It's dark when I open my eyes next. It's always dark.

                    My muscles are sore. I can feel an ache through my arms and legs, the whole of my body. It's the sort of kind that usually comes from sleeping in an uncomfortable position, which is the usual state of affairs down here. Cold stone does not make an appealing bed. That aside, my head feels muddled. There's a kind of haziness to every thought, like it's forced through the sieve of a hangover. This is the kind of feeling that also usually comes along through oversleeping. That hot, sticky disorientation when you fall asleep in the mid-afternoon, and then wake up with no idea where you are or what time it is. I never know the time, but I feel like I'm missing a chunk of it.

                    It's just me. I have the memory of her there, jumping out to the forefront from the back of my mind. I was waiting for her, and I passed out. And now I'm here - still here - and she isn't. Did I miss her? Did she come back and find me sleeping, and leave me to my slumber?

                    That would be bad.

                    I've endeavoured to keep awake when I know to expect her. It can be difficult, as her schedule is erratic. There are things to attend to at odd hours. The demands of a Queen are not often consistent. That doesn't mean much, but that I need to keep myself fairly energized in waiting. It's not difficult to pull forward reserves of enthusiasm when I see her - but when there's only the thought, and the darkness from the room seeps inside my brain, and the floor looks more accommodating than keeping myself upright for Celestia only knows how many hours - sometimes it's a temptation. Apparently one I gave in to at this point.

                    This is going to make the waiting harder. There's only so much I can distract myself from the growing anxiety that's welling up in my stomach. It's a reminder though, that I need to eat at some point. There's food, around. Water too. They're inconsequential, most of the time. There's usually only one thing to focus on, and right now it's twisted from the usual joyous expectation into a more foreboding agony. Will she be mad, when she returns? There's an off chance she still hasn't come back, but something tells me that's not the case. I could feel her presence lingering on the air, not from the visit I remembered. It makes my breath tingle, when she's been there, even if I don't notice her at first. The air feels particularly sharp when I breathe it in, a notable difference from the stagnant muskiness usual in the cold stone room.

                    I make a note to feed myself. From that point on, it's waiting; but I'm used to that.

                    Despite whatever amount of sleep I got, wakefulness feels hazy. I catch myself drifting off in spurts, the state where I find myself blinking a little too long every other second. The sound of the ever burning torches is the only company, aside from the sound my feet make on the stone floor as I pace. Food was bland. I felt oddly thirsty, so I drank for a while. Just water. I don't have a taste for anything else.

                    My eyes snap into attention when I hear the sound of the door opening. It's a recognizable creak. My limbs are free this time, but I don't rush over. If she's unhappy with me... I don't want to rush the meeting. It could be any time, and she could be in any state. Restraint is important.

                    I can hear her approach. Instead of flying to me instantly, whether with the lift of her wings or a flash from her magic, she's walking across the room, slowly. I can hear her hooves dragging on the ground. It's an unusual sound. Even more unusual, she makes her way into the relative light nearby with her head hanging low. Her hair is dipping onto the stone, draped over her face. The glow that usually surrounds her body is weak.

                    She's hurt in one way or another. I stand from my crossed legged position, and run to her.

                    A force holds me back from a foot away - it's like running into a wall I can't see. It knocks the wind out of me, and I double over, clutching my stomach and wheezing. She lifts her head, and I see her eyes for the first time since waking. It's always enough to send my reserves of energy into overdrive - right now, it's like looking into the final plea of a dying animal.

                    Is this my fault?

                    I open my mouth, starting a sentence with a wordless stutter, but my throat tightens with a flash from her horn. It's not quite like being choked, but I can't compose the words I was seeking. Her eyes are sunken. Her lips are pursed in what would be a pout given any other circumstance. Right now, I'm not sure, and I'm worried. She looks hurt.

                    "Don't speak," she says. Her voice is a little above a whisper, just strong enough to carry her voice to me in a strength beyond a gentle breeze. The way she speaks has always reminded me of the wind, airy but insistent, drawing attention while creeping into my ears innocuously. Right now, it makes my heart sink. Her usual confident timbre is gone, replaced by a meekness I've not heard from her before. She sounds younger, like a child. A beaten youth begging for forgiveness.

                    I'm the one who should be begging. This is my fault.

                    "I tried something I do not believe was a good idea."

                    This was the extent of her explanation. I feel myself falling forward as the magical barrier dissipates. It's a struggle, but I catch myself before I hit the ground, orienting myself and raising upright. The view in front of me is her, there, collapsed onto the ground. I run again, even only a foot away.

                    My hands reach her form instantly. I lift her head and chest off the ground, cradling her against my naked body. Her skin feels even more brittle than usual against my hands. Her hair is limp, like dying straw, and it scratches at my skin as it falls across my arms. Her eyes are closed. I shake her lightly, trying to hide my fear behind gentle gestures. She opens her eyes, wearily, and I lock to them, staring into the pools of brilliant green glow I can feel fading.

                    The pretense of formality is gone. She's another soul, next to me, and her pain moves to me, tugging at my heart. I don't want to cry, so I speak instead.

                    "You're going to be fine," I say. I sound like I'm consoling a child, but the words are borne only from an affection purer than obligation. The limp, frail majesty nestled against my chest is my world. Everything. Even if I had to howl to the sky and shatter the walls of stone that surround me every day, I'd tell the world. But I don't need to - I only need to tell her.

                    "You can tell me, but you know that I'm here to make things better." As I speak, I run one set of fingers through her hair, parting the delicate strands before returning my caress to the top of her head and back down. I can feel her push back against my touch, ever so slightly. "You don't have to be worried. I'm here for you. I'm here for anything you need."

                    It feels strange; explaining consolations to someone who's very presence is the full composite of my existence. It's a dynamic I try not to think about too much. I've not seen her like this in a very long time, and there's a good reason for that. Her body is exhausted - I can feel the absence of strength, and furthermore the absence of /her/. When she's drained this way, as odd as it might be, I need to be strong for her. Until she can feel me in her heart, feel my love reaching out through a bond neither of us can see. That's why I'm here - and it's why this works. Why no matter what, this is right.

                    She opens her mouth to speak. My hands move without thought, turning her face towards mine. I stop the first breath of her words with my lips, kissing her softly. Her speech fades into a hushed sigh, and I feel the tingling hiss of her breath on my mouth. With one of my hands, I stroke the back of her neck under the base of her hair, and pull her towards me, pressing our lips together. My hand is tingling; it's jittering on her skin. I'm doing the right thing. She needs me as much as I need her.

                    We kiss. We've kissed before, and if love is pursuant, there's no end to the affection I will show for her in the future. But this kiss is now, and it's the world stripped away to its barest. The walls are crumbled away. The darkness and burning torches have vanished. There are two souls, basking in each other, free for everyone to see. And we kiss. Again and again. Her mouth goes from exhausted to enthusiastic, and then almost hungry. She pants with each separation, and I pull her closer as every kiss starts a new. Our mouths open against each other, our tongues dance as they meet. Her body feels heavier against mine. I'm here for her.

                    My sense of time is always a blur. It could be days later when she finally raises her hoof to my face, rubbing it gently against my cheek. I take the gesture as a prompt, and pull away. A thin strand of saliva reaches between our separation, hanging in the air connected at our lips. She smiles, though she still looks tired.

                    "I love you," I say. There's nothing more to it. Words only get in the way sometimes.

                    "Show me."

                    She doesn't request. She speaks a statement that simply is. No malice or tyranny or undue insistence. It's just right - she needs love. My love. I'm eager.

                    Gently, I lay her down on the stone. She braces herself half-upright with her hooves for a second before she arches them, bending toward the ground and flipping herself over; on to her side first, and then her back. She's lying with her face towards the ceiling, the midnight black of her body complete with its green glow illuminated only slightly further by the flickering candles. Her beauty takes my breath away. I consider that through all the words I've used in my life, no part of them could separate and recompose to form a description for even an ounce of her perfection. In states of frailty, or abject power, she is beauty. Beautiful does not suffice. She is the word, and I am the missive at the world's behest, to cherish and belove her at the demand of my heart. Her heart is there to answer back.

                    I collect my breath with a long gulp and crawl on all fours towards her, pausing at the end of her hind legs. They're splayed out, almost presenting, a banquet I'm unfit for. As I drink in the sight of her there, lying in wait for my love, for the display of my gratitude and adoration, she blushes, so faintly I can barely see it, and turns her head to the side, covering her mouth with one hoof. It's not something she does often. It makes her more perfect.

                    Her frame is lithe. I prop myself up off the floor, still on all fours, and I hover over her body. Inches separate us. I have to make a note of mental restrain to keep from devouring her with my touch, keeping at bay the need to yield to my every impulse and ravish her. She needs my love, and I will show it.

                    She's glowing again, a faint lime green emanating from her body. There are still no words. Her body is thin, and delicate. I run my hands along her sides, touching soft against her textured skin. She gasps, taking a short breath of air in as I trace my fingers over her body, lingering against her sides before caressing her soft stomach. I move my hands further up her body, stroking her hair away where it meets my fingers. I grab her shoulders in my palms and knead them, softly. She coos. My resistance takes another blow.

                    "I love you," I say again. It's not declarative. Just a reminder, while my every touch tries to convey the same. She smiles, more innocent than she ever looks, and I slide my palms along her hind legs, gently caressing her knees and thighs before moving. The feeling of the holes in her carapace as I run my hands over them makes the back of my eyes tingle. She draws a hissing intake of breath again. I breathe with her. The air is cold. I circle around one of the gaps in her body, dragging my fingertip over her skin, tapping just lightly at the outside of one of her body's miniature openings. I've been hard since her lips met mine. The ache is there, and I try to push it away, to the side of my mind. I'm leaning over her, and I know that my excitement is dripping slightly. There's a tiny drop of it, on her stomach from when I was higher, running my hands over her shoulders. I slide my hands back down her legs, rubbing my palms against the inside of her haunches. Her body quivers under my touch.

                    "I love you."

                    She breathes in again, sharply. I felt her legs twitch when I spoke. I saw the rest of her body shudder ever so slightly. Inches away from my hands, I felt her twitch in a more particular manner.

                    She's waiting for me to show her. I move my hands together, and they're wet instantly. Her skin is slick, and soaking, dryness washed away as she waits for me to show her.

                    I center one of my hands between her legs, and press gently with my palm, grinding against her wetness. The same way that the air feels different when she's around, or the way that her lips touching my skin give the tingle of electricity along my body; she's different here too, and it's amazing.

                    Her moisture is especially slick. When she wants me, in whatever capacity, she gushes - dripping sometimes - and it's different. Her arousal is thick, almost gelatinous, coating her entrance like a soft layer of translucent foam, or gel. It can burn ever so slightly, when she wants it to hurt, but right now it's soft, and relatively insubstantial. It's there as much as she wants it, and it feels best when we're closest together. For now, I'm to show her.

                    There's no teasing. I hesitate only for her, to give the longing that makes everything better. But she's waited long enough. I slide my fingers between her lips once or twice, tender and soft, coated in her excitement, before sliding one of them inside.

                    "Ah!"

                    I grit my teeth and groan as she clenches around my finger. A single touch, and she's squeezing me, and my body is matching hers by proxy. The slightest touch against her body is enough to drag me to the edge if she insists, and now I'm inside her, even if only by extension, and keeping myself from self-interest. I'm here for her right now.

                    She pants loudly as I withdraw my finger, slowly, keeping just the tip inside her for a moment before sliding back in. Her hole makes a soft, wet sound as I plunge inside, like the drip of a viscous liquid onto a plate. It makes me twitch. I pull out, and slide back in again, this time with two fingers, arching upwards inside of her. She moans again, loudly, with her breath coming in short bursts. She sounds like a young girl for a moment, caught in the throes of her first pleasure. I want to show her more.

                    With my fingers still inside her, I lean forward, and press my mouth against her lips. The gel tingles as it touches my lips, and I have to slide my tongue through it to reach my target. I slide my tongue up and down her hole as I press my fingers into her, hard, bending them upwards to press against her inner walls. The schlicking sound is louder. She moans, and arches her body against my touch, grinding herself against my palm. My skin is soaked, coated in a layer of gel that's pouring from her body.

                    "Please..."

                    Her voice is weak, and breathy, like she's gasping for air. At her insistence, I move my tongue up, pressing through the layer of slime to her clit. Her legs move together, wrapping around my head and pulling me towards her. It's hard to breathe, like sucking in air through a slick coat of plastic. But I persist. I grind my tongue against her button, and she shrieks, arching her back again. My fingers don't stop moving. The words are in my head. I love you.

                    As I struggle to acclimate myself to breathing through the thickness of her arousal, suddenly the air is there, sharp and cold. I'm moving, and my whole body is thrown backwards, landing roughly on the stone. I'm foot to foot with her. Something is happening; there's a thin layer of electric shock coursing along my skin. I try to move, but my limbs are held in place, arms locked to my sides and legs to the floor. There's a green glow in the air; magic. It tilts my head upwards, and she's there. Her wings are fluttering lightly, not enough to lift her off the ground - but her magic is doing that. Her body is overtop of mine, separated by rapidly receding inches. I can feel the air peeling away from the glow of her power, returned in part. Her eyes are locked on me, and she looks hungry. She licks her lips, tracing her lengthy tongue over her protruding fangs. In a flash, the reminder brought her from needing me for strength, to needing me for more than that. I can feel my mind switching from duty to accommodation.

                    "Tell me again," she says, tracing her eyes over my body hungrily.

                    "I love-"

                    The feeling of soaking wetness at the head of my member robs the subject from my declaration. The sensation is what I imagine to being akin to a viscous, warm gel, sliding over the tip of my erection. Despite the abundant moisture, the pressure is viscous, and I have to bite down on my lip, hard, to keep from crying out.

                    "Hnnnh!"

                    She doesn't bother with the restraint. Her moan rebounds off the dimly lit walls. Every part of my brain is urging my hips upwards, but her magic is still there, holding me in place while she lowers herself down. The descent is a slow, pleasure laden anguish. Every inch sliding past the thick goo and inside her waiting entrance takes longer than I can stand. Despite every reassurance previous, it's only the glowing restrains that keep me from grabbing her soft, scaly sides and forcing her to the base of my cock. Eventually, I feel her body press against mine. Inside all the way. There's a fountain of slime between us, coating my stomach and waist. It's still pouring from her, bathing me in a coat of green-tinged gel. Every inch of my skin that it hits tingles, like a cold cream filled with electric arousal. She presses her hooves to my chest and pants, separating the air with the force of her breath. My eyes are open only to look at her, all my impulses struggling to force them closed as I'm overwhelmed with pleasure. She locks her eyes to mine, and throws herself forward, wrapping her forelegs around my neck. Her lips press to mine. My breath vanishes. My eyes shut, and I groan into her mouth, matching her frantic breathing as we kiss. Her lips are soft and gentle despite their urgency. The kiss breaks, and she stares into my eyes, panting with her nose pressed against mine.

                    "I love you."

                    She kisses me again, and grinds her hips down. The wetness squelches between us as she presses me as far inside her as I can go. The combination of slickness enveloping my shaft along with the heat of her inner walls squeezing my entire length makes me remember how close I was. But I hold out, for her. The words are a reminder. I love you. She doesn't say them often.

                    Her head lolls back as she lifts herself up and down. There's no restraint in her motion; she's frantic, riding me, delirious with the feeling of penetration. She feels full. I can tell because every time her lips slam against my pelvis, squelching loudly, her pass clenches around my rod, pulling it inward and squeezing tightly, slamming hard against her inner walls. More accurately, from my perspective, she feels tight – almost constricting, despite the wall of slime that slips over my shaft with every exit.

                    Her tongue is moving as she lowers herself each time – it’s sliding over her lips and teeth, licking at her own skin. Eyes rolling in her head. I can’t say the words for fear that they’ll give way to a groan that will usher in a finale I don’t want to come. I want her to go first – the best test of my devotion is holding back. I think the words instead. I love you. I love you. I-

                    “More.” The word comes with more restraint than I imagined she had left. She’s planted firmly now, swiveling her hips from side to side while I’m buried inside her. I manage to look up, and her eyes are there, big and beaming and staring through me.

                    “I need it,” she says.

                    I remember that sometimes, showing someone you love them can mean much more than thinking for them. It’s a feedback loop of affection sometimes – to be selfless for the one you love, and for them in turn to want the same of you.

                    I have no restraints when it comes to showing her my love, however.

                    Her prompt is enough, but she’s not content to force me over the edge that way. She plants her hooves squarely on my chest and raises her back end off my body. She’s oozing liquid and slime onto my cock, coating it in the thick viscous fluid, covering my crotch and legs in green goo. Through the waterfall of slickness, I can feel the tightness of her entrance, her lips wrapped just around the head of my penis. She’s bobbing her hips ever so slightly up and down, pouring out her arousal while she does so. I can see the look in her eyes too. Going from decomposed and needy to completely in control – it means I’ve shown her enough. But, she did say she wanted more.

                    I can’t hold back when she slams down. The way my head grinds against the hot insides of her hole is too much. Everything has been too much. This is a feeling that again I have no words for. I can’t tell if the magic is gone, but my hips are moving upwards to meet her descent. My fingers are digging into the stone. I’m groaning immeasurably, losing control of my voice, and every part of my body. The feeling that’s been brewing since I saw her, every day since I’ve met her, it’s coming to a head now, I can feel it tightening inside me like a spring about to uncoil.

                    There’s a tug, or a pressure somewhere inside as well. It’s onset, all of a sudden appearing from nowhere. It feels incredibly strange, like an invisible hand is squeezing my insides, rearranging something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s an odd sensation, but it’s quickly drowned out by the overwhelming force of ecstasy that burns through my mind. It hits every inch of my skin, lighting the cells ablaze and arching my back upwards, needing more, needing every inch to be inside, and she’s moaning too, panting and letting drops of saliva fall from her long, beautiful tongue as she rolls her head around in elation. I can’t hold back for another second. I cum, hard.

                    “Ohhhh, yes... Show me….” She’s almost babbling, but I can make out the words through the guttural moaning. It’s the purest display of love I can muster. Only for her. Her pussy clenches around my shaft, milking me, dragging out every drop. I can feel my muscles spasming with every burst, spraying the inside of her with the full force of my orgasm. My body arches upwards to thrust with every burst. One. Two. Three.

                    I can feel the cum mixing with the slickness of her juices as it sprays out. It’s more than I expected. She’s still riding me, bobbing up in down in short three inch bursts, mostly just rocking herself on top of my twitching cock. Four. Five. Amidst the green gel surrounding her cunt, I see a white liquid, merging with the slick coating of ooze into a multicoloured viscous solution. She’s biting down on her own lip, hard, drawing blood, and I’m still cumming. Six. Seven. The cum is pouring out of her, I’m soaking myself in it too, mixing with the healthy layer of slime from our sex. Inside, she feels unbelievably damp, so full of my seed that I can’t even feel the friction any more. Eight. She’s cumming hard too, I can tell, because she’s scrabbling at my chest franticly, scraping her hooves on my skin, and I can feel her muscles pulsing too, clenching together – though it’s hard to feel properly through the lake of liquid gushing out of her. Nine.

                    This can’t be real. I’ve never cum this much before, and nothing would make it more possible than her. Ten. My hips hurt from the way they’re slamming into the stone as each thrust ends. Without warning, she pulls off, and a sound like a drain unplugging is followed by a cascade of liquid, a huge volume of cum and ooze surging out onto my body and the floor. My cock is pointing straight up; the head is completely coated in white goo. And my body is still screaming, telling me there’s more. There’s a faint green glow, surrounding my pelvis. I feel that tug inside again.

                    Eleven. Her tight hole is replaced by her face, and she’s planted her mouth firmly on the underside of my penis, nipping at it gently. The spurt of cream lands on her forehead, leaving a thick white streak contrasting against her green hair and midnight black skin. I feel her fangs just prodding at my glans as she licks up and down my shaft. Another spurt catches her across the eye. Twelve? She moves her head up and takes the tip of my cock into her mouth. Her cheeks swell off when I fire again, number thirteen. Two more, and her mouth is bulging, with cum leaking out from between her lips and dribbling down her chin. With one final twitch, I cover her nose and mouth in the last strand, and it hangs down obscenely from her face, dangling against the pool of fluid left on my body. My cock is still standing tall, pointing straight up at the stony ceiling.

                    She looks more satisfied than I’ve ever seen her. Her horn, glowing this whole time, finally dims as the shimmer of magic fades away. Something inside me shifts again, presumably back to normal. She closes her eyes, and swallows loudly. Her body shudders when she gulps down the mouthful of cum, and I feel the twitch along her spine carried through her feet as they lie next to mine. She doesn’t open her eyes as she moves, floating on a quick buzz of her wings towards me, and touching down on the stone floor. Her face is still covered in cum, but I don’t shy away even slightly as she rests it against my shoulder. The rest of me is covered as well, in the leftovers of the impossible load she helped bring forth, and the lingering slick slime of her own arousal and orgasm. I look to my side, and see a stream of white, dripping from between her legs and onto the ground. A sigh, and I let my head fall back against the cold floor.

                    She traces her hoof along my stomach and chest, doing tiny circles. I take my right hand, and place it over her caress, holding her tightly in my grasp. We sigh together.

                    I know, with that much love, she won’t need me for a long time. Whether she ever really needs me, I can’t tell. She can count on me, unconditionally, to shower her in whatever affection she desires – to give her the substance that makes her capable of being herself, whether it’s physical more abstract. I’m here, to give my love, and to keep her happy. That alone is enough to make me feel complete.

                    With moments like this, her body draped over mine, the two of us so close together while the outside world turns without us – I don’t need anything else. I’m here, when or if she needs me, and I don’t think there’s a point at which I’ll change my mind.