No amount of human ingenuity could ever recreate a temperate Equestrian summer afternoon. Air conditioners, heaters, CIA ionosphere manipulation, they were all but paltry imitators of the naturally ideal world of magic that you lived in. Mother nature created the right mixture of humidity, fresh air, a warm breezes that almost pulled you outside, eager to have you frolic in a world of her making. Your thoughts pester you with memories of those afternoons as you trudge through the sideways-blowing snow and biting cold on the way to the train station.
 
    Does it really need to be this windy? Normally the weather doesn’t bother you much, but the idea that a group of ponies designed it in such a way as to make your walk miserable felt infuriating. It wasn’t even scheduled to snow for another few days…what’s up with this?
 
    A half-mile later you’ve made it to your train and take up your usual seat along a handful of new faces. Some were reading the morning paper, others were reading a damp, wrinkled version of the same paper, and still others were lost in a trance—watching the snow batter the windows a few inches in front of their long faces. It wasn’t the usual crowd you saw on your commute, but you didn’t get any strange looks. You feel a kick in your seat as the mighty locomotive at the head of the train shudders, letting out powerful barks and a screech of its whistle as it slowly lurches forwards. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d be working a seven-day week in a land of magic…but it’s for a good cause.
 
    You’re mildly pleased that your job turned out to entail more than you first expected; in hindsight the whole idea of building a toaster and getting rich off the millions of families who would buy one was pretty unrealistic. First off, patent laws were starkly different. If an idea was deemed to have the capacity to improve the standard of living, then the most you could hope for was to receive meager royalties off the copies sold. Otherwise, if the idea was deemed less important, you could hold patent rights for anywhere from a few years to life. Since electricity was still in its early development phase only the richest and most current Equestrian families used it, but it was starting to become more affordable. Suffice to say your toaster would likely be taken from you and rebranded a few dozen times before you even saw the first dollar from it.
 
    You have nothing against altruism, it’d be the least you could do for a nation that’s made your existence a dream. But you’d since become aware of more pressing matters…and you have more than yourself to think of.
 
    Your hand moves to clutch the necklace that holds Dash’s pinfeather to your chest, and amidst a sea of morning moods, a smile crosses your face. She’d definitely crawled back in bed after seeing you off. Your grin cracks when you think back to her groggily packing your lunch before sending you on your way with several longer than usual kisses. The Wonderbolts had cancelled practice for the day so Dash didn’t have a thing to do besides catch up on sleep. You had no doubt she’d do just that.
 
    The feather tip graces your sternum under your winter coat. I’d stopped tickling a long time ago, instead, it had become a near-constant reminder of the mare that stole your heart. Some ponies beside you turn to study the gall of the grinning idiot who dared to be happy so early in the dreary morning.
 
    Your eyes follow the frosted trees of the countryside as they pass. The hour long train ride didn’t bother you, you just used the opportunity to catch up on sleep or read a book. Obviously the forced relaxation period wasn’t ideal, you don’t have your favorite reading and napping partner—
 
    —*cough cough!
 
    …and it’s only a matter of time before one of your fellow commuters gets you sick. You hold your breath and count to thirty. You figured that was enough time for whatever’s in the air to settle. Part of you said it was useless paranoia, but another part of you reasoned that your weird habits were what got you through the first bout of the flu unscathed.
 
    Apart from the weather and the occasional disregard for personal etiquette, there was little the world imposed upon you that was worthy of complaint. Nevertheless, as you leave city limits a growing dread creeps into your mind and plants a heaviness in your heart—a heaviness that could only be lifted by the smile of a particular blue pegasus.
 
    Of course, you never tell her about the effects of your stifling attachment, lest she starts to think you’re becoming too dependent on her. What good is a guy to anyone if he’s not strong and independent? Dash of all mares would value that. But as much as you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can’t escape the sinking feeling of being apart. The growing acceptance that you’ve got another full work day standing between you and your reunion only makes you sink deeper.
 
    You’re swimming in the nectar of a freshly budded romance with the only mare you could possibly imagine yourself with…and here you are riding a train away from it all. To anyone but you the thought would seem clingy, pitiful even. But just like every past commute, it was the only thing on your mind.
   
    Canterlot was equally gusty, but the snow had already fallen. Once you get into the meat of the city the buildings break the wind and give you a respite, allowing you to make it to work without further misery.
 
    “Mornin’ Anon. Happy Sunday.” The door guard greets.
 
    “Good morning Hammerhooves, how’s your brother doing?”
 
    “Good, thankfully. Doc says he’ll make a full recovery.” He responds with tempered enthusiasm.
 
    “Glad to hear it, keep me updated alright?”
 
    The burly stallion nods gratefully and you find an open hook to hang your coat. A sign to the side reads, ‘It’s been 148 days since our last null-field incident. Safety is everypony’s job.” Your footsteps echo through the magic-rich hallway while you nervously play with the nullifying crystal in your pocket. You try not to imagine what it’s like to breathe air that has the consistency of syrup.
 
    You breach the final door and enter into the main room. The din is quieter than usual. Apart from a small management team, only those who were really motivated or behind showed up on the weekends. It wasn’t a big deal for most of them as they lived in Canterlot to begin with, but there was a general aura of disgruntlement about.
 
    Your small desk lay in the back corner of the physics department—sharing a cubicle with very burly and introverted Minotaur. Despite the creature’s size making it a bit cramped, Dr. Steelhammer was as close as you could get to an ideal work mate. He was exceedingly organized, polite in all his mannerisms, and respected the mutual need for silence during work hours; not to mention he was a great well of knowledge and was nothing but patient with you as you learned the ropes. And unlike you, he was a genuine workaholic; you round the corner and nod a ‘hello’ to his weathered features. You’d gotten used to his permanent scowl. It was strictly a product of his many years spent in cutthroat academia and spoke nothing towards his actual attitude. All in all you were glad to know him.
 
    Two hooves suddenly hook over the top of your cubicle followed shortly by a chipper stallion with spiked black hair, “Ayy! What’s crackin’ my favorite homo-sapien!”
 
    You knew you’d regret telling him about that term. “Hey Flux, what’re you doing here?”
 
    “Oh, I just come here for the free lunch. Why’re you here?”
 
    “…Reasons.”
 
    If the floor manager was going for diversity, he sure hit the nail on the head by making Flux Field your neighbor. Three species and three very distinct personalities combined to make your daily work experience somewhat of an adventure. Flux’s cubicle mate didn’t count because whoever it was never lasted more than a week with him, and their characteristics were usually drowned-out by Flux’s antics anyways.
 
    “Oh-hohohoo! Don’t act so excited to talk to me now I just might have to un-invite you to my birthday party!”
 
    You look up at the pegasus’s cocky grin and feign insult, “You take that back!”
 
    He scratches his chin as he ponders, “Hmm…ok but only if you promise to share your sandwich.”
 
    He’d been trying to get a bite of one of the sandwiches Dash made for you ever since he found out she made them. He was somewhat of a Wonderbolts fan, but as much as you liked him, you do your best to keep him as far removed from her as possible. Call it jealousy or what have you, but Dash made those sandwiches for you and you alone, “Oh. No can do brother. Those sandwiches are far more valuable than our friendship.”
 
    He puts a hoof across his forehead and pretends to pass out. A moment later he reappears in your cubicle doorway, “But seriously though I want to try it.”
 
    “No Flux.”
 
    “Oh come on just one bite!”
 
    “No.”
 
    He slowly advances as you continue unpacking your stuff, “Fine then just the crust.”
   
    “I like the crust.”
 
    “But on the 15th of this month at precisely sixteen past twelve I saw you throw the crusts away.”
 
    “I…like to look at it, besides, I was about to throw up because of the ammonia spill remember?”
 
    He sighs in defeat and you turn your back on him briefly to unlock your desk. A rustling tips you off and you spin around to smack his hoof already half-way into your lunch sack. You point threateningly at him, “Don’t make me report you for workplace harassment.”
 
    He pouts and shakes his hoof, “That’s not funny.”
 
    Flux was somewhat of a troublemaker and already had thirteen reports under his belt when you met him a few weeks ago. Most were for stupid stuff like ‘pull my hoof’ jokes or the time he kept switching out the adjacent cubicle occupant’s framed photos with cutouts from his obscenely large Playcolt collection. It was the one trump card you had that never expired, “Oh really? I thought you framed them or something.” You retort.
 
    His ears perk up again, “Hey, not a bad idea!” And with that he drops the conversation and heads back to his desk. He’s the only pony you know that could give Pinkie a run for her money. He was also really smart. Like, got his masters in electrodynamics at the age of nineteen smart. While school courses weren’t exactly as arduous as they were back on earth, it was still an impressive feat.
 
    You take a deep breath and drag fresh stack of papers at your desk corner to your workspace. Nothing like doing math for a living. The mental complaint was more of a holdover from your painfully long university days, but in reality you didn’t hate your job much at all. In fact, it could be quite fun at times. Your eyes drift up to the top of your desk where the framed and signed picture of your mare friend sits. Having something nice to come home to also helps.
 
    The smile stays on your face as you put in your earplugs and start your work.
 
 
 
    The next thing that interrupts you is the creeping feeling of someone staring at you. You catch Flux’s brown eyes bugging out of his equally brown face in your periphery. You swivel to face him as he mutters something incomprehensible. A mental check reminds you to take out your earplugs, “Did you say something?”
 
    “Yeah, I asked if you’re ready to go to lunch yet. Nerd.”
 
    “What? Why am I a nerd, I’m not the one named after a physics term?”
 
    “…Sure, but I don’t work during my lunch break.”
 
    You lean back and squint to check the clock on the far wall. Sure enough, you worked into break again, “Oh, thanks. I didn’t even notice.” You grab your lunch sack and tap Steelhammer’s shoulder. He turns around and takes out his earplugs as well.
 
    “You guys are weird, I’ve never used those things and I still get work done.”
 
    “I wouldn’t need them either if I was accustomed to hearing myself speak every waking moment of the day.” Steelhammer replies before grabbing his own lunch and walking off to the break area—squeezing through the cubicle entrance sideways.
 
    You quirk an eyebrow at the dumbfounded stallion. It was pretty rare to hear the minotaur speak, save for a few cursory words of acknowledgement; that made the well-timed insult seem all the more powerful because of it.
 
    “I’m gonna have to talk to my therapist about that one.”
 
    “What poor sucker agreed to be your therapist?” You grab your lunch and head to the break room behind your friend.
 
    He smirks, “You wouldn’t know him, but I guarantee you he’s not getting paid enough.”
 
    Well that’s one way to head off a rebuttal. The waiting room was already full and you pass a group of unicorns on the way out—already having finished their lunches. You take up residence at the nearest open seat and break out your food. A few heads at your table turn but you’ve learned to ignore them.
 
    The fact that you were pretty much betrothed to a mare who was arguably the most attractive member of the Wonderbolts had made you somewhat of a celebrity within the workshop. Of course, you never told anyone unless they asked about it, and even then, you shied away from as much attention as possible.
 
    What’s she like? Is her mane naturally that color? Does she really eat fish because if so that’s kinda hot? You entertained plenty of questions in your first few days, eager to offer eloquent responses like “awesome,” “yep,” and “it’s none of your damn business.” It was only a matter of time before word spread and ponies began to see you differently, and not in an inherently good way. To them, you were far from a desk-jockey, and it made it a little bit more difficult to get your ideas to stick. Not to mention you were completely lacking in any magical knowledge. You were learning, but it would take years to catch up to the level of your peers…even the ones who didn’t use magic themselves.
 
    It would be a lie to say you didn’t enjoy the attention to some extent, not for any personal benefit, but because you were simply proud of your mare. It was a position that you’d never in your life expected to be in, but here you are, biting into a Dash-made sandwich while four interested stallions watch.
 
    To say it was awkward was an understatement. You finish chewing and sputter, “Sorry guys, not today.”
 
    They look crestfallen, but what did they expect? You’d never let them have a bite before? In their defense though, they were missing out. Dash liked to overload her PB&Z, as she liked to call it, with a double serving of peanut butter. She made yours with the opposite ratio, doubling up on Zap-Apple jam instead. And dear Celestia is it good.
 
    You finish up your meal in relative silence, the exception being your bubbly co-worker of course. Before you head back to work you remind yourself to stop by the boss’s office to check up on your leave request.
 
    A week and a half ago Dash had asked if you could take the last week of the month off work for a vacation. You weren’t sure how you could justify a vacation less than a month after starting your job, but you weren’t about to dismiss the possibility, especially considering she’d already gotten the time off.
 
    Luckily, the older mares in the employee resources office were more than eager to entertain your last-minute request, and surprisingly enough, they seemed to appreciate your honesty with them and learned that they actually got quite a few cases like yours at this time of the year—probably because of the sickness going around. They even had a special category for mare friends requesting their partners to take leave, they called it ‘spousal convalescent leave,’ and it conveniently lasted for the full seven days Rainbow had asked. You felt guilty and told them that Dash wasn’t really sick, but apparently it wasn’t a big deal. They said it was fine and sent you on your way. They laughed as you left the office but you just ignored them—probably not used to seeing someone so honorable.
 
    The only condition was that, per policy, you needed to be employed for a month before you could use that sort of pass. You didn’t quite meet the requirements and they could only waive a few days, but there was a loophole that allowed weekends to carry over into what would be considered the ‘work week,’ hence why you were at work on a Sunday.
 
    It meant you had less free time, but it was the only way to ensure that you’d get the week off Dash asked for. Of course, you didn’t tell her you were doing it because of her…no sense in making her feel guilty. As far as she knew, you were just extra busy.
 
    A stop by your desk, then few extra turns and a punishing climb up the stairs puts you at Dr. Waveguide’s office door. You knock.
 
    “Come in!”
 
    As soon as you crest the door frame he pipes up, “Anon! Oh…yes of course, the paperwork. Come in come in.” He says, seeing the leave form in your hand.
 
    You look at him skeptically. He knew about Dash, but was he expecting you? “Um…yeah…y-yes Sir.” You walk over to his desk upon his beckoning.
 
    “What did I tell you last time; none of that yes-sir no-sir malarky here. Call me doctor if you must but never sir…makes me feel my age.”
 
    He did say that last time. You pause just long enough that it’s noticeable and gather your thoughts so as to avoid the classical mistake, “Yes, doctor.”
 
    He quirks a brow at you, “Eh…we’ll have to work on it, you somehow made it sound worse than sir.”
 
    This time you just nod. He takes the forms from you as he dons his spectacles and fishes for a pen, “Alright…lets see here…” He talks aloud as his eyes scan the form for completion, “Yep…and there…good…” He flips to the next page as he scours the form for discrepancies, “…Monday through Friday huh? Smart, you get the weekend too.” That’s the idea.
 
    You stand there awkwardly and contemplate how to position your hands, what is it called, parade rest or something? The mental image of a serviceman holding their hands behind their back comes to mind. Looks professional. You mirror it.
 
    “…And last page…” he taps his pen on each category he passes, but the third one makes him crack the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on his weathered features, “Well, well, well, would you look at that.”     You lean over to get a better look at the cause of his humor, did you screw something up? The ER department said it looked good?
 
    Dr. Waveguide notices and fills the gaps for you, “I’m guessing this wasn’t your idea?” He asks, tapping the box labeled ‘spousal convalescent leave.’
 
    They must’ve screwed it up, but he’s still smiling…”No sir.” Dammit!
 
    Whether he noticed your slip of tongue or not he doesn’t react, “I figured it was something like that…or you found out you really hate us-ha ha ha ha ha!”
 
    What is this all about? Despite your mentor-like relationship with the older unicorn, you really felt uncomfortable with asking him what exactly was flying over your head, “D-don’t worry about that. I am enjoying it more than I thought.”
 
    “Well I’m glad to hear it!” To your astonishment, he signs the bottom of the page—granting you the next week off starting tomorrow. He collects all the pages neatly before holding them out with a grin, “Remember, stay hydrated and stick to her normal diet and everything should be fine.”
 
    You smile and match his nod as you take the papers from him. In a practiced motion, you manage to transition back to your mildly pleased expression without giving away the fact that you’d stumbled and were now free-falling into another culture gap.
 
    As you get to the door, your boss pipes up one last time, “…And remember to enjoy yourself!”
 
    “I will, thank you s-doctor.” The door clicks shut and you take a deep breath. What could you possibly be missing out on this time?
 
    Once back at your desk you sort the paperwork and pin the signed leave form to your bulletin board. Seeing it there removed all the remaining motivation you had to be at work, but you push on anyways, pausing only to contemplate the sage stallion’s words. At least Dash doesn’t have any problems staying hydrated…and she’s not sick. You’re suddenly hit with guilt from tricking your boss. Well, the ER department said it was ok…still doesn’t make it right though. After a brief battle, the priorities of your mare win out and you put it out of your mind to finish off the day’s work.
 
 
 
    Your heart races as you turn the doorknob to your apartment. At the first hint of it giving way you swing the door wide open—casting lantern light into the dimly lit room. The darkness in the room surprises you and you swing the door shut in a hushed fashion. If Dash has the lights off then she might be sleeping. As your vision adjusts to the darkness you can barely make out the fact that your bed wasn’t made. That’s no surprise. If you weren’t there to do it yourself it wouldn’t get done. Dash frequently commented on how she thought it was a waste of time.
 
    There’s no sign of her in the room and you briefly wonder if she’s even here, but the fresh spice that hung in the air was evidence that your mate not only was here, but had also skipped her morning shower. It was interesting how much motivation was lost when she didn’t have you around to keep her in check.
 
    You make it a few paces into the room before your foot hangs up on something. You almost trip trying to catch yourself, and instead of hitting the floor, you crash into the table and knock over some dirty plates. You look back to see what you’d tripped over, and instead find the hazardous article of clothing still around your shoe. You reach down and unbind it before examining it.
 
    Your sense of touch helped more than your sight, and it took a moment to realize they were a pair of your boxer briefs…with a fresh tear in them.
 
    “Dammit!” Those were hard to come by.
 
    Down the hall you can hear your toilet flush and a brief glance tells you your bathroom light is on. No longer concerned about waking her you stumble around and flip on your desk lamp.
 
    “Whoa…”
 
    The sight that lay before you was nothing short of a battlefield. The thick comforter that had been necessary these past few weeks was completely off the end of the mattress—thrown loose with enough frustration to untuck it towards the end. The sheets were a wadded mess and your pillow was buried somewhere in their midst. That alone wouldn’t have been too far out of the ordinary had you spent the day together play fighting and partaking in the things loving and consenting adults did. However, she had the room to herself all day...and she usually doesn’t throw your dirty clothes everywhere.
   
    You were far from a perfectionist, but you’re pretty sure most of those were in the hamper when you left this morning. A quick test of your theory seems to support it; a trail of socks and various items span your soiled linen depository and your bed. The vast majority seemed to make the trip, but at the same time you could tell she wasn’t particularly concerned with the effectiveness of the maneuver. It’s almost like she was...in a hurry?
 
    The sink comes on full blast in the background and you shrug. Maybe she was practicing folding them or something. A smirk crosses your face when you start to imagine how you’re going to give her a hard time about the mess. You strip your work clothes and sit down to take off your shoes. That’s when you notice something else.
 
    Your dresser drawers were all crooked, much like you’d imagine they would be if a certain pegasus had gone through them before closing them hastily. Just what has gotten into her? Not that you minded one bit, but she’s usually a bit more careful. The way you see things, what’s yours is hers, so you’re not even close to being upset. But it’s still strange. You toss your used socks at the open hamper—intending to bank the wadded ball off the wall for a three-pointer.
 
    Of course, it misses. You sigh, just more for you to pick up.
 
    You spend the next minute doing exactly that, and in no time at all your messy room was back to just a tornado of disarray rather than an earthquake. Or an earthquake rather than a tornado…whichever one makes less of a mess. The sink shuts off and your heart skips a beat. You wait for the inevitable sound of the door to open and hoof steps to move down your hallway, but they never come.
 
    Instead, you hear something fall in the bathroom and Dash quite loudly scurries to fix it, “You good in there Dash?” You yell over your shoulder.
 
    The scurrying stops and you get no response, ”Hey Dash are you alright?”
 
    You hear her hooves clack around on the tile floor, but she still doesn’t answer. The uncharacteristic lack of response tips you off that something’s not right. In an instant your spine goes cold and the hairs on your neck stand on end. You find yourself spurred into motion even before you can fully comprehend it.
 
    Your heels strike the ground with deliberate force as you hurriedly move to rejoin your mate. You didn’t even contemplate knocking first; your concern for your partner drowned out all other thoughts.
 
    You storm into the small bathroom and immediately spot Dash. Both of you freeze—locked in a trance as you appraise one another. The first thing you notice is that the tightness in your chest relaxes, despite the situation there was nothing seriously wrong. Dash is ok. The second thing you notice is that she appears to be in the process of drying the floor with a towel; why it was wet you have no idea. The final fact the unusual scene revels is that she’s just as messy as the room she’d obviously spend most of her day in. Her mane was frazzled and protruding in all sorts of directions. Cyan feathers on her folded wings broke symmetry with their neighbors, a common side effect of excess friction.
 
    The small room also carries carries the essence of her musk—something your trained nose was able to discern over the pungent artificial citrus of the air freshener. Tidbits of information framed the crime scene, but her eyes told you the whole story. 

    Dilated seas of magenta that at first conveyed surprise, now conveyed a new message, or rather, their original one. She’s happy to see you. As much as you try to find something amiss with her, you can’t. As far as you can tell, you’re looking at the happiest mare alive.
 
    “Heya Anon!”
 
    In the span it takes you to soak in everything that just happened, she rockets into your chest and envelopes you in a hug.
 
    Of course, you hug back, “Hey Dash...you doing alright?”
 
    The apparent concern in your voice doesn’t even phase her, meaning that whatever was bothering her, if anything, wasn’t severe enough for her to end the embrace early. She squeezes you tighter     before she lets you go; the next look she gives you tells you that you haven’t met your daily kiss quota to pay for the answer you sought. The panicked and confused state you’ve been in finally yields your heart back to your more excited spirit. You take a knee and she hops up to meet you standing. The lack of coordination results in a position where her forehooves are on your shoulders and her lips smile down at yours from the high ground. Rather than comment on it she just kisses you.
 
    Her pointed muzzle in all of its fuzzy splendor mashes into your waiting lips and you share the kiss you’ve both kept pent up inside all day. Rather than starting with a warm up round like you usually do, she jumps right in to tackle the root of the problem, that being: your mouths just never seemed to taste right without the flavor of your partner pervading them. It was something you’d actually started noticing more and more lately, and strangely enough, Dash seemed to develop the same complex accordingly. On your mutual off days there was nothing to keep you from sharing a peck between bites of your lunch, or a deeper kiss whenever you caught each other’s eye for more than a few seconds, but the work week infringed upon your naturally close bond.
 
    As much as you hated to admit it, you were somewhat of a high-maintenance couple. Not in the sense that you constantly owed each other favors and flowers, but in the sense that if you weren’t at the very least free to show your affection, your happiness was subject to a sort of glass ceiling. But that’s a thought for another time…Right now you’ve got an unusually eager pegasus to deal with and the sky is the limit.
 
    Your back thuds against the wall as Dash kisses into you with more force. Her forehooves wrap around your neck as much as they can and your equivalent appendages find a hold around her withers. Her breathing grows more ragged as soon as you touch her and her fuzzy lips double their dexterous duty to massage yours. You can tell that her mane wasn’t the only thing frazzled about her; tufts of her back fur were bent out of place and others were matted together in thick clumps. She suddenly breaks away with a smack and short string of saliva.
 
    Her glassy eyes tell you not to speak, “Uhh...how do you fe—mmmpf!”
 
    Before you can form your sentence she’s back on you again. You can’t say you don’t enjoy this...because you definitely do, but you still had lingering concerns about what caused her uncharacteristic implosion in your apartment. You try to contemplate it, but you quickly run into the same mental block that’d been there since you first tested it. You can’t think and kiss at the same time.
 
    So you don’t.
 
    You redouble your own efforts and push back into her with almost as much force as she’s using to pin you to the wall. She seems to like that. You can feel a smile grow on your wet lips and she lets out a particularly deep exhale. Her tongue moves at the same time yours does and they both exchange a complimentary flick in greeting before continuing on into their partner’s maws. Almost immediately you notice something different…a new taste? It was incredibly thin and nearly imperceptible, but it was most definitely present. It tastes like the icing on those sugar cookies grandma used to get you for your birthday. She must’ve broken down and cheated on her diet… The thought makes you smile, not because of all the teasing she has in store, but because you were privy to so many little aspects of her life that no one else would even know about.
 
    Hands sprawl through the short fur of her upper back and forelegs constrict around your neck—reducing your breathing down to only what your excited partner breathes out. Instead of complaining you chooses to deal the hand you’ve been dealt, after all, Dash was in the same predicament...if you could call it that.
 
    The mare groans and takes another short breath before loudly swallowing. The obnoxious sound momentarily echoes through the room before being pursued by long bout of tongue smacking. Her slick muscle explores your mouth with a vigor; after getting its fill of its counterpart, it moves to your teeth.
 
    Dash had developed somewhat of a fixation with your teeth, in particular, the pointy spires you like to call canines. She demonstrates that fixation for the better part of the next minute as she licks incessantly at them. You can hear the tastebuds of her long, slender tongue scraping against your enamel point, and you have to restrain yourself from stopping her. Despite your valid concerns, she’s repeatedly assured you that ‘It doesn’t hurt, it’s…it just…’ What exactly it did for her you may never know, but if her bashful stammering was any indication, it was one of those things that scratched her itch in that special way.
 
    Your mare continues for an amazing minute of oral caressing before finally showing signs of slowing, and even then she keeps going. Her tongue now gracefully slides with yours—taking turns prodding into each other’s territory. When her lips finally retreat with a pop, she leaves you with a teaspoon of her saliva and a wetted appetite for something more.
 
    Eyes finally open to gaze into each other. You can tell immediately what she wants from the look alone. And if that wasn’t enough, her rigid wings awkwardly spanning the small bathroom and displacing the shower curtains definitely were.
 
    “You were about to ask me something?” Dash prods with a smirk. Her grip on your shoulders still gave her the high ground.
 
    Were you? “Uh…*ahem...yea—” Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, sending Rainbow into a bout of the giggles. Dang, usually she's the one that cracks like that. You compose yourself, “Yeah...I was.” You congratulate yourself on getting the words out amidst an assault of hot breath and endorphins.
 
    Her smirk widens, “And that would be…?” she purrs melodically.
 
    Crap, you didn’t think you’d make it this far. You are vaguely aware of a thread of a thought, something in the back of your mind that demanded rectification before reward. If it hadn’t been there you’d already be tending to her wings, “O-oh yeah!” you exclaim, “You just…um, you didn't answer when I called out. Are you feeling okay?”
 
    She giggles, moving her muzzle under your jaw and nudging it in a way she knows you like. She pulls back again with a hint of embarrassment flushing her face, “I-I’m uh…I’m better now that you’re here.”
 
    This mare...Surely she knows by now that the warmth of her contact and the scratchiness in her voice were your biggest weakness, and perhaps she was banking on it being enough to dissuade you from any further questioning, but you still weren’t satisfied, “Come on Dash, you know you can tell me if something’s up.”
 
    Her cheeks tint a shade darker and her furry ears flatten to her head. Her normally foolproof plan didn’t work and she’s not sure how to handle it; her eyes dart around the small room, “N-n-nothing’s wrong! Don’t worry about me, I’m just uh…b-bored.” Heh, she didn’t think I’d make it this far either. Your fingers comb through her mane and she awkwardly tolerates it.
 
    “Bored huh…?” You pose the rhetorical question. Despite what she told you, something’s definitely up with her. You put it aside for the moment and instead focus on the unmistakable smell of musk…perhaps she didn’t want to make a mess? If so, you’re not sure why she would’ve stopped there considering the other sorts of disarray. Your eyes drift to her shrinking wings; the longer the silence lasts the more awkward and embarrassed she feels. You must’ve been intimate dozens of times now…and she still gets flustered. You would always find her unexpected reservedness incredibly cute, but sometimes you wished she would be more active in voicing her desires. At least then you would know for sure if you were meeting them.
 
    Either way you feel like you have a pretty good idea.
 
    “I think you need a bath.” You jab a finger into her sternum.
 
    Her magenta eyes follow the finger, then pull up to meet yours, “A b-bath?” Her tail twitches as she looks at you wide-eyed.
 
    You lean back against the wall; your hands knead her shoulders, “A bath. It’s a thing you where you wash yourself in order to appear more presentable in society.”
 
    A smile grows on her face and she pushes your shoulder, “I know what a bath is dummy!”
 
    “Oh really?” You fight off her forceful nuzzles with some of your own and simultaneously catch some of her oily mane in your hand to examine. To be honest, you preferred the natural smell of you partner over scented soaps and shampoo. You considered it your guilty pleasure in a way, though neither of you felt much guilt in expressing it. The best way you could describe it was spicy…like the edge of a cologne isle in a department store but with the distinctly earthy smell of air-wicked fur and a touch of sweat. By anyone’s standards it wasn’t bad, pungent perhaps, but not bad. However, you’d spent more time with her than most. After countless hours of leisurely lounging, and passionate nights you’d come to associate her specific scent with all things positive.
 
    Her eyes watch your hand sift through her hair—knowing full well your earlier statement was a front to gauge her receptiveness. But despite her apparently aroused state, something was holding her back. A quick peck on the nose snaps her out of her train of thought and brings her back to the present. She finds your eyes, the light of excitement dancing in her own. That simple look answers your unspoken question and you offer her a smile before patting her withers.
 
    The signal to let you up works as intended and you move to warm up the shower. The antique pipes shudder and groan in the wall as they fill with pressure, and after a brief delay, water sprouts from the cheap showered. The sound of the door closing behind you spins you around and you catch your partner standing next to it with a guilty look on her face. The intimate implications force a blush to her cheeks and she instead occupies herself with readying some towels under the sink.
 
    You start to disrobe and Dash steals some obvious peeks at you. She keeps digging around under the sink longer than she needs to in order to stay occupied. You stop keeping tabs on her, and in a few practiced movements you’re completely in the nude with the exception of your feather necklace. Despite a few weeks worth of reassurances from your partner, being naked around her was still a big step for you. But, you were trying to improve, and so you didn’t think twice about bending over to turn on the water.
 
    *crash!
 
    The cabinet door slams shut unintentionally, startling both you and Dash from the unexpectedly loud sound so close to you. Her unanticipated wing flare had launched the door shut from her seated position, but she doesn’t immediately make that connection and instead skitters away in momentary panic—twisting around and sweeping towels off the rack with her exploding wingspan.
 
    Her hooves scurry to get under her center of gravity, but they don’t get much traction on the hard tile. She slips, staying momentarily suspended in midair just long enough for you to register a mixture of confusion and panic on her face. Then, she comes crashing down against the wall with a thud—the violently thrown towel sailing down next to her wincing form.
 
    She stays grounded on her back, her wings spread out and her hooves and head tucked to her body; one squinted eye peeks over at you somewhat sheepishly. She very rarely made a blunder that couldn’t be at least partially blamed on someone or something else, but this time there was no denying the embarrassing miscalculation. Luckily, the vibrant pegasus had a second layer of safety when it came to maintaining her reputation.
 
    “You good Captain Athleticism?” You ask while fighting off your smirk.
 
    She stares blankly at you, knowing she won’t be able to get up without another unsightly struggle, “Yeah, I’m good, I just uh…saw your penis.” Well…that could be taken as a compliment. The bluntness of her confession was no coincidence, you were the last person on the planet that would shame her for anything, least of all a symptom of her attraction to you. That knowledge gave her the confidence to say what she did, and for what it’s worth it’s kind of flattering. You walk over to her and just stare into her unflinching eyes for a moment until she suddenly bursts out laughing, “Ahahahahahaha!”
 
    Silly pony. You kneel down to start helping her up, struggling to get a good grip on her petite frame as it rocks with laughter, “On a completely unrelated note I think it’s great that you serve as a role model to countless fillies and colts.”
 
    “Hahahahaha-*gasp-ahahaha!”
 
    You finally get a solid hold and hoist her up—carefully slinging her over your shoulder liked the prize she is, “I think you’ll instill good virtues in them you know? Loyalty, courage, appreciation for the appeal of the human form…”
 
    “Hahaha-stahahpit! Ahahaha-hehehee!” She batters you bare shoulder with her hooves and you throw in some jabs at her sides to make her squirm. But it only makes it more awkward navigating to the shower. The hardest part was finding an angle that would accommodate her six-foot wingspan. No wonder you never did it in the shower before.
 
    By the time you’ve finally figured out a game plan, the mare in your arms had calmed down and was starting to show more of the signs you’d picked up on earlier. Her forehooves cling to your neck and as you reposition your supporting hand on her posterior, she groans and her tail flicks up from the bottom of your vision. Her strong musk gets wafted into the resulting air current that meets your nose, apparent even over the already potent musk that was permeating the room.
 
    You slide the curtain aside and step into the cascade of hot water. A thousand droplets massage your skin and begin to darken Dash’s fur. They bounce off her wings with the sound of rain on a tarp—sliding effortlessly off the feathers that were kept slick by her natural body oils. You pull the curtain closed behind you and plunge yourselves into a darker shade of the room’s already dim magical lighting. You lower Dash down to your chest and lay her against the wall for balance, careful to cushion the back of her head with a hand. Her hind legs lock around your hips and she fidgets her pelvis closer to you.
 
    The simple suggestive action flips a switch in your head and you throb to life. You hear her breathing skip as the full length of your member rises against her conveniently located cushions.
 
    Almost instantly you feel her muscles instinctively contract to release a bit of her own product onto you, distinctly hotter and more viscous than the surrounding shower water. Even so, the intimate touch wasn’t what occupied your mind. Instead, you were fixated on her gorgeous eyes and what they were telling you. Her fiery irises dilate to see you better as her breathing deepens. She winces in pleasure and her hooves clamp tight around you as she tucks her protruded wing into the corner with a mixture of strength and sheer will. For a moment, you remain there, nose-to-nose; two bare bodies held close by mutual effort and the shared desire for intimacy. The only thought that fills your mind is how receptive her body feels and how sweet her breath tastes as you breathe her in. How have you not noticed that before?
 
    Water claims more and more of her fur—trapped by her mane and released in long streams down her body. Moisture seems to unlock the true potency of the mare’s alluring scent and you realize that the unique musk you associated with a very special spot between her hind legs was coming from elsewhere. Her forehooves.  
 
    Your supporting hand stretches a bit to stroke her heated bits, “A-Anon, just take it easy I’m kinda s-s-sensitive—“
 
    “—Shhh…” You interrupt her nervous stammering. If her eager body hadn’t made her cravings apparent, the tone in her voice sure did. You lean in cheek-to-cheek to whisper into her ear, “…You don’t need to say it…” Your hands hold the back of her head and a tense cheek of her flank as you plant a kiss on the back of her jaw, “…I figured it out…the clothes on the bed…the feathers on your wings…the mess you were cleaning up when I called out to you…” Dash gulps. Her expressive ear had tried to perk up at first, but promptly retreated back to its nape when you started citing evidence that proved its owner guilty of self-pleasure. You free a hand and fish a forehoof from your neck which you hold tentatively between you.
 
    You pull back to look her in the eye. Water had flattened her colors to her face and muzzle, but her magenta orbs still peered at you behind a violent blush, “…I’m not as dumb as I look you know.”
 
    The edge of her hoof gets a brief kiss before you nuzzle her jaw. Then, you pin it to her chest and lick her soft frog.
 
    “Mmmmh!”
 
    She squeaks and drips some more of her fluid onto your ever-hardening shaft.
 
    She definitely worked herself over, you ponder, as you savor the special tang native to her crotch. You dive back in to clean up her frog before the pounding water can. The poor mare struggles to end the tease as your tongue traces every line of her sensitive under hoof; her free hoof grabs around your butt and pulls desperately in a vain attempt to get you to closer to her, but you don’t yield…at least not right away.
 
    The pegasus mare’s genitals twitch against yours, so close yet so far away from fulfilling their respective purposes. Finally, her forehoof is clean and you bury your face in her neck, pressing your torsos closer to prevent the falling water from rudely separating you. You kiss into her neck while hopping her up in your arms to reposition. Pulling away from her neck, you meet her love-filled eyes and are immediately struck by the intensity of her desire. Despite her apparent success earlier, she needs you.
 
    The tip of your throbbing, wet glans prods gently around her sex. She squeaks she was letting out reminded you of her lingering sensitivity and you adjust your pace accordingly. However, you weren’t the only one who had some say in the matter. Once you strike gold, Dash relaxes her hind legs’ grip on your hips and swiftly buries you.
 
    “Haagh!”
 
    Geography of her plot gives way and your desperate shaft effortlessly fills an equally desperate canal. You barely have time to adjust for her lack of support and the sudden influx of pleasure before she begins grinding into you.
 
    “Ngh!”
 
    Hands move to her wings and find purchase on the thickest, feathery, leading edge that encompassed her highly developed humerus bones. Her hind legs tighten around you again as you begin pressing into her with equal effort. She hands over the reins to you as your thrusting picks up a relaxed but deliberate pace. You hover near the back of her jaw and vie for a stable position for you and your partner, and your knee knocks the soap bar off of its holder, freeing it to slide around on its own lubricity. Crap, where did it go?
 
    Dash doesn’t give you much time to think about that as she tightens her grip on your hips to bury you deep in her sweltering tunnel. You bring a leg up to get an extra half-inch closer to your precious mare, only to realize there’s no comfortable way to brace it, “Gah! Rainbow I—“
 
    —*smack!
 
    Your head bounces off the tile wall next to hers, but you keep your mare braced safely in your grasp. You just slipped and smacked your face on a wall, Dash is never going to let you live that down…but at least you know where that soap bar is now.
 
    “Anon!”
 
    Two fuzzy hooves pull your head into her cheek and she starts gently caressing the sore spot. Your lovemaking quickly shifts gears as your mare begins tending to your sudden injury as if your life depended on it. She positions her muzzle to trace her smooth tongue along the affected area; the psychological numbing affect is instantaneous, and in your mind’s eye you imagine her felt ribbon as a sympathetic eraser, undoing all of your blunders and rewriting history in your favor. If Dash ever got a job at the hospital she’d put the doctors out of work.
 
    You were pretty sure her remedy had some legitimate medicinal affects, but seeing the expressions of her obvious care for you did more than any magical healing ever could. Hot water washes your merged bodies—pouring off her rump and down your legs in heavy streams while her muzzle works to fix you the only way she knows how. In no time at all, you’re back to a hundred percent and you thank her by nuzzling her wet jaw.
 
    Your eyes meet, one pair are filled with concern, the others, gratefulness. How did you ever manage to find a mare like her…”I was going to tell you, I love you.”
   
    The concern leaves her eyes and she dips her muzzle to hide her reaction as best she could, “Y-You sure you’re ok?” She gently presses her pinfeather token to your wet chest.
 
    Gosh you love her so much, “Thanks to you.” You whisper. She timidly flickers up and down to meet your gaze, but a peck on her nose draws her attention, “It’s my turn to take care of you now.”
 
    Her eyes briefly widen as she remembers the contact in her nethers. Your words were as meaningful as they were provocative. For whatever reason, she’d needed you today and you weren’t here for her; that thought brought a heaviness to your heart that could only be lifted by acting on your pent up feelings.
 
    *squelch
 
    The noise that twitches her ears over the sound of rushing water doesn’t make her blush…or at least it doesn’t make her existing blush worse. With the exception of a few wayward water droplets, you don’t even blink as you start to pick up your pace.
 
    The shower head sputters as it dislodges a bubble in its feed line—steam visibly rises from the tiny streams and gradually raises the humidity level. You can barely make out the sweet taste of her breath on the thick air you and your partner desperately stole from each other. You can’t really smell it, but it tastes so sweet. Your mind tells you to seek it out at its source.
 
    Lips mash into each other and you waste no time sending your tongue on the errand. She entertains your eagerness, guiding you around to the most frequented exhibits. Surprisingly, her taste hadn’t abated as you’d expected. If anything it’d gotten stronger.
 
    Your breathing grows more rapid, not from your approaching climax, but from sheer desperation for your partner. You need more of her.
 
    Hips slow and your tempered sword buries itself in your lovers natural sheath. Once you’re as deep as you can go you start nudging into her. The action subjected her clitoris to a constantly shifting environment; when it tried to escape its own hood from overstimulation, it found itself pressed into your ticklish pubes. The result was a rapid flicking from one position to another as it sought respite…and a appropriately squirmy pegasus.
 
    “Nnnnnh!” She squeals into your mouth and her soaked wings writhe against the shower wall as if trying to paint an erotically inspired snow angel. You massage her leading edges and keep up your crotch rubbing, but your main focus was still on uncovering the source of the incredibly alluring, and until today, foreign taste that seemed to emanate from Dash’s kiss.
 
    Just as the flavor started growing stronger, your access gets cut off. Her tongue becomes uncontrollably guarded, along with the rest of her body—tense from the sum of pleasure you were giving her.
 
    “Mgh!…Mhh!…Ngh!…”
 
    Dash grunts into your kiss as you edge her closer through a proven combination of depth and friction. Her hot hole gives you a few warning hugs as she starts to go into her prefatory clenches. You stroke the lengths of her strained wings and pull your tongue back to tickle the insides of her lips…all while keeping count on her random squeezes. Interestingly enough, she seemed to consistently follow a pattern; her timing varied, but she always clenched precisely six times before the finale.
 
    Her grunts fall silent as she nears…two…three…four—
 
    “—Mmh!”
 
    Your mare tips the edge and orgasms quietly on your throbbing penis. So much for figuring her out.
 
    Her feeble grunt never escapes your deep kiss. Her wing joints knock against the tile walls, jerking in pleasure and trying in vain to extend. You’d been so lost in her mouth that you hadn’t realized how good of a job she’d done in milking you. A distinctly thicker stream of hot fluid running down your thigh shifts your attention back to your juncture and you’re instantly overcome by the success of her efforts.
 
    You moan into your partners mouth just before your hips shudder and push deeper. You throb and fire off into her tract with just enough force to race your fluid up her wrinkled walls against gravity. You get a return moan from her and feel her abs shudder from the uniquely ticklish sensation. The next few moments are lost to time as the shower head drones on indifferent to its mating occupants.
 
    When your eyes open, hers are already waiting for you with a smile. You break your kiss for the first time since you’d begun copulating and soak up the full sight of her grinning face. Her unusually wide grin on her usually rosy cheeks didn’t warrant an explanation, you already knew. In your time together you’d come to realize that she gauged her success by how fast she finished you, and your unusually short performance just now made her ecstatic.
 
    You weren’t sure why, nor did you understand how she defeated your usual stamina in just over a minute. She hooks a hoof around your head and pulls you into her massaging lips as if to congratulate you on your performance. Under normal circumstances you’d be a bit disappointed that you couldn’t satisfy her naturally higher libido the way she’d grown accustomed to, but her smiling, smacking lips manage to convince you that it didn’t matter.
 
    For the moment, you make out passionately as you both celebrate another successful bonding moment. You break with a squeak and breathe.
 
    “That was-*huff awesome.” She remarks.
 
    “Y-Yeah.” You reply, out of breath.
 
    You stay inside her for the moment and she thoughtfully refrains from fidgeting in light of your post-orgasm sensitivity. Instead, you occupy yourselves by nuzzling and kissing as the water continues to berate your steamed bodies. The proud smile on her face was still evident as she kissed along your jaw, then down your neck, and it forced yours to mirror as you return the caress. The short fur of her neck is lush with moisture that gets effectively removed via your sucking kiss. You chuckle to yourself at the new discovery. More kisses shower her neck as you suck the water from her fur, and you start to feel a new addiction coming on. The mineral-rich tap water actually tastes good once it’s filtered through her fur.
 
    It was a week ago to date that you’d learned ponies could indeed get hickeys. It wasn’t easy to do as her fur would normally prevent a good seal, but the water in this case allowed just that. Lips plant another sucking kiss on her neck and pull off with a loud pop.
 
    Dash’s neck was more sensitive than she’d initially let on, and if her vigorous return hickeys said anything, she definitely enjoyed them. You can’t help but giggle at the therapeutic feeling of her vacuum kisses as you leave more marks on each other to prove your feelings.
 
    An aftershock in her crotch makes you realize that you hadn’t shrunk one bit, and to avoid getting her worked up half-way, you make an effort to pull out. Once you break the tight seal, the products of a day’s worth of daydreaming comes pouring out to audibly slosh onto the floor. Her ears perk and she pulls back to meet your terrible blush—obviously flattered by the volume of your gift. She blushes and licks your heated cheeks, simultaneously acknowledging and quelling the fires of embarrassment that fanned up uncontrollably.
 
    You take your time rinsing yourselves off before carrying her out of the shower much the same way you carried her in. Her wings were still out, but after a good orgasm, they tended not to be nearly as stiff.
 
    You let her to her hooves and help dry her off before using the same towel on yourself. As you go to hang it up, you notice the crossbar of the rack is loose; a closer examination reveals that the screws were ripped halfway out of the wall, “Dang Dash, your wings are pretty strong.”
 
    She steps over to look at the rack out of curiosity, “Uhh…heheh, sorry. But it’s your fault too ya know.”
 
    Here come the excuses, “You know, I’m not even worried about it.” You thread the towel behind the bar and drop it on the rack—ripping it the rest of the way out of the wall. Your cat-like reflexes force your foot to dodge right into the path of the tumbling crossbar and it impacts with a muffled thud.
 
    You suck in a deep breath of air and contemplate letting out a string of expletives, but instead you just hold it.
 
    Dash stifles a giggle with her hoof, “Heh, here, lemme get that.” She cleans up yet another broken fixture in your beat-up apartment and lets you rub your foot.
 
    “Thanks…I guess we’re just clumsy tonight.”
 
    The pegasus essentially brushes everything into the corner to be dealt with at a later date, “Speak for yourself bud. Who you calling clu-umsy?” Her brief stutter is accompanied by tail twitch and wink. Aftershocks like these were pretty commonplace for her so you chose not to mention it, after all, you felt much more comfortable in your nakedness with the sexual tension having already been relieved.
 
    “Look, all I’m saying is that there were mistakes on both sides—“
 
    “—Like the uh, heh…the soap bar?” She interjects with a mirthful grin.
 
    You own your mistake, “Yes, like the soap bar. But even with that you still liked it.”
 
    She blushes and gets defensive, “Th-that’s b-beside the point…”
 
    “Oh is it?” You wiggle your brows to make her even redder. She’s so cute when she does that.
 
    “Y-yeah! And you f-finished fast too!”
 
    “Well, what can I say? You’re a beautiful mare.” You pause and wait for the extremely gratifying look of pleasant surprise cross her face. She has no response for your compliment and you don’t ask for one, instead you limp over to the counter to brush your teeth.
 
    In your defense you were only mildly exaggerating your injury, nevertheless, Dash doesn’t let you get away with it, “You want me to get you some crutches dude?” She prods weakly. The jab almost sounded like genuine concern as she tried in vain to be anything but smitten.
 
    Maybe it is a genuine question, “Nah, I think I’ll be alright.” You prep your toothbrush and squeeze some paste onto hers.
 
    “Thanks.” She responds before beginning her surprisingly thorough brush, “Buh uh, iph ou wanh some I cah.”
 
    For a speed junkie like her she sure takes her time on the strangest of things, you ponder as she scrubs her teeth like a regular hypochondriac. In the background, your brain finishes deciphering her garbled speak in time to respond in rhythm, “Nope, I’m a pretty tough guy you know.” You peek over just in time to catch her amused look, “Especially when I’ve got my favorite mare to dote on me.” You finish with a playful mane-ruffle.
 
    Instead of dodging away like she usually does, she leans into your gesture with a simple smile. Huh…that never failed to annoy her before, and no snarky comeback for the comment.
 
    Putting the thought aside, you wet your brush and get to business. The lingering humidity in the small room absorbed any reverberation of your vigorous brushing; it had also fogged up the mirror to the point that you were little more than tan and blue smudges.
 
    You take the initiative and clear a spot in front of your face to see, and a moment later, Dash copies you. Another few seconds of inactivity pass while you switch to your upper jaw. Dash abandons the brush in her mouth to free a hoof again, but instead of making a bigger spot for herself, she clears one to give you a line of sight to each other.
 
    With the relative anonymity of the hazy mirror broken, a smile cracks your face. Her lively magenta eyes make it hard to focus on the task at hand; there’s not much privacy in this apartment anymore…and you’re perfectly ok with that.
 
    She stays there for a moment, her toothbrush cocked out to one side of her muzzle, her forehoof held tentatively to her chest. One more correction: this time she rounds out the upper edges and tapers the bottom. Finally satisfied, she settles back down and resumes brushing with tucked ears and a giddy smile.
 
    It takes you a moment to focus on anything but her face, but once you do, you realize she’d formed a heart on the glass.
 
    If you could melt, you would’ve right then and there. This is what you live for. Quiet moments like these where she lets her guard down and gives you glimpses of her feelings.
 
    No words could express what you have to say, and if there were any you wouldn’t be able to speak anyways. So you just keep brushing; all the while keeping your loved one’s beautiful face framed in a portrait of her own creation. You finish first, but keep scrubbing anyways until your partner’s done—otherwise you’d feel guilty for moving and breaking the perfect symmetry.
 
    With her enamels cleaned, she spits and rinses, grinning to check her sparkly whites in the waning haze of her reflection. Once you’ve done the same, you gather your clothes and break the seal on the door. Cold air chills your damp bodies and sends a shiver down your spine. The rainbow mare takes a short lead with a perk in her step. Contrary to what you’d expect, she wasn’t getting any more accustomed to the lingering sensations; the only reason she wasn’t tripping over herself was because of your relatively short encounter.
 
    She pauses when she gets to the living room but quickly realizes you must’ve cleaned up before your reunion. You risk the frigid air to fish a pair of boxers out of the dresser and she patiently sticks by your side. You peer over at her, intrigued by her decision to wait for you, but you only get a blank stare that offers no answers.
 
    Bedding down for the night was your favorite time of the day; it was warm, relaxing, and brimming with pleasant memories. But most of all, it was an opportunity to snuggle up close and converse with the furry blue pegasus you so desperately loved. You pull back the blankets and Dash crawls in before you—holding it open with her wing to let you in after. With both your bodies under the same tent, she collapses the roof and fidgets closer.
 
    Blue hooves weave through your limbs to wrap around your chest and you feel her wing unfurl across you while she burrows her muzzle into the crook of your neck. She exhales a hot breath—the first of many you’d be blessed with tonight. This is perfect.
 
    The brief moment of mandatory snuggling is punctuated by an equally mandatory lip peck, then she speaks, “Did ya get the week off dude?”
 
    “Oh! Almost forgot…no I’ve got to go to work.” You reply with a poker face.
 
    Dash’s content features become mortified. You never thought her beautiful fur could lose color, but it did, “W-wha…?” She’s so taken aback with her ears perked and her nostrils flaring that she almost looks like she’s on the verge of tears.
 
    You’re equally terrified by her response as you’re overcome with empathy for the mare you’re so emotionally entwined with. Crap you didn’t think she’d take it that badly, “Oh, Dash I’m just kidding! I got it approved, I’m sorry!” You blurt.
 
    It takes some time for your words to sink in as her panic refuses to give in so easily, “Y-you mean you can go?” A hint of confused terror remains in her voice.
 
    Go? She must’ve actually planned something…that would explain the reaction, “Of course I can.” You stroke her cheek and neck to calm her while you mentally berate yourself for distressing her.
 
    Her features finally relax, “Heh, for a second I thought I was going to have to go to your work and threaten your boss.”
 
    “Geez, that’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” You gaze into her eyes as her hind hooves find your sore foot under the sheets.
 
    “Not really…because I already reserved our spots for tomorrow.” You feel her soft frog rub up against the location of your bathroom injury with the intention of abating the lingering soreness she saw on the walk out.
 
    She really did plan something. You smile in unexpected anticipation and curl your foot back to meet hers better, “You got reservations for somewhere?”
 
    She cracks a toothy grin, “Check it out dude…it’s so awesome! Are you ready?” She asks excitedly, she’s obviously been waiting to tell you this. Her giddiness rubs off on you and you nod for her to continue.
 
    “Ok so…picture this, a hot springs resort…in the Foal Mountains!” She paints the picture for you by drawing a hoof across the sky, “Isn’t that sooo awesome!” Heh, her voice cracked.
 
    The Foal Mountains…they are known for their popularity as a vacation spot…but the thing that excited you the most was the idea of going on a vacation together…it kind of makes you feel more officially together.
 
    “Yeah, that sounds awesome!”
 
    Your response only validates her enthusiasm, “I know right!”
 
    You squeeze her close and kiss her cheek, “You’re the best Dash!”
 
    She squints and smiles and continues rambling as you press your forceful kiss, “There’s like fireplaces for smores and, and pools and stuff!”
 
    “How’d you get a room last minute?”
 
    She pauses briefly before her hoof rubbing resumes at a pace that matches her train of thought, “A room?”
 
    “Yeah. If it’s like a holiday resort type deal, I would expect them to be booked.”
 
    “They did say there were a lot of ponies interested, but I just rented it and they stopped complaining.”
 
    Seems like less of a hassle than…wait…”So they just let you rent a room? Is it because you’re a Wonderbolt or something?”
 
    Understanding crosses her features, “No, no, nothing like that…uhh, they have like two or three resorts in the area, so they said they’d just move every pony else to the other ones after I rented it.”
 
    “By rent it you don’t mean the whole place?” You ask for clarification.
 
    “Yeah.”
 
    …Holy shit…
 
    You just stare at her innocent smile for a moment, “You rented the whole resort for us?”
 
    “Yep! I just thought it’d be nicer that way so like…no pony would bother us…” She trails off and blushes.
 
    You’re still trying to swallow the fact that your mare just bought out a high-end resort for a whole week. You knew the Wonderbolts paid well, but damn.
 
    Her blush finally catches her attention and you realize it’s your turn to speak, “That’s so awesome Dash.” She beams at you. You contemplated telling her that she didn’t need to spend that kind of money on you, but you didn’t want to come off as unappreciative of her present.
 
    Regardless, she seems to sense your thoughts, “I-I know it’s a lot, but…I was just thinking that, um…this way we can like…” You massage her ear to suppress her timidity. She takes a deep breath before finishing, “…this way we can rut without worrying about other ponies!”
 
    Her wings bob a bit under the sheets. This vacation is sounding better and better, “That’s a good justification if I’ve ever heard one.” She uncontrollably grunts when you dig into her ear’s sweet spot and she massages your now recovered foot with more force in return.
 
    “So we’re leaving in the morning then?”
 
    The look on her face was one of pure happiness, like a kid going to bed on Christmas Eve, “Yeah but no rush. They mailed me the keys so we can show up whenever we want.”
 
    You just grin and stare at each other for a moment as the outlook of your situation gradually catches up to you, “This is going to be so fun!” You explode and wrap her up in a bear hug.
 
    Your genuine expression makes her chuckle, “Whaddaya say we get to sleep so we can get there faster?”
 
    In a flash you turn off the lamp and pull her down into the blankets with you—quickly finding resting spots for your heads a few inches apart. She chuckles a bit more at your excitement, and you home in on her breath to plant a passionate goodnight kiss.
 
    In the wake of your excitement, you remember a lingering question that’d been bugging you since you came home, “Hey, kind of a change of subject, but is there any reason why you emptied my hamper earlier?”
 
    She doesn’t immediately respond, “Uhh…heheh, like I said…I kind of missed you.”
   
    “Well, I missed you too…more than you know.” You can feel her smile against the pillow, “I guess it just worried me a bit because I’ve never seen you like that before.”
 
    You lean in an nuzzle her nose before pecking her again and settling in for a good night’s sleep. You sense a question on the tip of her tongue, but she just curls her wing around your shoulders and scoots into you. Her hoof finally comes to rest against your foot. A whole week alone in a resort with Rainbow Dash…how could it get any better than that?
 
    “Uhh…Anon?” She exhales a sweet breath that you take in.
 
    “Hmm?”
 
    Her ears scrape the pillow as she folds them, “You do know I’m in heat, right?”