Spitfire ignored the ice-cold tile beneath her hooves as she marched down a long hallway in the middle of the Wonderbolts’ training complex. She was single-minded in her search, ignoring the howling wind outside. Weather-factory mandated ice-storm and polar vortex or no, Spitfire was never one to back away from her mission.

Opening the door to the Wonderbolts’ shared sleeping quarters, she stepped inside and shut the door quickly. The room was even colder than the hallway, and darker than it usually was at this point in the day. The snow piling up against the windows situated just under the ceiling wasn’t helping.

Spitfire’s eyes shifted smoothly as she mechanically scanned the barracks’ beds. They halted on a lumpy pile of covers situated on the far left, and spitfire snorted through her nostrils as she made her way toward it. “Hey, sunshine, you alive?” she called to the bed.

The pile of covers shifted slightly, and a blue muzzle peeked out from beneath the heavy comforter. “Hey, Spits!” A stallion’s voice responded. “Come to pay your final respects before we all freeze to death?”

“More or less,” Spitfire agreed tiredly. “Everypony is in the rec room wondering where you are, Soarin’,” she explained, silently bemoaning all the lost practice time the storm was causing. “I needed to make sure you weren’t a popsicle yet.”

“Aww...I knew you cared about me deep down, Cap’n!”

Spitfire scowled playfully. “I don’t. I just don’t want to have to go through the hassle of replacing you. The flying trials, the paperwork…”

Soarin’ shifted his body, sitting up in his bed and drawing the covers tightly around himself. “Aren’t you freezing, Captain?”

“No. I don’t get cold.”

Soarin’ cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “Ah, that’s right, I forgot. Your heart of ice makes you immune to the elements.”

Spitfire grinned back. “You’re darn right, it does. Remember that next time you try to skimp out on your assigned practice regimen.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come over and snuggle, Spitfire?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a teasing wave and exhaling. It caused a cloud of steam to form even inside the building, away from the moaning gale.

“I think I will pass on that. In fact, I know I will pass on that,” she self-corrected. “If you’re so desperate to take a nap with a mare, I think Fleetfoot is playing ping-pong in the rec room. She’d be up for it. Word of warning, though, you’ll wake up with one kidney.”

“Ah, see, I knew you cared for me,” Soarin’ intimated. “Always looking out to make sure I have all my organs.”

“Again, I really don’t, I just don’t think your performance would be top-tier with one kidney.”

“Come on, you really want to blow me off and head back to the others?” he asked her, raising a knowing eyebrow. “Watch more action movies sitting on the cold floor, because High Winds is splayed out across the whole couch?”

Spitfire’s muzzle scrunched up. Soarin’ had correctly guessed the situation on the other side of the compound. “I’m not thrilled about it, but compared to being anywhere near you, it’s the obvious choice.”

“I didn’t hear ‘yes’,” Soarin’ teased, opening a corner of the comforter. A small puff of steam spilled out, hinting at the warmth contained within.

Spitfire rolled her eyes and took a step forward. “My hooves could use a break...They’re not cold, mind you, just a little chilly.”

“‘Break’ is my middle name,” Soarin’ mocked, kissing the air. “Come on over, sweet mare, let Soarin’ show you a good time.”

“You are disgusting,” Spitfire told him directly as she approached and hopped onto the bed. “We’re only doing this for a minute, and don’t want anypony stumbling on us like this.”

Soarin’ snickered as Spitfire sat down on her haunches with her back to him. He wrapped his hooves around her midsection. “Yeah, if they saw that, they’d mock you for, oh, I don’t know how long...hours!”

Spitfire stared daggers at the far wall and scowled. “Featherbrain.”

“Soarin’ and Spitfire, nesting in a tree!” he continued to tease. “K-I-S-S-OW!”

Spitfire allowed a confident smile to spread across her face at the feel of her foreleg slamming back into Soarin’s side. “Ah...That annoying noise finally stopped.” Leaning back into the warm barrel of her old friend, she turned her head to the side and relaxed against him.

Humming gently, Soarin’ lowered his muzzle and pressed it into the open side of Spitfire’s neck, rubbing it coarsely up and down her neck. He squeezed her body tightly against his barrel, and then pressed his muzzle into her mane and inhaled deeply.

Spitfire scrunched up her muzzle. “Gee, Soarin’, a little touchy, huh?”

He snickered and removed his muzzle. “Sorry, Captain. I just missed you is all. We haven’t had any private time together to cuddle since Hearth’s Warming. Where, as I recall, you kissed me.”

“You mean, ‘we kissed’.”

“Details,” Soarin’ dismissed, waving a hoof in front of her face. “Anyway, I didn’t hear you say that you didn’t like hanging out with touchy Soarin’.”

Spitfire craned her neck backward, pressing her mane into Soarin’s shoulder. “You’re right, I didn’t,” she agreed, a dusty blush appearing on her cheeks. “You gonna rub my wings, hotshot? Or just keep running your mouth?”

Soarin’s hooves glided down his friends back to her wings, and gently teased them out. He drew them up and down the primary feathers, fluffing them up before pressing them down again. “That enough pressure?” he asked.

Spitfire hummed in thought for a moment. “A little harder,” she finally concluded, pulling the comforter up as high as she could over her and Soarin’. She wrapped her forelegs around Soarin’s hind legs positioned on each side of her and pulled them tightly against her sides as his hooves pushed slightly harder into her wings.

“What conditioner do you use?” he asked. “I wish my feathers were this fluffy.”

Spitfire snorted. “I don’t. Too much drag. I’m jealous of your silky-smooth surfaces.”

“Heh heh,” he chuckled from behind her. Slowly, he worked his hooves lower and lower on her wings, until they finally fell under her wings during the next pass and wrapped snugly around her tummy. He rolled his torso, applying a gentle pressure until Spitfire collapsed onto her side with him.

She grunted gently, wiggling her hips into his as she got situated. “You are to tell nopony that I let you hold me like this, capiche?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbled as he dragged the comforter higher over them with his teeth. He shifted into a whisper, “I’ll keep our bonding time quiet.” He leaned over and nibbled her ear briefly.

Grunting in annoyance, Spitfire nonetheless placed her hooves over his, rubbing his fetlocks. “So this is our first annual ‘bonding time’, huh?”

“More like first weekly,” he teased, nuzzling at her neck again. “I have a buddy at the weather factory, I can pull a few strings and get some more snowstorms on the docket.”

Spitfire flicked her tail teasingly over his back legs. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she admitted. “But it would mean I’d be doubling our exercise trials Mondays.”

“Noooo,” Soarin’ whined. “Cap’, come on! Don’t do that to us!”

Rolling her eyes, Spitfire pried herself out of Soarin’s grip. “Come on, you little filly, quit complaining and flip over.” Prying Soarin’ over with her forehooves, she flipped him onto his opposite side and pressed her barrel and hips into his back.

“Very aggressive, Captain,” he teased. “Am I being punished?”

“Quit being such a wimp,” she growled, placing a hoof on his flank as she continued to situate herself. “I’m just trying to warm up my front.”

Soarin’ wiggled his hips. “Captain, you’re creating a hostile work environment,” he told his superior. “Who do I report this to?”

“Me,” she told him, wiggling a hind leg in between his.

“Captain, I’d like to report that I’m being sexually harassed by a teammate.”

“Is that so?” she snickered quietly, rubbing the hoof on his flank in gentle circles. “Hmmm, this is serious. How attractive is this teammate?”

“So attractive,” he told her. “But also very intimidating.”

“Sounds like she’s not a mare you want to mess with,” she whispered into the back of his neck, nuzzling his maneline. “In fact, I suggest-”

The sound of a door slamming interrupted Spitfire. Immediately, she launched out from under the comforter, away from Soarin’ and into the freezing air. She hovered there ominously, casting her eyes at the still-closed door as the sounds of her teammates voices, evidently after having left a different nearby room, faded away.

“Wow, you must be really embarrassed to be seen with me,” Soarin’ commented from down below. “Do I cramp your style that bad, Captain? I can buy sunglasses like yours, if it’ll help.”

Spitfire snarled, but a tiny pang of guilt tugged at her heart regardless. She slowed the flapping of her wings and descended gradually back to the bed. Carefully, she sat down on Soarin’s lap, facing him, and wrapped her hooves around his neck.

“Listen, Soarin’,” she told him, looking into his eyes. “This does not mean that anything has changed, but I think we both deserve a weekend where we aren’t cold and lonely. If you want to continue our cuddling...er, ‘bonding’, and promise not to take it seriously, I have a pullout couch and a television in my office, which I can lock. I might have a bottle of liquor somewhere in my desk, too.” She cocked an eyebrow and waited for her friend’s response.

Soarin’ blinked a few times before his muzzle melted into a smile. He leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers and staring with faux-adoration into her eyes. “Oh, Captain...Have I ever told you how much I love that you’re always prepared for natural disasters?”

Author's Notes:

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