He was sitting up on his haunches, naked, his coat discarded, and pumping away at the engorged ash-black shaft between his splayed thighs. His hips rolled in a steady undulating motion, and his tail sat curled in a tight spiral at his side. His body was in good shape for a stallion his age, but Rarity only wanted his azure eyes—the eyes that stared at her, and desired her, and claimed her as their own. She despised Fancy Pants, but she loved those covetous eyes.