his neck then stopped at the tip of White Mane's cranium. Brawny brushed that same hoof through his mane, making him shudder and purr. Then, not so subtly implying he wanted/needed White Mane to go further, he spread his legs so that his stark erection stood at full attention.

It was quite a sight to see--as apposed to feel pressed against his rear--Brawny's stiff and hard prick was a truly monumental organ to be proud of; a thick, veiny and twitching obelisk of sleek black flesh that loomed like some kind of tower in the centre of his lap.

Brawny was still staring at him, silently urging him to do something with this recent development, and, White Mane, drunk on lust and Buckweiser, felt himself dip his face, muzzle, and mouth towards Brawny's cock.

A nervous chill overtook him as his face drew closer to Brawny's stallionhood. This was, well, this was the first time he'd ever been this forward with a stallion before, and, he wasn't exactly sure how to proceed from here. He'd read enough articles in Cosmare to know what he was expected to do, and he felt confident that the tips from last month's '10 tricks to giving your partner better oral.' article would come in handy now. He stared up at Brawny, giving him his best 'Let me please you, daddy.' look -- his eyes half lidded, seductively, with that just right amount of playful gleam to them to let Brawny know that White Mane wanted this as much as he did. He pushed his tongue through his open lips so that it hung loose down, and decided to let Brawny take it from there.

Brawny with a thick patch of White Mane's mane gripped in his hoof, slowly guided the eager young colt towards his cock. Before he could taste it, White Mane could already smell the musk -- a powerfully exciting mix of sweat and upscale cologne -- that made his mouth water in anticipation. Each second he felt Brawny move him closer, his lips got a little wetter and the blackened flesh grew larger, until, it stood directly before him, and White Mane realized he had to take charge.

Tip #1: Start by teasing your partner's length.

White Mane did just that, his hoof gently gripped the base of Brawny's member, and he felt it give a cute little twitch in response. He touched his tongue to Brawny's length, and slowly, tauntalizingly, licked his way along the underside of his penis, slathering the flesh with his saliva, and savouring Brawny's flavour. He tasted funny, and not at all like he'd expected; he was salty, warm and had a weird sort of aftertaste a little bit like alfalfa.

White Mane's tongue found itself at the end of the slow and purposefully taunting journey. Staring into Brawny's eyes, with a lust heavy grin on his face, White Mane swallowed his engorged head in a gentle kiss.

Above him, Brawny seemed like he couldn't be enjoying this anymore if he wanted to. He threw his head back when White Mane ran his tongue across the slit of his stallionhood and drawled out a heavy, lustful groan when White Mane started to ascend his length.

For his first time, White Mane was revelling in the knowledge that he was giving Brawny Brawler a blow-job to remember. As he slid his mouth slowly down Brawny's length, he lashed his tongue along the underside and savoured hearing Brawny pant and moan his name in those low, throaty and broken growls. It made him feel like a slut; a sexy, cute and adorable slut who could make a colt with a questionable sexuality moan his name as he gave him amazing head.

Nothing could ruin this moment.

He was half way down Brawny's length when he felt resistance; he'd managed to take as much of Brawny as he could in his mouth, and, drawing his eyes from the visage of the colt who he was pleasing above him and staring downwards, he realized he'd only taken less than half of Brawny into his mouth. This made him uncomfortable.

Tip #2: Pleasing your partner may make you uncomfortable. Practice first with a toy (Or a phallic shaped fruit) and learn to expand your throat to accommodate your partner's girth.

With that in mind, he swallowed a lump in his throat, inhaled a sharp breath through his nose and opened his windpipe as best as he could, continuing to slide Brawny's cock down his throat. The invasion of the thick meat of Brawny Brawler as it worked it's way down his throat made him feel uncomfortable at first, but, he tried his best to remember the third tip...

Tip #3: Breath slow and steadily through your nose. If you're uncomfortable at first, with (or without) practice, eventually your throat will adjust to his size.

This little tidbit of information would have served him just fine if Brawny Brawler hadn't decided that, that moment was the perfect time to steal control away from White Mane. The hoof gripping the back of his head suddenly began forcing the younger colt's mouth down; faster and harder, and at the same time, Brawny decided to started humping himself into White Mane's mouth.

White Mane felt like he were choking. He tried, at first, to keep up his illusion of comfort with the situation but, eventually, he decided to let Brawny know that he was being a proper ass about this; Glaring up at Brawny, he tried to batt the hoof gripping his mane away, but was met with resistance and the visage of Brawny just grinning; a stupid, cocky, conceited grin as he forced White Mane down his cock faster.

What a fucking asshole!

A sudden development happened in White Mane that would change the course of the night. It could have been from having Brawny Brawler face-fuck him. It could have been his resentment about having a colt whom he'd assumed a closet romantic actually show his true colours, or, it could have been the staunch mix of beer, Vodka and Ginger-Ale that were waging war in his stomach, but, one way or another, an uncomfortable rumble coursed through his stomach, and White Mane, filled with dread, tried to fight what he knew was coming next.

"Oh... f-f-fuck, dude..." Brawny moaned above him.

White Mane could feel Brawny's cock twitch and jerk in his mouth and half way down his throat and the vibrations that came with it shook his jaw a little. Inexperienced as he was in the fine art of oral sex, he also knew what this was gearing towards and not a half a minute later he practically wretched when he felt Brawny spurt his love seed down his throat.

There were a short and quiet few minutes that followed before Brawny pulled White Mane's head from his shrinking prick and White Mane felt the war raging in his stomach be won by one side. Still with his head nuzzled in Brawny's lap, he turned his eyes upwards and with mournful look into Brawny's eyes, he upchucked a mix of bile, half digested beer, vodka, soda and fresh semen against Brawny's chest and into his lap.

"Dude..." Brawny groaned, staring down at his lap, his chest, then into White Mane's eyes. White Mane, devoid of any emotion, wiped a hoof across his mouth, swallowed hard then, staring at the closed door that led to the hallway, prepared his next move.

Sympathetically, and with a quiet "...Sorry..." mumbled under his breath, White Mane broke his eye contact with Brawny, and nervous and quiet, backed himself away from the silently perplexed and speechless Jock on the couch with vomit staining his coat, and towards the door. When he felt his bottom press against the door, he gripped the handle, tore the door open and bolted as fast as he could through the hall, down the stairs and scanned the crowd for Piper.

When he found Piper he was in a crowd of colts and mares cheering on Au Revoir -- the kind of cute pony with the very sexy and exotic accent -- as he fired back shot glasses of what looked like vodka from the backside of some mare's flank. If the night had gone any differently, White Mane would have actually stayed to enjoy the show (While subconciously wishing it was his flank that Au Revoir would press his lips against while taking shot glasses in his mouth) but, then he remembered that somewhere upstairs was a closeted jock with a pile of his vomit in his lap who when he recovered probably would seek some kind of violent retribution from White Mane, and so he grabbed Piper by the shoulder and dragged him away from the crowd, out the front door of Bel Air and back towards his dorm room.

***

"So, um... Do you want to... talk about it?" Piper asked.

He lay, with his legs crossed and his head rested on a pillow and stared curiously at his roommate, who had his face buried into one of his pillows with another pulled tight over the back of his head.

It was now an hour since they'd left the Freaks and Geeks party and White Mane, after entering their dorm room, had crawled into his bed and hidden himself as best as he could in the tangled mess of bedsheets and pillows. Piper, worred about him but he hadn't said two words about what had transpired and he didn't exactly want to push his roommate into telling him if he didn't have to.

"I... I can't ever show my face on campus again!" came White Mane's muffled response. "Brawny...will kill me! He's going to kill me, Piper! I can't believe I did that to him! Ugh, I'm so stupid!"

There was so much hurt in White Mane's voice that it cut deep into Piper. He wanted, well, he wanted to reassure his roommate that whatever happened between them wasn't that bad, and that Brawny was probably a kind enough pony to live and forgive. Curiously, he also found himself wanting to give his roommate a hug as well.

"What happened?" He asked. White Mane's head popped out of the pillow hole he'd buried it in and Piper's heart sank when he stared into his roommate's tearstreaked face and bloodshot eyes. His lower lip was quivering and, Piper, found himself getting up, trotting to his bed and wrapping White Mane into a friendly, comforting hug. White Mane buried his face in Piper's chest and nuzzled his head against the soft fur. Piper felt heat rise to his face.

"Promise you won't be mad, Piper?" He mumbled against his chest. "Please, promise you won't hate me if I tell you?"

There was so much desperation and such a strong desire for understanding in White Mane's voice that he knew, no matter what he said he couldn't bring himself to think any less of his roommate.

"I promise, White Mane." He responded, hugging his roommate a little tighter.

White Mane unstuck his face from Piper's chest, sniffed, swallowed and stared up at Piper, cracking a soft facsimile.

"I... um.... Well, we started making out when we he found me upstairs, and, he was like, really, really, really good at it. Then, well, we um...I kind of, maybe, just a little bit, um... went down on him." White Mane sniffed. "And... Oh, Piper! I threw up in his lap! I couldn't help it! He was too big! And, now he's going to hate me forever! And he's going to tell everypony that I did it! And they're all going to think I'm a slut! And... Piper are you mad at me?"

Piper couldn't describe how he felt in that moment if he'd had to write a thesis on it; his roommate; the innocent, carefree, fun loving, extra adorable colt had given a jock -- who as far as anypony knew was both straight and in a relationship with a mare -- a blow job. The semantics (Throwing up in his lap) were all secondary to the fact that White Mane just admitted to giving a pony head.

Something inside him stirred and he felt absolute resentment for Brawny Brawler, he wanted to punch him in the face the next time he saw him. How dare that asshole, closet case, asshole, jerkface take advantage of White Mane! That disgusting animal! White Mane was innocent, and pure, and sweet, and adorable and cute, and... Whoa, when did his cheeks become so hot?

White Mane kept nuzzling his face against his chest and Piper felt the heat in his face continue to grow. Suddenly , all the anger he had started to melt away as White Mane wrapped both his hooves around his waist and squeezed him tight.

"Can I sleep in your bed, Piper?" he asked, staring up at him with the cutest, most pleading look in his eyes that Piper had ever seen. "We can sleep back to back, or hoof to face. I just... I really don't want to sleep alone tonight."

"Um..." Don't say yes. Don't say yes. Don't say yes. "Yes?"

White Mane gave a delighted squeal against Piper's chest and his hooves tightened around his waist, he nuzzled, harder and faster, against his chest and gave a contended purr Piper could feel vibrate against him.

Uh oh.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" White Mane chirped and broke away from the hug. He got off the bed and pranced (Literally 'pranced') to Piper's bed where he pulled the covers up, leapt underneath them and curled his body into a tight ball facing away from Piper, who, hesitantly crawled into the bed beside him.

***

It wasn't very long after the two had cuddled into bed together, that White Mane had fallen asleep and left a confused, anxious and nervous Piper awake with his mind racing. He stared down at the colt beside him and wondered why he felt the way he did about him in that moment. Surely it wasn't completely irrational for two best friends to share this kind of platonic bond, right? Just because one best friend cared deeply and intimately about the other one, and really enjoyed sharing his bed with him, didn't mean he had a crush on him. That was just silly. He certainly, definitely, positively, 100%, didn't find the colt in bed beside him stunningly attractive and absolutely adorable, his face nuzzled in his hoof and smiling softly.

He grumbled and tried to lay back when White Mane gave an absentminded yawn and his hooves rose in the air for a short second, before falling on his chest and he pulled his body to Piper's, nesting his head on the other colt's chest and smiling in his sleep. Piper bit his lower lip hard and tried to ignore the mental images of the golden coated colt beside him that his mind threw at him, which got harder as White Mane sleepily tossed his leg around Piper's waist and slipped himself a little further into the embrace.

"Mmmm, hey Piper?" He burbled sleepily. "Your hoof is kinda poking my tummy."

Piper almost gnawed his lower lip off with the embarrassment knowledge that it wasn't a hoof prodding into White Mane's stomach at all.

Something told Piper this wasn't going to end well.

Stormy (Part 2)

Stormy (Part 2)

There he was, sitting bored in a class that held no particular interest to him. This was White Mane’s life and it was passing him by one minute at a time.

Today, while his professor raved about the works of some long dead poet he could care less about, White Mane found his attention drawn away from the classroom, the discussion and the stifling, lecture hall that he inhabited, and out the window which overlooked the main courtyard at Camden.

Outside the window there was a tall oak tree and, attached to an otherwise uninteresting branch were a pair of mating chestnut squirrels. White Mane watched the two animals go at it and found a sense of comradery with nature. Particularly, he enjoyed how the male--the larger of the two--protected the female’s body with his own.

His mind drifted while he watched this live spectacle of nature unfold. He imagined himself laying in the shade of the tree. Seated comfortably in Brawny Brawler’s lap, with the older colt’s muscular hooves wrapped around his waist. Brawny, taking romantic nibbles at the tips of his ears. White mane giggling at this, then leaning his head backwards to catch Brawny by surprise with a gentle, delicate kiss.

“... wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Mane?”

Startled back to reality by the sound of his professor’s commanding voice, White Mane felt his spirits sink and panic overtake him as dozens of pairs of eyes suddenly fell on him.

Two squirrels mating. His crush on Brawny Brawler. Brawny’s resentment towards him. Where had he let his mind take him this time?

“I...agree, sir.” He replied cheerfully.

“You agree that Shakes Spear’s death was necessary for his advancement as an iconic figure in popular culture?” His professor asked with curious intent playing in his voice.

White Mane swallowed a lump in his throat. He could hear a few snickers come from the crowd as the stares grew more and more militant by the second.

“Um...well, yes.” he mumbled. “Because...in death...a colt...or mare, achieves a sense of...cult status...”

He had Cosmare’s ‘Ten Great Colts and Mares We Lost This Year.’ article to thank for the words that had just come out of his mouth.

“That’s...quite the opinion, Mr. Mane.” His professor beamed. “Could we gather than that had Shakes Spear been born in our generation, his work would instead be overlooked? And that his death was the proponent which fueled his popularity?”

“Sir?” A hoof shot up along with a second voice in what was soon to become a raging battle of opinions. White Mane stared at the colt attached to that hoof: Cobalt Thunder, a freshman, like himself, who he was somewhat friendly with. Cobalt was a bit of an egghead, so his intervention would be grounded more in well researched facts that would get White Mane off the hook.

“Yes, Mr. Thunder?”

“I disagree with White Mane’s opinion.” Cobalt began. His statement caused an uproar in the class, and White Mane seized his chance to sink into his seat and let Cobalt steal the spotlight from him.

Suddenly, White Mane couldn’t wait to get back to his dorm room.

***

Piper lay alone in his bed while White Mane did his mane in the bathroom.

Half an hour ago, White Mane had come home from a busy day at Camden with a frown on his face and Piper had tried to cheer him up by telling him about his day; about lending a book to Stormy, about getting invited out for a few drinks and how if White Mane wanted, he was definitely encouraged to come along.

White Mane had smiled deviously hearing the name ‘Stormy.’ and agreed in a heartbeat.

“Hey, Piper?” He heard the distinct beckoning call of his roommate. “Can you help me with something?”

He was on his hooves faster than he’d care to admit.

“Sure thing.” He responded. “What’s up?”

He entered the bathroom to find his roommate sitting on the toilet. His mane was wet and carefully clung to his face, and behind him, on the toilet bowl, were a wide assortment of mane care products that almost made Piper roll his eyes. Anti-oxidizing shampoo. Rejuvenating conditioner. Pore Cleansing Mousse.

Just another day helping his roommate prepare for a night on the town.

“Can you help me fix my mane for tonight?” White Mane asked.

Staring down at his roommate, with his mane draped behind his head; his big saucer eyes staring pleadingly at him and his lower lip quivering, Piper really had only one response.

“Yup.” came his enthusiastic reply.

“Thanks, Piper!” White Mane purred the words with the urgency of a needy house cat, as he craned his neck backwards. “I was thinking,” he whispered, still with his eyes closed and his head leaned back. “I want to do my mane a little different tonight.”

‘Different’ was a word that came in broad strokes with White Mane. It could mean he wanted to style his mane according to the latest trend to the Canterlot fashion scene. It could mean he wanted Piper to run up and down the halls trying to find a colt or mare who owned a pair of shears so that he could trim his bangs, or, it could mean he wanted him to pour lotion on his head and work it into his mane with his hooves.

Piper kind of hoped it was the latter option.

“Oh...um, ‘different’ is always nice.” he mumbled back, taking a seat on the wicker basket that was their hamper. “Yeah...’different’ is good.”

“Hmmm,” White Mane murmured. “Cosmare this month had an article in proper mane care. I’m supposed to let my mane soak for twenty minutes before applying mousse.”

“Well...Um...Cosmare knows best?” Piper offered back, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, staring at his roommate.

“Yup.” White Mane giggled. “You should read it sometime. They always have great fashion tips. Even for straight colts like you.”

Piper bit his tongue.

Yeah. Straight colts like him...

“I think,” White Mane began as his hoof slipped off his lap and onto the floor where he gripped an opened copy of Cosmare and lifted it towards his chest. “I want to do my mane like this. What do you think?”

Casually, he tossed the open magazine towards Piper, who caught it and stared at an image of Vinyl Scratch--naturally White Mane’s favorite musician--with her mane done quite fashionably: bangs hanging slightly over the left eye of her trademarked red tinted sunglasses and her tongue jarring out of her mouth at the reader.

Mentally, he pictured his roommate pulling off that same look and he had to say--or rather ‘think’ in this sense--that he quite enjoyed the image.

“That would look...um...quite nice on you.” He murmured quietly.

White Mane’s smile grew.

“Thanks Piper...” He giggled.

Piper felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Are you going to be wearing anything nice tonight?” White Mane questioned.

Piper, startled, realized he hadn’t even given that idea any consideration. Naturally, he planned to dress down--as in, not clothed--but, if White Mane planned on dressing to impress, it only seemed to make sense to do so himself.

“I guess so...” He replied. “My dad sent me a few shirts from H’Armani last week that I haven’t tried out yet...”

“Oh, Piper...” White Mane breathed as his eyes shot open and his smile came to life. “You’d look absolutely adorable in a H’Armani shirt!”

The rising heat in his cheeks could roast marshmallows.

“T-Thanks...” he mumbled quietly then stared back at White Mane, who had since closed his eyes once again. He realized that there wasn’t much more that his roommate could possibly need from him now, and with that in mind, he quietly snuck out of the bathroom.

He trotted towards the shared walk in closet and realized how generously he was using the word ‘shared’. Truthfully--and, if statistics based on whom used more space than the other were at play--the closet was unfairly ‘shared’ between the two. Piper’s wardrobe--mostly designer shirts his dad sent him from The Coast, or sports jackets and blazers that his mom sent from her travels to places like Canterlot, Manehattan and Ponyville--took up less than a quarter of the closet. The rest was an ensemble of clothes that his roommate owned and wore with varying frequency.

The idea of having White Mane be impressed with his fashion sense meant something to him and he rifled through his growing collection of clothes for the one that drew the eye the most. He settled for a white collared dress shirt from H’armani with pre-rolled sleeves.

After doing up the last button--a task made difficult by his consistently fumbling hooves--he stared at himself in the mirror and felt pride and confidence shine when he realized how handsome it made him look (Not that he was egotistical about it.) The bone white shirt contrasted nicely with his beige and brown-spotted coat.

Then a sad and sudden realization dawned on him; What was he doing? Here he was, dressing to impress a colt who he’d found some kind of growing attraction to over the past few weeks, but who most certainly didn’t feel the same of him. This was stupid. He was being stupid. Even if in the off chance that he did manage to look good for his roommate, what did that really matter? White Mane wasn’t attracted to him. Hells, White Mane thought Piper’s sexual and romantic interests lay with mares (Which, he actually had to say he still found to be a half truth.)

Oh well. At least he looked handsome tonight.

With that in mind, Piper came out of the closet.

Outside, White Mane sat casually in a chair by his bed, gently flipping through pages of Cosmare and with a mane that looked nearly identical to the style he’d shown Piper. There was a smile on his face and a glimmer in his eyes built when they fell on Piper.

“Piper...” He stated breathlessly. “You look so dapper in that shirt.”

Either White Mane got his kicks by making sexually confused colts blush, or he was the most unintentionally flirtatious pony who had ever lived.

Piper’s face was beet red and his brain couldn’t conjure a single thing to say back to his roommate. At least, not things which would keep their friendship strictly platonic. Instead, he just kicked his hoof against the floor and bowed his head.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked the floor--and by extension White Mane. He heard the colt leap to his hooves and felt him brush past his body, the touch of White Manes’ body against his rear was almost lightless, and still, Piper cringed and stuttered.

“Let me just throw on something nice.” White Mane offered as he entered the closet and closed the door behind him.

***

“Hey, Piper.” Were the first words out of the mouth of the colt that White Mane had been dying to meet all night: Stormy. The first glimpses of the colt who carried a legend (At least, within his circle of friends) were not disappointing.

He sat alone in a booth, furthest away from the door, smoking a cigarette and curling the ice cubes in a glass of what looked like whiskey. He was dressed down--casually--and looked rather dashing in his solid black track jacket with white zippers. His mane, well maintained but worn a little wild, betrayed the idea that Stormy was a pony comfortable and content in his own skin.

“Hey Stormy,” Piper greeted back as he reached the table with White Mane trialing behind him. “This is my roommate,”

“White Mane.” He extended his hoof softly. Stormy placed the cigarette on the tip of ashtray and gently gripped White Mane’s hoof with his own.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Stormy smiled.

White Mane smiled back.

“How about that drink?” Stormy offered. He took one last drag from the cigarette, then stamped it out in the crystal ashtray.

Both White Mane and Piper nodded in agreement and all three ponies trotted to the bar.

The bartender’s attention was drawn to a pretty mare that White Mane recognized from one of his classes. They waited a few minutes, with the bartender occasionally peeking at them and brushing them off with a wave of his hoof, until Stormy slapped a hoof filled with shiny bits on the bar counter.

“What’ll it be, sirs?” The bartended, shit eating grin and all, asked as he trotted towards them.

“I’d like...” White Mane paused. What would he like? Normally, a Vodka Lime would take the edge off, but, tonight he was feeling a little adventurous. “...a Fuzzy Stable?”

Under his breath, the bartender huffed something mean and cynical, and White Mane frowned. While this bartender clearly wasn’t concerned about his performance review, he struck something of a chord with White Mane; it almost hurt to be talked down to from a colt who earned his living getting ponies soused.

He turned his gaze to Stormy, who smiled like he understood his dilemma then grinned at the bartender.

“Make that two.”

It wasn’t much of a battle to be won, but White Mane felt comfort in Stormy’s choice.

The bartender turned to Piper.

“Oh, and, uh...just a Buckweiser.”

Again, the bartender grumbled something obscene under his breath, but it didn’t bother White Mane too much. Instead, he found cool comfort in Stormy’s unbreakable spirit and smiled along with him.

If this was a sign of things to come, White Mane had certainly made a good decision to come out tonight.

***

Back in their seats with their drinks in tow, all three art students were deadlocked in conversation. The topic really wasn’t anything enormously interesting; Piper was asking Stormy how he was enjoying the first few pages of the novel he’d lent to him. Stormy was answering. White Mane was staring at Stormy and trying to mentally diagnose his sudden interest in the colt.

If Stormy was anything, he was a charmer. He talked with a modest sense of confidence. He was never cocky, or conceited, more so proud and comfortable. He laughed with Piper’s jokes, grinned at stories shared about his life, and had the good sense to humor Piper as he launched into long winded rants about Starswirl The Bearded.

Brawny Brawler had nothing on Stormy.

During a lull in the conversation, noticing White Mane looked somewhat out of place while both he and Piper conversed about works that White Mane would never in his life read, Stormy decided to change the subject for the group’s benefit.

“Would anyone care to play a drinking game?” Stormy suggested, raising his eyebrows and dropping his hooves on the table beside his drink.

“A game?” Piper asked.

“Yeah, like a super casual ‘Get to know you’ kind of game?”

“Oh, that sounds fun.” White Mane crooned in delight.

Stormy laughed.

“Okay, the rules are pretty simple; We go in a circle, clockwise. Whoever’s up, takes a turn guessing a fact about the other. If they guess right, the player they ask has to drink. If they guess wrong, the player who asks has to drink. Then we go around the table.”

“Seems simple enough.” Piper shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s nice and easy.” Stormy said, chuckling. “I think the barista who works at Monk’s came up with it when she was studying for her psychology midterms last year. It can get a little inside your head, so, ground rules are; if you’re uncomfortable answering a question, you can pass...but you have to drink twice if you do.”

“Maybe you should start?” Piper suggested. “Just so we can get the hang of it?”

“Sure.”

Stormy turned to Piper, perched his head on his hooves and stared intently at the shy colt for a few quiet and intense minutes. Never uttering more than a quiet ‘Hmm.’ or ‘Yeah...”

Eventually, a bright smile built on his face and he leaned back in his chair.

“You’re wearing a two hundred bit shirt from H’Armani and you own a library of novels worth more than most ponies make in a month, so I’m going to throw caution to the wind and assume that you come from money?”

“Good guess.” Piper said as he took a drink.

Stormy smiled then gently bowed his head towards Piper,

“So, now you take your turn.”

Piper stared first at White Mane, paused and shook his head. He turned instead to Stormy, studying his features, his movements, then grinned.

“You smoke Red Apple cigarettes and you were drinking Buck Daniels when we came in. You’re an Earth pony, but you don’t have the accent, and you seem too laid back to be from the South, so, I take it you’re from either Baltimare or Manehattan?”

Stormy coughed a laugh and took a drink.

As per the rules of the game, it was White Mane’s turn now.

Since he knew Piper quite intimately (as all best friends did) there really wasn’t a thing in the world that Piper could be hiding from him. No secret hidden truths that could be revealed over the course of the game.

Piper was an open book, but, Stormy was a mystery that stood to be unraveled.

Sunny Side’s words at breakfast had started a curiosity with the older colt that had White Mane desperate to learn as much as he could about him. Specifically, if he were in fact gay (The gorgeous aspect of Sunny Side’s rant had certainly proven true.) and that, if he happened to be was he single? Did he date? Who did he date? Would he date a colt like White Mane? Did White Mane want him to date him?

Subtlety was the key here.

“Stormy,” He purred starring the colt deep in his lovely grey pupils. “You’re seeing someone on campus, aren’t you?”

In his seat, Piper grumbled something under his breath that almost sounded like “Oh, here we go!” then gripped his drink firmly and took an impressive swig. When he finished, he slammed his empty beer on the table and shot his hoof in the air, desperate to draw the attention of a waitress to grab a replacement.

Ignoring this, Stormy grinned and raised his drink.

White Mane felt his spirits sink but, he couldn’t argue that it didn’t make sense. Stormy was such a charming, charismatic and handsome young colt. It seemed obvious that someone had already claimed him for themselves.

*Sigh.* At least it had been worth a try, right?

Then, Stormy tilted the glass towards White Mane and winked.

“Nope.”

It was the best use of such a simple four letter word. White Mane’s heart beat rapidly in his chest and he realized his face was flushed, but, it didn’t matter. Stormy was single and that was a start. Cheerfully, White Mane sipped the straw of his Fuzzy Stable and perched his head on his hooves.

“Really?” White Mane, still doing his best contented cat impression, purred once again.

This drew an inquisitive stare from his roommate, followed by another grumble under his breath. Piper’s hoof still waved for a waitress, as his eyes still darted the room for anyone willing to serve him a drink.

Comparatively, Stormy seemed entrenched; like something that White Mane had said, or perhaps, just watching his body movements, had put him at ease. He leaned back in his seat, tossed his hoof along the railing of the booth and as casual as a pony could be, popped a cigarette between his lips.

“What about yourself?” Stormy asked, apparently putting the game on pause. “There must be someone special in your life?”

White Mane thought about his response; technically, all he had with Brawny Brawler was a one time fling, which several hours ago he’d have fought to defend as the precursor to a working relationship between the two of them. But, now, here, with Stormy (And....also Piper.), with the warmth of a good buzz filling his body, gazing at the alluring visage Stormy exuded, he felt comfortable admitting he was in fact very much single and also very much interested in pursuing a relationship.

“...No, I’m not seeing anypony.” He smiled.

Stormy smiled back.

Piper groaned into his hooves and lay his head flat on the table.

The two other ponies at the table ignored this.

“How about another round?” Stormy suggested. “Unless you have any objections?”

White Mane nodded enthusiastically.

***

Three Fuzzy Stables into his night and White Mane would fully admit he walked the line between buzzed and drunk. Stormy’s drinking game had certainly achieved it’s goal. Not a soul seated in the booth would pass a breathalyzer test.

Stormy seemed to be doing the best of the three, other than slightly sluggish movements and a more jovial and boyish tone in his voice, he could almost pass for sober. The words ‘High’ ‘Functioning’ and ‘Alcoholic’. strung together in a sentence seemed to apply to Stormy, but, White Mane didn’t think any less of him for it.

Piper, on the other hoof, looked a little worse for wear. He’d taken a beating during the game; his shy and quiet nature seemed to be his undoing tonight. Stormy, and after a certain time White Mane, had noticed that Piper would do his best to avoid answering topics such that revolved around sexuality, virginities and students on campus he may or may not have interest in.

Each time Piper refused to answer a question (Normally, his face would turn beet red and he’d mumble ‘pass’ while casually sipping his beer) he’d been forced to take two drinks. He now stood at five finished beers, with the sixth clutched shakingly in his right hoof.

Something about the way Piper was acting threw White Mane off. Normally, Piper was a laugh to be out with. He enjoyed casual nights and making new friends, and he certainly didn’t mind cracking into a beer or two, but, tonight seemed different. He seemed tense and on edge, like he consistently had something to say, but he wasn’t sure how or when to share it.

It almost bothered White Mane, but then he’d stare over at Stormy, and enjoy the warm feeling in his stomach that it brought with it.

To say he was a little interested in Stormy was an understatement. The same uneasy, light headed feeling built in the pit of his stomach when he’d glance at Stormy as it did when he thought about Brawny Brawler. For comparison sake they were almost polar opposites; Brawny had an exceptional body; one built from the ground up to draw the eye of mares (and, colts with innocent crushes). Stormy was toned and thin. He had boyish good looks, a wilder length and cut to his mane and a cuter smile.

Brawny. Stormy. Comparing the two was like comparing apples and oranges. They both had their appeal, it was just a matter of taste, and tonight, White Mane’s tongue craved the sexy, chain smoking orange sitting across from him.

The game was still on and White Mane felt a perfect equilibrium between comfortability with Stormy, and the liquid courage running through his veins to pose his next question, which had the potential to be a total game changer.

Hunching onto his shoulders, grinning like a wildcat and peering past Stormy’s eyes, trying to intimidate, White Mane decided to find out once and for all on what kind of water Stormy’s boat floated.

“Stormy,” he began. “, you’re a very charismatic young stallion. You’re witty, handsome and as you said, single. Would this happen to be because you prefer to cuddle with colts?”

Silence followed this quarry. Stormy’s face contorted; his eyebrows furrowed and an angry scowl built on his face.

White Mane felt panic wash over him.

Of all the dumb things to say to kill a mood, he just had to ask an interesting colt whom he was developing a growing fascination and physical attraction too, what his sexual orientation was, didn’t he?

Then, Stormy’s face reformed, he smiled, lifted his glass and took a sip.

White Mane felt his spirits lifted. Stormy was gay. He was four checks out of five on the metaphorical shopping list of qualities that White Mane looked for in a partner. Handsome (Check). Funny (Check). Single (Check) And, the most recent and uplifting; Gay (Check).

All that remained to be seen was if he was interested in White Mane.

“I think,” White Mane smirked. “, that it’s your turn?”

Suddenly, Piper’s head shot up and the strangest grin that White Mane had ever seen his roommate wear in his life spread across his cheeks; it looked almost diabolical.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Piper interrupted, slapping a hoof on the table and leering at his roommate, “But, I’d like to steal this turn if that’s okay?”

“Uh...yeah, sure?” Stormy, slighted. “Go for it.”

“This one’s for White Mane,” He hiccuped, then turned to face his roommate. “You’ve got the hots for Stormy?”

“Piper...” White Mane mumbled, staring down and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

How could he have just said that? HOW? Of all the stupid drunk things to say, this was:

The.

Worst.

Possible.

Thing.

Ever.

Of all time.

Acting on impulse, White Mane kicked Piper’s shin and tore his eyes off the floor to glare at his roommate, but by this point in his night, Piper seemed too far gone to be remorseful. He stared back at White Mane, grinned stupidly.

“I think I’m going to run to the bathroom?” Stormy stated, clearing his throat and getting up from his seat. He stared back at the table, locked eyes with White Mane then gave a soft, almost unnoticeable smile.

White Mane watched with doey eyes as Stormy entered the bathroom, then, tearing his eyes from the neon sign that read ‘Colts’ in green lettering, he turned his glare onto Piper.

“Why did you say that?” He grumbled. “And, why do you care if I think Stormy is kind of cute?”

“...I guess that answers the question.” Piper slurred.

He seemed almost angry with White Mane. Like somehow, White Mane’s interest in a deviously handsome colt somehow offended him. This was very much unlike Piper, and had White Mane curious as to ‘Why?’ his roommate would care who he found attractive and who he didn’t.

The desire to have Piper flee the scene and save both roommates a night of embarrassment overrode every base emotion and the care and concern White Mane had for him. If Piper was going to sit here, get drunker, make kurt and scathing comments and prevent White Mane from pursuing a romantic interest, his company was certainly unwelcome at the table.

Sluggishly raising his head from the table, Piper sipped the last few drops from his beer and again his hoof shot into the air. This time a waitress, a thin and attractive Unicorn, answered his beckoning call and when she had Piper’s full attention (Which, given his drunken state took a few moments.) he ordered three shots of Brain Bleach: One part tequila, one part whiskey and one part gin.

Truthfully, White Mane had no interest whatsoever in partaking.

The shots came while Stormy was still in the bathroom and White Mane and Piper were locked in an entirely quiet and standoffish engage. Because of, or perhaps in spite of, this, Piper took it upon himself to finish all three shots for himself.

“White Mane,” Piper started after swallowing the last shot. There seemed to be a hint of concern and a softness to his words. “I just...I think that maybe you should know that I’m in lo...”

He stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on Stormy’s returning form, and remained perfectly quiet when he watched Stormy slip into the seat beside White Mane.

Piper gave a sigh under his breath and said nothing else.

His head fell to the table. The room started spinning, and the last thing he remembered before everything went black was seeing Stormy smiling at White Mane and knowing that it only meant trouble for him.

***

“Oh Piper,” a groan came from beside him. It was soft and low, but filled with stress all the same. “How are you this heavy?”

Piper’s eyes fluttered open and he realized he was being held up. His upper hooves were spread, both tossed around the shoulders of whomever it was that was carrying him, while his lower hooves hung limp and dragged against the cold cobblestone ground.

In front of him was a door. To his right, White Mane, to his left...Stormy. Both colts with one of his hooves around their shoulder, staring impatiently at the closed door in front of them.

“It must be his egghead brain?” He heard Stormy joke. White Mane giggled. Piper held back a groan.

The world around him was still spinning. He felt sick to his stomach and the only thing that made sense to do in that moment was close his eyes and hang his head. The sound of the door opening startled him back to reality, he stared up, to see the form of Sunny Side in the open doorway.

“I’m so, so, so, sorry to bother you so late, Sunny.” White Mane apologized. “Piper had a bit too much to drink tonight and he’s far too heavy to carry back to our room. Would you mind taking care of him tonight,” Slight pause for White Mane to stare at Stormy, then back at Sunny Side, a low, sultry and pleading look in his eyes. “Please?”

Sunny Side stared first at White Mane, into the pleading, almost desperate, puppy dog eyes, then at Piper, his head hung low in shame, then, at Stormy. Back at White Mane. Then to Stormy. A knowing smile built up on his face.

“Hello, Stormy...” He purred.

“Uh...hi?” Stormy offered back, raising a curious brow, then peered at White Mane for consultation.

“We don’t mind taking Piper in for you,” Sunny Side said, drawing his gaze from Stormy and onto the drunken colt held up between them. “It’s been awhile since Honey Drop and I have had company, so the guest bedroom is rather filthy, but, I’m sure we can find some blankets and comforters in the linen closet.”

“Thank you, Sunny.” White Mane smiled. “I really, really, appreciate you two doing this for me.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Sunny Side grinned. “You two just have a fun rest of your night, okay?”

Delicately, White Mane and Stormy set Piper down. He promptly collapsed into an immobile heap on the stairwell, save for nuzzling his head into his hooves.

“Piper, wake up.” White Mane urged, prodding his roommate.

Piper didn’t move.

“Piper, you need to wake up now.” Again, White Mane urged his roommate with a prod from his hoof. This time however, Piper batted the hoof away angrily.

“Fuggoff.” he grumbled.

White Mane sighed. He hadn’t wanted to take the route he was about too, but, Piper left him with no choice.

“Piper!” He shouted, startling the two other conscious bodies and the drunken one on the floor. “You’re drunk and your behavior tonight was very unbecoming! You were rude, crass and impolite, and if you want to make it up to me, you’ll do exactly as I say. Understand?”

Piper sprang to life. He got to his hooves and stared at his roommate; his features got soft and apologetic, but he said nothing.

“Good.” White Mane continued. “Now, Sunny Side and Honey Drop were kind enough to let you stay at their place tonight. You’ll do whatever they tell you to do, and, in the morning when you’re sober, you’ll apologize to them, myself and Stormy for almost ruining the evening. Are we clear?”

Piper nodded, then stared down at the floor. His hoof traced lines along the concrete.

Sunny Side and Stormy stood in shock at White Mane’s commanding display of authority. It was startling to see White Mane take charge of the situation with absolutely unwavering confidence.

Piper shuffled inside the house and stopped halfway, he turned back to White Mane, who patted a hoof on his shoulder, comfortingly, then turned him back inside the house. Sunny Side smiled at Stormy and White Mane, then closed the door behind Piper.

White Mane turned to Stormy, who offered a charismatic little eyebrow wiggle.

“Shall we?” He asked, swiping a hoof to lead the way away from Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s shared home and back towards Camden. White Mane complied happily and seconds later they were on their way.

***

The walk was quiet and almost romantic; occasionally, White Mane would steal a peek at Stormy, a fleeting glance at the handsome colt who led the way; admiring the way the breeze tussled his mane, the drunk if not determined look in his eyes, how he walked with confidence and pride.

At a park bench a stones throw away from either ponies dorm rooms , Stormy stopped and took a comfortable seat. He patted his hoof on the empty space beside him, and White Mane happily obliged him.

“Back there? The way you handled your roommate? That was pretty crazy.” Pause to get adjusted in his seat. “How did you learn to do that?”

White Mane puffed his chest out in pride; he hadn’t exactly expected to share such an intimate detail tonight, but, Stormy asked and he had an answer.

“I was a Royal Guard.” He stated boastfully.

Stormy stared him up and down, studying his form, before laughing. White Mane deflated and made his face contort into a pouty expression.

“I’m sorry,” Stormy chuckled softly. “It’s just...it’s hard to picture you wearing a royal guard outfit.”

“Hey, I passed basic training with top grades!” White Mane defended. “I...just didn’t feel like it was for me..which is why I came to Camden.”

“Wow.” Stormy breathed. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. That’s...actually very impressive.”

“It’s okay,” White Mane smiled back. “Camden is much more fun than the Royal Guard Barracks.”

“I can imagine.” Stormy said.

Stormy took the momentary pause in conversation to shuffle closer to White Mane. The feel of Stormy’s fur brushing against his own, as his flank just gingerly touched against White Mane’s, made the younger colt’s mind go hazy.

Flashbacks of this exact move, pulled by a closeted jock at a frat party a few weeks in the past, filled White Mane’s mind and left him conflicted. On the one hoof, Stormy was clearly gearing towards making a pass at him that White Mane couldn’t honestly say he’d find offensive, on the other hoof, this felt eerily similar to his whirlwind night of passion with Brawny Brawler that had most definitely ended in sorrow.

But, Stormy wasn’t Brawny, and unless White Mane had the wrong impression of him, Stormy wasn’t about to do something too incredibly forward and forceful to him.

“Is it true?” Stormy asked, breaking through White Mane’s mental focus. “About the stare?”

Ah, yes. The signature ‘Royal Guard Stare.’ The unshatterable stone faced glare, never betraying the emotions of the pony wearing it that was a necessary skill taught to recruits in basic training. Of all the skills White Mane had mastered during his brief stint serving Celestia’s fabulous military, he was none more proud than he was of his ability to pull it off without a hitch.

Without a word, White Mane’s soft and gentle face turned hard. His eyebrows furrowed, his smile flattened and even his nostrils flared for a brief second. All emotions once present on his face were wiped clear and replaced with a purely neutral look that seemed entirely enticing to Stormy.

“And, nothing can break it, right?”

White Mane didn’t respond.

Stormy moved a little closer. White Mane felt his hoof brush the fur against the back of his neck.

White Mane didn’t move.

While Stormy’s right hoof softly spiraled the fur of his right shoulder in a very gentle massage, he pressed his left hoof against White Mane’s knee, groping his thigh.

He didn’t even twitch.

Stormy leaned his face to White Mane’s ear so that White Mane could feel his breath against his cheek.

“You’re good.” Stormy whispered into his ear. Teasingly, and probably just to test his commitment to his claims, he ran his hoof up White Mane’s thigh, brushing past his leg, drawing closer and closer, inch by inch, to his waist.

White Mane remained perfectly still. Not a single line on his face gave so much as a subtle twitch in response. He was absolutely statuesque....

...even if internally he was loving every second of Stormy feeling him up in public on a park bench.

“Wow,” Stormy again whispered into his ear. “You’re really good.”

It was there and then that White Mane decided he’d more than proven his point to Stormy, and, as a reward from himself, to himself, he felt he more than earned the right to do something devious.

Stormy’s face, inches from his own, was just begging for him to do something about it, and, that is exactly what he did. Acting on a selfish impulse, he leaned his head forward and captured Stormy’s lips in a hungry, excited kiss. If it surprised Stormy, he didn’t show it, instead, he wrapped both of his hooves tight around White Mane’s body and hugged the younger stallion tight into his chest.

Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was knowing he, and not Stormy, had made the first move tonight, but White Mane felt like being a little more forceful. He cupped Stormy’s face in his hooves and peppered the older colt’s mouth with gentle, numbing, kisses.

On a slower, sloppier kiss, White Mane felt the slick wetness of Stormy’s tongue lick against his lips and was happy to oblige it’s entry. Never parting his lips from Stormy’s, he opened his mouth to let his tongue slide against his own.

In the distance, the sound of frat boys laughing startled the two out of their daze. White Mane, begrudgingly pulled his face away from Stormy’s. The frat boys emerged from the darkness and into the light, gawked at the two colts sitting on the park bench, said nothing and continued on.

Embarassed, White Mane ran a hoof along his neck and stared at Stormy, who was smiling back at him. He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against Stormy’s, nuzzling him. He kissed him softly on the ear, then on the cheek and then, once again on the lips. Stormy, ran his hoof between White Mane’s legs, rubbing his growing fondness for the older colt and earning a desperate, excited pant from White Mane.

“Maybe,” White Mane continued to pant as Stormy’s soft nimble hoof continued to slowly stroke his member. “, we...oh D-Dukes,... should go to my room?”

Stormy bit White Mane’s neck, and his hoof worked White Mane’s stallion hood a little faster. White Mane gave a loud moan. Stormy bit up his neck, to his ear, nibbled it and whispered “Sure,”.

Stormy drew his hoof from White Mane’s crotch, and brought it to his cheek. He turned his face towards him, kissed him softly, then stroked the underside of his chin. White Mane, dazed, could hardly think as Stormy got up and extended his hoof to White Mane, who accepted it graciously.

On the path back to White Mane’s dorm room, both colts walked with their bodies pressed firmly against the other and their tails playfully batting the other’s flank.

***

The door slammed open loud and shook on it’s hinges. White Mane, standing upright on his lower hooves, emerged through the open doorway and was forced against the wall as Stormy’s body pressed up against him. Cold hooves gripped the flesh of his plot as Stormy’s teeth bit into his throat. White Mane threw his head back, revelling in the feel of Stormy nipping at his throat and squeezing his ass.

Chests with fur matted down and soaked with sweat mashed together and both colts could feel the excitement in each other as warm flesh slapped against thighs and rubbed into fur. White Mane leaned his head down, Stormy pulled his face off of his neck and they were kissing again; hard and heavy. White Mane slipped his tongue past Stormy’s lips and wrestled it against Stormy’s, his hooves traced lines down Stormy’s back and he started humping himself against Stormy’s waist.

Then, suddenly, Stormy pulled away and White Mane panted his disappointment. Both colts took a second to catch their breath, an aura of excitement between them, before Stormy broke the comfortable silence.

“Bed?” He panted.

White Mane bit his lower lip, nodded and was quickly thrown onto the soft sheets of his bed. He lay waiting while,Stormy made his way slowly towards him. He stopped when he stood at the foot of his bed. His eyes turned low, sultry almost, then he he crawled to White Mane’s crotch and leaned his face to White Mane’s calf; He bit and kissed his way up White Mane’s calf, past his thigh, then, nuzzled his face against White Mane’s crotch; his mane, muzzle, then lips, gently brushed the base of White Mane’s girth.

“Oh, Goddess.” Was all that White Mane could whimper at the sensation of soft lips capturing the lowest part of his shaft in a soft kiss.

This...was too much. He’d given head (once) and even though Brawny Brawler had made it a terrible first time experience for him, he’d still enjoyed the sensation of swallowing a stallion’s cock. He remembered, quite vividly, the jolting twitches and the violent rumble that came seconds before Brawny shot his seed down his throat. He also remembered that he'd loved it.

Being the recipient now was an entirely different story.

Stormy was hovering over the head of White Mane’s cock and locking eyes with him. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly to his flesh, kissing his flared tip. If White Mane had less self control, he would have blown his load watching inches of himself disappear past Stormy’s mouth and down his throat.

It felt soooo good.

White Mane touched a hoof to Stormy’s cheek and pet him affectionately. Stormy gripped White Mane’s hoof with his own and lifted it to the back of his mane, giving White Mane complete control over him.

“Oh...f-f-fudge.” White Mane panted at the feeling of Stormy’s tongue licking the underside of his cock. “Stormy...I...,”

He paused, and lifted Stormy’s mouth, slowly, off of his cock. Stormy spent a few seconds trying to catch his breath, and when he finally did, White Mane gripped his face by the cheeks and pulled him into a deep, sensual, kiss.

The kiss ended when both colts ran out of breath. Panting, almost heaving, and desperate to regain his stamina, White Mane traced his right hoof across Stormy’s chest, petting and groping the stiff muscles. When his right hoof found Stormy’s own stiff member, twitching with excitement, he gave it a soft squeeze and started slowly, playfully, stroking him off.

Stormy grunted and leaned his head to White Mane’s ear, biting it softly. He lowered his body, so that his cock and White Mane’s cock were squashed between their chests, then began slowly, rhythmically, humping himself against White Mane.

Oh, bless Celestia, this was the pinnacle of pleasure.

Stormy began to move faster, and the pleasure pulsing through White Mane’s body began to reach a boiling point. As much as he hated to admit it, a few more minutes of Stormy rubbing himself against his stomach, and vice versa, would be his end for the night, and, White Mane would be damned if he was going to let that happen.

“I want,” He panted into the older colt’s ear. “...I want you...to take me.”

Without a word, Stormy pressed his hooves firmly against White Mane’s shoulders and arched his chest upwards. For a second, White Mane was startled, but realization hit him hard: Stormy was asking him how exactly he wanted to do it.

His heart raced. It beat wildly against his chest as he stared up at Stormy, who towered over him. His mind clouded with the thought that Stormy was the one. Stormy was the colt that White Mane was going to lose his virginity too. Stormy was going to be the first colt whom he’d ever share the sensual act of coitus with.

“Do you have, um...” Stormy paused. “, Lube?”

White Mane bit his lower lip.

“In the third drawer,” He blushed. “It’s in the, *cough*...the pink jewelry box.”

He could hear Stormy chuckle, lightheartedly. There was a shift in the bed as Stormy got off and moved towards White Mane’s white dresser. He tore open a drawer and fished around, tossings pairs of socks, and shirts aside until he stopped, seeming to find what he was looking for.

Back on the bed, White Mane flipped himself onto his stomach and he pressed his face deep into the pillow. He raised his buttocks into the air, presenting himself to his waiting lover.

“Oh, fuck, White Mane.” He heard Stormy moan from behind him. “You look so hot like that.”

White Mane blushed and peered over his shoulder to catch the welcomed site of Stormy crawling back onto the bed. He knelt behind him with his chest raised, and his stark erection pointed like a weapon directly at White Mane’s posterior.

“Are you good?” He purred. White Mane nodded.

Slowly, Stormy crawled over on top of him and White Mane shuddered at the warm feeling of Stormy pressing himself between his cheeks, the tip of his erection teasing his tight and unsullied entrance.

Cold chills ran down his spine when he felt lukewarm liquid pour onto his plothole and he had to bite the pillow to keep from moaning at the feel of Stormy’s cold hoof as he spread lube around his entrance.

“Ready?” Stormy asked again, reaching a hoof down to his cheek and gave it a soft, reassuring stroke. White Mane turned back to Stormy, bit his lower lip and nodded.

This was it. This was the moment that he’d dreamed about since he’d first found himself drooling over the hot muscular bodies of the farm ponies that summer his family took their vacation in Dodge Junction.

It was numbing at first, the feeling of Stormy’s cock as he pushed himself into his tight hole. The numb feeling subsided and even though Stormy was slow and meticulous, it started to hurt; he felt full, like he was passing a bowel movement in reverse.

He could feel his body pinch hard against Stormy’s length, which seemed to excite the colt on top of him; he stroked his hooves along his back until they stopped at his waist then gripped him firmly. Still being gentle as he could, Stormy pushed what felt like an entire foot of himself inside White Mane at a quicker pace.

Below him, White Mane grunted. It still hurt, but it was starting to feel a little better. An article in Cosmare last year had mentioned that the first few times a colt or mare engaged in anal sex wouldn’t be entirely pleasant affairs, but, it after a point it would start to feel brain numbingly good.

White Mane just wasn’t there yet.

He bit hard into the pillow as more and more of Stormy’s cock filled him. The pain was starting to wane away and the strangest feeling began to take it’s place; it was warm, tickling and entirely pleasing.

This must be where it got good?

A low, guttural moan came from the handsome prince above him, and White Mane could feel Stormy tighten his grip around his waist. He pulled back and his cock slid with little reluctance out of his hole, until just the tip of his cock remained.

White Mane exhaled a sharp breath of air, Stormy’s right forehoof left it’s place on his hip and stroked his cheek and White Mane leaned sideways to kiss it. Stormy leaned on top of White Mane’s body, trailed his hooves back to his rump and gave it a playful little slap.

“White... Mane..” He moaned into his ear, “I... I’m gonna... go a little faster... okay?”

White Mane moaned in response. Stormy pushed his hips forward, thrusting quicker and less methodically inside him and White Mane nearly squealed when he felt the head of his cock rub against a nub he never knew existed inside.

A pulses of pure sexual bliss rocked his body.

“Oh, f-f-fudge, Stormy!” He grunted. “Please, please, please, do that again.”

Stormy pulled out quick, White Mane sighed, then Stormy bucked himself into White Mane deep and hard. Again, his tip hit that special spot and this time White Mane cut loose a squeal of absolute delight. His eyes went lidded, his mind went blank and his tongue rolled out of his mouth.

Stormy sped up his pace; his hips rocked against White Mane’s rear as he fucked him into sexual oblivion. Below him, White Mane was a writhing, squirming mess of pants and moans. He clenched hard against Stormy’s cock each time he slid out and loosened his grip whenever Stormy thrust inside.

“Oh, Goddess!” White Mane moaned against the pillow. “Harder, Stormy! Please?" Pause for a high pitched squeal "Oh yes! Fuck me, Stormy! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

Stormy was happy to oblige.

He fed White Mane’s urgency with faster, forceful thrusts into White Mane’s rear, turning the colt into sexual putty. White Mane nuzzled his face into the pillow so hard and so fast that he was likely to get friction burn.

Stormy smiled, goofily, then leaned his face down to nip the tips of White Mane’s ears.

“Stormy,” he huffed between breaths as he turned his face to meet him. “I... Oh, D-D-Dukes! I think I’m getting close!”

The tremors of pleasure that shot through his body were getting stronger, and a sensation unlike any he’d experienced in his life up until that point built slowly in his cock.

Soft hooves gripped onto his haunches, then groped around his chest. Stormy pulled him backwards so that both colts clung tightly in an upright stance on the bed. Stormy hugged White Mane tight against his chest and continued to pound his tight little hole. Their new position seemed to make the sex more intense. A sensation stronger than any other he’d felt that night overtook him, his knees shook, his back tightened and this time when Stormy’s cock rubbed against his prostate, White Mane was pushed over the edge. He came stronger, harder and longer than he had ever done before in his life

Ropes of white pearlescent liquid shot out of his cock. They landed haphazardly along the length of his bed, on his pillows, and against the wall. He didn’t have a moment to consider the mess before Stormy’s own cock seized up inside of him and he felt his hole fill with his warm seed. Stormy slipped his shrinking member from White Mane’s plot, and released his grip around him.

Spent and exhausted, White Mane fell onto the mess on his bed and Stormy collapsed beside him. Catching their breath, both colts stared deep into the other's eyes, then found themselves launched into a fit of content and silly laughter. White Mane wrapped a hoof around Stormy’s neck and pulled him into for a slow, sensual kiss. Stormy kissed back harder and more passionately.

While still locked in their embrace, Stormy rolled himself onto his back, and pulled White Mane onto his chest, White Mane drew back, smiled down at Stormy, then gave a delicate peck to his lips.

“That was,” He breathed, but couldn’t find the words to finish his thought.

Stormy leaned up and kissed him anyway.

Sweaty, spent and experiencing the blissful afterglow of his first time, White Mane stared down at himself and frowned. Fur that had once been matted with sweat, now reflected patches of his semen that shone in the low lighting of the room. His bottom felt moist and White Mane knew that for better or worse, he had to break the embrace and clean himself.

“I need to shower,” He mumbled, quietly.

Stormy chuckled and White Mane playfully batted a hoof to his shoulder. He gave Stormy another quick and loving peck to his lips, before he begrudgingly tore his body from Stormy’s and stepped onto the floor. He took his first few steps away from the bed to find his rear felt properly used and painfully sore. To remedy this, he waddled with spread legs and long, carefully calculated steps, towards the bathroom.

***

He stepped out of the shower feeling fresh, clean and like a new pony. His bottom still hurt, but not quite as bad as before ; the piping hot water had seen to that. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he smiled; physically, he looked the same (If not cleaner) as when he'd entered, but the colt reflected in his eyes was a sexually satisfied pony who had just lost his virginity to the most wonderful colt in all of existence.

Tonight was easily the most wonderful, exciting night of his entire life.

A cold chill met him as he exited the bathroom along with the smell of cigarette smoke; Stormy lay on Piper’s bed, with the window open behind him, dragging on a Red Apple cigarette and staring, longingly, at the approaching form of White Mane.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he dropped the half smoked cigarette into an unfinished can of cola on Piper’s desk. It died with a quiet ‘hiss’ and a trail of smoke rose up and escaped through the opened window. “I probably should have asked first?”

“It’s fine.” White Mane smiled. He turned to stare at his own cum-drenched bed sheets and realized the motive behind Stormy’s move to his roommate’s fresh, unsullied bedding.

He crawled into the bed beside Stormy, and draped a hoof over his chest, nuzzling his face into the older colt’s chest. Stormy wrapped a hoof around his shoulder and gave him a soft kiss on his nose.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” White Mane started, staring up at Stormy.

“What is?”

“Well, everypony talks about their first time being really special and magical, and, I didn’t believe them,” White Mane grinned. “, But this was the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had with a colt.”

“This was *cough*... your first time?”

For some reason, Stormy looked uncomfortable. Nervous almost. But, White Mane hardly gave it a second thought.

“Yeah,” he sighed, dreamily. “, but, I’m so glad I got to share it with you.”

Stormy continued to stare nervously down at him. White Mane tossed his leg over one of Stormy’s and pulled himself deeper into the embrace. He wasn’t going to let Stormy go after tonight.

Short seconds later, his heavy eyes fell shut and he was fast asleep in the colt who had captured his heart’s chest.

Yup. He had Stormy, and Stormy had him, and life was absolutely wonderful.

Author's Note

Just a few quick author notes; I owe a lot of thanks to Paintingthedarkness, Avorin The Editor, Werewolf435, Camrad18 and Nightmare Trixie for pre-reading and editing. And a very special thanks to Cola_Bubble_Gum who helped write some of the steamier scenes.