> Tired and Hard and Buried in Marshmallows
>  by B_25
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Hard Day Between Long Legs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Tired and Hard and Buried in Marshmallows
Giant B_25


Spike cracked his neck and then did so again in the other direction, a prayer that the next crack would be a snap—and that he would be dead. That wasn't the case, and the brisk air was cool in filtering through his heated lungs.

That would be his consolation for the night. Enough to get him across the barely lit street as moonlight was the only light. His shambles took him before the boutique. Trudging and knocking his shoulder into the door. Claw searching for the handle, clicking in and falling through, the door opening, he crashed onto the darkened floor.

Passing out here wouldn't be so bad. Rarity wouldn't mind. She could play it off as an exotic carpet. One still alive too. That must earn sophisticated points or something.

No sense in following that possibility. Instead the dragon rolled onto his front and pushed his claws into the ground. He rose with a groan. Feeling everything inside ache. With a gasp and a crash onto his shoulder, he remained there, closing his eyes and contemplating sleep.

 It's no use. I'm already wasted at this point. Work on the farm isn't even close to done. Twilight's paperwork rises ever higher and higher. Wasn't there a ball Rarity wanted to go to? Oh, Celestia. I'm in the doghouse.

"Spike? What was that sound? Spike? Is that... are you..."

He was faintly aware of the warmth that floated around him to the shaking of her head. It didn't produce sound but added something to the air. He could always feel it. Groan and brace for verbal impact.

"Oh, darling. You've spent yourself again. Haven't you?"

Spike slid his face into the coolness of the floor. Didn't matter if it was dirty. Rarity never let filth develop in the shop. Still. It wouldn't matter if some had. "I must not be worth much. I'm dead on arrival."

Hoofsteps in the dark resounded next to him. Seconds revealed the smoothness of a muzzle sliding underneath his arm. It hoisted him up to a groan from them both. Shaking his head and wrapping an arm over the mare, he pulled her close, out of need and want and all of the above.

"Don't you worry... for such a nice dragon like yourself... I can loan a little part of myself."





It wasn't known if he fell or was thrown onto the bed, in treading the waters between consciousness in sleep, one sought to drown if it meant they could sleep. He was like a clock lying across the middle of the mattress. Rarity's hoofsteps clicked back on the ground.

"Celestia Spike." She huffed in catching her breath. Not used to this kind of exertion. At least that makes two of us. "Are you seriously going to make me do all the work? You're not even underneath the covers."

"C-Covers... are optional at this point."

"And what of myself? Did you forget of the one that sleeps next to you?" Hoofsteps circled the bed, freezing at an angle, each one provoking a sigh: every time. Year's time ago and causing the mare frustration would have been a mortal sin to him. But now... "Honestly, Spike. I cannot even wiggle beneath the blanket like this! It's only a little movement."

The dragon tried. He really did. Groaning and rolling and rocking in place. Needing to move in his cocoon of lethargy. It didn't work. Most extraordinary half-baked effort ending with him still on his back. Pained noises escaped him.

"Truly a dragon instead of a prince, aren't you?"

His face winced. "I-I'm sorry."

Little laughter. "Don't be. I only tease. Let me help you."

There was that muzzle again but, this time, on his legs, pushing on them like on a hand on a clock. His body slid the same as he was powerless to do anything. Too damn tired and drained to will himself into doing as he should.

"There you go." Rarity fell back to a clattering of hooves. "Going to raise your head now. Don't give me that look now." Soft hooves wrapped to the sides of his head and pushed on its back to lift it. "There's a piiilooooow in it for you. Ah-haaa! Marvellous darling. You are now ready for sleep."

How could he have been given a mare so perfect?

Spike exhaled in the submersion of softness and comfort, warmed recently, with the fragrance of a perfume. Wiggling in place to find that right spot as no doubt the mare watched from the side. Soon he found peace.

"Darling? Are you still with the world of the living?"

He weakly shook his head. "No. This is officially a séance. I am but a ghost that is fading. OOOOO-hhhhh."

"I'm afraid you'll have to come back to life."

"But why?"  He rolled to fend off the enclosures of unconsciousness. "I'm so comfy. Whatever it is... tomorrow..."

"What I need, is needed, todaaaay.”

His eyes clenched tighter as though that would suck him deeper into the darkness. "And what the heck is todaaaay?"

“Tuesday.”

Seconds of silence.

"Fuck."

"Exactly!"

"Exactly—no!" Spike winced in feeling the mare pounce onto the bed, it dipping with a squeak of springs, the series of hooves moving across it. Soon softness draped over his leg, consuming it, as the mare travelled up him. "Please. I can't..."

"Oooh? But whatever happened to the boy with alll the dirty fantasies  about me?" Her lips kissed above his thigh, inch after inch upward, startling a tired rising from inside his crotch. "The times the idea of me sent you to the bathroom late at night?"

"I promise to have those fantasies in my dreams!" There was no hope in this. Not when Rarity was in a mood. He'd submit. Always did. The only thing now was setting the terms for a more comfortable defeat. "I'll even make a deal with Princess Luna and everything!"

"How about making a deal with me instead?"

Spike sighed and opened his eyes. Impossible weight surrounded his lids to close them. He shuffled back onto the pillow, leaning onto it and the frame, looking across his body. There was the thick mare. Collapsed over his leg, her muzzle resting on his crotch, bright eyes, blue shines in the darkness, looking at him.

"What do you want?"

"What do you think I want?"

"To cuddle with your back in my chest?"

"More like to have that which is a D inside me that starts with a C." Her eyes narrowed and halved their glow. "And no wisecracks about that!"

Spike rolled his head like a dragon seconds from death. In pain and misery from everything he could ever want. Years ago. Such a situation would have been paradise. "I  can't. I'm dead. You're talking to a corpse right now."

His right eye clenched. There'd been a rubbing over his crotch. A delicate hoof drawing over his crotch, feeling occasional vibration from inside, knowing, within seconds, there'd be another guest in the room.

"Seems like sooomething is still alive about you."

“Course he's never tired! I-I mean that my dick is never tired! That..." He growled as the back of his head crashed into the pillow. "You snaked me with that one."

"Far bigger than a snake, dear."

"I am not referring to my cock as a snake."

"I certainly wouldn't mind being wrapped by it."

"What the hell does that even mean!?"

"I can suck instead if it helps."

"Dear Celestia! You were weirder than me all along!"

"Hey!"

Spike laid back in silence and hoped that, somehow, he'd pass out and this would all be a dream. What happened instead was his cock, the betraying bastard that it was, bounced out into freedom. Throbbing and tickling the weakest senses of his barely-alive mind.

And then his back lurched at the hooves set on it. Warm. Furs brushing across the shaft. Little tickles backed by pressure leading into pleasure. His head rolled as his eyes closed. He could never sleep through a blowjob. Much less a mare wanting to work on him throughout the night.

"Please... no suck..."

"Pffft!"

"Dah! Y-You know—"

"What you mean? But of course!"

The mare left his leg—and his dick—alone for a moment. The dragon breathed in relief at being free. His dick was still erect in the night. Hot pink, with a gleam of pre, that throbbed in place. Soon its twitches would give out. And he would find some rest.

That was until he felt himself being climbed on.

"Rarity? What are you doing?"

"Why! Nothing at all." Her forehooves rested on his abs as her back legs gave out. "Just taking a seat on my most favourite of dragons!"

Spike gasped. “You wouldn't.”

The feeling of being squeezed was his answer. His dick slipping into the preheated divot of marshmallow delight. The warmth from those fuzzy walls, layered in dense squish, the globes of taut muscles beneath, revealed, as the broad flanks clenched on his cock. 

"Oh! Indeed I would." 

Spike turned his head and shouted into the pillow. "Fuck!"

"Whatever is the reason for such language!?" Rarity giggled as she sat firmly on his groin, feeling the heated rod slide into her backside, sinking, ever deeper, into the divide between her tush. "You're a tired boy. Such a long day at the castle and even more in helping out on the farm. I've followed through on your request—" she rose with the heft of her rump, raising the cock inside, before crashing down on it, again, with the might of her derriere "—have I not?"

"You're evil!"

Rarity couldn't care less for morals as she started rocking herself in place. Pleasured by the burning sensation buried between her cheeks—how it scorched at her shifting walls. They were fuzzy and warm and packed with an abundance of squish. Each squeeze, sucking Spike deeply, riding back and forth, in a grip over his length.

She relaxed her ass to allow his dick freedom back there. Feeling it flick from wall to wall, the hips below—grinding on their own. Pushing apart the heavy weight of her flanks, the globes of white that they were, heaving them a little, their size, compressing on lifting so slightly.

His dick poked out the slit and over the dock of her tail, moving up and down, thrusting, with the periodic squeeze of the rump that tried to lock him in place. Spike was groaning now. Eyes closed and sweat developing on his cheek—exaggerated breath blowing from his lips.

"Do you like that, dear? To know the depth in which you are buried in your lover's backside? I'm just a big marshmallow there, aren't I?" Rarity continued to laugh as she could feel the lubrication below: the little wetness dousing over her folds. "I never understood why you boys always have such a fascination with back there."

She leaned more onto her forehooves, which, in equal guilt, slid around the little isles of his abs. Feeling the pleasant bulge of muscles to the sweetness of the trench separating them. The heaviness of her ass pushed out more leisurely in the air, raising and dropping, milking the dick, nestled inside, unable to escape the vastness of her plushness.

Soon enough, the tired claws raised and slapped onto her flanks. Ripples billowed across them as palms conformed across the thickest portion of their underside. Lifting to see how the squish meshed together—before letting the ass drop to its tantalizing bounces.

Each smacking into the other, the impact bouncing them away, each coming to jostle themselves out. His digits slapped back on and squeezed. Feeling how deep the tush went as the essence of softness filled out between his digits.

There, of course, were the moans from her. Little squeaks coming from a girl at having her ass grabbed like that. Their shock, decreasing, and the pitch of their pleasure, increasing. Pulling the globes apart to allow his dick to slide easier in the crevice: pushing them together, tightly, to sandwich his dick in all that was mountains of gooey marshmallow.

"Nnnnghhh..." Then his claws dropped back onto the bed. "I-I'm sorry Rarity. I can't. I really want to. Everything throbbing I really want this."

Rarity leaned forward as much as she could, unable to reach his distant head but, at the very least, kissing his chest. Enough to let him know it was alright. That he was okay. And that she would take care of everything.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, dear."

Spike could feel his dick pry free from the depth of the rump, although it shifted over him, a baking warmth flooding out. It didn't take long for his dick to feel around the swollen sex of his mare—wetness soaking the area with the promise to take him in.

"T-This isn't... fair to you."

"I'm the one that wants this." Rarity laughed in pushing her forehooves on his chest, with thighs barely at his hips, needing to position herself over his joy. Its tip sunk into her folds, waiting at her entrance. "Next time you really want this badly—you can eat me into submission with that tongue of yours."

There was nothing left to do but enjoy the ride. Spike cracked his eyes open to see the dimness of the bedroom. To the mare far on his crotch, towering for the first time in a while, wanting nothing more than him.

Her mouth was opened, steam escaping it, little clouds from her panting. Her eyes squeezed in bliss as he lowered onto him—finding that fullness that was craved. Heaving harder and harder the lower she went. Then she stopped. Shivers wiggling into her back. The writhing that was needed in the night.

Spike was much the same in fully being able to rest back. To blow out that cloud of steam that was held in for too long. To feel, all around him, the warm, massaging, and wet interior of her tight little cunt. Walls undulating around him, working at him, working to bring out the essence within.

And then the tightness of that pussy lifted, and his length slipped out, the air suddenly cold, his pink flesh, craving, the sauna inside. Rarity dropped on him again, hard, her flanks crashing and flattening around his crotch.

The squeaking of the springs started to find a rhythm to the bouncing mare. Raising high and dropping low, sometimes leaving only his tip in for seconds at a time—to burying him inside with an extra tight squeeze on touchdown. It was unnatural.

Yet tonight was the time for a different cadence.

The warm swirling started inside of him—threatening burns of goo that swirled in the base of his dick. Rarity could feel it too in how she rocked back and forth, rotating her hips, feeling him rub around her wells.

Until the frenzy came.

Spike was still too weak to do anything as his girl took care of it all. Only pushing aside his head and grabbing the sheets of the bed with his claws. Rarity rose and dropped, as quickly as she could, the bounce of her ass, globes of softness knocking into each other, producing a soft clap with the other cacophony of sounds.

And then she dropped full onto him. Eyes shut and mouth the same in leaning onto her forelegs. She rocked her hips back and forth, riding the dragon all around inside, beating into every sensitive place. Thrusting and humping, the bottoms of her rump, grinding on his scales—to the explosions of them both.

There were no screams or cries of each other's names. No magic of a moment or more profound meaning to gleam. Rather it was hitched squeaks from the two as everything seized up in them both. Walls contracting into a clench to prevent the throbbing of a bucking dick.

The latter sprayed rope after rope of milk, dousing the sensitive walls and soaking deeper into the girl—into the cold place, now with his seed, warmed like hot chocolate in the stomach. She squeezed her thighs, unleashing her delight, thin torrents of white coursing through her tunnel.

The production stained her outer lips and soaked the dragon's crotch as a little stream raced down his crotch. Rarity's muzzle was pointed to the sky, in the highs of being alive, before, of course—falling forward.

It was the most unladylike fashion to collapse, although, at this point, such things mattered a little less. Rarity splayed over the dragon's front. He groaned from the weight, fighting the additional pressure to breathe.

"R-Rarity... y-you're on me..."

"Mmhmm." She tried to move only to be too lethargic to do so. "Appears so."

"Can you roll off?"

"I... nnhmm... really cannot."

"Too tired?"

"Funnily enough—yes."

The mare slept on her front and the dragon on his back, the former on the latter, much like a cat, with their eyes closed, bodies asleep—but minds and mouths not quite there. Rarity shivered and rocked a little.

"Spike?"

"Yes?"

“I'm cooold.”

"Have you tried the blanket?"

“I'm tireeed.”

"Telling me I'm not warm?"

“Telling you to be warmer.”

Spike huffed but couldn't decline. Huffing a breath, which was already hard enough, to brewing a fire in his chest. Soon the flush of heat travellers across his body. Scales straight from the dryer with their warmth. Rarity snuggled into him with a moan of prolonged delight.

"Perfect!"

"Great."

"One thing missing."

"C'mon!"

"I'm still missing my blanket."

The dragon sighed, but all the same, crossed his arms over his chest—wrapping over the mare and hugging her to him. She was soft. Fluffy. A living thing of purrs. It allowed his shoulders to relax in holding her closer to him.

"Better?"

"More than any blanket."

And in the seconds before sleep claimed them.

"Spike?"

"Princess?"

"Today's not actually Tuesday."

Spike smirked. "I know."