Fluffy was a complicated subject for Footstool. Every subject was a complicated one in some way to a fluffy, but the stallion known as Fluffy presented some complex issues that Footstool was one mentally capable of tackling.
Fluffy liked to run and play. He kept his promise made on the first night in the house, and did his best to play with Footstool the next morning after they woke up. However, Footstool was not nearly as enthused as he was, and somberly observed the ungainly dashes the other fluffy ran back and forth across the living room. Fluffy might as well have been an Olympic sprinter in Footstool’s eyes. He was so jealous! Fluffy was not enjoying the exchange much, either. Playing ‘run’ was not as fun when he was the only one running, and the only one giggling and cheering.
Playing games quickly fell out of favor between them from there, though by tangent, it helped that the girl eventually bathed Fluffy despite his objections. With the other fluffy smelling a lot better, Footstool was able to appreciate his proximity a little better. Yet again, he was jealous of Fluffy, who endured his first bath with only some fear and some hurt feelings. Footstool was glad his owner was no longer a monster, sure, but he still had to live with those memories, while this complete stranger was just given an easier life? No fair!
One day, Footstool attempted to communicate his misgivings to the caretaker while Fluffy was too busy watching television with a, “Footstoow am gud fwuffy too, mummah!” The girl raised a questioning eyebrow at the fluffy when she heard this, unprompted.
“I know you’re a good fluffy, Footstool. This is why you get treats!” The girl was sitting cross-legged beside the pillow’s cushion. As she spoke, she undid the lid of a small carton of ice cream and prepped a spoonful to feed him.
“Footstoow wub tweaties, buh wai mummah nicew to Fwuffy dan Footstoow?” the legless stallion asked with sadness tinging his tone.
The girl pretended to be shocked. “Oh, Footstool! Is that what you think? Fluffy just hasn’t been a bad fluffy like you used to be, is all. How long has this been bothering you?”
The pillow-fluff lowered his gaze and sobbed a few quiet, involuntary huuu huuus. “Some fowebas!” was his uninformative answer. “Fwuffy gib heawt huwties when Fwuffy do wunnies and huggies wiff mummah! Footstoow wan’! Footstoow wan’! Footstoo–”
The girl cut off his despondent rant with strategic use of her spoon. The cold sweetness was a blunt comfort for the legless fluffy, but it did not take away his anguish. Tears started to collect in the corners of his eyes.
Calmly, the girl began her lecture. “Footstool, only bad fluffies say they ‘want’ things like that. Now, I know you’re not a bad fluffy, so I won’t punish you.”
Footstool let out a few more muffled huuu huuus around the spoon, before the girl removed it from his mouth to scoop up another serving of ice cream. “Footstoow sowwy, mummah. Footstoow am jus’ feew baddies, buh Footstoow undastan dat Fwuffy am gud fwuffy…”
“Fluffy loves you, Footstool. You should stop feeling so bad, and just go with it! You don’t need legs to be happy; remember, pillow-fluffs are happy fluffs!” The girl emphasized this by giving the stallion a one armed hug before shoving some more of the ice cream in his gullet.
The hug made his spirits soar, but the ice cream gave him the meanest headache ever! The girl held onto Footstool tightly while he screamed from the pain and emotional whiplash. Hearing this, Fluffy darted into the room at his best speed, which was a wholly unimpressive blend between a lazy gallop and waddle, and eventually closed the distance to the pillow-fluff and the caregiver.
“Wah happen to Footstoow!?”
“Footstool is full of cold-hurties, Fluffy! He needs your love to feel better!”
The girl put down the ice cream and spoon and handed Footstool to Fluffy. The second stallion held out his forelegs in anticipation of giving the pillow-fluff a hug, and he snuggled with his pained house companion. “Fwuffy wub Footstoow! Wub-wub nu weggy fwend! Ma’e feew beddah!”
Footstool grunted and squirmed. “S-s-stahp sayin’ Footstoow nu-weggy! Gibs heawt huwties!” he groaned.
“Sowwy, Footstoow! Fwuffy sowwy! Onwy wan’ gib wub! Wub!”
The girl held back a snicker. She really lucked out in finding a fluffy so genuine, yet simultaneously plain and simple. Like Lenny, from Of Mice and Men. Except the George in this story couldn’t put the dumb lug out of his misery, even if he wanted to!
“I’ll go ahead and let you guys play nice. Make Footstool feel better, Len-- er, Fluffy.”
The caregiver gathered up the ice cream along with the spoon and then she strode out of the room, leaving Fluffy to dote on Footstool’s emotional needs like the good friend she had come to expect the stallion to be. She had no doubt in her mind about what would become of their relationship. Only time dictated when it would happen.
To facilitate things, the young girl made it a point to leave the two of them alone with each other whenever she could within reason. Ever since Footstool revealed his issue with being defined by his disability, these sessions had become a highlight of the day for him. Fluffy would go around the house and bring things to Footstool so that they could play with them-- anything that rolled, or had pictures to look at, were free game.
The girl had left a specially selected slipper outside of her bedroom door for the stallion to find once. It was an unruly, pink thing. He took it to Footstool and they played some whimsically nonsense game with the fuzzy footwear. In typical fashion, the slipper became a third, although inanimate, fluffy-friend for the two to enjoy.
The color and texture of the slipper, and perhaps even the female connotation from being worn by the caregiver, awakened something in Fluffy after.
“Mummah, can Fwuffy… meh-beh… if 'ou nu mindsies… um…” Fluffy broached nervously one day while the girl was watching something on the television.
“Out with it, dude. I mean, I can always pause this stream to talk to you, but I won’t.”
“Mummah says weiwd fings! Otay… F-F-Fwuffy am hab huwties in 'peshaw wumps. C-can Fwuf-f-fy hab ‘peshaw fwend fo’ 'peshaw huggies?”
The girl chortled with a novel kind of giddiness, vindicated in her faith and eager to see how this would play out. “But, Fluffy, you have a special friend already!”
“Fwuffy do?”
“Footstool would be so hurt if he found out that you don’t love him the same way that he loves you!”
“Buh Footstoow nu am mawe…” Fluffy lamented.
He got a light backhand to the cheek for his ignorance. The caretaker waited for him to recover from the stun of being struck so that she could explain,
“If Footstool makes your balls ache and your dick hard, it shouldn’t matter what he is. Or what you are. I think I’m losing the plot here; point is, you love him and you want to fuck his ass!”
Fluffy started to cry. “Fwuffy con-foozed!” he sobbed. “Nu mawe!?”
The girl blinked a couple of times to process where the conversation was going. After a beat, she said with deliberate slowness, “No, you won’t get a mare to fuck. You want to fuck Footstool, though. And you’re more than welcome to do so-- so long as you ask. Even I recognize how integral consent is in these kinds of things.”
Fluffy’s attention started to wane once the topic got more complicated than him having relations with Footstool. “Otay mummah, wiww gib twy wiff Footstoow, huuu,” he decided. Then he made a one-track path to Footstool’s cushion. The caregiver waited a moment before she hastily paused her show and scrambled to observe from a discreet distance.
“Footstoow! Footstoow!” Fluffy called out to the pillow-fluff, with some floor left to amble oafishly over before reaching him proper.
“Hewwo, fwend!” Footstool called back.
“Can Fwuffy hab… hab… h-hab… 'peshaw h-h-huggies wiff Footstoow?” the stallion fumbled in his forwardness.
“Huh!? Footstoow nu am mawe!” Footstoow replied incredulously.
“Huuu huuu, mummah say dat nu maddah! Fwuffy nee’ 'peshaw huggies weally badsies!” Fluffy let himself fall onto his haunches and started to suck a hoof in his pouting.
“Mummah say it… otay? Huuu, dat am weiwd!” Footstool stated, causing Fluffy to sniffle and shudder from crushing disappointment and rejection. Seeing his friend like this made Footstool feel just as badly! “Huuu huuu, am sowwy, Fwuffy! Pweasies, nu saddies!”
But Fluffy squinted his eyes to fight back the tears, which flowed unabated down his cheeks. “Huu huu huu… 'peshaw wumps huwt baddies! Heawt huwties too!”
The selfless pillow-fluff hung his head. “O-otay Fwuffy. If mummah say it o-o-ot-t-t-tay…”
Fluffy gasped joyfully and sprung to his hooves. He said nothing more and trotted around Footstool giddily. Footstool warily turned his head from side to side, trying to keep the other stallion in his line of sight. “F-Fwuffy, cawm downsies! F-Footstoow nu hab ‘peshaw huggies befo’!”
“Wub Footstoow! Gib bestest gud feews to Footstoow!” Fluffy promised his housemate right before he mounted the legless stallion. Footstool bared his teeth, under more tension than a suspension bridge’s cabling. Fluffy threw his forelegs around him in a loving hug, and he started to lick Footstool’s neck.
The pillowed stallion started to quiver. This felt so wrong! Yet Fluffy embraced it, driven by lustful instinct. “Wub Footstoow,” he started to whisper into his partner’s ear. Then he thrusted his hips.
“SCREEEEEEE!” Footstool screamed. Reflexively, he started to undulate his body in a bucking motion, rendered moot by Fluffy’s weight and the lack of limbs. “POOPIE PWACE AM NU FO’ 'PESHAW HUGGIES! NU AM MAWE!”
Fluffy hugged him tighter and continued, spurred on by pure sensation. “Wub Footstoow! Wub! Wub! Enf! Enf! Enf!”
Footstool’s tears poured down his face and over Fluffy’s hooves. He groaned and grunted in rhythm with the other stallion’s enfs. The degrading experience seemed to drag on forever despite it barely lasting a minute before Fluffy emptied himself into Footstool. “G-GUD FEEEWS!” Fluffy squealed. Footstool made a mess of his cushion and belly fluff with a wordless cry of pain, confusion and pleasure.
The pillow-fluff trembled violently now. The feeling of Fluffy removing himself from his rear end turned his stomach, and a sudden rush of nausea sent Footstool’s vision spinning. “Huu huuu HUUU HUUUU, Footstoow gon’ be sickies!”
“It am otay, 'peshaw fwend! Fwuffy am hewe!” Fluffy threw his forelegs around the legless stallion, hugging, nuzzling and licking him through the identity-shattering episode.
“N-n-n-…” Footstool could not even find the strength in himself to deny his place as Fluffy’s chosen mate. He didn’t want to be, but he had just experienced how powerless he truly was. And he knew that Fluffy was his friend, and he meant well.
Footstool sobbed bitterly. Fluffy remained faithfully at his side. The caretaker made herself known some time later, holding a bowl of cereal. “Who wants some of this marshmallow shit!?”
As traumatic as the experience was for Footstool, in time, he came to embrace his status as Fluffy’s partner, and he, himself, claimed the other stallion as his own. That came as a surprise to the caretaker to be sure, but she too found it a welcome one in her bizarre schemes. In a way, having those two strange fluffies tempered her unique interest as well.
Footstool and Fluffy were endearing to her. It took a lot of personality for a fluffy to achieve such a feat, and these two fluffies had personality in spades! Truthfully, it was their authenticity that proved to be their saving grace. Footstool was selfless to a fault, and Fluffy was so dim-witted that having an ulterior motive for anything would have surely tired him out for having to spend that much thinking power.
So for the rest of their natural lives, they lived with an unusual sense of happiness, and they lived within an unusual system of discipline and morality. Most importantly, they had each other. As fluffies bonded in such a way tended to do, they reached the dusk of their lifespans together as well, and their caretaker made special care to place them close to each other in her fluffy graveyard, marked with their own distinct rocks.
Now she wasn’t a young girl anymore, but a young woman, and there was no telling what her outlook on these peculiar genetic oddities were after the escapades of her youth. What was certain for her was the strange love she had for the fluffies named Footstool and Fluffy; her two lovely gay boys.
Bedfellows - Sequel to Aggressive Neutralbox
-Author’s Note-
@Virgil this is one of the most vile, yet wholesome things I’ve ever written.
That is all.
Oh wait no it isn’t dur hur wuz nyutralbox hurr
The Aggressive Neutralbox/Bedfellows combination breaks 12k words, putting this on par with The Long Haul Is Too Long. I did not think that would ever happen again as long as I was involved with fluffies. How about that.
