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

He didn’t want to go to school.

Rumble had several reasons. One, it was Friday. Nopony ever wanted to go to school on Friday. Two, he would have to deal with Miss Cheerilee being on his case. Three, Scootaloo.

Just… Scootaloo.

Try as he might have, Rumble couldn’t get Scootaloo out of his head. He had nightmares, no, dreams, no, nightmares, he didn’t know what they were. They were experiences somewhat like the one she’d subjected him to. That same storm of emotions and physical actions. He woke up… Unsheathed. There had to be a better turn of phrase for that particular condition, but Rumble wasn’t interested. It felt so wrong to think about… Intercourse. But it couldn’t be helped.

Rumble couldn’t play sick. He’d done it many times before, and his brother was aware of every tactic he used. It got to the point where, even if he was legitimately sick, Rumble would be sent to school regardless of how he looked or claimed to feel.

But he felt sick. But it was a nice sick. Rumble couldn’t put his hoof on it. His brain felt like it was ripping apart at the multitudes of mental seams, noodles of knowledge oozing out of his ears, turning into mush as if he spent all day playing video games. He turned in his bed, the sheets damp from the sweat and tears he had expelled all night the night before.

Scootaloo.

It was always her face. Contorted in that bizarre expression. Pushing down on his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. Forcing his lungs out of his chest. Pushing into his chest cavity, touching him in places she knew she shouldn’t. Taking his erection in her hooves and stroking it, crushing it, holding it, taking it off and playing with it, holding it inside of her.

She said she loved him. Rumble wasn’t sure what was so loving about what she had done to him. Maybe that was her way of showing love. He shuddered to imagine what the other Cutie Mark Crusaders had to go through-

“Hey! Dude! Get your ass outta bed! Go time! Up up up up up!”

Thunderlane clapped his hooves for emphasis, practically pushing Rumble out of bed.

“Dude, it’s seven-forty-five, you don’t have time to shower or anything! Just grab a muffin and get the heck out of here, I don’t want to get another late notice-“

“Shut up,” Rumble muttered, willing himself up and down the stairs, solemnly.

Thunderlane followed, and Rumble knew that he could notice his sullen, slow pace. He gave Rumble’s flank a nudge with his head.

It had a bit too much proximity.

Rumble jumped, giving out a yelp, and rushed off down the stairs, ignoring the muffins, ignoring the fact that Cloudchaser was in the kitchen again, ignoring packing a lunch, just running out the door, occasionally hopping up and gliding a bit on his petite wings. No. Nopony was ever going to touch him anywhere near there again. Ever again. That entire experience was so confusing, so painful, so crushing. Rumble wasn’t sure what would happen if it happened again, and he wasn’t keen to find out.

And back at the house, Thunderlane tilted his head in an expression of complete confusion.

><><

He arrived at school twenty minutes late. By his standards, relatively on time.

By Cheerilee’s standards, a mark off, a possible detention, and a five-minute speech about the importance of being punctual.

“Punctuality is much appreciated in the real world, children. One day, you might not get off so easily if you arrive late to something…”

Rumble tuned out after that, jumping into a seat that wasn’t his own, at the back of the room, out of sight from Scootaloo. That was important. If he could go the entire day without seeing Scootaloo, he wouldn’t have to worry about being jumped and… Forced into intercourse again. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, especially the explosive feeling he felt before. Rumble figured he must have peed a little bit in her. He couldn’t imagine how weird that must have felt on her end, and it almost drove him to apologize.

But apologizing meant seeing Scootaloo again, and seeing Scootaloo… Rumble wasn’t sure what would happen. Rumble didn’t want to know what happened. He just wanted to survive today.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

><><

No, seriously, why?

The bell rang for recess, and Rumble almost jumped up in his seat, broken from his reverie of erections and intercourse and Scootaloo and all of these things mixed together, and his feelings of simultaneous dread and confused anticipation. He hopped out of his seat, barely registering Miss Cheerilee’s “you can serve your detention after school, Rumble” and shuffling out the door, trotting along slowly instead of rushing out like his classmates, soaking himself back into his own thoughts.

Rape. Wasn’t that the word? Scootaloo raped him. Which was weird. Miss Cheerilee never said boys could be raped by girls. She just told them to watch out for shifty-looking ponies, to always be near an adult when they were at school. Shifty looking ponies would offer them things like candy or piggyback rides, Miss Cheerilee said. If they did this, they should tell an adult. Rumble could remember, or maybe his brain was just making it up, but most likely he could remember Peppermint Twist asking what would happen if they took the candy or the piggyback ride. Miss Cheerilee had a look of horror on her face as she told them, with the utmost seriousness and sincerity that was much unlike her normal classroom demeanor.

“Bad things.”

So rape was a bad thing, right?

Then why did he enjoy it?

No, Rumble didn’t enjoy it. He’d felt pleasure, but he didn’t enjoy it. He didn’t have a choice. Scootaloo overtook him. She pushed him over and raped him. She didn’t offer any candy or piggyback rides. She wasn’t a shifty-eyed, scary-looking old donkey with a trenchcoat and a fedora. She was a filly. And she raped him. She didn’t offer anything, or try to tempt him. She just pushed him down and did what she liked.

Maybe that wasn’t rape, Rumble mused, sitting on the swings, swinging gently back and forth with his wings powering the movement. It was intercourse, right? If Rumble thought really hard, he could remember Dischoovery Channel specials that mentioned a few neat, scientificky words. Like dominant, and mating, and prehensile (something Rumble wished his tail was). Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be-

“Hey, Rumble.”

There she was. Rumble froze.

He had failed his first task. Scootaloo was gently swinging beside him, giving him a small smile, as if nothing had ever happened the day before, and that this was a normal conversation. Rumble wasn’t sure what to say. He clammed up, his wings frozen, his eyes searching for an escape. He couldn’t find one that Scootaloo wasn’t aptly capable of chasing him through. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon had set up some sort of impromptu Crust tea party in the jungle gym, shouting at some of the colts as they climbed up and around it, and they stuck their tongues out in response. That was normal colt and filly interaction. The afternoon before…

Rumble’s stomach grumbled. Oh, right, it was lunchtime. He forgot to pack a lunch. There was one excu-

Scootaloo held out a shiny red apple.

Oh no.

“You don’t have a lunch, don’t ya? Here, take this. I’m not much of an apple filly.”

No.

Rumble steeled his will.

No.

It was an obvious trap. Maybe she’d grab his hoof and pull him into the bushes and rape him again.

No.

Rumble took the apple.

Okay.

He bit down into it. It tasted like an apple.

“Ya like it? Applebloom snagged it out of the Apple Acre’s harvest. It’s super-fresh! They picked it only yesterday!”

Rumble nodded, although a shrug would have been a more accurate reaction. It was an apple, it tasted like an apple. It was low on his list of important things. The highest thing at that moment was getting the heck away from the filly who had raped him, but that wasn’t so possible, so his best bet was to try and zone out. Scootaloo sat on the swing next to him, still looking at him and smiling at him.

“You know, you’re really cute when you zone out like that.”

Rumble took another bite from the apple that tasted like an apple, trying to remind himself not to respond.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo affirmed. “It’s what got me interested in you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Scootaloo sighed, looking away, and Rumble could swear that she was blushing. His eyes must have ben playing tricks. Rapists didn’t blush. The video showed them snickering and rubbing their hooves together and plotting and selling drugs and being eeeeeviiiiil. Rapists were evil. Scootaloo wasn’t evil, but she was a rapist, so she was evil.

Rumble’s head hurt.

“Uh-huh,” Scootaloo echoed. “You looked so calm. You looked so goshdarned cute. You weren’t like those guys,” she said, pointing a hoof towards the current harassers of the Crusts, “You weren’t this wild, gung-ho… boy who wanted to play soldier. You were calm. You were cool. You’re cool, Rumble.”

Rumble’s head hurt, so all he could do was rub a hoof against the back of his neck.

“Th… Thanks.”

“And you’re really cute when you’re flustered.”

There was heat in Rumble’s cheeks.

“Ummm… Okay.”

Scootaloo sighed, looking ahead at the Crusts again, her eyes traveling over the playground.

“Look… Rumble.”

Rumble hummed an affirmation that he was listening, although he really wasn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Rumble was listening.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did to you. I was scared. It was… Okay, Rumble, I’m gonna tell you something. Mares… Fillies…”

She was acting like this was uncomfortable. It probably was. She was talking about raping him, after all. Nopony else was listening in, but it had to be awkward.

“Okay, so I felt really weird like two or three days ago. I went to train with Rainbow Dash, and she noticed that I was acting all weird. So she took me aside and asked me if my mom had told me about the heat cycle. She hadn’t. So Rainbow told me. All about it. All the weird things mares feel like they need to do when they’re in heat. She told me I was an early bloomer, or something, and she seemed really impressed with that, because she told me she was an early bloomer too, and that Spitfire had been an early bloomer, and that a lot of the great Pegasi flyers had been early bloomers too, and that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, because soon Sweetie Belle and Applebloom would start having heat cycles too.”

Rumble winced. Scootaloo overtaking him was bad enough. He might have to move out of town when Sweetie Belle and Applebloom started having heat cycles, too.

“So I didn’t know what to do. But then I saw you, and then I just… I just let my body tell me what I needed and I did what I needed to get that. Do you understand, Rumble?”

Rumble nodded. He didn’t, but then again, he always nodded when he wanted a conversation to end quickly.

“I love you, Rumble, and I know you love me too, because your thingy got big when we were doing it. And if you ever want to do it again, well…”

Rumble finished the apple.

Then he barfed.

><><

The rest of the day, Rumble stayed in Nurse Redheart’s office in downtown Ponyville, a mere block away from the schoolhouse. She checked him over, took a few samples for some tests, and came back and told Thunderlane that it was fine.

“Well, I think he’s going to be okay, Mister Thunderlane…”

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse,” his brother responded with a smile. Rumble knew that smile. Thunderlane was making a douchebag move. Rumble hated douchebag moves, and thankfully, it seemed Nurse Redheart was equally apt at detecting such things.

“I ran all of the tests for viruses and flus, Mister Thunderlane, and nothing came up positive. Your brother is far from sick. He’s got healthy levels of all the necessary vitamins. Nothing seems to suggest abnormal rates of growth or any sort of physical condition.”

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse. Yeah, well, I keep him well fed,” Thunderlane said, still smiling. Nurse Redheart treated him to a cold gaze.

“Well, I suppose Rumble here just had a stressful day, Mister Thunderlane. I’m no foal psychologist, but I’ve had ponies in here who’ve just cracked and had to do something to let go of all of that built-up anxiety. Even here in Ponyville, there’s a lot of pressure from peers and teachers to succeed, and it must have finally gotten to Rumble here.”

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse.”

Nurse Redheart ignored Thunderlane again. Internally, Rumble praised her. Externally, he looked at her hopefully.

“So I’m gonna be okay?”

“Oh, absolutely, dearie,” Nurse Redheart affirmed. “Just be sure to get plenty of rest and keep up with your studies. Drink lots of fluids, water especially. If your pee is clear, that’s good.”

Pee.

Clear pee.

Peeing into Scootaloo.

Rumble retched again, Redheart stepping back, Thunderlane incapable of getting out of the way of the brown spew of bile, saliva, and partially-digested apple chunks. A little bit of the vomit had gone up Rumble’s nose, and he sniffled as the gagging and choking stopped. Nurse Redheart grabbed a tissue in her hooves and held it up to Rumble’s nose, and he blew into it with much gusto. Thunderlane had a look of shock on his face that Rumble reveled in.

“Oh, shucks! I’ll get something to wipe you off, Mister Thunderla-“

“Just Thunderlane, Nurse.”

Nurse Redheart glared daggers at him. She trotted towards him, backing him into the corner like a dog hounding a fox.

“I demand that you return my favor of treating you professionally, Mister Thunderlane. I am not ‘Nurse’. I am not some second-rate whore in a costume. I am not a toy, I am not a fantasy, and I am appalled at the complete and total lack of respect you seem to have for me as a trained professional! I am a trained professional! You will call me Nurse Redheart, as you would call a trained! Damned! Professional! Is that clear?!”

Thunderlane couldn’t protest. Nurse Redheart threw a box of tissues at him.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall. Go clean yourself up, you feckless pig!”

She moved out of his way, and Thunderlane bolted out of the room, running for the bathroom, and Nurse Redheart gave a smirk.

If only she was aware of what her actions towards Thunderlane reminded Rumble of. Because when she turned to face her patient again, Rumble had vomited a third time.

><><

He was done vomiting.

He was home, and he had tested it by talking to himself in the bathroom.

“Scootaloo would do it again if I asked.”

He didn’t retch, he didn’t gag, he didn’t vomit. It was done. It must have been the public nature of things. It must have been that he was surrounded by other ponies. Maybe that was it.

Scootaloo.

Peeing into Scootaloo.

Thunderlane was out on a date with Flitter and Cloudchaser. At the same time. He bragged constantly about dating them at the same time. Rumble almost growled. His brother was a douchebag. He deserved to get yelled at and vomited on. He would take mares out on dates. Any mare, any time. He would just go. It didn’t matter if they weren’t Flitter and Cloudchaser. Thunderlane simply went out with anyone, and Rumble had gotten the vague idea that he would sometimes bring them home and have intercourse with them.

Maybe Thunderlane raped his dates. Rumble wouldn’t have been surprised. Thunderlane was a douchebag, and Rumble hated him. It wouldn’t surprise him if Thunderlane did evil things like that, because he wouldn’t put it past his brother to be evil.

He needed to know more about intercourse. He needed to know if Scootaloo had raped him or not. Thunderlane would know, but he would never tell Thunderlane. Ever. Scootaloo would beat him up if he told anypony.

He didn’t know where to look. Rumble left the bathroom, and went to the big window in the living room, where he sat on his hauches and stared at the stars above. They twinkled and gleamed, as if there was hope in them, as if there was purpose in them. Rumble felt like empty space, like a big, black sky. He was empty. He felt meaningless. Scootaloo had raped him, or maybe she didn’t, or maybe she did. It made his head hurt.

All Rumble wanted was a direction. Was a purpose. Was a way to go, a way to figure out how he felt.

It hit him.

Rumble turned around from the window and rushed down to the game room.

><><

He remembered an incident he had about a year ago with his brother.

Rumble had done something bad. Whatever it was was irrelevant at that point when he was remembering it. When he did this bad thing, Thunderlane had decided to punish Rumble by hiding all of the video games for the weekend. Rumble had begged and pleaded to get them back, as he was a part of a clan in Equestrian Warfare, and they were having a big match that weekend. Thunderlane declined all of the protests, even mocked a few of them, like the douchebag he was.

When Thunderlane had gone out with his date that weekend, who, if Rumble remembered correctly, was Dinky’s mom, Rumble scoured the game room. He opened up every cabinet, looked underneath the couch, under the beanbags, between the seats, behind the television. Rumble looked for that Equestrian Warfare disc in a manner that would have made Sherclop Holmes eat his funny hat. And he had found nothing.

Well, he almost found nothing.

He was balanced on top of several boxes, looking on top of the cabinet, when he saw what must have been multitudes of disk cases. He recognized a few cannibalized Ponystation cases, and deduced that Thunderlane had hidden his video games up on top of the cabinet!

“Bite me, Sherclop Holmes,” Rumble giggled, as he grabbed the first stack of cases and hopped down from the boxes, floating down with his wings and looking them over.

He had never seen games anything like this. The titles were weird. Seven Sucking Sirens, Vote for Class Ass, Celestia and Luna’s Dirty Doings, Crotchboob Kingdom, Apple Buckin’ n’ Fuckin’, Mares Gone Googoo…

It occurred to him that these weren’t games. These were movies. They looked weird. They had mares on the covers that were sticking their butts out and wearing weird costumes that didn’t seem to fit right, looking out of the cover and , seemingly, at Rumble, in a way that made him feel a bit tingly and weird. Rumble sat on his hauches. He could have put the weird movies back and looked in the other stacks for his game, which at this point, he had forgotten the name of in the face of such intriguing titles such as Apple Buckin’ and Fuckin’ (especially the word “fucking”, what did that word mean?). But something seemed to nag at him, the mares staring out of the cover seeming to talk to him, seeming to ask, “do you want to watch us?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Rumble said dismissively. He popped the disk into the tray and went to go sit on the sofa.

Five minutes in, he wasn’t really sure what all the fuss had been about. All it had been were weird camera angles that seemed to accentuate bits of mares that Rumble knew he wasn’t supposed to look at, and despite it being a movie, Rumble could tell he was blushing. And it made him feel tingly. Rumble couldn’t figure out the feeling. The music sounded cheap and silly, to the point that Rumble was half-tempted to mute the movie, and the mare had a better face on the cover, although she was still sort of pretty.

He remembered the dialogue that had started the bit that was really interesting. Up until Scootaloo had overpowered him, this was what he would wake up feeling sweaty about.

“So is it true that you zebras are gifted magicians?”

“Yeah,” affirmed the zebra on screen.

“What do you say you show me a magic trick?” the mare inquired, giving the zebra a look that made Rumble feel tingly again.

“Mmmm,” the zebra cooed, “I’ll show you more than that, babe…”

“WHAT THE FUCK, RUMBLE?!”

At that point, Rumble had been so wrapped up in the movie that he forgot that Thunderlane was going to come home, and he forgot when Thunderlane was going to come home. Rumble yelped, and jumped off of the sofa, gliding up to the TV cabinet and turning off the Ponystation, but it was too late. Thunderlane had seen what Rumble was watching.

“Th-Th-Th-Thunderlane-“

“What the fuck do you think you’re fucking doing?! Where did you find that fucking movie?!”

“I-I-I-I-I-I-I…”

“You know what?! No! Fuck it! Nevermind! I’ll just move them again! Fuckin’ Derpy had to go home and take care of that bastard fucking kid of hers! And now I have to deal with you…”

Rumble gulped, and raised his hooves up. Thunderlane sighed loudly, and gave a growl.

“Don’t be such a fucking drama queen, Rumble! I’ve never laid a hoof on you, and I told mom and dad I wouldn’t ever, but don’t make me fucking start now! Go to bed!”

“But-“

“Now!”

><><

Now Rumble practically soared down the stairs, opting to hop off the top of them and glide down with his wings. He bolted into the family room, flew up to the same level as the top of the cabinet, and praised the Goddesses for his douchebag brother’s complete and total lack of creativity.

The movies were still there.

Rumble could hardly contain his excitement. If those movies were what he thought they were, then they’d be full of all sorts of knowledge. Scootaloo might have raped him, but Rumble would be able to see what real intercourse was like, and maybe then, he’d feel normal. He took down the stack of movies again, the feeling of nostalgia warming over him, adding to the adrenaline pumping through his viens. He just had to look over the titles again.

The titles. They made him feel tingly. Rumble’s eyes ran them over almost hungrily. The stack was different, as if Thunderlane had resorted them, and in the back of his head Rumble noted that it was very likely that he had. The titles were weird and exotic. Firefly’s Fiery Flight of Fancy, Mare-Do-Well and the Warrior’s Wazoo, Changing Times with Changling Babes, Daring Doo's Tendril Terror!… Rumble’s mind spun with the possibilities. He picked the second one, one with a spandex-clad mare on the front, as she looked the most inoffensively pretty, although Rumble couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over her rear. It made him feel tingly.

He was going to see real intercourse, he thought excitedly as he hopped onto the sofa. He wouldn’t be able to forget about Scootaloo holding him down and forcing him to have intercourse with her. He probably wouldn’t ever be able to forget that. But maybe seeing actual intercourse between professional actors would show him how it should have been. It would make him feel normal.

Wait.

Rumble tilted his head. There was a hole in his plan, he knew it. There was a hole. Something felt off about it. It sounded much, much, much better in his head.

Wait, how was this going to work?

Rumble laid on his back, watching the movie, ignoring the terrible music again, instead focusing on the film. A mare in a spandex costume and a masquerade mask, looking out over a clearly painted city, the music probably put in post-production so that the sound that the fan that blew her cape behind her could be drowned out. The camera zoomed in on her luscious flank, the round, squeezable shape accentuated by how tightly the spandex suit clung to it-

Rumble realized something.

He was thinking of Scootaloo.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

In a few minutes, the scene had transitioned to the inside of a warehouse. The Mare-Do-Well entered from the right.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!” she shouted in bored-seeming monotone, directing her cry towards three zebras that were in the foreground.

“Ah, hell naw, It’s the Mare-Do-Well!” cried one of them.

“We’re fucked!” doomsaid another.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” the third noted.

“I would expect you boys to be causing trouble again!” the Mare-Do-Well decreed, approaching them threateningly.

In his mind, Scootaloo was in that costume, and she was approaching Rumble that way. Rumble felt himself starting to unsheath. He looked down in a mixture of horror and curiousity, watching the little sheath stretch out and issue forth a small, hard, black bit of flesh, gray spots mottled on the bottom. Rumble had never… Examined it like this before. It grew out a little bit more, and Rumble touched it with a hoof.

He gasped.

“Please, Mare-Do-Well, we won’t ever do it again!”

“Yeah? And what can you do to prove it?”

“What do you want?!”

Mare-Do-Well smirked.

Rumble turned off the Ponystation.

No. It wasn’t working. If anything, it felt very much like that afternoon. Rumble felt like he needed a bath. He looked down, and his erection was still there, throbbing gently. It wasn’t much bigger than his hooves put on top of one another. Rumble forced himself to look away. There were too many emotions he associated with it.

No, he told himself, his head hanging low as he went back up to his room. No, there was no such thing as good intercourse. Scootaloo had ruined it all by raping him. Nothing could take away that shame. Nothing could take away that pain. He had been forced down and forced to take her. He had protested, but he didn’t protest hard enough. Maybe he should have hit her. It didn’t matter now. His thought process was a mess. He wasn’t even sure how he came up with the smutty movie idea. It was a crummy idea. Such images would only serve to further sear into his brain the images of the afternoon before. He should have never gone to school. He should have escaped from Scootaloo on the playground. He shouldn’t have barfed and seen his brother get yelled at by Nurse Redheart and barfed again. He should have just stayed at home, in bed, alone. Like he was about to now.

><><

Rumble laid in his bed, his eyes gently shut, his length still throbbing.

“Go away,” he told it.

It didn’t.

Rumble touched it again, and images of Scootaloo flashed through his head again. He gasped, his hoof hovering over the object between his legs, hesitating.

Scootaloo.

Scootaloo was pretty.

She had a nice shade of orange fur. Her hair was messy, yeah, but it was a sort of messy that looked cool. She was kinda cute when she jumped into the air and her wings would buzz. Some ponies called her the chicken girl. Chickens were cute. Scootaloo was pretty. Rumble would close his eyes, and all he could see would be Scootaloo.

Scootaloo in the Mare-Do-Well costume, accentuating her flank. Scootaloo holding him down and forcing herself on him. Scootaloo asking him to show her a magic trick.

Rumble touched his length again. He winced. But it felt good.

Touching his length felt good.

Scootaloo had rubbed it. Rumble started rubbing it. That felt good, too. A little drop of something oozed out of the tip, and when Rumble accidentally ran that over his length, his eyes opened wide.

That felt even better.

Rumble started rubbing his length in earnest. Scootaloo holding him down and forcing herself on him, asking him to perform a magic trick while she was dressed in the Mare-Do-Well costume, accentuating her flank. Her hooves pushing the air out of his lungs, forcing him to take shallow breathes as she bounced up and down on top of him, humming and moaning and squealing. Rumble wasn’t Rumble. Rumble was a zebra, the stripes in his fur running up his length, and those stripes went up into Scootaloo, and she leaned down and rested her head beside his as she bounced up and down on top of him.

Scootaloo.

Scootaloo.

“Scootaloo…”

Rumble couldn’t get her out of his head. She had jammed herself into it, her hips a hammer and Rumble’s mind a hapless nail. He had been ashamed when she had jumped him. Now he felt… Different. Now, as Rumble rubbed his rod, he ruminated about rutting Scootaloo again. She was a rapist, but she wasn’t evil. Even though rapists were evil. So she wasn’t a rapist. But what was she? She wasn’t a superhero, although Rumble could imagine her in the costume, her bouncing up and down, as his length dribbled and he pleasured himself. He took pleasure in it. He grunted and groaned as he touched it.

It was wrong. But it felt fantastic. Bad guys in movies always talked about how evil felt so good. Rumble understood now.

Scootaloo was a supervillain. And Rumble was her hapless minion.

He imagined her in those final moments of the intercourse again. She squealed his name, jammed her hips down, and cried out in ecstasy, and Rumble couldn’t take any more.

He let go again. A spurt of some off-white liquid issued from his length, and Rumble groaned. It felt so good. It wasn’t like peeing at all. It was like a thousand cuddles and a hundred birthday gifts wrapped into one feeling and gushing out of his length. Rumble shook as he issued another spurt, and then another. After the fourth one, Rumble had stopped, but his heart still felt like it was beating out of his chest, the good feeling still sparked around in his head.

He felt tired. He imagined Scootaloo leaning down and putting her chest against his. He imagined her kissing him. Only a week ago, Rumble would have (metaphorically) barfed at the idea of kissing, but now he welcomed it. Now he wanted it.
He wanted Scootaloo.

Rumble’s sheets were soaked from where he had squirted the off-white stuff. He simply rolled away from the damp part of the sheets, resting his head on the other side of the bed. In minutes, he was dozing.

><><

He dreamed of Scootaloo.

He wanted to see her again.
