You can feel the sun-rays through the curtains.

The way the beams bounce through the pristine pink fabric brings a smile to your face despite any inclinations in the back of your mind insisting otherwise. It's as though the entirety of the world outside has collected itself in the essence of that sunlight, and gathered up every inch of spring flowers and wispy, cool breezes, swaying tree-branches with fresh new leaves and frolicking children on their way back to school, and condensed it all into the warmth you can feel on your face in the glow that turns an idyllic, tinted light-red as it reaches inside the room.

You hum to yourself as you tidy things. There's not too much to put away – the odd stack of magazines, or a book of poetry missing from its place on the shelf. You spend a moment or two longer than necessary straightening the flowers in their vase on the main table. They bob at you from their holder, swishing back and forth in the collection of water holding them aloft, and also keeping them alive and well to brighten your day when the sun isn't around.

The sunlight makes the motes of dust in the air easy to see. They spring up when you try to wipe them away, making you consider the futility of dusting anything when the majority of your targets will simply rise and scatter in the air like tiny particles in search of a less worrisome home. You suppose that no matter where it settles, out of sight is out of mind. For now, the sun, as nice as it is, has done a very good job of pointing out the spots desperately in need of a wiping down. Your rag collects a fair smattering of discoloration in no time, but you keep on until you can see your reflection in the shimmering wooden frame of the couch, and likewise on any other pieces of furniture you manage to catch in the sights of your dust-removal mission.

There are a few odds and ends to tie up after the obvious stuff has been taken care of. A picture to be straightened, off by maybe just half an inch in either direction. Once again, you spend more time than is probably necessary making sure everything is just perfect. You don't want to have to worry about a thing when she gets home.

The living room is almost the last part of the day. It's only mid-afternoon still, which means by your best counting you've got a few hours still before she gets home – but you want to take your time, making sure there's not a single detail astray. That means you left the the most attention demanding bit of detail in the house until last.

The bedroom is upstairs and down the hall, past lacquered wooden walls that shimmer as the sun cascades over them through the windows. There are no blinds up here, and you can get a full eyeful of the giant beaming orb of orange light overhead as you walk by. It's too bright to look at directly, so you shield your eyes with one hand and look out over the scenery it's illuminating. The picture in front of you looks like a painting brought to life; a meadow sways in the breeze, the head of every tiny flower waving lazily at you as if to say 'hello!' in a chipper tone. Past the grass nearby, you can see the forest trees doing the same, mimicking the same soft sway, the velocity of their dance tempered by the weight of their bodies. And over the trees, you can make out the mountains in the distance, the occasional cliff or two still marred with the left-overs of a winter snow too high up to thaw, but others blooming with bright green valleys where only depressing rocks had shown months before.

The weather in Equestria is kind of... magical that way.

Though you tried to promise to yourself that you wouldn't spend too much money on making things look their best, you had to splurge a little bit. The bedroom sheets and blankets you hung out to dry didn't look like they'd be ready for hours, even in the positively radiant sunlight beaming down from overhead. So, you went a bit overboard on your trip to town, and picked up a whole new bed-set. You weren't sure what the fabric was made out of, but a single touch had assured you it was the right choice. It felt softer than the lightest down on a baby bunny's tummy.

As you lay out the last layer of bedding on your immaculately made bed, you take on corner of the blanket still in your hand and hold it to your nose. The finely woven material tickles your nose, but you don't sneeze or giggle. You breathe in, taking in the scent of the ever-present spring air mixed with the exhausted, pure satisfaction of a clean house.

But there's not much time to congratulate yourself. As quiet as she is when she does anything, you can hear the door shut from upstairs as she arrives home. You can also hear the gasp that follows shortly after, a hushed sort of squeak followed by what you're sure is a rapid fluttering of wings and pacing of hooves.

You can picture her looking from corner to corner. You hope she notices the new additions to the flower vase, which made your trip back home from the market take just a little longer.

You hear her hooves this time, but much faster than you're used to. Even in a state of panic, she always seems so careful and timid; restrained, even in the most pressing of circumstance.

Right now, she sounds like a four-legged freight-train barreling down on your location.

You barely have time to turned around before she bursts through the doorway.

No pause. Not even a 'hello' before she tackles you.

Without a second's warning, your immaculately tapered bedspread is askew. You feel a surprising amount of weight hit you in the chest as she thumps into you, forcing you down onto the silk-soft collection of blankets and pillows and the mattress underneath. Your lungs quiver and let out an involuntary 'oof' as her whole weight lands on top of you, pushed forward by an extra hard fluttering from her wings, which you hear buzzing behind her back like a pair of excited hummingbirds.

You land on your back with her poised above you, standing on all fours and staring you right in the eyes. Her pupils are  an iridescent aqua-green, like pools of sea-water, brimming with life and shimmering so bright you might blind yourself before you fall into them.

"Happy to see me?" you say with a grin.

She laughs. The noise sprinkles across the room like a garnish of bells, and it gets a laugh from you in answer.

Her legs are around you suddenly, and you're spinning, turning about in circles as she laughs with you. You can feel her nose pressed against yours, and the softness of her fur against your bare arms as she tangles herself in the bedsheets more with every second of her tossing around. You lose yourself in her laughter, and in your own, the two sounds blurring together like a chorus of frantic songbirds announcing their courtship to the world. In a way, you two are doing the same thing – but it's an announcement or song meant only for each other, which makes it that much sweeter.

Eventually, the tumble stops, and you're somehow on your stomach, with her laying on top of you. Despite the whole of her body pressed against your back, you don't have a problem managing to move; she's barely half your size, though you try not to remind her of it. She giggles a little more as you readjust yourself, and lets herself fall back to the bed as you turn over onto your side, facing towards her with the two of you nestled into the center of the mattress.

"I'll take that as a yes," you say, and she giggles again, batting at your nose with her hoof.

Fluttershy. If angels were yellow sweethearts with bubblegum hair, Fluttershy would be their typification. Only seeing her for inches, you can feel your heart swell at her presence. The way her smile is so wide, so bright, makes you want to smile back and never stop. The way her slender, heavenly body manages to stretch out to almost as long as yours when she extends her legs in either direction makes you feel like you're next a statuesque carving of equine femininity. The way her hair hangs over one side of her face when she lies like that, covering one of her eyes and forcing her to blow strands of the bright-pink tousle of mane out of her mouth every other minute.

You can't help it. You raise your hand and run it along the side of her face. She coos at your touch, and closes her eyes as you run your fingers through her mane, lifting away the strands obscuring her vision.

You want to see both her eyes when she opens them.

As you tuck the length of hair behind her ear – her delicate, soft ear – you move your face forward and give her a peck on the nose. She giggles as the sensation tickles her sensitive snout, but opens her eyes just the way you'd hoped.

"You're wonderful," she says simply, and kisses you back, right on the nose.

You don't blush, but you do feel a tingle of untraceable electricity run through your body, like a saccharine jolt of sudden intoxication from such a simple gesture of affection.

It's from her though. So of course, there's no accounting for your response.

You wrap your arms around her through the tangle of bedsheets. As you pull her towards you, Fluttershy sighs and closes her eyes again, and meets your embrace with her own legs, locking them around your back like she's binding herself to you, tying herself to your body to keep herself aloft, to never let go.

You feel an extra touch alongside her hooves. You can feel her wings against your back too, moving softly up and down and tracing the tips of her feathers along your exposed skin. A day cleaning in the springtime sun made pants seem the only necessary clothing for the sake of decency, but now you're regretting the choice if only for how ticklish your back apparently is.

You can't help but let out a tiny noise in response to the disarming tingle running along your skin. Fluttershy notices it and pulls her head away slightly, opening her eyes half-way as though she doesn't want to be pulled from the day-dream of her full-body hug with you.

She recognizes the look on your face and grins like a little devil when she sees it.

"I'm sorry," she says with a touch of playful sarcasm, "did that tickle?"

You don't want to give her the answer she's looking for, if only because you're too proud to admit how ticklish you apparently are.

You shake your head.

"It didn't? Well, I guess you won't mind if I do this then."

Your entire back twitches as Fluttershy runs the edge of her wing along your spine, tracing it in feather-light circles over the small of your back and up to the base of your neck. You try to cringe away in as subtle a manner as possible, but there's nothing subtle about the way you have to arch your whole body towards Fluttershy's. She can feel the difference in your position, your stomach pressed against hers as you struggle to avoid the ticklish dusting of her feathers.

Fluttershy giggles and presses her face into your shoulder. That's apparently enough for her to get her momentary thrill, as she cuts you a break by shifting the movement of her wing. Instead of the perilously delicate tips of her feathers, now you can feel the whole flat of the appendage pressed into your back. It feels like a warm, silken glove massaging your tired muscles, and you sigh in spite of yourself, meeting Fluttershy's lean forward with a nuzzle of your face into the side of her neck.

"Mmm-hmm." Fluttershy murmurs her assent as you press your face forward, and massages her wing along your back a little more firmly. It's amazing how strong her wings are for something that servers a secondary function to her other limbs. It almost feels like a full-blown massage; enough to make you want to lie down with a towel around your waist and let your beloved ease out all the kinks and strains left in your body from a days work of lifting, moving, mopping, rearranging, and awkward dusting.

You sigh again, letting out a long breath of air into Fluttershy's neck right underneath her ear.  You can feel her shiver in response to the sensation as her body twitches against yours. You could content yourself with sighing into her skin for hours as she massages you, but there's something you'd much rather do.

With an impish smirk you're glad Fluttershy can't see, you raise the angle of your face just a bit, poising your mouth perfectly level with her delicate little ear. As she presses her wing into your back again, you let out another sigh, but this time one very consciously pointed at the tip of her ear.

"Oooh...."

She shivers even harder this time, and lets out a low cooing sound, a soft moan that's muffled by the skin of your shoulder as she buries her face, not wanting to be heard.

So, of course, you can't help yourself. You let out another soft, cool breath without waiting for another wing-touch. You purse your lips as you blow, delivering a steady stream of your breath against Fluttershy's skin, and you hold back a grin as you feel her quivering against you the whole time, making a soft 'mmmm' sound hidden in her own clenched mouth and your reassuring shoulder.

As she manages the next press of her wing, you go even further. You lean your head forward until her ear is right there, against your lips. You let them rest there for a moment before you part your mouth and take just the edge of the delicate, furry protrusion in between your lips.

"Ah!"

Immediately, Fluttershy shouts and twitches so hard you can hear the bed-frame creak. She arches her body against you as you continue to move your lips along the outside of her ear, nibbling ever-so-softly with the tips of your teeth. You circle over the whole of her ear and then come back the same way, leaving just the tiniest trace of saliva and little love nibbles along as you go.

Fluttershy feels like a melted mess against your chest. She's shaking against you, and her wing's attention has stopped completely, instead settling to hold itself clenched against your back. It almost feels like she's trying to pull you even closer still, begging for more of whatever wonderful thing you're doing that's making Fluttershy's haunches ache with anticipation of your next touch, whatever you might do next.

What you do next is to extend your tongue and trace it along the inside edge of Fluttershy's ear, and then along the outside, lingering over the base, and then trailing over the soft fur of her neck all the way down to her shoulder.

Fluttershy let's out a surprised gasp when she first feels your tongue, and then settles for an anxious sounding whimper as she mentally follows your attentions downward. You take your time with every inch, delighting in the tiny shivers that meet your touch, and the accompanying delicate squeaks that follow them, managing to eke their way out of Fluttershy's locked-shut mouth. You can tell she's embarrassed by how much she's enjoying herself, but that only makes everything so much more delightful.

You trace your way back up Fluttershy's neck with your tongue again, leaving a damp trail over her skin until you reach her ear, at which point you pull away, and then lean close until just the edges of your lips are touching Fluttershy's overly-sensitive appendage.

"Does that feel good?" you whisper into her ear.

Fluttershy answers you with a gasp and a clenching up of her entire body before she can manage to contemplate a worded response. You don't need one; you can feel her body answering for you, swiveling her hips back-and-forth, arching her back towards you and pressing the softness of her chest and stomach against your bare skin. You can feel her hind legs tangle around yours and the heat of her flank against the one piece of clothing you're still wearing, grinding and squirming at you insistently.

"Y-yes," she finally manages to murmur, scrunching her eyes shut tight as soon as she answers. You treat yourself to a look over her angelic face, and are delighted when you notice the thrush of red creeping over her cheeks.

"Does it make you feel a little... excited?" You keep your tone low and sultry, barely more than a breathy whisper as you nuzzle your mouth against her ear. Tired of playing fair, you move your left arm as you speak, and run it along her side, nudging up against the base of her wings and massaging your fingers into her skin as you rub up and down.

"Yes!" she squeaks, True to her word, Fluttershy punctuates her 'yes' with a particularly emphatic grinding forward of her hips. You can feel how hot she is through your jeans, the warmth emanating from between her legs hotter than any sun you remember beating down on you the whole day prior.

You don't let up the motions of your hand, but you do concentrate them a little. As you reach the base of Fluttershy's wing again, you circle your fingers around the delicate limb, massaging the feathers and wing-muscles between your fingers. You allow yourself a sigh as the silken-soft texture of Fluttershy's well-kept wings trickles through your fingers as smooth as water.

If her ear was a reaction, Fluttershy's wing is an overreaction, but you're not going to complain.

Her whole body shakes as you knead the base of her wing. You can hear the bed-springs quivering at the sudden velocity of body-movement above them, and Fluttershy turns her light cooing into a full-blown moan, letting her lips part and bathing the inside of the room with her insistent sounding excitement. You feel your own excitement answer her underneath your jeans, but now isn't the time for that.

"Does that feel good too?" you ask, raising your voice slightly so Fluttershy can hear you over her own moaning. She takes a moment to gather herself as your fingers keep working their magic, rubbing and pressing into her wing.

"Yesss..." she says through a long breath between noises. Her eyes are shut tight, and she's rocking herself back and forth on your hips, locking both of her hind legs around you like a she needs to keep you there. You can't imagine moving away, so you try as best you can to meet the motion of her hips with yours – not 'thrusting' into her, but rocking back, meeting her desperate shaking with a reassuring firmness.

Fluttershy leans forward and buries her face in your shoulder again, this time clenching her teeth around the first exposed bit of skin she can find and biting down hard. You take that as an incentive to increase your attention to her wing, so you do exactly as directed, running your hand along the whole of her limbered, astoundingly lengthy limb. The way her wing stretches out over the whole of her back, so wide you feel like she could wrap you in both of them if she wanted to – it's amazing.

You can't content yourself with just touching her. You need to kiss her.

Here. On her neck.

Kiss.

"Oooh..." Fluttershy moans louder into your neck, thrashing against your waist and stiffening her wing as your fingers run along the sets of soft, overlapping feathers waiting to be caressed.

Or here. On her shoulder.

Kiss.

"Mmm!" Fluttershy buries her second short moan into your skin, biting down hard on the toned flesh between her teeth; not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that you're sure you'll see a mark there by the time the sun crests in the morning.

Here, at the base of her ear.

Kiss.

Fluttershy makes no noise you can make out, the whole thing muffled by her tongue tangling over itself, her hind legs locking even tighter around yours and pulling you closer so hard you're worried she'll cramp up. But she shows no sign of stopping, and there's no part of you that wants to hold back your attention for even a minute.

There's somewhere else you want to kiss.

You nuzzle the side of her face with your cheek, insistent enough to open her eyes just part way and to have her pull her mouth away from your shoulder. Where her teeth leave your skin, you can already make out the bite-marks that will be there come morning.

She eyes you, panting and blushing redder than a cherry tomato.

All of a sudden, you feel embarrassed yourself.

She's been holding back for a while now.

You didn't mean to be selfish. She must have been able to tell how much you were enjoying yourself. Even though no part of you gave in to the nagging impulses in your head to grab her roughly, or rub yourself against her, it was silly to think that Fluttershy, your perfect Fluttershy, wouldn't recognize the pleasure you were drinking in every second of having her writhe under your attention.

And she waited, on your behalf.

That is something in dire need of correction.

You still your fingers on her wing for a moment as you stare into her eyes.

She straightens her pupils through the distracted haziness of her gaze and stares back at you, her mouth parting slightly as she lets you drink in the austere beauty of her aquamarine irises. She remembers the words you've used before; like ocean-waves and sparkles of starlight woven together.

"You can go ahead, if you're close," you say.

She blushes even harder, but doesn't look away.

Her mouth opens wider, and you hear the start of a sentence on her tongue.

You don't give her a chance to protest. You lean forward and align your mouth perfectly with hers. Her lips are already parted, and yours meet them perfectly.

Her eyes go wide in shock for an instant before the swell of euphoria consumes her. You press down with your fingers into her wing at the same time, and gently shove yourself forward into her body, giving her legs the perfect place to rest around yours.

You feel her melt into you. It takes a second of tenseness, a moment of pause as you lock your mouth around hers before she lets go. You feel her wing flutter and stiffen, her legs twitch and then lock solidly around your thighs, and her mouth tremble before her tongue slides over yours.

"Mmmmmmmmmmnh...."

She lets out a long, otherwordly sounding moan into your mouth. All the while her wings flutter on her back, against your hand, thrashing and swishing back-and-forth in her excitement, so hard she might take off if she weren't wrapped around you like a tightly wound blanket.

You let her buck against you to her heart's content. You don't push your hips forward, nor do you spare even a moment of consideration for the feeling brewing between your own legs as Fluttershy grinds herself against them; once, twice, five times, seven; enough for you to lose count. Each time you feel the heat between her legs against your jeans you feel the hum of her moan intensify in your mouth, and you allow yourself the one pleasure of swirling your tongue around hers as she coos in response to your touch. You drink in the taste of her lips and mouth like a glass of spring dew, and sniff deeply as the last patter of her moans fades away. The cascade of pink bangs hanging over her face and in front of your nose smells like grass and bubblegum, a mixture of warmth and sweetness  and the soft silkiness that exudes from every inch of her body.

Fluttershy pulls herself away from the kiss, and the rest of her body away from the last throes of its excitement. You feel a distinct dampness all over your skin; from the sweat of your concentration, from the remnants of saliva between the embrace between your lips and Fluttershy's love bites, and from the faint touch of moisture left on your jeans as Fluttershy stops the grinding of her hips in your direction.

Fluttershy doesn't look at you. She locks her eyes downwards, panting, as she tries to recover her breath. Though you bring your hand away from her back, her wing remains almost completely upright on her back, standing so stiff you can't see how it isn't painful.

"Good?" you ask, sounding a little out of breath yourself.

Fluttershy can't bring herself to give a proper answer. She looks up at you for a second through half-open eyelids and then lowers her eyes immediately. She bobs her head up and down, and gives her verbal assent by way of an adorable sounding squeak that you suppose must translate to 'yes'.

"I'm glad." You wrap your arm around her and pull her closer, holding her tight against your chest in the biggest hug you can manage.

Fluttershy squeaks at that too and returns the gesture, pressing her free foreleg into the small of your back and pulling you close.

You share the hug for a minute before you trace your hand languidly over Fluttershy's back and let your palm rest on her shoulder. She doesn't say a word as you turn her over, flipping her to her side, and then to face the opposite direction, staring across the room into a full view of the pastoral spring-scene outside the window.

You let your arm take its place around her waist again. This time, as you nuzzle yourself forward, you're greeted by the partially folded up delicate beauty of yellow feathers, tickling against your chest and rubbing under your chin as you plant a kiss squarely on the back of Fluttershy's head.

She murmurs and presses herself back into you, letting the warmth of your two bodies wind together, and wrapping you in the softness of her feathers as much as she can manage.

The first real day of spring has come today.

You can't wait to see what the rest of the season will hold.