'Twas a dark and dreary night. The rain came tumbling down in sheets to thick you could almost stand up in it. It was detective weather: No-pony about but one, lone stallion in a dyed-black fedora, a drenched pin-striped suit, and a trenchcoat, collar so high he could barely see where he was going. After running into and apologising to a telegraph pole, he leant against a streetlamp, trying to act super-casual but standing out like the world's sorest thumb.
Aye - 'twas detective weather indeed. But across the street from our would-be protector of the law, in a shady corner where sunlight scarce dared to tread, lay the ramshackle, ancient building known to all and sundry simply as the Ducking Pond. This relic of a by-gone era, this leastmost bastion of public houses everywhere, was still, surprisingly, open. Or rather, there were still, audibly, ponies inside; the sign on the door itself was firm in its statement: CLOSED.
Its last call for orders should have been almost an hour ago and, as the clock of Canterlot Cathedral struck midnight and the bells chimed out the start of the new day, one could be forgiven for assuming the pub's proprietor was guilty of that most heinous of acts - staying open too late. Though we cannot, sadly, be certain, it seems likely that this is what the 'detective' opposite was thinking.
Fortunately for the publican's reputation, this was not the case. Though officially closed, he had, in fact, two customers remaining, for whom he had acquiesced to keep the pub open for as long as they desired. This would normally not have been something he would even consider, but as his patrons were no lesser personages than Princess Luna herself, and some dragon he felt he should probably recognise but didn't, he felt it would be alright to let them stay a bit longer.
And so, that is how we find our gallant duo - the pony and the dragon who took on that most difficult of subjects, 'the Talk', and not only passed through the metaphorical fire but lived to tell the tale - having arranged this nocturnal meeting to compare notes, discuss how they could avoid this sort of thing happening again, and generally drown their sorrows.
Luna was hoping none of the Royal Guard ever found out where she was as, because it was nighttime, she was technically supposed to be on duty. But hey! Who doesn't bunk off every once in a while? And as for the landlord, could he be trusted to keep his mouth shut? The golden hoofshake clinking to the tune of a thousand bits was a safe bet that he could be.
Despite their location, however, both the dragon and the demigod were cautious not to drink too much. After all, enough awkwardness had stalked them both recently without having embarrassing alcohol-related headlines being emblazoned across tomorrow's newspapers.
Holding his head in his hands, Spike rocked slowly back and forth. "That was - I just can't - argh!"
Luna nodded sympathetically. "I know just was you mean. . . It was bad enough having to explain 'intimacy' to my elder sister, but to have such rumours spread about you - that is an evil indeed!"
"Don't I know it," Spike muttered. "Do you know what the Foal Free Press was leading with yesterday?"
Luna shook her head - oddly enough, she wasn't in the habit of reading a local school production intended purely for the consumption of subscribers to that school, in a relatively distant, provincial sector of the vast Equestrian empire. "No?"
Spike groaned, as though even thinking about it was enough to bring on a flashback. "Their main headline - in a foal's newspaper! - was 'Princess - or Incest?' - can you believe it?"
Luna had the grace to be rather surprised, though at the same time amused at the wittiness of the half-rhyme. "That is. . . troubling, to say the least," she admitted. "But then," she added as an afterthought, "It does tell us something positive, at any rate."
The dragon laughed sardonically. "Oh really? And what's that?"
"Well," Luna explained, "If they know what incest is - they've already had the Talk."
This took a moment to sink in, and when it did Spike's face was awash with a mixture of emotions. On the one hand, he was glad that, at least for now, he wouldn't be called on to give the Talk to anypony else (which had been a secret fear of his; now that pretty much everypony in Ponyville knew he'd explained sex to the Princess, he wouldn't've been surprised if parents of other foals had asked him to repeat the Talk for their own progeny), and so felt somewhat relieved. But, on the other hand, was it not worrying that foals so young should know what 'incest' was?
So instead of agreeing or disagreeing either way, he merely 'hmmed'.
A short silence fell, during which the two of them sat quietly, comfortable in each other's company, and sharing the bond that only arises between those who have experienced the same trial or tribulation. From the cosy booth by the rain-lashed window, they could see out along the street, which was nice - though to be quite honest, there wasn't an awful lot to see, other than the now hastily retreating figure of a sodden hat-wearing pony legging it into the distance.
The rain beat down, the streetlamps guttered, and the thatchen eaves dripped with excess moisture. Princess Luna sighed heavily, and took another sip of her drink. Vodka had never been her cup of tea, either literally or metaphorically, but Spike had ordered one and she didn't want to seem weak in front of a dragon currently one fifty-sixth of her age. That being said, however, she was warming to the rather off-putting sense of swallowing concentrated paint-stripper.
Spike groaned again - something else had apparently just occurred to him which he had previously been in blissful forgetfulness of; he rubbed his face in his hands once more. "Oh, my days. . ." he muttered.
Allowing him a moment's silence to formulate his thoughts, Luna asked, "Is everything alright, Spike?"
Luna had, in fact, always quite liked the young dragon. He was a lot more intelligent, and mature, than most ponies gave him credit for, and she had grown to be rather fond of him. Not in a romantic way, of course, don't be ridiculous - but as a friend, a creature who could speak to her on her own wavelength, and to whom she could reply in turn. Since her return to terra Equestra there were few ponies to whom the Princess had come to truly enjoy the company of, as the world had changed such a lot since her banishment she was never quite sure if she was saying or doing the right thing. But Spike had always been at pains to put her at her ease, encouraging her rather than laughing at her if she ever made a social faux pas. Thus it was that Luna considered the little dragon to be one of her closest friends.
She watched him now, smiling in pleasure at his company, as he struggled with some inner torment. Eventually, he was ready to explain what he was thinking about. "Well, you see," he began, "After I'd explained how sex works to Twilight, and she'd managed to grasp that it's a pleasurable thing as well as an - a necessary biological function, she asked me a jolly embarrassing question."
Luna, who had some idea of what this 'jolly embarrassing question' might entail, having been asked something along those lines by her sister not five hours before, murmured, "It's alright if you'd rather not tell me, you know."
Spike smiled gratefully, then continued, "Nah, it's alright. I know I can trust you not to pass this around."
Luna nodded, gratified at this indication of how Spike viewed their friendship, but stayed silent.
The dragon carried on, saying, "Well - the thing is, see, apparently she goes around the castle at night checking there's nothing hiding in the shadows. Why, I don't know - I don't think even she knows, to be honest! But it turns out that, on more than one occasion, she's walked past my door, which has evidently not been shut properly, and seen me - well, seen me. . ."
Holding back a giggle, Luna forestalled him. "Seen you engaged in your own pleasurable company?"
Spike grinned, relieved not to have to explain further. "Indeed! So you can see how that was embarrassing. . . Fortunately she doesn't seem to've mentioned this to anypony else."
Again, the Princess of the Night nodded. "Actually," she whispered, lest the ever-scrubbing publican overhear, "Celestia has caught me doing just the same!"
Spike looked shocked. "Really? You mean you - y'know - do that too?"
Luna blushed, her cheeks turning bright crimson (or they would have, if her fur hadn't been so dark - as it was they barely even turned to a deep burgundy). "Well. . . Perhaps from time to time. Not every night, you understand. Just - most nights. . ."
She trailed off, surprised at how forward she was being. Spike, too, had turned pink; he coughed, nervously. "Hmm! Well, there you are. . . good to know it's not just me!" he added, successfully breaking the tension.
The Princess smiled. "How about we change the subject?" she asked.
"Yeah," Spike agreed, soundly relieved, "It was starting to get pretty awkward!"
Luna nodded, smilingly, in return. "Oh," she announced, glancing down at her empty glass, "I seem to've drunk it all."
"That's alright," Spike reassured her; calling over to the landlord, who had been pretending not to listen whilst cleaning imaginary specks from the insides of scores of already pristine glasses, he added, "I say, Empty Keg? Could I have a pint of your finest stout, and a vodka for the Princess?"
After a few moments the drinks were placed in front of the ponies; Empty Keg was just about to walk back to the bar with the remainder of the vodka in the bottle but, seeing Luna's disappointed expression, Spike asked hastily, "On second thoughts, better leave the bottle."
And so, with a fresh supply of alkie, the occasional surreptitious, stealthily-stalking sleuth in the street outside, and the pleasure of each other's company to entertain them, the dragon and the demigod swapped tall stories, unlikely tales and impossible yarns long into the night.