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// III// Story: What You Can't Tell Anypony Else, or Rumble's Reluctance// by The Elusive Badgerpony//------------------------------//

Rumble couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He didn’t know why. He’d actually gotten up on time, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with Thunderlane. He took a quick, hot shower, making sure to wash up at least twice as much. When he was sure he was clean, Rumble hopped and glided down the stairs, nabbed an oat scone for breakfast, and ran out of the door. He alternated his fast, youthful gallop with occasional leaps and bounds, spreading his wings out and gaining distance, and when he hit the ground again he was forced to run even faster due to his momentum. He reached the schoolhouse ten minutes before the school day started, when everypony was still outside, chucking snowballs or gossip about the playground in equal measures.

He leaned against a wall of the schoolhouse, his eyes on her.

Scootaloo was a sight to behold. She wore a plaid scarf, the alternating pattern of green and red on blue breaking up her orange coat and framing the things Rumble tool an interest in. Her face had a miniature version of the taut, powerful look that athletes bore, the cold bringing a slight tinge of red to her cheeks that made Rumble feel warm inside. Her body was the same, a trail version of what would come in the following years, the promise of a strong, lithe, incredible mare, for now a foal who if not for her color was fairly indistinct from other foals at first glance. Rumble felt his eyes invariably drawn to her flank, the reflex born out of what he wanted to ask her, but he turned them away, as if somepony would notice him looking. As if she would notice him looking.

All he had to do was ask. All he had to do was walk up to her, take her aside and away from the other ponies, and ask her. All he had to do was ask, and she would do it. She’d push him down, hold him down, tell him that she loved him and that he loved her, and then they would have sex again. Thinking of this new word made Rumble tingle. It was easier to say than intercourse, a smaller mouthful for an equal thing. He’d actually learned a plethora of new words from Thunderlane’s stash of what he now knew was called porn, but was unsure of how many of these new words he could use around anyone besides Scootaloo.

He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

She was right there, only a couple dozen yards away, but Rumble didn’t know how to approach. It had sounded much better in his head over the weekend. Then again, he spent most of that weekend preparing for what would come after he asked, soaking his sheets with repeated blasts of stuff that wasn’t pee but came from the same place. He had to double his washing in the shower, he would either be so or feel so filthy when he was done. Rumble shook his head, trying to clear it of these idle introspections, and focus at the task at hand, but it wasn’t so easy.

All he could imagine was Scootaloo. Scootaloo in the Mare-do-well costume, pushing him over and tying up his forehooves, whispering that he was under arrest, then turning him over and using her mouth and hooves on his length, licking it, suckling it, teasing it, until it was unsheathed. She would clamber up his body, kissing up his belly and his chest, giving his neck a few small licks before her face would connect with his in a loving embrace, lips locked together. She would raise up her hips and slowly lower herself onto his length, and-

The bell rang, and Rumble’s introspection ended as the class collectively wandered from the blisteringly cold outdoors to the sauna-esque schoolhouse.

Rumble cursed himself, and followed his classmates.

><><

“Good to see you made it on time today, Rumble,” Miss Cheerilee noted innocently, although this didn’t stop the rest of the class from bursting out into a chorus of laughing voices. Rumble ignored them all, his introspection being too great, merely muttering a reply of acknowledgement to his teacher and taking his normal seat.

He screwed it up. All that preparation. All that knowledge he tried to accumulate in order to make up for his complete and total lack of experience. He had thrown it away because he was afraid. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Rumble knew what he was afraid of, but he didn’t know at all. Something was nagging at the back of his head. Something told him that what he wanted to do with Scootaloo was wrong, that it would end in disaster.

The nagging had been there all weekend. It had talked to him in between the movies he managed to steal away and watch, between the sessions of self-pleasuring, between the idle thoughts of Scootaloo holding him, kissing him, having sex with him. It said that he didn’t love her. It said that she had raped him, that she obviously had issues, that Rumble had every right to go tell Miss Cheerilee. It was nagging him right then, in fact, telling him to talk to Miss Cheerilee after class, telling him to tell her everything.

And just as he had done during the weekend, Rumble ignored it, grunting in frustration and holding his head in his hooves.
It wasn’t fair.

Thunderlane knew what he wanted. Thunderlane took what he wanted from mares. He had more than mere ideas of what worked to please himself and a mare, he had experience. He’d been with more mares than he probably could care to remember. He’d probably even raped his fair share of them. Rumble almost let out a growl in the middle of class, thinking of his brother, thinking of how Thunderlane had everything going for him, thinking of how it wasn’t fair.

Why couldn’t his life had been like a video game or a TV show or a movie? Why did the bad guys always have the advantages? Thunderlane, the douchebag brother, had sexual experience beyond anything that Rumble would ever have, and Scootaloo was a rapist who had managed to claw her way into his head, who had changed everything in a matter of days. Why did they win?

Rumble let out a groan, and he allowed his head to thump against his desk. He didn’t care anymore. He was a creature of desire, and he had denied himself that desire. No more. If Scootaloo could take what she wanted from him, then he could take what he wanted from Scootaloo, couldn’t he? If Scootaloo could force him down and force him into sex, then-

“Rumble?”

Miss Cheerilee’s voice had a tinge of concern, and Rumble tilted his head up.

“Huh?”

“Rumble, are you all right? You seemed very sick on Friday. Do you feel okay right now?”

He could feel the sixty eyes from the thirty other foals in the class, burning into him, judging him, either inadvertently or intentionally. He was used to it. Whether that was scary or comforting to him was a mystery, one that Rumble had decided to log into the back of his head.

The rest of his head was full of Scootaloo.

Scootaloo in the Mare-do-well costu-

“Rumble!”

“Huh?! Wha…”

“Rumble, do you feel well enough to be in class today? You seem sort of… Spaced out. Is everything all right?...”

He had another chance.

Rumble cursed himself. He had another chance! He knew how he could ask Scootaloo! He knew how he could experience it all again! All he had to do was ask! And he had another chance!

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

His monotone response brought out a few titters from his classmates. Miss Cheerilee’s shoulders raised in the international sign of dismissal.

“Alrighty then, class, turn to page…”

He tuned out Miss Cheerilee and switched his focus to the task at hand. His desk squeaked open as he pulled out a notebook and a pencil, holding the writing implement in his mouth, and laying the notebook on his desk. Rumble squinted, and, with deft movements of his lips, tongue and teeth, wrote.

Dear Scootaloo,

I want to see you again can you? After school at my house. Thunderlane wont be around, probably off fuking some mare.

Rumbl

He smiled. There was another new word that his brothers movies had taught him. Rumble gently dropped the pencil from his mouth, and glued his eyes to the clock, waiting for the lunch bell.

><><

It came seemingly from nowhere, Rumble lost in reveries of Scootaloo and Mare-do-well costumes and cheesy music. The sharp, metallic clanging resonated through the air viciously, banging against either side of the bell and ringing in Rumble’s head. He shuffled out with the rest of the schoolfillies, for once not lingering in the too-hot classroom, for once matching their pace. Because today was a special day. He had hyped this up in his mind, he had chickened out before, but now, all Rumble could think of was his plan of attack.

The first step. The approach. Rumble would be casual. He’d glide up to Scootaloo and look her in her wondrous magenta eyes. The second step. The delivery. With subtlety and yet a suave air, Rumble would hand her the note. The third step. Fuck. After school, at his house. He would fuck her, not the other way around. He would be in control. He would be able to understand the experience this time. This time it would be Scootaloo at his mercy, for he had knowledge, the ultimate superweapon. It was like a super-big ray gun pointed directly at her face.

Step One went swimmingly. Rumble spread his wings as soon as he had breached into the outdoors and took a flying leap off of the stairs leading to the door. He floated gently around, taking a shallow turn that made him curve back towards the playground, one wing dipped towards the ground. When his hooves hit the powdery snow, though, Rumble stumbled slightly, but was able to recollect his footing before he tripped over himself, and more importantly, before anypony noticed.
Unfortunately, though, Step Two proved to be a bit of a challenge.

Scootaloo was in a rough triangle between herself and her two friends, whose names Rumble had not obsessively repeated in his brain for a weekend and thus escaped him. Appleblossom and Swarthy Gel? It was irrelevant, as Rumble was hoping he could have gotten Scootaloo alone, and if he were to give the note to her now, Rumble didn’t know what she would do with it. Would she read it aloud for them both to hear? Then that would be the same as a confession. Rumble suddenly remembered Scootaloo’s threat as he left their clubhouse the previous Thursday…

No. He didn’t want to get beaten up. He didn’t want to get beaten up, then forced to the ground and forced into fucking again. No. That wasn’t the plan.

Maybe she would take the note and not read it, knowing what it was. Then Applebleam and Swimming Well would ask her what it was, and Scootaloo might be forced to lie, but maybe her friends would see through that and insist that she tell them what it was, and then they’d get into a big fight about it, and then they wouldn’t be friends anymore and… And Scootaloo would push him over and rape him again, she would take out his anger and frustration on him again.

No. He didn’t want to get beaten up. He didn’t want to get beaten up, then forced to the ground and forced into fucking again. No. That wasn’t the plan.

Rumble suddenly realized how little he knew about Scootaloo. She was a Cutie Mare Repainter, she was a big fan of the captain of the Weather Team, Rainbow Dash, and she had raped him last Thursday. Outside of that, Rumble had nothing. Oh wait, and that she loved him and thought he was cute. And Rumble thought she was cute in return, but...

Did he love her?

She had forced herself into his head, sure. He would touch himself to the thought of her, absolutely. But did he love her? Did he really want to be around her more? Did he want to grow old and die with her by his side the whole time? Wasn’t that what love was? She was cute, but was she worth loving? What was Rumble even looking for in love? Did he want someone doting like Mister Cake’s wife, or did he want someone more willing to let him be who he was like Cloudchaser and Thunderlane? Rumble shook his head. No. He didn’t want to be like Thunderlane.

Then why did he want to fuck Scootaloo?

Fuck. He repeated the word again and again in his head. It sounded funny. It sounded dirty, and Rumble knew it was dirty, which made the novelty of saying it even better. Fuck. He hadn’t said the word a whole lot, had he? He mumbled it.

“Fuck.”

It felt good. It was a word that started on the lips, then moved back into the throat, and it felt good. It was a word that tasted like chocolate, no, licorice. Bitter and nasty and o-so-good all at the same time. Fuck. It was a versatile word. When Thunderlane got mad, he would use several different versions of it. Fuck, fucking, fucked, fuckery, fuckaroo, fuckaluckadingdong.

It was during this vulgar reverie into the curse that Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, the Crusts, had snuck up behind Rumble, and noticed his mumbling, glazed-eyed gazing, hesitating form. Tiara wasted no time in letting loose a cackling laugh that broke Rumble’s reverie.

“Oooh, look at this, Silver Spoon, it’s a blank-flank loser!”

Silver Spoon snickered. “Yeah, a loser!”

Rumble ignored them, which only seemed to fuel their sadistic giggles.

“What’s that he has in his stupid baby feathers?” Diamond taunted, snatching away the note.

The note.

“Hey! Give that back!” Rumble cried out, but Silver Spoon stepped in front of him, tripping him over and making him fall on his face. Rumble cried out in pain, multicolored stars shooting across his vision.

“I think I know what it is! It’s a ooey-gooey love note to one of those three blank-flank looooosers! Little Stumble here’s a cootie magnet!”

“Ewww!” Silver Spoon giggled maliciously, pushing down Rumble’s head into the snow, while his body flailed about above the cold powder surrounding his chin. Her weight on his head felt like it was going to crush that particularily important extremity, and only served to fuel his flailing.

“He’s got a crush on one of those losers, because he’s a loser!”

Rumble thoughts raced like a Wonderbolts derby. Diamond Tiara clearly shared Thunderlane’s complete lack of creativity and incapability of polite thought. Silver Spoon was going to crush his head like a walnut. Thunderlane would say something to someone who would dare insult him that was at the tip of Rumble’s tongue…

“Well, I guess maybe we shouldn’t let this loser embarrass himself…” Diamond Tiara’s voice was dangerously low. Rumble looked up, tears of anger in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Silver Spoon agreed, nodding in mock empathy.

Diamond Tiara lifted her nose into the air, her eyes closed, Rumble’s only hope at ever understanding himself or his feelings for Scootaloo held between her forehooves. She held out the document with much ceremony, slowly, wavering the piece of slightly crumpled paper not far above Rumble’s head, pieces of the frayed edges wavering slightly in the winter breeze. He tried to push Silver Spoon’s hoof off of his head, but to no avail, and she pushed his cranium down, cruelly and slowly punching into his skull. Rumble gave a mangled cry of simultaneous pain, fear and anger.

They didn’t understand. They didn’t know how important this was to him. They didn’t know the pain that he had felt the last Thursday, the guilt that he had felt on Friday, the trepidation and humiliation and anticipation that had filled the weekend. They wanted to make him pay for his hesitation now, on Monday, not because they knew, but simply because they could.

He remembered the phrase that Thunderlane liked to use, just as Diamond Tiara pulled apart her hooves, and with it, the note. It exploded from his mouth like a gunpowder keg. It was a burst of everything that Rumble felt then, that he had felt for the past week, that he had felt for the years that he had to live with his asshole of a brother.

“Fuck you!”

And the playground fell silent.

Rumble felt the immense pressure lift off of his head, the soft crunching of a filly backing away from him, her jaw wide open. As he lifted his head, he got a strange, fuzzy feeling. Sixty pairs of eyes, now glued to him. Fifty-eight of them were filled with shock and awe. They had never heard this word before, but had been warned about the dreaded “F-word”, and now, here was a colt who had shouted it out underneath the jungle gym, tears gently flowing from his eyes as they coldly stared into the eyes of Diamond Tiara.

There was shock in her eyes, but also unspoken rage. Her voice snapped in a sadistic tone.

“What… did you just say… to me?”

“Fuck. You.”

Rumble smiled through his tears, the sheer indignation on Diamond Tiara’s face bringing him an immense satisfaction. Nowhere near the satisfaction of his self-touching sessions, and it certainly didn’t help the craving, but it distracted him from it. It felt good. Diamond Tiara was not a good pony. Anyone who could be compared to Thunderlane was not a good pony. And they deserved every curse, every bad word, every slander that could be attributed to them. Today, the Crusts had made a very poor choice in victim indeed. Nothing was scarier than a confused, horny, socially inept colt being denied what had been offered to him, especially one who hadn’t necessarily had the greatest week ever.

“No one,” Diamond Tiara said slowly, “has ever dared to-“

“Fuck you!” Rumble repeated, causing gasps and murmurs in the crowd of fillies and colts that began to surround the two.

“Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you…”

Rumble approached her slowly, and Diamond Tiara’s eyes of indignation soon showed a different glint, that of fear. They weren’t supposed to fight back. She began to back up, but Rumble matched her step by step, repeating the curse again and again. Silver Spoon had disappeared into the ring.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…”

“Stop saying that!”

“Fuck! You!”

Then a new voice called out, an older one, it’s tone shocked and appalled.

“Rumble!”

It was Miss Cheerilee. Her face had fallen, and the crowd immediately began to disperse. Cheerilee grabbed a bell that was at her overcoat’s pocket, and its ringing caused some of those closer to her to cover their ears.

“Children! Recess is over early. Please go inside. Except for you, Rumble. I need to talk to you.”

As marked by the collective groan of the rest of the foals, the high was over.

Realization hit Rumble like a freight train, and his ears flopped down in a sign of complete and utter humiliation. The dirty looks from his classmates as they shuffled into the schoolhouse seemed to rend into his heart and head like arrows. Desperately, he searched the crowd for Scootaloo, but to no avail.

He had failed. And now he was to pay further for his failure.

><><

Cheerilee and Rumble had sat on their haunches on the steps leading up to the schoolhouse, side by side. Things were silent for a minute.

Rumble had buried his face in his forehooves. Not only had he failed to talk to Scootaloo for intercourse, but he had been publicly humiliated. Scootaloo truly was the supervillain. Rumble wasn’t cut out for this sort of stuff. He wasn’t a plotter or a thinker, he couldn’t execute a plan. Rumble was, for all intents and purposes, a minion. And in the movies, the bad guy's minions never did anything right. They were dumb, ineffectuate, only good at one thing, and that was evil. The only difference was, Rumble wasn’t evil.

He wasn’t evil. Just stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Miss Cheerilee finally spoke, breaking Rumble out of his self-pitying reverie.

“What’s going on, Rumble?”

Rumble shrugged, taking his moist hooves away from his dampened face.

“I’m sitting here with you.”

Cheerilee gave a small laugh, and gave a remarkably calm reply.

“Yes, but you know what I mean, Rumble.”

She wasn’t mad. That was the scariest part to Rumble. Maybe she’d seen this before. Maybe she knew. Maybe other colts had been raped and she’d seen it. Maybe she was a rapist like Scootaloo. But Miss Cheerilee wasn’t evil, simply not worth talking to. Rumble shook his head. The world was so hard to see in black and white when everyone was shades of gray.

“Uhm… What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Miss Cheerilee said, “That you have a lot to worry about. You live with your brother, no parents as far as I know…”

“Um, they’re missionaries, Miss Cheerilee. Bringing electricity and water and all that stuff to poor ponies. They went to Zebrica last year and haven’t come back yet.”

Miss Cheerilee breathed out, seemingly in relief. “Oh, how wonderful. I mean, it’s not wonderful that they’re away and you have to live with your brother, but I mean, they’re not…” She shook her head. “I have a few other students who have a bit more… Tragedy to that aspect of their lives. I shouldn’t have made such assumptions.”

Rumble was listening to Cheerilee for once. Her voice was familiar. He couldn’t put his hoof on it, but the tone sounded very similar to something else he had heard. Perhaps it was his mother. It had a motherly tinge to it. No. It wasn’t that… She sighed, and Rumble listened again, hoping to pick up on what made her voice so familiar.

“Anyways, Rumble, you don’t have terrible grades, but you were doing much better earlier in the year. When you transferred from Cloudsdale, you seemed to handle the transition well. I’m really shocked that you didn’t keep up after that. So that has to be frustrating.”

Rumble closed his eyes, still listening, trying to imagine various tonalities and voices she may have undertaken over the years, trying to find a match in his limited mental backlog.

“I know Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon say plenty of awful things to ponies, but I had hoped that they would be able to keep it off-campus at the least. I trust they were taunting you?”

Rumble nodded, still trying to piece together Miss Cheerilee’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I had hoped that they would have been more civil after the last time I took them aside.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, hoping to spur Cheerilee on, although he knew that she most likely had more to say anyways. She gave another hefty sigh, and Rumble knew that the warming process was now over.

“But still, Rumble, that doesn’t excuse you using that sort of language, and it especially doesn’t excuse you from using it towards another student, and it especially doesn’t excuse you from using it towards a filly. Might I ask where you learned that word?”

Rumble panicked for a blip of a second, but before Cheerilee could notice, he had found a solution. He had to suppress a smirk at his half-truth, knowing full well what it would entail.

“Thunderlane. My brother.”

Might as well slap it onto him.

“I see. I might have to have a word with him. Like I am with you. Rumble, are you aware of just how rude and disrespectful the F-word is?”

Rumble decided that it would be in his best interests to lie. He shook his head. Her voice, still oddly familiar, gave an exasperated tone.

“Well, Rumble, it’s a very crude word. It’s dirty, awful slang. It’s the sort of thing you would say to… Well, it isn’t acceptable to say it to anything. Not merely anypony, Rumble. Anything. I know Diamond Tiara is a pain, but she most certainly didn’t deserve that sort of complete and total disrespect.”

Rumble couldn’t hold back a snort. Miss Cheerilee’s features were still soft, and her voice still calm, although with a small tint of disapproval.

“Rumble…”

“Well, she doesn’t give me any respect, why should I give her any?”

“Because, Rumble, you should be the better pony. You don’t have to go down to her level or, as you did today, lower. You should be able to accept the fact that Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon have a very poor way of expressing their frustrations.”

She blew out. “I’m technically not supposed to talk about this, but Silver Spoon… She had a few issues at home with her father. Social Services found out, and he called the police, and it was all a big mess. Do you remember that, Rumble? I had to have a class about the birds and the bees…” Cheerilee shuddered, and not from the cold. “Diamond Tiara is scared that she won’t be able to see her friend anymore. So it’s quite likely, Rumble, that she’s simply lashing out. Wouldn’t you feel awful if you were going to lose one of your friends?”

Rumble looked away from Miss Cheerilee. “I don’t…”

“Oh, Rumble, I’m so sorry.”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I talk to a few ponies…”

He deigned not to tell Cheerilee about Scootaloo. She would definitely beat him up if the police had to be called, or she told Social Services. Rumble shuddered at the thought of the fedora-and-suit wearing Pegasus. Social Services was mild-mannered, stone cold. Rumble couldn’t imagine what scary places such a creepy pony would take Scootaloo. She might have raped him, but he was her loyal minion, and he wouldn’t ever deign to betray her…

“Well, Rumble, maybe you should join one of the after-school clubs. I know bowling is doing well, I think Coach Sobchak would like you…”

Rumble almost put a hoof on her voice. That same fake enthusiasm, that same nervous energy. He had heard it somewhere, but he couldn’t remember.

“I don’t know how to bowl.”

“Oh, it’s easy! And Coach Sobchak is really good at it! And you would make some friends... I digress. Rumble. You understand that it’s wrong to say things like the F-word?”

“Yeah,” Rumble said dismissively. Cheerilee clucked her tongue, and tapped his shoulder with a hoof.

“Rumble, look me in the eyes and say that.”

He turned his head, looked into her eyes, and it clicked.

The sultry, dominative voice. The fake enthusiasm. The Mare-do-well costume. Not on Scootaloo. On her. She was…

“Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-yes, Miss Cheerilee.”

“Rumble, what’s wrong? You look pale…”

“I-it’s nothing, maam!”

Rumble shot up the stairs, and Miss Cheerilee hopped up, looking behind her before following him.

“You can go back to class, Rumble. I’m glad we had this talk.”

Rumble shot into class faster than ever before. Miss Cheerilee clucked her tongue as she trotted after him.

“Weird kid,” she muttered with a hint of a laugh around it, but Rumble did not hear her say so.

><><

Cheerilee was in Thunderlane’s porn movies.

Rumble paced around his room, his eyes still widened slightly by the realization. It was the costume and the youth that had hidden her from recognition, but now Rumble could see her, bright as day. Cheerilee was in Thunderlane’s porn movies.
She had taken him aside and reprimanded him for using the word fuck, when she had let it stream out of her mouth while a pair of zebras mounted her on either side, their massive lengths smashing into her hips. Rumble’s shock was so much that he didn’t feel so much indignation about it as he did fascination. The movie didn’t look too old. Miss Cheerilee had made quite the turnaround.

His length began to unravel, and Rumble conceded to it, hopping onto his bed and flipping onto his back, taking the bit of flesh in his hoof. He didn’t try to suppress it anymore. Instead, he allowed it to call to him, he allowed it to take control. He was merely a conduit, a slave to himself. It would be pathetic if it didn’t feel so goo-

The front door creaked as it opened, and Rumble groaned in dissatisfied frustration. Great. Thunderlane was back. Now his length would ache and throb for the next few hours, and Rumble would have to hide it from his douchebag of a brother, lest he be mocked or worse, asked about it. The last thing Rumble needed was a sex talk from an asshole. The hooves seemed to gently tap upstairs, and Rumble expected his brother to rush into his room and play the terrible music another one of his girlfriends gave him.

Instead, his door opened, and Rumble cried out in fear and shock, turning over to hide his arousal.

There she was.

Scootaloo.

Smirking.

“Hey, Rumble.”

“What are you doing in my house?!”

“Hey, calm down, dude,” Scootaloo said, gently. “After school, I found the note that Diamond Bitch was tearing up. Well, half of it, at least, but it got the message across.”

“B-b-but you-“

“Yeah,” Scootaloo conceded, “I just came in. You probably should lock your door when you come home.”

“Y-yeah,” Rumble stammered. “But my brother… He yelled at me a bit ‘cause I locked him out one time…”

Scootaloo hopped up onto his bed, and Rumble stayed still, hesitation in every movement.

“You poor thing,” she said, her voice soft as clouds. “He sounds like a real jerk.”

Rumble gave a nervous laugh. “I prefer the term douchebag, heh…”

They looked at each other in the eyes, although Rumble was trying to look away as much as possible. For a minute, all they did was looked at each other, examining one another, blushing, occasionally reaching out with a forelimb, but chickening out and pulling it back before the other party could react.

Rumble broke the silence.

“Sooo…”

Scootaloo’s ears perked up. “Yeah?”

“I dunno, I just… I mean, did you really mean it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… Really? You’d…”

“Yeah. Rumble… Look, I think it was a lot for you to take at once, so this time we’ll do it your way. I’ll do what you want, rather than I’ll take what I want, and believe me, I want it, but I love you…”

“Do you mean it?”

Scootaloo tilted her head. “Yeah, Rumble, obviously! I wouldn’t have jumped your bones if I didn’t love you…”

“Okay,” Rumble said, even though it wasn’t, because he wasn’t sure if he loved Scootaloo back. But in any case, he was going to do it again. Intercourse. Fucking. With Scootaloo. Rumble could hardly believe it. He bit the inside of his lip, and tasting copper, decided that it was true. He hadn’t failed. Excitement coursed through his veins in an almost cruelly literal sense, his flesh stiffening and lengthening, his mind aglow with the many hundreds of things that he wanted to do. Scootaloo slithered closer to him, and gave him a small peck on the cheek, which immediately flushed with heat in response.

If he didn’t love her, he was very good at not showing it, at the least.

“What do you wanna do?” Scootaloo whispered in his ear, her head nuzzling against his neck, pushing into him almost insistently like a cat against an idle hoof.

“I… Uhm… I…”

Rumble was unsure of himself. He’d never been in charge of the situation like this before.

“Uhm… Can you…”

His brain was full of things he wanted Scootaloo to do, and he picked the first one.

“Can you use… Use your mouth? And like your tongue and stuff?”

Scootaloo grimaced. “My mouth?”

“Yeah, uhm… Here…”

Rumble turned on his side and displayed himself, and Scootaloo’s face turned a wonderful shade of pink upon seeing his erection. She nuzzled into his neck again, her gaze curious in nature.

“Like… Lick your dick?”

New word.

“Yeah, yeah, uhm, please…”

Scootaloo sighed, pressing her chest against his, her nose mere centimeters away from his own, looking deeply into his blue eyes with her magenta ones. Rumble noticed that she was breathing more shallow.

“Well… Okay, but you have to lick me too, okay?”

Rumble nodded rapidly. He’d seen this before. But he’d never done it. His chest felt light, anticipation welling up inside of him. Scootaloo got up, turned around, and laid perpendicular to Rumble again, only this time with her legs cradling his neck. His nose was immediately filled with the scent that had pervaded into his brain the previous Thursday, and Rumble’s eyes widened as he gazed upon what laid nestled between Scootaloo’s legs. A small, pinkish slit of flesh, the orange fur around it already slightly dampened.

Rumble closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he wished to avoid the spectacle of Scootaloo’s slit, it was that he could feel her moist, warm breath on his length. His dick, she had called it. It sounded better. Dirtier. He had heard it a few times in the porn movies but it had failed to register until now. Until Scootaloo said it.

She was hesitating.

“Uh, Scootaloo…”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’ll get there, just hold your horses…”

“Scootaloo, please…”

Scootaloo grunted, and gave Rumble an aggressive lick down the length of his shaft. He gasped in response, his length twitching, the rest of his body becoming irrelevant. No words could have described it. It was definitely better than his hooves.
“Huh,” Scootaloo breathed, giving it another lick, this one gentler, Rumble barely repressing the moan that it generated. 

“Huh, actually, it doesn’t taste bad…”

“Wh-what’s it like?” Rumble almost regretted asking, but he felt as if he needed to know. He didn’t want to do anything with Scootaloo she didn’t like.

“It’s… Salty. Sorta. And sweaty…”

“Th-that doesn’t sound like it tastes so gooooooooh…”

As he spoke, Scootaloo gave him another lick, and this time giggled at his response.

“Does it feel good? Nah, nevermind, I know that it does.”

“Y-yeah…”

Scootaloo started licking him again, lapping at his length, her tongue traveling up and down the organ. To Rumble, it was breathtaking. The warmth and wetness was much like her fillyhood, but it wasn’t clenching or desperate. It was relaxed, slow, caring. The texture was rough, yet slick, her tongue slathering saliva over the entirety of his… Dick. Rumble laid his head against her rear thigh like a pillow, and let her lick to her hearts content, as if his erection was a salt-and-sweat-and-excrement-flavored lollipop. Rumble felt his entire body loosen as she continued, his eyes closing in contentment.

But she stopped. Rumble suppressed a groan, gently moving his hips in a primitive, instinctive gesture of insistence, but Scootaloo didn’t lick.

“C’mon, Rumble, return the favor…”

Of course.

Rumble opened his eyes slightly, and gazed at the slot of pink flesh again. It was winking, even more damp than it was before, and Scootaloo rotated her hips a bit every now and then, perhaps unintentionally, making Rumble’s eyes roll around to follow it.

Here went nothing.

Rumble leaned his head forward, feeling Scootaloo shiver as his nose brushed against the organ, and immediately come back soaked in juices. He stuck his tongue out, tentatively, Scootaloo’s shivering growing more vigorous, and, with caution, he tracked his tongue against it, the first that he had touched it in four days.

“Aaaah…”

Rumble took it as a positive, and licked it again, eliciting another soft moan from Scootaloo. His ears drank in the noise like fine wine, making him lightheaded. He was pleasuring her. He was making Scootaloo happy. His heart fluttered in a small burst of something Rumble hadn’t felt in a while. Self-confidence. Oh, how he missed it.

“Ahn, Rumble, how does it… Ah, how does it taste?...”

Rumble gave her a big, long, lingering lick, trying to get as much of her liquid arousal as possible, making her squeal and push her hips back into the licking. He pulled away, licking his lips, which only served to spread more of Scootaloo’s wetness along them.

“I… Uhm, I don’t know… It tastes weird…”

Scootaloo grunted, and stuck her rear into Rumble’s face, making him blush further. No words had to be spoken- the command had been given entirely through action. Rumble closed his eyes and ran his tongue over Scootaloo’s fillyhood, and the juices soon began to flow over his tongue, Scootaloo making small mewling noises. She began to lick his length again, and Rumble groaned into her slit.

By the minute, Rumble found the experience more and more heavenly. Sometimes he would give Scootaloo an especially hefty lick, and she would squeal through it, her wings buzzing excitedly like those of a hummingbird. Rumble’s wings, erstwhile, had gone stiff, pointing straight out, as rigid as his dick or whatever Scootaloo wanted to call it. Rumble’s eyes closed gently. He could die then and be happy, a filly licking his length, mewling and squealing as he lapped up her flowing juices straight from the source.

She had stopped licking. Rumble was about to ask why she had when he felt something else.

It was warm, and wet, and moist, and hot air seemed to flow up from it. Rumble didn’t glance down, but he knew what was happening. It was confirmed when he felt her suddenly begin to suck on the head of his erection. If the previous lickings were heaven, Rumble had now found a heaven above heaven. His head felt light, his mind clouded by lust and love and the smell of Scootaloo’s juices, and Rumble felt the familiar tingly sensation.

“Scootalooooo…”

Scootaloo gave a muffled hum of acknowledgement, which vibrated down Rumble’s shaft and, seemingly, into the very core of his being, and that was all it took.

Rumble’s length throbbed, then spluttered into Scootaloo’s awaiting mouth, pulse after pulse gently shooting into her maw, and Scootaloo sucked it up as if Rumble’s length was a thick, meaty straw. After the fourth pulse, Rumble’s dick began to soften and retreat into it’s sheath, and Scootaloo let out a breath.

“Wow…”

“Yeah…”

The door creaked open, and the pair froze.

“Rumble! Hey! I’m back!”

“You have a kid?”

The other voice was unfamiliar to Rumble’s ears, but he saw Scootaloo’s eyes open slightly. “Shit,” she muttered, hopping down and rushing for his window.

“My brother,” Thunderlane explained to the mystery voice. “I’m watching him for my parents.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’ve got a kid too that isn’t mine. My sister’s daughter.”

“Shit, shit, shit! Why is she here?!”

Scootaloo unlocked the hatches and pushed open the window, glancing back at Rumble, who was still somewhat lost in orgasmic reverie. She smiled, using a forehoof to wipe a bit of Rumble’s goo from her mouth before she started to clamber out, grabbing a drainage pipe.

“I’ll see you at school, okay?”

And thus she was gone, and Rumble was left alone.

><><

That night, as the noises of Thunderlane and his mystery mare died down, Rumble fantasized.

Cheerilee. Scootaloo. Both in the Mare-do-well costume. Licking his length, kissing it. Feeling it.

But unlike Scootaloo, this would never happen.

But he still wanted it.
