Spitfire had to admit, Twilight Sparkle had lived a lot cozier of a life than she would have guessed for a Princess of Equestria. She had always heard of the Golden Oaks Library in dispatches, but she had assumed it was like one of the public libraries in Canterlot or Manehatten: massive and opulent, touting the “power of learning” or some other shtick. This one really felt like it could be a home… to a librarian. Not to a new, nervous mother trying to prepare for the birth of her foal in the coming weeks.

“Hungry, kid?” she asked pleasantly, peeking out of Twilight’s attached kitchen and into the expansive study area.

“Hell’s yeah!” Fleetfoot called out cheerfully, smiling up from her spot on the couch.

To Spitfire’s amusement, Rainbow Dash was lounging on her side beside the grinning Wonderbolt, a deep blush covering her face, but a tiny smile had split her nervous demeanor. There were few things in Equestria that could resist Fleetfoot’s casual and personable attitude, and Rainbow Dash, and even Spitfire, were not one of those. Fleetfoot had her wing draped over Rainbow’s side, primaries interlocked and twitching lightly. Magenta eyes sheepishly peeked up at Spitfire, and the smile only grew.

“A-a little, yeah,” Rainbow Dash mumbled shyly, reaching up to paw lightly at her nose.

“Then I hope you guys like waffles!”

Balancing three plates on her wings wasn’t exactly easy, but a shot of pride ran through her at the impressed look on Rainbow’s face, and the sly gleam in Fleetfoot’s gaze. With a sleek spin as she approached, Spitfire slid the plates right in front of her friends, flipped her’s into the air, and was sitting on her haunches with a smug little smile as the plate, and waffle, landed in front of her.

“Woah,” Rainbow breathed, blushing -somehow- even more.

Mentally preening, Spitfire- ...hold the phone. Spitfire’s eyes peered over at Rainbow Dash’s wings, then winced. How had they not seen this coming? Rainbow’s wings were badly fluffed and mattered, full of damaged and broken vanes and feathers. To any self-respecting pegasi, it was an utter mess. Fleetfoot blinked, likely spotting the self-agitated look on Spitfire’s face, and followed her gaze, wincing in turn. Both hadn’t been looking at Rainbow with much in the way of “pegasi hygiene” and it showed. But there was one thing.

Preening was a deeply personal affair for pegasi. Mothers and daughters had long since used it as a way to bond while young, and the same held true for colts and stallions, or whichever pony raised the foal. When they got older, preening took on a role of great intimacy, performed either by the closest of friends or partners. Neither mare was entirely sure how Rainbow would handle being preened by them; but with her condition, preening herself would be a strenuous job.

“G-guys?” Rainbow whispered curiously, trembling a bit in worry, “Everything… everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” Spitfire replied immediately, a blush of her own rising, “It’s just uh… well, I just noticed your wings, kid. They could… use a little TLC.”

Blinking, Rainbow raised a wing slowly… and winced at a small flurry of falling down.

“We… wouldn’t mind… helping you, y’know,” Fleetfoot mumbled softly, giving Rainbow a small, but warm smile, “Only if that’s okay, though.”

“We could go get another of your friends, if you preferred.”

An odd look filled Rainbow’s eyes: a nervous, jittery light, with thoughtfulness behind the screen. She was studying the mares, and Spitfire could definitely tell both were being judged, and their relatio-

“P-please.”

And the Captain of the Wonderbolts certainly did not have to be told twice. Waffle forgotten, Spitfire quickly darted to sit on one side of Rainbow, carefully using her hooves to pull the slim wing out from its spot across Rainbow’s side. Even without much use in over a year, the muscles and tendons were firm and taught, and Spitfire could practically feel the sky magic singing through it. Power. With a subtle breath, Spitfire could smell it- like lightning itself, sharp and strong- rolling off her wing, even in its sorry state. It was… heady. With a faint mew, she leaned forward, gently burying her muzzle into the down of fluffy secondaries.

Rainbow’s sides swelled with a sharp intake of breath, releasing with a pleased quiver as Spitfire’s trained tongue and lips worked, plucking loose and broken down, or smoothing out those that could still be saved. Other ponies had a hard time figuring out why pegasi seemed to have a taste for feathers, but pegasi were fine with that. How do you explain to another the taste of sky magic, the crackling of static running to your core that super-charges your heart, your very emotions? Spitfire blushed as she felt her own wings stiffening with blood and raising, but for once she ignored her involuntary response, only focused on the quivering mare beside her.

Slowly nibbling along the wing, Spitfire found her way to Rainbow’s wingshank, and Spitfire’s tongue tenderly traced out, smoothing down the soft-as-silk fur-and-down mix. The tiniest noise of pleasure, a coo of a dove, rose out of Rainbow’s throat, and Spitfire’s tail practically launched off the bed. It was, in a word, the single most adorable sound the older pegasus had ever heard. So she did it again. On her periphery, she could see Rainbow’s tail raising as well, and it was all Spitfire could do to banish the naughty thoughts running through her whirling mind. It wasn’t proper, not for a mare as damaged as Rainbow Dash.

Moving along, Spitfire’s eyes took time to appreciate Rainbow Dash’s primary feathers. Practically the soul of a pegasus, the primaries held the strongest amount of sky magic in a pegasi’s body, and were highly prized by their owners. And while other ponies could definitely say a pegasus primary feather was a beautiful thing, only another pegasi (or perhaps a unicorn) could truly appreciate the art of it. She couldn’t see the lines of magic, but smelling it, feeling it, practically hearing it all… All of this arced through Spitfire’s mind as she slowly took Dash’s primary feathers between her teeth and lips, achingly, tenderly smoothing it down. The fire-orange mare trembled at the tremulous moan from the younger mare beneath her, and her right wing reached to embrace her as Dash pressed to her side. Spitfire could just barely spot Fleetfoot on the other side, her slim head ducked down to get at the sensitive feathers beneath the shank. She smiled faintly at her preening partner, then turned back to tending to Dash.
****************

Fleetfoot was in heaven. Rainbow Dash tasted like ozone, like lightning incarnate, and with each nibble and lap, the arcs and pops of static tickled and kissed down her throat and tongue. She knew she was being fairly hard, tugging and realigning Rainbow Dash’s unkempt feathers, but Fleetfoot also knew that Rainbow needed it. Spitfire would be tender, and judging from the noises from Rainbow Dash early on, she had gotten her well-at-ease. And that was great! But fire and… Fleetfoot gave a shy gulp. And passion. Fire and passion were the pegasus way, and Fleetfoot would always embody those traits. And Rainbow Dash needed a spark to rekindle her own.

With a soft breath, the sky blue mare darted up to nibble and tug lightly at the primaries running down Rainbow’s right wing, and she gave a sympathetic croon at Dash’s small cry. A second croon matched Fleetfoot, and it wasn’t long before she was gasping and quivering again.

‘Thatta girl, Spitfire.’

Compassion had its place too. Compassion and passion. Ha. With a chuckle at her own inner joke, Fleetfoot tugged lightly… and gave a squeak of shock as the primary tugged out. Another squeak matched her own, and quickly turned to find a bewildered Spitfire looking at her as well. Both held matching primaries in their mouths. Primaries very rarely fell out on their own, even after horrendous abuse, and Fleetfoot was absolutely certain that neither pegasus had been tugging hard enough to yank one out, much less two.

“W-what is th-this, the Tale of the S-skymares?” Rainbow breathed, trying her best to chuckle and relieve some tension, but Fleetfoot could spot the bewilderment in her own eyes, and see the massive blush consuming her face and neck.

The Tale of the Skymares was an old pegasus romantic fairy tale, back in the times of pegasus cities and knights, battling it out with the “evil” unicorns. One of the climatic parts of the novel had been two female knights jockeying for the love of a pegasus prince. Both loved him very much, and the prince loved both in turn, and did not wish to choose between either. So the knights decided on a wager. They would preen their prince, and if the sky goddesses blessed either knight, a primary would fall out during the preening (and old fairy tale of its own.) Whomever the magical feather fell for, that was who would marry the prince. And as the fates would have it, when the knights got down to the preening, both rubbing and cooing and doing their best to woo the prince… two feathers fell. And so the three wed, forming the first pegasi herd. As the tale went, anyway.

Nervous glances were exchanged all around. Spitfire had the faintest glimmer of hope in her eyes, and Fleetfoot couldn’t help but grin. She knew quite well that her Captain greatly enjoyed Rainbow Dash’s company. She had before the foalnapping, and now… It was hard to miss her devotion. And Fleetfoot’s heart? She glanced down at the feather protruding from her mouth. A primary feather, arcing and radiating beauty and power. A feather from a mare she had greatly respected, and now cared for. A spark gleamed in her eyes for just a moment, and then hardened. She knew what she must do.

Before Spitfire could react, Fleetfoot lunged over a squeaking Rainbow Dash, grabbing a lock of Spitfire’s mane in her lips and quickly twisting it around the feather. Leaning back, ignoring the stunned look her Captain was giving her, Fleetfoot leaned back to grab her foremost primary feather… and yank sharply. A sting of pain, but one that quickly faded away. That was a good sign for the nervous mare. And with a shy grin to Rainbow, Fleetfoot leaned forward, twisting the sky blue feather into her polychromatic mane, just below her ear.

She squeaked at a blur of red and orange, then blinked at the feather light touch on her slicked back mane. Spitfire leaned back from Fleetfoot with a cheeky grin, winking- the cyan feather was stuck and tied off just behind her ear, following her mane back. And as Fleetfoot slowly began to smile, understanding and elation build, the older mare reached back to yank a primary of her own out, tying it off alongside Fleetfoot’s own in Rainbow’s mane. Two nervous sets of eyes turned to the quiet mare.

The poor thing looked shell-shocked, watery eyes looking between the two Wonderbolts like they had three heads each. Fleetfoot’s elation had begun to ebb. Had she misread it? What if they had misjudged Rainbow Dash entirely, and she didn’t like either in that fashion? Tartarus, she was probably still too frightened of anything resembling romance. Fleetfoot needed to act fast to- ...keep a sobbing, pregnant mare from crushing both stunned mares to death on a sinking couch. Despite their atrophied state, Dash’s forelegs were tightly encircling both her friends, happy tears spilling down her muzzle, past an enormous, beaming smile. A smile that was joined by two others, along with a hug. The bruised ribs were well worth it, it Fleetfoot’s not so humble opinion.

Author's Notes:

A-anyone else really want some wings right now? :3