In the absence of sunlight, Chillburn’s eyes shine like a pair of embers. The pegasus stallion with dark grey coat and blue-silver mane steals a long glimpse of those eyes as he raises his jug of cider to his lips. The amber eyes don’t break the contact even while the sweet and sour liquid fills his throat. It’s only after the stallion has emptied half of his drink, and wiped the spills off his mouth with the tip of his wing, that he answers the mare’s question.

“As amazing a story as it would without a doubt make, I must give you the night’s first ‘no’,” he says. ”Try again.”

Chillburn smirks at him. A funny little bird, this one. Not many a male has said ‘no’ to me, let alone so openly hinted at repeating his mistake. “Well… even if you didn’t get your name by an accidental thunderbolt, which would conveniently explain your protruding mane, I still wager that lightning has some connection to you.” She weaves an overly naive expression on her face. “Could it be because you’re so fast?”

The stallion rolls his amber eyes. “That goes without saying, now. But it’s not the whole truth; strike number two.”

Chillburn frowns a bit, and takes a sip of her own cider. “Hmph, fine. Perhaps I shall try a different route. ‘Lane’ might refer to… the way you fly?” she finishes, raising an eyebrow.

Thunderlane chuckles and leans back on his chair, balancing himself with his lean and wiry wings. “I know how to fly straight, if that was your point. It’s not the reason of my renowned name, though. Strike th–”

“–I know how to count, thank you very much,” she interrupts.

Thunderlane only smiles his easy smile, and despite the slight annoyance that it’s causing her, Chillburn can’t deny how attractively he wears his grin. “I’d say it’s my turn to show off my deductive capabilities,” he says. “Just give me a sec to kick my brain around a bit.”

“Don’t bruise it too badly – I’m sure there is some use for it,” she says with another smirk. He flashes another smile before turning his eyes into the evening above. As he concentrates on guessing the origin of her name, Chillburn uses the opportunity to observe the other guests of the little cafe in which they’ve spent the last half an hour.

Most are young, perhaps just over their twenties, full of joy and life. They’re also all divided into couples of males and females. I guess it wasn’t by pure coincidence that he chose this cafe for our first date. The place practically oozes romanticism. Even the napkins have little hearts stamped on them.

“Okay, here it goes,” says Thunderlane abruptly as he stomps his chair on all fours again. “You had severe temperature changes as a filly. First you might be cold as ice, the next you’d get fever that burned your mane out.” His eyes look intently at her.

“Is that really the best you could come up with?”

The pegasus blinks a few times while her stare stays steady. His eyes look like honey. Or gold. Or honey poured over gold, she thinks idly.

“Just warming up, you know… how about…” Suddenly, his eyes flicker. It’s like watching the sun flare. “Your name is a mix of your parents! he says confidently. “One was Burn, the other Chill. Right?” He leans slightly over the table.

She only shakes her head, extremely ponderously, letting her autumn curls slide on and off her lean shoulders. The shine in his eyes dims a bit, but doesn’t die out. “Guessing the origin of your name is harder than I thought,” he says after a while.

Chillburn sips her cider again. The cool glass feels good on her lips. “Names tell who you are. They’re as easy to read as the pony carrying them.”

Thunderlane raises an eyebrow. “Now where did that come from?”

“Neighzsche. Have you read his works?”

The stallion shakes his head. “Nope, never heard of the fellow. I mostly read magazines. And Daring Do’s novels, of course.”

An honest one, although mayhaps a bit less on the cultured side. But I’m on the countryside now, so in the practical sense I shouldn’t count it as a minus. “What magazines, if I may enquire?” she asks.

Thunderlane shrugs. “Pretty much all of them that have something to do with flying. The Aerial Tidings, The Weather Report, Cloudsdale Daily… You name it, I read it.”

“I see.” A silence descents between the two ponies. From the corner of her eye, Chillburn can see an earth pony mare raising on the outdoor stage, carrying a cello. I didn’t know that the village had a cellist. It’s a wonder how such a small town can hide secrets like that, even after all these months. The grey mare settles herself comfortably with her instrument, takes a quick look at her audience, flicks her raven mane out of the way and begins to play.

The tune is fierce. No, it’s softer than a dream, a wish, a prayer. Now it boils again, sears the melody with an agonizing beauty, whips the flesh out of harmony only to let it grow once again like a rose trapped in a blizzard. The growth is slow, painful, and utterly fantastical. It fills the air, it becomes the air, it flows into Chillburn’s mind as if it was born there, as if it was meant to live there. Its touch is the dream inescapable, the simulacrum of life eternal.

“Uhm, Chillburn?” asks Thunderlane. “You okay?”

The mare’s glazed eyes blink as if awakened from tranze, and with a hazy certainty she becomes aware of the fact that her mouth is wide open. She closes it quickly and turns from the stage back to Thunderlane, whose questioning look makes a faint blush arise on her cheeks.

“I… I just got lost into that mare’s music. She… she plays really well.” She is Beethoofen reborn. The music keeps on lulling her mind to drown, but she blocks the alluring notes for now.

“Yeah, Octavia’s alright. I like the old Scratchy better, tho.”

Chillburn’s eyes go wide. “You mean that there is somepony in this village who plays even better than she?”

Thunderlane’s wings stiffen suddenly as he tries to sign something that Chillburn can’t make sense of even if her life depended on it. “What's got into you?” she asks, stunned.

“Don’t say that out loud here,” he whispers, apparently trying to talk without moving his lips. Seeing her look, he sighs and bends over the table to whisper to her: “They’re kind of competing all the time and are really sensitive about it, so… it’s not that good of an idea to compare them like that in public.”

“But you just said yourself that you prefer this Scratchy over her…?”

Thunderlane winces painfully. “Well, uhm… It’s different, you know? I didn’t say Vinyl Scratch is better, not as such, I just… said I like her more.” He thinks for a while, and then adds: “Sometimes.”

Chillburn looks at him for a while. “I kind of understand your point. Anyhow, could you perhaps bring me to hear this Vinyl Scratch sometime, so that I could compare these two masters of music?”

Thunderlane's eyes lighten up instantaneously. “Of course! That’d be awesome!” He furrows his brows deeply and rubs his chin with a hoof. “I think… that Scratchy plays at this club in a few days. Have to check that out for sure!”

Chillburn smiles at his eagerness.“Come pick me up the same time as today, then.”

“Sure. Until that… I still have one guess left, in what comes to the story behind your name.” The pegasus grabs his cider, and prepares to swallow the rest of it.

Chillburn’s eyes show the tiniest flicker. “How about we cut the games and I’ll tell you that at breakfast?”

Thunderlane almost drowns in his drink; Chillburn has to stand up and slam him on the back a few times before he can breathe properly again. The event attracts a few amused glances, but soon enough they’re both sitting again, although it’s now his turn to blush.

“Sorry about that,” he says and flashes an awkward smile.

She only smiles back. “It’s quite alright. Am I to understand your reaction as consent, then?”

He coughs one more time before answering. “There is this pancake recipe my mother taught me when I was a little colt. They say that a few things in Ponyville come as close to perfection as the Apple family cider and my pancakes.” His wings stiffen again, although this time in a more delicate fashion. “There’s no way I could deny that taste from you.”

She can’t help but giggle at that. “How sweet. I do hope your pancakes aren’t the only thing worth tasting that you have to offer, though.” She practically feels how his wings harden. I wonder if it’s true what they say about pegasi and their wings, how they can cum just from stroking them alone. A prospect worthy of exploring, I’d say. But not yet. “I have to say, this cider certainly comes darn close to the perfection you talk of.” She slowly takes another sip, making sure he can see how the liquid makes her coat quiver as it travels down her delicate throat.

It takes him a few seconds to realize it was his cue. “Uhm… right! Yeah, Applejack said that this year’s harvest was especially juicy.” He notices her questioning look, and continues: “She is one of the Apples.”

“Do you know the family well?”

Thunderlane shrugs. “I dunno, I guess? I know everypony in Ponyville just the same. Everypony here does.”

“Not everypony,” she says a bit more quietly.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that! Ponyville is an easy town to make friends in. Besides, you’ve been here only for, what, three months?”

“Closer to four, really,” she answers. “It’s quite strange. In Canterlot I always knew how to approach other ponies, I always knew how to make friends. It came by instinct. But out here…” Why am I telling this to him? I never talked like this to my clients. She sighs, and tries to take a sip of her drink, only to find the jug empty.

Thunderlane notices that. “Right, it’s my turn to buy a round. Hey, Rime! Bring us another two big ciders!” He waves at the waiter, and the white stallion nods back at him. “It just takes time to settle in, I’m sure,” he says, turning his attention back to her. “You said you were a waiter in the Big C? Serving to all those high brows must’ve required some reservedness, right? We’re all more laid back here, so it’s no wonder you still feel a bit strange.”

Well, I certainly did my share of serving, although not in the sense I made you believe. In any case, I don’t think my supposed reservedness is the problem. Or is it? “You’re probably right,” she says and thanks the waiter who brings them their drinks. “How about you? Have you ever felt like leaving Ponyville?” she asks Thunderlane.

The pegasus chuckles. “Never. This is my home now, simple as that. Although every now and then RD makes me less happy about the fact. Her constant weather control drills… They can be something completely different.”

“RD?”

“Oh, right, not everypony has heard of Rainbow Dash yet. I sometimes forget that.” He chuckles again at her confusion. “It’s hard to understand if you haven't met her in person.”

Chillburn thinks a moment, and sips her cider. “Are you referring to that azure pegasus that keeps on bouncing on the sky all day long?” Her mouth twists a bit at his nod. “Perhaps it’s better that I keep my distance from her for now; my head gets dizzy just from watching her go.”

“Yeah… She tends to have that effect on ponies. One way or the other.”

The two quiet down once more. Octavia’s playing keeps on trying to occupy Chillburn’s mind with pure harmony, and for a moment she lets herself dip a hoof into it. The experience is more than stimulating... it’s overwhelming.

“Let’s dance,” she says. His smile drops when he sees the glow in her eyes. “Okay,” he answers, suddenly a bit insecurely. “What, uhm… You want to hold hooves or something?”

She stands on all fours and comes close enough to him to rest her front hoof on his neck. The touch makes Thunderlane’s heart beat with vigour. She leans over his ear, and whispers, “I’ll lead.” Her lips brush his auricle. “You follow,” she continues, heedles to his light gasp. “And tomorrow morning, both the perfection of your pancakes and the Apple family cider shall feel like a distant joke.” She pulls him onto his hooves.

“The night has only just begun.”

The night grows old with the rise and fall of the full moon. Underneath the great orb, the ponies of Ponyville close their doors, draw their curtains, and go to bed. Not all of them intend to sleep, though, and a few haven’t even made it to the insides yet; two figures are still walking along the main street without a hurry in the world. The conversation of the two ponies echoes in the empty street, spiced with the occasional giggling and chuckling. The air isn’t as cool as it used to be in Canterlot, but Chillburn doesn’t mind the change so much anymore. The warmth is more bearable when it can be shared.

They leave the small centre of the village, and after crossing a narrow stream they arrive at a house that lies just a few minutes walk from the market place. Thunderlane pretends to admire the building bathed in moonlight while Chillburn gets the key under the doormat.

“Uhm… I have to say; I’m kind of awestruck that you managed to rent this place from old Timber Weave,” says the pegasus. “I thought it was his policy to keep it in reserve for him and his wife, whenever she would return from her ‘extended vacation’.” He harrumphs. “I mean, everypony knows that she has left him for good, but I guess nopony has the heart to say that to his face.”

Nopony except me. And to be precise, I bought the house, but you’d only ask how I earned the money for that with a waitress's wage. “I managed to convince him that any house would go to ruin if nopony lived there for a while,” says Chillburn as she turns the key in the lock. “I think that deep inside, he knew that his wife wouldn't be coming back.”

“Figures. Well, the place is more useful with you inside, anyway.”

The door opens quietly, and reveals a dim hall. The two ponies step in and head to the living room. Thunderlane, during the few weeks he has known Chillburn, has learned to appreciate her taste of interior design. The moonlight that cascades through the open curtains gives just enough light to notice the simplicity of the apartment; a few sofas, a table, and a soft rug are the only artefacts covering the bareness of the comparatively large room. Not even paintings decorate the walls which, save a few candelabrums, are left blank. He asked the rationale behind her asceticism the first time he visited the house, but she explained the modesty with a similarly economical answer: “I just prefer it that way.”

“Should I light up some of those?” He asks, referring to the candles.

The shadows partly cover her grin. “No need for that. Not for my sake, anyway. I can manage in the moonlight.”

“Uhm, okay…?”

Chillburn leaves his question hanging in the air, and sits on one of the couches, leaning against the cushions. Her eyes study the stallion with keen interest; they seem to nail him on the spot. Thunderlane smiles a bit, although he is not sure if he is supposed to.
“Well…?” she says, her voice quiet as the dim around them. “Won’t you come sit with me?” She pats the back of the couch with a hoof.

He obeys without a hint of doubt, and settles himself on the other half of the piece of furniture. Somehow, the fabric seems more comfortable than before. His wings have hard time staying in shape. He expects her to speak, to say something, anything. But she only looks at him with those carmine eyes, keeps on sweeping his body with her gaze. The feeling is both disturbing and, in some very peculiar way, extremely arousing.

“So, uhm…” he begins, trying to think of something clever to say. “You prefer cold and dark over light and warmth. Is that a common trait in Canterlotians?”

She looks at him for a moment longer, and then lets her curls cut the eye contact as she turns her head. “The city is built on the side of a mountain. Cold is something everypony there has to get along with. And the dark… is a thing a pony can easily lose herself in.”

“Another phrase from that Neighzsche fellow?”

“No. It’s all mine.” She flicks her mane, and amidst the autumn colours, a pair of rubies shine at him again. “I’m not originally from Canterlot, though.”

He blinks, and shifts on the couch to better accommodate his moderately stiff wings. “Oh? I don’t want to call you out or anything, but didn’t you once say that you were born there?”

Chillburn licks her lips quickly. “I did. I lied to you about it.”

He raises an eyebrow, yet says nothing.

“It came by instinct, actually,” she continues, her voice still as the night. “I’ve lied so much in my life that I can hardly tell myself which part of it is true anymore.”

“...you’re not trying to pull my hoof now, are you?” says the stallion, a careful smile on his lips. “You seem like the most honest pony I’ve met.”

She looks at him straight into the eyes. What am I doing? Is it the cider talking now? Or have I become stuck in those honeyful eyes? Or am I… just doing what feels right? Without noticing it herself, she begins to circle her belly with a hoof as she leans her back against the couch.

Thunderlane swallows, and rubs his neck. “I haven’t actually been that honest with you either… I’m kind of pulling off my own feathers here, but I don’t actually read all the magazines there are on flying. More like I leaf through some of them. Sometimes.” His eyes rest on the carpet.

She can’t help but smile kindly at that. “I guess we’re all liars in some respects.”
Thunderlane raises his eyes off the floor and back to her “Yeah… I guess there’s some truth to that.” For a moment, his eyes seem to get lost in hers. “Look, Chillburn… I don’t really give a hay about where you come from.” The meaning of his words dawns on him a second after he says them. “I mean, I don’t mean that in a bad way! I care about you, not where you’re from, you see?” Again, he needs to actually say the words before he understands them. “I mean, uhh, I care about you like, uhh, you’re all cool and awesome and… uhh…” His gaze avoids hers as best as he can.

“Thunderlane…” she whispers.

He winces as if in pain. “...yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

A switch turns on in Thunderlane’s mind. Or perhaps it gets switched off; perhaps both things happen at the same time. Whatever happens in between his temples, it has little relevance to his body, which seems to move on its own now. He moves himself closer to her, aligning his stiffening wings better against the sofa. Her front hoof slips under his armpit as the two bodies lock into an embrace, as their lips meet each other, hungry and starving. The first kiss is gentle, almost a brush, no more than a tiny sample. During the second they both close their eyes. It’s the third one that brings the tongues along – not as the centre of attention, not yet, but as a mild spice.

Chillburn wraps her other front hoof around his neck and pulls him deeper into the embrace. She can feel his rod getting harder by the second as it presses against her thigh, she can practically sense the blood surging into his member. But instead of allowing it to grow to its full length, she ties herself tighter against him, tangling her hind legs with his so that his meat can only squeeze in between their pulsing bodies. Instinctively he tries to fight for more room, but she only tightens her grip. Despite the slight discomfort the situation is causing him, Thunderlane abides, and submits himself to her way. His displeasure shrivels when she travels her tongue across his teeth.

Finally, after a series of lengthy kisses, she detaches her mouth from his just long enough to say: “Wait. I want to do it upstairs.”

His panting makes her curls sway slightly. The hunger in those amber eyes is declaring its discontent, but nonetheless he nods at her. Still, she has to push him a bit before he gets off her. As Thunderlane gets on all fours, his stallionhood finally finds enough space to bring about possibly the most formidable hard-on he has ever known. Chillburn tilts her head a bit to see better into his loins, and a girlish giggle escapes from her.

“How nice to see that all that talk of pegasi having smaller cocks than other races was utter rubbish. Or perhaps you’re a lucky exception?” She smiles mischievously.

He licks his lips, and raises his chin a bit. “What, you haven’t had the chance to check that out before?”

She shakes her head, her smile only growing more intense. “You’re the first bird I’m going to fuck.”

“A bird?” he asks, a slight annoyance shining though his voice.

“Aww, don’t get mad, little birdie. I can call you whatever you want me to, and likewise.” She stands up, and with one delicate motion, gives a slow lick to his right ear. The move makes his knees wobble. “Now, my little bird, be nice and fly to the bedroom. I have a little surprise waiting for you there.” She emphasizes her words by giving another lick to the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispers, the lust seeping through his voice is like honey. He spreads his wings to their full length, and with a couple quick beats, he disappears into the bedroom above. She can hear him crash on the bed there.

Chillburn takes a moment to breathe deep before heading to the stairs that begin next to the entrance of the hall. But her progress is stopped when she notices something white sticking out from under the front door. She squints at the door’s direction for a moment, but the moonlight isn’t bright enough for her to say what the thing is. A fleeting moment of curiosity makes her turn from the steps ahead and walk over to the front door, where she finds out that the mystical white object is nothing but a common envelope.

She stares at the letter for a moment. How strange. I should’ve noticed that when we came in. But it must’ve arrived after I left the house this morning; nopony delivers mail this late. Finally she picks the thing up with her teeth and brings it to the living room whereto the moon shines clearer. After putting the letter on the table, she notices that it has nothing but her name written on it. She doesn’t recognize the hoofwriting. It’s not from mother, then, nor from my middlepony in Canterlot. But nopony else knows that I live here. How odd, how very odd indeed. She keeps on studying the letter, but somehow she can’t bring herself to open it.

She looks at the white envelope one more time, and then grabs it with her teeth. She looks around for a moment, and tucks the thing into an open drawer which she closes quietly. After that, she crosses the stairs and enters the bedroom, where Thunderlane awaits, all laid out on her large bed. He makes no attempt to hide his stallionhood.

“I hope you didn't get any second thoughts?” he says with a grin. “Or do you think this ‘bird’ is a little too much for you to take?” His cock twitches noticeably.

The last traces of doubt leave Chillburn’s expression as she giggles at his remark. “Oh my… It seems that my little birdie has a sharp beak. We must do something about that.” She walks over to her nightstand, and pulls a black scarf from one of the drawers. The thing is tied to a knot. “Would you mind wearing this?” she asks, rolling the scarf around her front hoof.

A speck of uncertainty travels across his eyes. “A blindfold? I dunno about that… I haven’t tried anything like it before.”

“Rest assured; I’ll make it worth your while.” She tosses the piece of fabric at him. “First time for everything, right?” Her mouth opens a bit, and her tongue lolls on her lips. “Please?”

Thunderlane stares how her tongue covers those red lips with saliva, and a quiet gasp escapes his mouth. “Uhh… I guess I could give it a shot…”

“You won't regret it. And if at any point you feel like taking it off, just do it.” She tilts her head, and flashes a cute smile. “You need a hoof with that?”

“Nah, I’m good.” With a surprising nimbleness, Thunderlane uses his protruding wings to pull the scarf over his eyes. The fabric bends and accommodates to his head, and when he speaks, Chillburn takes a few steps to her right, to see if his head follows her.

“Do you always treat stallions like this on the first date?” he asks from the bedroom wall.

A content smile spreads on her lips. “No. This treat I save for the ones I find worthy of the experience.” Very carefully, she gets onto the bed. The strong strings underneath the mattress make it so that the thing barely shakes when another body gets onto it. “In where I come from, the blindfold is a very old tradition used on a first date.” With a skill brought by years of practice, she closes in on him without making a sound.

“In the place where you really come from?” he asks, turning towards her voice.

Silent as a cat, she circles into another direction. “The blindfold is usually worn by the pony who asked the other for the date. It symbolizes the way how we never truly see the other, especially not when we think we do.”

His head turns again, a bit more sharply now. His ears have tensed, she notices, and they move independently of his head, trying to locate her on the massive bed. But she remains invisible to him. “The symbolizing part is very concrete in your tradition, I’d say.” His voice is quieter, too.

“There’s another reason we wear it, too… When the eyes are blinded, other senses react more strongly. The smells, the touches, the voices – they all become keener. Sharper. Tenser.” The pegasus lies in the middle of the bed, visibly more alert now than when she came into the room. His wings, his ears, his limbs; they’re all more on the edge. Even his breathing is thinner than before.

“Ah-ha…” he says, very quietly. “I think I understand your tradition now.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispers behind him, and with one smooth motion, runs her hoof along the inside of his left wing. The feathers react immediately, first withdrawing under her touch, and then tensing again as she caresses them. Thunderlane lets out a mixed sound of a sigh and a grunt; his whole body flinches.

“So it is true what they say about pegasi wings,” Chillburn says with a normal voice, still calmly stroking his left wing. “How exquisite they must be. You make me jealous, Thunderlane.” Another stroke, another twitch from him, another moan of pleasure.

“You certain you haven’t done this before?” he says, voice thick with enjoyment.

“Never before. Canterlot has a limited supply of pegasi, and my home village has none. Your kind has always intrigued me, though.” This time, she plants a deep kiss onto his neck. The muscles under his clean coat pulse as her lips adore them.

“Oh my Celestia… ah… hmm…” His purring incites her to travel along his spine, planting kisses all the way down to the base of his wings. It’s there that she, for the first time in her life, lets her lips caress the wings of a pegasus. Their taste is… strange. They’re soft, but not like his coat is, or his lips, or his mane. Rather, they remind her of ice; licking them is like suckling an icicle, expect it’s not cold. Still, the association invades her mind, and she almost loses herself to slurping his wings then and there.

“Aaahh! Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gooosh! By Celestia’s– A-aaah…” His voice fades into blubbering nonsense as she devours her wings feather by feather. Trickles of gleaming saliva spread on their surface and connects the aerial appendages to her lips, only to be abruptly cut when her mouth moves along their whole length. And what an impressive length that is; as she works on them, Thunderlane’s wings unfold into their full glory, and she can hardly keep up with them. She brings her hooves for the work, too, stroking, petting, worshipping his wiry wings with her whole body. She is moaning now, too, and breathing heavily against his dark grey feathers.

For Thunderlane, it’s bliss. He feels like some ancient god that embraces the dedicated worshipping and absolute devotion of his subject. It’s as if he was flying on a sky clear as paper, reaching for the heights, only to plummet back in astounding speed. Random bursts of words, entangled in moans, flee his mouth. Suddenly, he can’t take it anymore. His back arches inwards and his wings explode into their utmost length; they reach a wingspan of over two meters. The wild motion almost makes Chillburn fall on her back, but she manages to stay atop her hind legs. When her eyes open, a famished gleam shines through. She spreads her own front hooves over his wings and sinks her lips onto the side of his neck, moving from there to the base of his ear as he bends back his head, submitting himself to her.

“Stay like that for a while,” she says, and detaches from him, moving on his front side. Inside his blindfold, Thunderlane cracks his eyelids, but the fabric blocks all the faint light that filters through the bedroom window. His whole body writhes and trembles, his every nerve is tensed to the extreme. But he can’t see a thing, nor can he hear anything but his own, heavy breathing. He feels his cock oozing precum, and an unusually thick trickle of the grey-white liquid wells on top of his member. As it twitches, a few drops fall on the blankets. A fire burns inside him, a primal urge to rip the scarf off his face, to seek out the mare, and fuck her until he faints. Despite the drive, the pegasus stays on a sitting position, his wings spread as wide as they get, and with his front hooves digging into the sheets.

It’s about when the drive inside him is a mere thought away of driving him insane that Chillburn, with a slow lick, travels her tongue over the length of his member. The mare now lies on her stomach, and rests her front legs underneath herself.

“Ah! A-a-aaahh…” he moans, and pushes with his hips. She doesn’t back off, but lets him sink himself into her warm and moist mouth. He reaches up to half of his length before the limits of his upward position stop him. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get any deeper into her, not without risking losing balance and tumbling over. Nonetheless, he obeys her order, and keeps his stance, humping with his hips as best as he can.

“Good birdie,” she mumbles with his cock in her mouth. With one smooth motion, she takes in his whole length from tip to base.

“Aaaa, a-aaahhh, hmmhhm…” Her mouth worships his cock just like it worshipped his wings. The only difference is that it feels about a thousand times better. He is not flying anymore; he is floating. And the pure pleasure is the air that carries him. He lets her do her work, to lap his tongue against the underside of his cock and balls. All he concentrates on is staying still like a statue, like a statue of a god. She keeps on bobbing her head on his cock, deepthroating him with every stroke, never once scraping him with teeth. He might as well cry, for fervent moaning and grunting serve as a poor vehicle for expressing his delight.

For Chillburn, the experience stirs up welcomed memories. His taste is decent, although I still prefer his wings over his meat. He seems healthy enough, but appearance can be deceiving. I’m better off taking him into me before he becomes too worked up. I’ll wager we’ll have plenty of time to test his limits some other time. With an audible pop, Chillburn lets his cock fall out of her lips and poke at her cheek. She continues by nibbling the side of it and fondling his ball with a hoof, all the while keeping her eyes on his blindfold. I bet you’d like to tear that thing right off by now, to get a good view of me suckling your dick. Go on. Do it. But he only cringes in pleasure.

“There’s something I want you to do for me, Birdie,” she says with a playful tone.

“Ahhh… anything, just anything… hmmmmhhaaah….”

“Fuck me until one of us faints.” She gives one more lick to his tip. Thunderlane’s front hooves tremble as they press into the sheets, and a mixed expression of wild lust and satisfaction masks his half-covered face. “Yes,” he says with hoarse voice. “Oh dear Celestia, yes.”

Chillburn leaves his cock for now and turns on her back, pulling him closer with her hind legs. The stallion fumbles a bit as he moves himself over her, landing his front hooves on either side of her lean form. But before he can do anything else, the mare pushes the top of his head with her front hoof. “Not yet, birdie. Use your tongue first.” The stallion obeys silently, starting by planting a few light kisses on her chest, then on her belly, and finally on her outer lips. He lies on his stomach now, front hooves intertwined with her hind legs and his muzzle resting in between her thighs. Chillburn pulls a few large pillows to support her back and neck so that she may watch him sink his tongue into her.

Her scent fills his nostrils stronger than ever before; its allure makes his cock twitch against the sheets. It’s the first time he goes down on a mare with eyes blinded, and for a moment he is afraid that he is going to blow the moment. But his tongue knows the drill better than his eyes do. He starts by giving a few slow licks to her labia, circling her lips with smooth strokes. Bit by bit he moves closer to her clit, not yet increasing his speed nor pressure. He feels her hind legs trembling around his head, bending over his neck and back, digging into his coat. Her slight moaning and gasping fill his ears. The lack of visual aspects and data leaves so much more room for the stallion’s other senses to grow; it brings the experience into a totally another level for him. It’s an immersion of imagination devoid of colours – it’s up to his nose, his ears, and his coat to paint the picture with something else.

“Hmmmhh… Aaah! A-a-ahh…” The mare moans, entangling her front hooves in the blankets and sheets. Her eyes are open, and the glowing blush of her cheeks highlights the heat in them. She wants him to go faster, to stop his teasing. An urge to stuff his muzzle into her bangs the confines of her head, but she ignores it. He is better than I thought… Not the best I’ve had, but comes very close… His tongue makes a sudden twisting motion over her bud, at the same increasing pressure just perfectly. “Aaahmmmaaha…” Scratch that. He is the best so far. The mare closes her eyes, and lets the waves of pleasure wash over her.

Thunderlane’s lips crack a short smile at her reaction, and he repeats the motion. This time she screams as if ravaged by pure bliss. Hearing her cry out like that makes his shaft spurt a fresh trickle of precum; the sheets under his hips already have a formidable stain on them from the way he has been humping them. I might come just from fucking this fucking bed, he thinks, and almost chuckles at the idea. Instead, he covers her whole pussy with one long, hard lick of his whole tongue.

“Haa, aaahh!” She says in high-pitched voice, and tightens the grip of her hind legs.

Thunderlane’s muzzle presses deeper into her moistness, and somewhere in his mind a quiet voice whispers that breathing is becoming slightly taxing now, but he doesn’t care. His tongue laps at her pussy, slithering in between her lips and travelling across her jewel every now and then. Her lean and nimble body tenses all around him, closes around his head as if forced by some invisible power. He can feel the tension building inside her like a volcano, and automatically he doubles his efforts.

“Aaah, mhhm ahahha ah-h-h-ahhaamh,” she blubbers, her voice shrill, and suddenly, her whole body unfolds in a wild rapture of screaming pleasure. The orgasm is more powerful than she dreamed to hope, it makes her back arch inwards in symmetry of her neck. The few of pillows piled behind her collapse, and she falls through the ruins of satin construction, shaking like a flame in whirlwind.

After several minutes, her hind legs relax so that Thunderlane’s brain gets enough oxygen to realize how badly he really needed that oxygen. He is gasping as heavily as she is, his head resting against her thigh. Sticky juices cover his whole muzzle, his lips, his nose; but he is only distantly aware of the fact. “You…” he begins, but has to swallow a mouthful of that thick liquid before he can finish. “D’you need a… a break or somet–”

“–Thunderlane. Get over here. Now.” Her voice is dreamy, but it still hides the cutting edge that characterizes it so. “I want you. I want you I want you want you so much right now.”

Behind the scarf, Thunderlane’s eyes ignite. He uses his wings to get up faster, although he has to stop when he feels the mare moving underneath him. For a second he gets confused, but when her wet rump presses against his pulsing member, a smile dawns on his mouth. I should've known she’d prefer to do it old school. He uses his front hooves to guide himself onto her entrance, and then, he simply leans forward and sinks in half of his length in one go. They’re both soaking wet, so the motion is smooth as a dream.

“Aghmmmhh,” she moans, and pushes with her hips against him, urging him to go deeper. Thunderlane had promised himself that he’d start slowly, that he’d peel every ounce of pleasure from her this night, but it all becomes meaningless when she drives herself into him. Wrapping his front hooves around his shoulders for better supports, the pegasus backs away his hips, almost slipping completely out of her, and then rams his meat back in. Their screams intertwine in the air, and just like that, they start rutting like it was the only thing they were born to do. Faster with every thrust, the two bang against each other, sweating and groaning.

Thunderlane tries so hard to keep himself going, tries so very deeply to slow down, to detach just slightly from the euphoria. He might as well try to put out a flaming house by throwing snowballs at it. She is not the tightest mare he has fucked, but she squeezes him just right, as if she knew when to contract her muscles for him. His muzzle invades her curls, finds the delicate neck underneath, and without thinking about it he bites her.

“Ah!” she cries out with a shrill voice. His teeth close on her coat again, a bit harder this time. “Yes! Yes yes yes yesahhahahmmh…”

Her fervent moaning is too much for him to bear; it’s the final drop that breaks the dam. Thunderlane feels the orgasm hitting a second before his cock twitches one last time and unloads its contents deep inside her. He keeps on ramming against her for a whole minute before the flood finally subsides, and at that point his cum flows all over her thighs and his hips. The bedclothes are a mess and so are the two ponies that collapse on each other, side by side. He remains inside her, twitching every now and then as even more of his seed trickles out. For a moment, they can only pant.

“OhmigoshCelestia…” says Thunderlane, his words climbing atop each other as they strive to leave his dry throat. “Oh my gooooosshhh…”

Chillburn feels his breathing washing over the back of her neck, and a tired smile spreads on her lips. “What was that, birdie?”

A violent shudder travels over the pegasus. “That wasn’t real. Sex doesn’t get that good.”

The mare chuckles. “You don’t know the half of it, Thunderlane. But with time, you might.” With a faint grimace, she detaches from him and turns around. The blindfold is still firmly on, she notices. “There are such depths I could take you to.”

An exhausted grin reveals the stallions clean white teeth, but the content expression is soon blown off. “Uh, I can go at it again tonight, you know? I just need a while, a little break. I mean, you were so good, so utterly, amazingly, absolutely awesomely–”

She silences him with a hoof. “Hush now, little birdie. There’s no hurry, no hurry at all. Let the silence do its work.”

His ears raise up again, and his head relaxes against a pillow. When her hoof leaves his mouth, a sticky string of her own juices follows it. She wipes it off on the sheets, and gets closer to him, snuggling over his extended front hoof. He lets her settle herself comfortably, and then extends another hoof over her hip. The scent of sex fills his nostrils, and her soft coat feels incredible to the touch. The pegasus’s wings are laying idly on the blankets, and as the quiet fills his ears, every muscle in his body relaxes one after the other. However did I get this lucky? he thinks as a warm afterglow envelopes him. However did I deserve this?

Outside the bedroom, in the night, only the full moon stands witness as the two ponies lose themselves into each other’s closeness. The silvery celestial body floats above the dosing village as the lone sovereign, guarding the dreams of the sleeping. However, one of the ponies doesn’t submit under it’s gaze, doesn’t unfold the secrets of his subconscious to its deceiving beauty. Underneath the divine instrument, a stallion stays still, his eyes nailed to the glowing orb. I wonder if you’re looking at me right now, Princess Luna, he ponders. I wonder if you see what I do, or as I do, whether you even care to know what my eyes reveal. His eyes stare at the moon, unflinching, unyielding. But the sky remains quiet. That’s what I thought. He blinks, and turns to look at the house wherein he knows two ponies to linger. This time, his gaze narrows down, almost disappears beneath the eyelids. His right eye shows signs of a fresh bruise, but the swelling has relieved quite a bit during the few days. From the shadows, he looks at the front door of the house. A picture rich with splinters fills his mind, and for one feverish moment, it almost turns into reality. But it never does.

“Splinters belong to dreams,” he whispers, and disappears into the night.