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Late summer was, in one word, horrific. Not just horror itself, but everything stemming from it. At least, that was how it felt for Air Groove.
Every umamusume had to deal with roughly the same experience during mating season (dear god, why was it still called that in this modern age…). A small difference in base instinct makes no difference when everybody is sweaty, unfocused (to put it lightly), and incapable of running. When everybody is suffering, minute differences in physiology don’t really put anyone off, unless it’s deeply ingrained in their brain that something is ‘wrong’. Mares and stallions, in the earlier days of Tracen, would copulate like rabbits regardless of sex, making it a much worse situation than most human schools. So, while summer camp was still in the stages preceding a “full swing”, the student council and dorm leaders took preventative measures. Thanks to the bottomless pockets of the Director, a small hotel was bought-out and sound insulation was put in. Contraceptives were set to be passed out during the speech and put inside each room, and a preemptive speech was organized to remind students that “adding to or subtracting from the population” during one’s time at Tracen was strictly prohibited, and would result in expulsion immediately.
From the perspective of a member of the student council, it was like a dream. Dorm leaders assisted in marking used and unused rooms, and before she knew it, nearly everybody was in a room. Though, it was interesting to see who paired up with who. Air Groove didn’t really consider herself a people-watcher, but some of these relationships were really mind-boggling to her. Nobody batted an eye at Rice and Bourbon. Watching BNW walk into a room together was one thing– the only person who didn’t expect that was literally on the student council, and had to be persuaded (read: restrained) from actually punching a hole in the nearest wall. A certain pink umamusume fist pumped and then passed out at the sight of Vodka and Daiwa Scarlet putting aside their differences and walking into a room. Three juniors waited around the corner, vibrating incessantly like a bunch of old phones, when Agnes Tachyon and Jungle Pocket walked into a room together. One of them wailed in despair, the other one sighed, and the third giggled as she made a “give em here” motion with her hand. The subsequent exchanging of yen was interrupted by Dantsu Flame walking into that same room, to which each junior retracted her own hand and looked at each other in extreme confusion. When Manhattan Cafe entered that exact same room, the juniors looked fit to explode from the kinetic energy of their brains bouncing around in their skulls. At the other side of the hall, Sirius Symboli and Symboli Rudolf walked into a room together, and Air Groove felt genuine fear for the first time in a long time at the quantity of tissues that would have to be purchased for the president’s office. When Teio and McQueen walked into a room, the trio of juniors became active again, finally with a concrete end to their betting, only to collectively lose their minds as Nice Nature walked into the room with them.
It was only after Air Groove escorted three juniors to a room of their own (if only to calm the fuck down) that she realized that she had no plans for this. Or, rather, that her incomplete plans did not self-complete and… that she was alone. A spare glance across the hallway told her she wasn’t the only one. Fuji Kiseki was using her usual smooth-talking to comfort people, sure, but she certainly didn’t look to be using it for her own benefit. There was an ever-present loneliness in those sparkling blue eyes, like a ship alone at sea, a captain without his men sailing through storms of each and every volume. Agnes Digital was vibrating alone in the corner, refusing to go into a room with literally anybody. Ayabe kept looking behind her, even though Top Road was straight in front of her, scared of either the absence or presence of something. Bakushin was reading a goddamn manual, squinting all the way through it. Scattered around her were people with either cold feet or nobody to lean on, and while her empress heart clenched at the sight, her logical head remembered that she was one of them. Then she turned around in that hallway, ready to sigh and give up, only to be greeted by ginger hair and kind, downcast, green eyes. She stuttered in her path. She waited. She observed.
From the perspective of a girl who had seen Special Week and Silence Suzuka look at each other, this made no goddamn sense. “Suzuka,” she began, making sure to keep a gentle and even tone so as not to alarm the girl in front of her, “you seem hesitant, much more than usual. What’s wrong?”
Suzuka’s hands were wrapped around herself in self-soothing, and her feet shuffled, itching to either spin or to run. “I… Spe is in the infirmary,” she murmured, though this next part was even quieter– “I took off my top, and she… fainted. The nurse said she’s just now having her first cycle, so she really wasn’t able to keep calm– it was too much for her,” a beat, filled with uncomfortable silence. The situation’s inherent humor faded as Air Groove looked down at her and saw how worried she was. Not just a furrowed brow, but pinned ears, and the first droplets of a cold sweat.
“Suzuka,” she called out, firmer but not colder, nothing close to mean. “I promise you, this is no fault of yours. Special Week is… energetic, sure, but she shows great affection towards you. No matter how slow you two would’ve gone, her panic was and is all but guaranteed,” she consoled, a (hopefully) comforting gesture alongside her hand drifting to Suzuka’s shoulder. The girl beneath her palm squirmed, so she let go slowly, as not to make her own reactions obvious to her. “Rest assured, you have been good to her. But–” Suzuka stared up at her as soon as the contradictory part started, paying rapt attention even in times like these, and Air Groove was so thoroughly endeared that she forgot to breathe. She cleared her throat. “-- Regardless of her condition, you are also in a state that requires careful help and much soothing. As an athlete, and as Silence Suzuka, I would surely hope that your care for your body would come before worrying about a loved one who is already in good hands,” she spoke, not as much of a hope as a command. ‘Get in a room, even if there’s nobody else, and take care of yourself, Suzuka. Right now.’
Suzuka uttered something only under her breath, suddenly so focused on Air Groove’s shoes, and something in Air Groove’s chest caught between cuteness aggression and deep, deep worry. This was unnatural. Suzuka was quiet, yes, but she was not meek– she was not scared. The only time she got this confused, this behind herself, was when she was nearly gravely injured.
“Suzuka”, another command rang out, this time leaving no room for guessing what it was. “I’m taking you to a room, and you’re going to tell me what to get you. I am not taking no for an answer,” a pause to recollect her thoughts, nothing more, not to look at her, no, no, no, no– “no matter how much I respect you and your autonomy. You are in a state that requires care, and you will be cared for,” she finished, praying Suzuka understood what she meant. From her reddening cheeks and twitchy ears, there was likely a misinterpretation, but Air Groove really could not bring herself to care right now. She stabilized Suzuka’s waist with her hand, and lead her into the nearest room, just in time to accidentally see Sakura Bakushin O lifting her shirt all the way up in front of North Flight, (red-faced, unconvincingly) explaining how it was imperative to their shared experience within the room that she impressed the other girl with her form, before absolutely crumbling and asking if her body was to Flight’s liking. The other responded by practically throwing her into the room and slamming the door shut. To each their own, she supposed. That was the last thought she allowed herself to muse on idly before she helped Suzuka to the bed, and then shut the door.
And then shut the door.
It came on suddenly, all too apparent and real and obvious as her face flushed and her tail bristled. The sight of Suzuka’s slight breasts under her summer uniform, her slim legs and fluttering tail, her woozy expression and trusting gaze. Air Groove mentally slapped herself for letting this get to her, but didn’t spend any more time than necessary beating herself up. She unzipped Suzuka’s tracksuit without any prelude, and folded it on the bedside table. She looked at the girl laid beneath her, still moderately stable, and smiled at her determination. “Do you want me to remove your shirt?” she asked, her voice seeming so small to herself, and felt a rush of something tentative yet white-hot as Suzuka nodded ‘yes’. She thought of unfinished homework and organizing papers as she lifted Suzuka’s shirt off. She thought of scrubbing sinks clean as Suzuka’s bra came into view. She thought of wiping her own thoughts clean, clean clean clean as those tiny mounds entered her peripheral and refused to leave. Suzuka laid an unsteady hand between the cups of her own bra, something shy but beautiful. Air Groove whispered out an apology, making sure that Suzuka knew she wasn’t alone in the humiliation that this moment came with– that she was breathing too, no matter how stern she looked, and that she was embarrassed. That she was too hot and unready and losing her mind, just like the girl below her. “Do you want me to remove your pants?”, she asked, so scared of how the question was barely more than a formality at this point, and her remaining sanity shattered like a dropped vase when met with another nod. She mentally prepared a broom and dustpan. “Suzuka, I need a verbal answer here,” came those stressed and serious syllables, only to be met with the tiniest but surest of “Of course”s that ever were. The broom snapped in her grip and the dustpan disintegrated. She swore she felt her hands getting cut on the glass as she pulled those red pants down, reminding herself to be calm and sane even as she struggled against the remnants of her own self-restraint, and saw Suzuka’s tight, wet undergarments.
She knew what Suzuka was. Of course, who she was came first, always. Even and especially here. She was wonderful, and fast, and breathed in the air around her like every breath was a special gift just for her. She had made herself into the fastest around to appreciate those sights. She was Silence Suzuka. What she was came next. A Stallion. An umamusume with the reproductive system of a human man, breasts and voice development notwithstanding. A penis, testicles, and a prostate. Suzuka was healthy there, was her first observation, and her last as she tore her eyes away. It was the only one she needed, and what a relief it was. That Suzuka was going to be tossing and turning, sure, but she would not be in pain or insatiable need. That whoever cared for her could do so with base knowledge of the average penis. She was not especially big or small, from what Air Groove could tell. Nothing stuck out about… that, to her, but as long as it served its bodily function, as long as it served Suzuka, it made her happy to know of it.
“Suzuka,” came unstressed, gentle syllables, likening her name to a lullaby. “I’m going to go confer with the nearest nurse, and I’ll bring her here. She’ll know what to do–” she meant to elaborate more, but the tensing of Suzuka’s calves and the covering of her chest interrupted her. “--” came nothing, because Air Groove hadn’t the slightest clue of what to say. “Suzuka,” she near whispered, akin to not a prayer but a plea, a call, an allusion, “what do you need that I can get you?”
Suzuka almost whimpered, but gathered her strength, and used it. “If… if it would not displease you, I would like you to have me as your partner,” she choked out whatever gasp or moan came up in her throat, and continued, “I… already asked Spe. She said she… didn’t care, as long as I was okay, and happy… and that she got to kiss me plenty first before you two–” a strain cut her off, a flush erupting on her cheeks, thighs drawing up. Taken by impulse for the first time in her life, Air Groove practically slammed her hand down on Suzuka’s thigh, guiding it down to the bed, parting it from the other– making plenty of room for her bulge and tail. Demanding relaxation and comfort for Suzuka. The slight grope of her hold made Suzuka’s blood sizzle, a little pre beading at her tip, her thigh muscle twitching as it was stimulated.
“You will be fine,” Air Groove told Suzuka as she lied to herself. She slid her shoes off, and attempted to put some eloquence into the motion of scrambling onto the bed. Not knowing where the instinct came from but indulging it all the same, she sat the shorter girl on her lap. Her thighs near ballooned under the pressure of Suzuka’s, but she was distracted by Suzuka squirming, almost grinding on her lap. She ignored the impulse to grind up. To thrust into her. She didn’t have time to question it, she just had to beat it down, focusing on Suzuka. But Suzuka refused to make that easy for her, turning around, spreading her legs around Air Groove’s waist (Goddesses, whatever that was doing to her, it was bad) and pressing herself to Air Groove’s stomach. She let out a tiny noise at this, looking startled by her own reactions, reddening and hardening and so, so sweet. She scooched back, and Air Groove, at this point too hungry to ignore it, pressed her palm right above Suzuka’s tail and pulled her back.
She soothed her by way of rubbing her back, just an inch or two below her shoulder blades, as Suzuka began to writhe and whine and press herself further against her. She was burning up, and she was doing it so nicely. Falling apart right on Air Groove’s lap, so perfect and polite and ready for her.
…Ready for her what? She ignored it. Ignored it by way of pinching the base of Suzuka’s tail, who responded not by jumping or yelling but by letting out a drawn out, low whine, one that got quieter as she realized it was coming out. She soothed her, not yet aware of how her hips were already rolling up into Suzuka’s rear end, trying to slot her loins between those small, squishy cheeks. For more than just a minute, she wondered why Suzuka’s cheeks were burning up, why her eyes were darting around and she was beginning to gasp her name. When she realized, she sputtered, and flushed herself, stilling her rolling. She started apologizing, started trying to formulate any sort of response, when Suzuka unclipped her bra. All thoughts immediately went on strike and immigrated elsewhere for work. And she realized all at once, she was hungry. She wanted to suck on her. She wanted to suckle her breasts. As if that thought wasn’t humiliating enough, the image of Suzuka round with her child showed in her mind, breasts still so tiny but puffed up and leaky and– god, something was wrong with her. She pressed a hand to Suzuka’s abdomen, knowing there was no womb underneath her hand or anywhere else on her person, and kissed down to her nipple. It was small, fitting in with the rest of her breast, and already perked up, already flushed and ready. She took it between her lips then, and couldn’t bring her hips to stop this time when they thrusted up against Suzuka.
And Suzuka had the usual reaction of girls who were being thrust up into and suckled on, where she whined and moaned and asked for more and took it all so, so well. She was still close to silence, still quiet and small in her presence, but it was loud enough for Air Groove. It was more than enough for Air Groove. Her own breasts were so squished it began to hurt, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care about results. The aftermath didn’t bother her. All she wanted to do was get close enough to Suzuka to suck on her, to be with her, to– to be inside her?
Something was wrong, she realized with a start, as Suzuka’s need wept against her uniform and she desperately ground down against Air Groove’s mound. It repeated like a mantra, even as she took that pulsing thing in her hands, still so soft despite being engorged with blood, still as cute as the rest of this beautiful girl, and pet her until she unwound completely, on the edge of something that’d calm her heat for the coming week. ‘This isn’t working’, whispered her brain, as she whispered something to Suzuka about how wet Suzuka was getting, about how it was okay, about how she could drip all over her uniform. She was a master of deep cleaning. ‘You’re doing this wrong’, screamed her knowledge of this subject, her rationale, as Suzuka whimpered out something about bearing her child, about being filled, about needing ‘it’ so, so, so bad.
‘This is supposed to be the other way’, she realized, as she pushed Suzuka onto the bed and thrust her tiny, useless mound against the other girl’s butt. She knew it was pointless. That she could thrust for hours and still not come. That she could try and penetrate herself, sure, but the end result of that was a permanent cringe for the next hour and a half – oh, and no climax on that one, either. And it hurt, to see Suzuka go from needy to shameless to helpless, as she spread her legs further, only for no intrusion to come. Air Groove’s hand was so shaky that she couldn’t possibly finger her.
And the rest of the night was a shameful blur, something awful, something difficult and wrong, something impulse and body fought over. When everybody is suffering, minute differences in physiology don’t really put anyone off, unless their brain and body decide that now is a perfect time to not cooperate. It was 11 PM when Air Groove found a dildo, and Suzuka finally got a sizable orgasm, finally got to come. It was 2 AM when Suzuka finally gave up on trying to get Air Groove to finish. It was 4 AM when Air Groove let herself cry, as quietly as she could, and 4:23 AM when she finally got to sleep. It was 5 AM when Silence Suzuka kissed her on the cheek and said she loved her.
It was 6 AM when Special Week found them in that room, cold and unwell and unsatisfied, and got on top of both of them, a warm blanket, and all of them found a moment of peace.