unfinished story: My phone's broken


                                            >You rub your green face and turn the door's handle. Today was a rough day...

                                            >Sighing, you open the door. Your pegasus, Candid Ice, Candice for short, is flying down the stairs to greet you. However, your empty gaze and your gloomy question mark slow her enthusiasm to a halt.

                                            >"Anon, is something wrong...?"

                                            > Knowing you are making her worry over nothing, you put a smile on your face, and hope it doesn't look too fake. You also close the door and hang your coat.

                                            >She flies up to you and crosses her forelegs, determined to spill the beans out of you. You smile, knowing full well she is able to nag you about for months, if, she decides to.

                                            >"Now that's a real smile..." Her stern looks shifts into a compassionated one. "You know you can tell me anything... It's not like I know someone else that with whom I could talk about it anyway," she says, smirking, lifting her chin to show you her collar.

                                            > Agreeing with a nod, you slowly slide your arms under her, embracing her in a warm cradle. You head toward the couch; always surprised at how light pegasus are. She snuggles in your arms and rests her head against your collarbone.

                                            >"Did you... lost your job again?"

                                            "Naaaan, not this time... I might be a simple IT guy of Mapple inside a Dollarmart now, selling some phones and  contracts, but it's not like it's going to be easy to lose that job..."

                                            >"You always say that..." titters Candice.

                                            "Shut." You say as you sit on the old brown leather couch.

                                            >"So... what is it?"

                                            >Even recalling it is painful... You sniffle and harrumph.

                                            "There... there was this old man in a grey suit holding a suitcase, the stereotypical office employee from back in the days. He came up to me with his Eyephone and asked me why it was not working. So I took it, expecting some hardware malfunction or something, but just to be sure that it wasn't just another elderly using it wrong, I tried turning it on. And it did. So I asked him what seemed to be the issue, and he told me that he didn't know and that it was my job to figure it out. I patiently told him that his Eyephone seemed fine..."

                                            >You stop to wipe your tears and pat her mane in silence for a while. When you have mustered enough courage, you continue.

                                            "He told me, 'The phone is obviously broken, why else would my son stop calling me?'"

                                            After a few seconds, Candice whispers, "...Poor guy."

                                            "Mhm..."

                                            >You both stay on the couch, in silence, glad to be with each other's.

                                            ******************************************************************************************************************

                                            >Slowly, cozily, Candice moves her head… and frowns as she explores the hard surface her head is resting on, with her cheek.

                                            >A few second passes, in which her eyes remain closed, as groggy gears rotate in her mind.

                                            >Thereafter, her frown transforms into two hairy arcs.

                                            “Ugh, please don’t tell me we fell asleep on the couch again.”

                                            >“We have not fallen asleep on the couch. I did; you slept on me.”

                                            >She blows air out of her nostril and rolls on her other side.“Cheeky brat.”

                                            >Chuckling, he scratches behind her ears. “I am cheeky now?”

                                            >With a flick of her ear, his finger stops moving.

                                            “Hush, you’re not even comfy.”

                                            >“Hmph! Not comfy.” says the man, before resuming his scratching.

                                            “Stop touching me.”

                                            >“Why?”

                                            “’Cause you’re not comfy.”

                                            >“I can’t touch you, because I’m not comfy?”

                                            “Mhm.”

                                            >“Tsk, you are unbelievable. Even though I woke up before you and decided, like a gentleman, to let you snooze on me.”

                                            “Yeah, gentleman, not gentlecolt. Your problem.”

                                            >Sighing, he tenderly pats her head.

                                            >And this time, she remains still.

                                            >

                                            >“Candice?”

                                            “Hmm?”

                                            >“I can’t feel my toes.”

                                            “…”

                                            >“I’m also hungry.”

                                            “…”

                                            >“Candice?”

                                            “Whaaaaaat?”

                                            >“It’s 7:00 am.”

                                            “And?”

                                            >

                                            >Realization dawns on her.

                                            >She groans and repositions herself as to be sitting between his legs.

                                            “Awwww. Do you really have to go work?”

                                            >“Well, yeah; you do gobble up most of my pay after all.”

                                            “Hey!” utter the Pegasus, as she flaps her left wing in his face, “I don’t eat that much.”

                                            >“Gah! Candice used wing. But it’s not very effective.”

                                            >With a smile, she hops off and flies toward the kitchen, opening her eyes just enough to avoid ramming into walls.

                                            “Your fault.”

                                            >“Hey, how comes it’s always my fault?”

                                            >She grabs one of the cabinet’s handle down with her mouth, flies backward, cups a cup in the middle of her hoof, open up the tap and fills it.

                                            “Do I really have to explain it to you?”

                                            >“Well, duh! That’s why I asked.”

                                            >Grinning, she opens her mouth and let the tepid water wet her dry tongue and throat.

                                            “Ah… You’re not comfy.”

                                            >A hand snatches the cup away and another draws her closer to him, who had sneaked up on her from behind.

                                            >Surprised, she opens her eyes wide, turns her head around, and gazes upon her…

                                            >Stallion.

                                            >With a small toss, the cup slides on the counter.

                                            >And he embraces her tighter.

                                            >“Well, how about we switch?”

                                            “Switch?” Asks the mare, rubbing the weariness of her eyes away.

                                            >Gently, he leads her to the long and rectangular island kitchen counter, and bends over, sandwiching her between the hardwood, and his soft chest.

                                            >“How about I lay on top of you, for a change?”

                                            >Her expression softens, and shifts into a coy lower lip bite.

                                            >She spreads her legs apart, and let his jeans, and the bump, rest against her folds.

                                            “Hmhmhm, naughty boy; that’s what you were thinking about while I was asleep, isn’t it?”

                                            >Smiling back, he leans forward, and moves his mouth to her right ear, before landing a gentle peck on her cheek.

                                            >With a soft voice, he whispers, “Now that I’m on top of you…”

                                            >As he slowly increases his weight on her barrel, she smiles and lowers her right hoof down his backside.

                                            >“I can sleep, right?”

                                            “Wait, what?”

                                            *snores*

                                            >

                                            With a chuckle, the mare utters, “You… Tease! Get off of me, NOW!” and tries, in vain, to push him off.

                                            >“Hush, you’re not even comfy.”

                                            “Oh no, you do not just... Anon!”

                                            >“Whaaaat?”

                                            “Don’t make me mad.”

                                            >“Your problem.”

                                            “Oh, you little-”

                                            >Suddenly, he jabs his chin in her neck and begins shaking it.

                                            >Reflexively, she tries to lift her shoulder and protect herself.

                                            >However, his weight makes the attempt futile.

                                            “S-st-t-t-op it, hahaha!”

                                            >“No, your fault.”

                                            >Another fit of chin rubbing makes her shriek, laugh and beg him to stop.

                                            >Of course, he remained deaf to her pleas.

                                            >

                                            >Eventually, he ceased his assault and let her take a breather.

                                            “You are… so going to… get it later.”

                                            >“Hmm, what?”

                                            >A sideways chin motion makes her jerk once more.

                                            “I swear to Celestia if you-”

                                            >“If I what?” Says the man, slowly rubbing his chin once more.

                                            “I’m warning you, don’t you dare-”

                                            >Unbeknownst to her, he was slowly approaching his left fingers toward her exposed right side, since her foreleg was above his shoulder.

                                            >However, when he poked her, she realized what situation she was in.

                                            “Anonymoooous.”

                                            >A slow tension builds up.

                                            >He rotates his head upward while maintaining his chin pressed against her fur.

                                            >She slowly stares at him, with half a smile, and wide open eyes.

                                            >She protractedly shakes her head and articulates a silent “No.”

                                            >“Your problem.”

                                            “AN-”

                                            >Alas, helpless as she is, there was little she could do in her position, except wriggling, guffawing, and sometimes, shrieking; merciless as he is, tickling her on two fronts.

                                            >A long and terrible 30 seconds pass by.

                                            >

                                            >“So,” Asks Anon, as he pulls his chest back, allowing her to cower her head between her shoulders and to protect each side of her barrel, “Am I still going to get it later, or…”

                                            “Go away.”

                                            >“I’m not going anywhere, Candy.”

                                            Faking offense, she playfully pokes his chest with her right hoof. “Oh, no, you don’t Candy me, not after what you’ve done!”

                                            >“What, you want revenge?” he slowly puts his hands on her flank, “then why not make it the best out of three, in bed?”

                                            Smiling, she looks away and gives him a sidelong gaze. “I don’t know… Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

                                            >“Do you want me to go to work?”

                                            >She… remains silent, and looks down.

                                            >Silence spreads to the whole house and cozily settles in.

                                            >

                                            Eventually, she answers. “No, but…”

                                            >“Yeah, I know.”

                                            “N-no, wait, it’s, I’m sorry, okay I didn’t-”

                                            >With a chuckle, he leans on the counter and lands a kiss between her eyes.

                                            >“Look at you, all flustered and worried about me.”

                                            “Well, it’s not like I have much choice.”

                                            >A flash passes in her eyes, and her pupils contract, “I-I mean, you’re my Master, and, if you can’t take care of me, I’ll, I’ll…”

                                            >With a sigh and droop of his head, Anon remains silent.

                                            “Anon.”

                                            >No reaction.

                                            >She swats his inner thighs with her tail, “Anon!”

                                            >“It’s okay, I understand.”

                                            “No you don’-”

                                            >With a snort and a frown, she closes her eyes and stiffens her forelegs for a brief moment.

                                            “Anon, what exactly do you understand?”

                                            >Without answering, he gets off her and heads toward the bathroom, before closing the door louder than necessary, but not nearly strong enough for it to be considered slamming.

                                            >For her part, she rams her hooves on her forehead and groans in frustration.

                                            >Yet, despite her tears and her snifflings, she gets up, flies toward the sink, washes her hooves, puts a frying pan on the stove, turns it on and begins to prepare breakfast.