The Little Piper: Chapter 2

>“So, that’s the instrument you want?” Octavia asks, her brow furrowed.

>Clef nods rapidly, certain of his decision.

>“It’s like you said, mother, it just called out to me!”

>The shopkeeper comes out from behind the counter and stares at the flute in your hand.

>The store goes quiet as his eyes shift between looking at the boy and the flute.

>A faint humming coming from the stallion fills the room, jerking every eye towards him in a sort of hypnotic manner.

>“A concert flute, eh?” he questions, turning back to the boy with stern eyes.

>Clef stares back at the store owner in a confused state, taking slight glances in your direction, hoping for your help.

>You know what the stallion is doing; he’s done this countless times before.

>He likes to act as if he’s some sort of musician gypsy, pretending that he is able to foresee a pony’s talent in the distant future.

>He inches closer to the boy, eyes not taking a moment to leave his person.

>Octavia looks back to you with a smile, trying her hardest not to break into laughter from this inane display.

>The shop owner brushes his large mustache with his hoof as he backs away from the child.

>“It seems appropriate. The boy obviously has his mother’s love for music, but looks up to his father as a role model. Having him play a string instrument will only bring him grief.”

>Octavia’s mouth drops, wondering how and why he knows that.

>He chuckles at her expression and answers her question before she can even ask it.

>“You forget that I live next door to you, ma’am. I hear the different instruments being played almost every week. He’s not fit for strings, he’s a wind player.”

>Octavia simply nods, as if she knows exactly what he’s saying, but you can tell she’s full of herself.

>Fourteen years of marriage will get you to notice the weirdest things about your partner, like how Octavia has a habit of putting the left hoof first outside a doorway.

>It became noticeable when she would stop herself from entering the kitchen just to place her left hoof first.

“So, how’s my old friend doing?” you ask, turning back to the shopkeeper.

>“I’ve been doing fine,” he jokes, pulling your old saxophone from under the counter.

>It didn’t look quite old anymore, to be honest.

>The smell of fresh polish cuts throughout your nostrils, bring back old memories of staying up all night and polishing it for the show the next day.

>“But, I assume you mean this old guy instead.”

>Lifting up the mouthpiece to your lips, you give it a slight breath and listen to the toot.

>It’s low and fine, as opposed to its previous scratchy and irritable squeal.

>Before you know it, your hand begin moving at their own accord, loosening your finger and lining them up with keys in preparation for a song.

>Taking a deep breath, you look over at your son who was about to watch you play for the first time in years, his eyes bright and enthralled.

>You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prick up as you straighten your back and blow.

>Up and down the line, you press the keys in the order they are set, making sure every note was in tune.

>Removing your mouth from the instrument, you place it back in its case and give the shopkeeper a modest nod.

“A perfect job, just like old times,” you mutter, digging into your pocket for you wallet.

>He gives off a slight scoff, shooting you a playful glare.

>“Did you expect any less of me, Anon? I’ve taken care of your instrument for years and even today you still doubt me!”

>Placing the bits on the counter, you shrug and throw the case’s strap over your shoulder.

“I expected you to go crazy by now, not seeing me after all these years.”

>The old stallion laughs as he wraps up the flute up and places it inside brand new case.

>He picks it up and gives it to Clef, who more than happily takes it from him.

“Thanks for all of your help. You’ll probably see us around here once soon if things don’t work out,” you hint, snapping your eyes towards Clef.

>The shop owner smiles, nodding his head as you grab ahold of your son’s hand and make your way out of the store.

>Octavia catches up to your side, looking up to you with her stern, motherly gaze.

>“Do you have any idea how rude you were in there? You’re setting a horrible example for our son!”

>Your lips curl into a devilish grin as your turn head towards her direction.

“Oh, don’t be so jealous that Clef likes me more than you,” you tease.

>A blush develops across her face, showing clear signs of her embarrassment.

>The mare begins to mutter something under her breath, making sure it isn’t loud enough for you to hear.

>Clef looks between the two of you, a look of worry plastered across his face.

>“I love you and mother equally! Please don’t be mad at me!” he squeals with a hint of sheer innocence in his voice.

>Octavia’s blush seems to be contagious, because before you know it, you’re blushing as well.

“We know, Clef,” you assure him, kneeling down and lifting him up on your shoulder. “Mother and I just like to mess with one another once in a while is all.”

>You throw Octavia a glare as she mutters, “You like to mess with me is more like it.”

>She rolls her eyes and puts on a smile before nodding her head in agreement.

>“Can I ask you something, father?” Clef begins, giving you a look of uncertainty.

“It’s not like I can stop you from asking something. I can stop myself from giving you an answer, however.”

>The boy looks at you, completely bewildered by your answer.

>You give off a soft chuckle and shake your head.

“Go ahead, you can ask me anything.”

>“Can you teach me how to play the flute?”

>You place your hand to your chin and hum, acting as if you were deep in thought about the answer to his question.

>If there was anything you’d pay money for, it was to look at Clef’s nervous expression as he awaited his father’s reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you slowly say, eyeing him with serious stare. “I might agree to it if you eat all your vegetables tonight at dinner.”

>He stares you down just as you do him, his lips slowly curling into a smirk.

>Octavia rolls her eyes as you place the boy down the ground, not backing out of this stare down.

>“‘Like father, like son’ is a phrase that scares me most about you two,” she murmurs before entering the house.

>Clef is the one to break his stare, solely because his want to play with his newfound instrument outweighs his need to defeat his father in staredown combat.

>He sprints up the stairs, nearly tripping over himself in the process before slamming his door shut.

>You enter the kitchen where you wife stands on her hind legs at the counter, preparing for dinner.

“You’re not mad, are you?” you ask, wrapping your arms around her torso.

>She looks out the corner of her eyes, a deadpan look across her face.

>“Yes, I am sooo mad right now. I can’t stand you anymore, I never loved your playfulness that drew me to you in the first place, and I’m not cooking you and my child dinner right now,” she sarcastically remarks.

>You lean your head over her shoulder and peck her on the cheek, catching the smell of lilacs on her coat.

>She smiles at your gesture and returns the favor by turning around, pressing her lips against yours.

>Before you know it, the small kiss turns into a battle of dominance, trying to determine who’s tongue is the master.

>Twisting and turning, you rage a losing battle against the mare as her tongue envelopes yours, the taste of mint consuming your mouth.

>Carefully, you swipe your arm across the counter, moving aside anything on top of it and pin Octavia on top of, waist level with yours.

>She begins to breath heavily, trying her best to catch her breath.

>As you unbuckle your pants with your free hand, you lean down and nibble at her ear.

>She covers her mouth with a dishcloth and lets out a shrilled moan, trying her hardest not to be too loud.

>“Dear, Clef is right upstairs,” she moans, trying her hardest not to be loud as you rub your hand along the inside of her thighs. “We mustn’t do something so lewd with him around.”

>You kiss her alongside her neck, making sure to add a little clamp of your teeth as you work your way up to her chin.

“The boy’s too preoccupied with his new toy, Tavi. We have plenty of time to have some fu—”

>A high pitch screech echoes throughout the house, pierces you eardrums.

>Octavia covers her ears in pain, trying her hardest to ignore the sound with no success.

>It continues on as you sprint up the stairs, covering your own ears.

>As you swing open the bedroom door, Clef removes his mouth from the piece and looks at you with a horrified stare.

>“Uh, father? Why don’t you have pants on?”

>You look down and notice your stark erection flailing under your boxers before covering it up.

“I, uh, was, um,” you look at the flute in his hand, trying to change the subject. “What did I tell you about blowing into that so hard? That’s not the proper way to use that instrument!”

>He gives you a slick smile and shrugs.

>“I wouldn’t know, father. I was never taught the proper methods,” he mocks, giving you a cold stare.

>Letting out a disgruntled sigh, you wave it off and begin closing the door.

“Alright, alright, I’ll teach you how to play the thing after dinner! Can you please refrain from destroying the eardrums of everyone within a three mile radius until then?” you plead, slamming the door shut.

>You run back downstairs to check on your wife who has resumed making dinner.

“Where were we?” you whisper into her ear, rubbing a hand down her back.

>She shivers for a split second, then continues her work, not batting an eye towards your direction.

>“Now is not the time, Anonymous,” she says sternly, not a single shred of playfulness in her voice.

>You find yourself throwing your arms into the air in frustration.

>Cockblocked; by your own son at that!

>Octavia swiftly turns around and rubs a hoof against your crotch, making sure to give a long, hot sigh into your ear before whisper, “I’ll take care of you later, don’t worry about that.”

>Giving her a kiss on the forehead, you pick up your pants and put them back on as she returns to her work.

>“But,” she says, eyeing you tentatively, “only if you eat your vegetables.”