It was three nights after Twilight Sparkle first got her wings that she suggested Rarity be the little spoon. The idea was already a peculiar one. Usually, it was Twilight whose mind plodded steadily along three different paths at once, too measured to stray to dreams and much too orderly to become insistent. Rarity was the northward needle of them, sharp and guiding. To declare was too dramatic, and to demand was too forceful for Twilight Sparkle. She knew how to lecture, and goodness, could she interweave that with info-dumping in ways nopony else could. But what she did not do was command, and that was no doubt the biggest paradox to her princesshood.
Yet, it was more than the looming sight of those new wings that were behind those words. Rarity was absorbed by the look of something close to pleading in those two lovely amethyst eyes dripping with unshed embarrassment, a silent highlight to her marefriend’s request. And it was a request that Rarity would have no problem filling.
Should have no problem filling. She was not unfamiliar when it came to being the delicate, elegant little spoon. There was a subtle refinement to the act, a perfect balance that only was diminished with carelessness behind being called a small girlfriend. Oh yes, Rarity was aware that Twilight was no longer the slight mare she had been, but Rarity would never ever let anypony say that being petite meant she was not bursting with a deliciously snuggly personality.
(Thank you very much.)
Not feeling Twilight Sparkle’s new wings tickling her stomach into uncomfy oblivion was certainly… nice.
Rarity shouldn’t mind being the little spoon with Twilight Sparkle.
But.
But but but.
(Such was the pitter-patter of her thoughts firing between her ears, which like to rest of her were not particularly pleased about her wandering mind on this eve’s insomnia.)
But with Twilight Sparkle she did.
With her stallion loves, Rarity relished in getting to be whatever spoon suited her. When it came to the few mares who had her heart before Twilight Sparkle, Rarity was very much the same. Sure, she was a smidge fussier with her marefriends, but she could never say why. Just that it usually led to her be a feisty ladle of a mare ready to absolutely smother her teaspoon of a marefriend when the time came to relax.
The coziness of Golden Oak’s master bedroom pressed down upon Rarity instead of cradling her into the Sandmare’s embrace that night. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing them with all her might to become heavy with the perfect slumber. Instead, Rarity felt the incessant wriggling of Twilight Sparkle in her half-asleep fitfulness. The whole inside of the ancient oak no longer felt hollow; there was an atmosphere of tense, bated breath permeating every bit of the dark.
It wound and wound and wound…
...right until Twilight Sparkle’s wings snapped open, snatching the blankets from them both so that the cold rushed upon them both.
...
Twilight Sparkle’s family was like a line of boxes. Most days, Rarity envied that. Her marefriend grew up with a family that was identical to their picturesque perfection both in albums and out of them. Her Twilight Sparkle had been doted on so sweetly, rather than overly so by a mother who worked from home. Meanwhile, Rarity still remembered all the days when she was left with the housesitter and asked more about how she felt about her mother’s gourmet chef tours and father’s work as a youth hoofball coach than her own apprenticeship with the local seamstress.
She hadn’t ever been expected to say what she really thought, or ever mention how much she loved her involvement in drama club, fencing lessons, or how much she was looking forward to finishing school when she was old enough. Rarity certainly wasn’t afforded the same treatment as Twilight, who told her all about how much she was the star that dazzled all the houseguests who orbited her and her prodigy brother. Of course, that wasn’t anything close to how Twilight Sparkle actually recounted things, but how could anypony blame Rarity for adding every dramatic trapping her lovely marefriend neglected.
In those moments, when they both could lounge together in Twilight’s vast castle with Rarity sewing her next creation by magelight, it was always their tails that were the first to intertwine. Despite the enormity and enchantment that her marefriend’s castle offered, the atmosphere it offered was never cold. Most ponies would think that the mystical, regal edifice was the most alienating feature in Ponyville. Though Rarity would never say it, the pond-side cottage she grew up in was a much more crowded, chaotic kind of loneliness. Her foalhood home with Sweetie Belle and the rest of her family bore the same painful anonymity that Manehattan streets dumped on the working mares, unable to be artists as she was.
Rarity loved the sister she had by blood and would forsake her for nothing. Yet, when she was in the place she was now…
…with the love of her life, her princess, her Twilight curled up at her side reading without worry, her muzzle scrunched up in the cutest way…
...Spike, too, was lounging beside her as she rested; he flipped through a comic book diligently in a stark contrast to the rambunctious Sweetie Belle…
...whenever they were all together like this, indulging in quiet time Rarity felt like a book wedged comfortably between two bookends.
Rarity felt more at home in the castle of her heart’s family than she did anywhere else.
...
As long as they had been together, Twilight Sparkle had always been the little spoon. It was a simple fact of life, no different than knowing which of the gods had control over which heavenly bodies. Twilight Sparkle was the mind of the relationship, in her chronically adorkable ways, but she was the kind of mind that never stopped bowing to the power of the heart. And that heart was Rarity, and she was Rarity’s Twilight. Rarity cherished this, the charming simplicity in her whirlwind life as an artist of knowing that Twilight Sparkle would always be her darling little spoon.
Wings and a growth spurt did not fit into the sacred art of spooning dynamics that Rarity and Twilight had long since settled into. Feathers could prove to be pesky things, and nopony wanted to deal with wings springing out from under a blanket because the pony who bore them had not mastered folding the feathery appendages.
That night, deep in the crystal castles halls where Luna’s starshine did not reach, Rarity was determined to solve the snuggle dilemma that had plagued them both for far too long. With careful motions, she shimmied about and pulled one foreleg out from under Twilight’s soft coat. She kept as silent as possible, particularly about how her marefriend’s oatburger sprees could not be chalked up her grand growth spurt, and her budding pudge was making her rather weighty to hold.
Without disturbing the luxuriously cozy blankets that they shared, Rarity successfully untangled herself from Twilight Sparkle’s sleeping form. She watched her chest rise and fall, careful to observe the pattern of her breathing with the greatest detail possible in the darkened bedroom. Of the two of them, it was Twilight who was the light sleeper. Her still-new wings and their ‘quirks’ only amplified that.
Rarity waited for one, two, three, four breaths and listened to the patter of her own heart in her ears. When there was no more than a twitch to Twilight’s wings, Rarity knew she was safe from any surprises. She expertly crept around Twilight and settled across from her marefriend, making the slightest ripples spread throughout the sheets. The silk, warm touch they had made Rarity’s beating heart ease into a much gentler pace. As she adjusted to her new, unfamiliar space Rarity heard the telltale sound of rustling feathers. There was not a doubt in her mind that one of Twilight Sparkle’s wings would be splayed out where Rarity had once lain, if only she cared to rise and see.
But Rarity did no such thing, not when the weight of comfort was hers to command and sleep was calling her. She nuzzled up to Twilight Sparkle, her muzzle tucked right under her lover’s own. Unicorns were said to sleep more heavily than the dead; they had to. The unmovable object of all Twilight Sparkle’s hypothetical this-and-thats could not be anything other than a peacefully sleeping unicorn pony. Though her marefriend’s wing had unfurled without the grace of Rarity’s imagination, her tired mind was wondering. Did Cadance have to learn to sleep heavier than a brick? And what of those who were born to godhood, as Luna and Celestia were? Did they sleep as soundly as unicorns did?
She did not have the time to answer herself. Rarity’s eyelids fluttered closed, slipping into deeper, comforting darkness. Her curls spilled around her pale face in neat waves, she felt their cool touch as her mind slipped away quietly. She felt Twilight’s own mane, which was much more sleep-frazzled, brushing above the bridge of her muzzle.
Rarity could sleep contentedly knowing that from now on, she would be the big little spoon. Twilight Sparkle, her princess, and her love would always be the grand one, even when she was caught between being adorably oblivious to it or adamantly denying that it was so. She was the crown and scepter, as ponies surely realized. No matter how grand and royal her lover was, the crown jewel of Rarity’s dreams, it was always the diamond (no matter how small) that was the unforgettable heart of all.
At last, Rarity’s dilemma was solved. Sleepily, Rarity wound her forelegs around her marefriend’s midsection, holding her Twilight tightly as they lay across from each other, face to face.
Dreaming, together.