Unicorn Horns are. . . .
Mister Coffee
Big Mac set down the bushel basket he'd been carrying and turned to his sister. “I've been thinking.”
“You've always been thinkin', you big lug.” She leaned forward and nuzzled his sweat-soaked withers. “Are you gonna tell me what you're thinking, or are you just gonna keep it inside like every other time?”
“I . . . I think it's about time for a foal,” he told her. “Somethin' to carry on the family, you know? Granny ain't getting any younger you know, and you haven't got a special somepony.”
Applejack absently touched the brim of her hat. “Hard enough when I'm always harin' around the kingdom with Princess Twilight.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “You sure you're ready, though?”
“Nope.” He leaned down and pushed the bushel into the barn, where it joined ranks of its brethren. “Is anypony really ready, though?”
“Ah reckon not.” Once he'd cleared the doors, Applejack pushed them shut. “Ya got anypony specific in mind? Takes two to tango, y'know.”
“Not really.” He sighed. “You got any suggestions on who I might ask? You know a lot more ponies than I do.”
“Hmm.” Applejack rubbed her chin in thought. “Ain't really thought of any of 'em like that. Wouldn't hurt to ask Rarity. She's of an age where maybe she's got thoughts of a foal in her mind, too.”
“An' if she rejects me, she'll at least do it gentle-like.”
Applejack nodded. “There's that.”
“Oh, goddess, who could that be?” Rarity finished her stitch and shut off the sewing machine. “I'm coming, darling.” After hours; it must be some kind of emergency—maybe a fashion emergency! She rushed towards the front door. Or else Sweetie fell down the well again.
Judging by the view of hindquarters she got when she swung open her front door, she'd just made it in time. And it wasn't hard to identify who that rump belonged to; even if she hadn't seen the cutie mark, the well-toned bucking muscles of Big Mac were a familiar sight to every single mare in Ponyville, as well as a few stallions.
He spun around when he heard her door open, and his face was redder than usual. “Uh, evenin', Miz Rarity.”
“Good evening, Big Macintosh. What brings you by my boutique? Surely not fashion.”
“Uh, no. Do you mind if I come inside? This is a bit awkward.”
“Of course.” Rarity stood back from the doorway, far enough to give him passage, but not enough that he could avoid brushing up against her as he stepped through the door. She resisted the urge to get a look under his belly as he entered her domain.
“Is Sweetie Belle here?”
“No, she's at my parents'.” Rarity pushed the door shut. “Unless she's not—that isn't why you're here, is it?” Her ears fell.
“No, ma'am.” Big Mac rubbed at his forehead, wiping off the film of sweat that had started accumulating the moment he'd stepped through the door. “I had a big of a personal question for you; a proposition of sorts.”
“Is that so?” Rarity flicked her tail eagerly, thanking providence that today had been a spa day. “Why, whatever do you have in mind? Please, do have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you.” He picked the sturdiest looking divan and gingerly lowered his bulk onto it. It creaked under his weight, but held. “I'll get straight to the point.”
“Please do.”
“I've been thinking it's about time to have an heir. To carry on the family, you know?”
“I . . . see.” Rarity dropped down on a couch herself. The conversation had taken a slightly unexpected turn. “And you think—“
“I'm the eldest, so responsibility falls on my withers.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Rarity settled herself on the couch. “Forgive me for being blunt, but did you come here to ask if I would be the second partner in this dance, or were you just hoping I could provide you with some sort of guidance going forward?”
Big Mac shifted his weight on the divan. “Well, I was really hopin' you'd be the one, but I suppose if you ain't interested I can find somepony else.”
“Nopony's ever asked me before,” Rarity said. “Sure, I've had my share of fun in the bedroom and backyard and living room and one time even on the kitchen table, and I'm sure you have as well.”
“Except for the kitchen table. . . .”
“Oh, you really should try that sometime . . . erm, anyway, nopony's asked this of me yet.”
“Really?” Big Mac's ears perked up. “But you're such a pretty mare.”
“You're too kind.” Rarity fluffed her mane and then fell silent, instead examining every inch of Big Mac's body.
He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, until she finally spoke again. “A mare has to be sure.”
“Eeyup.”
“So.” Rarity got off her couch and walked seductively over to Big Mac. She jumped lightly on the divan, which trembled under the additional weight but still held firm. “I think I'll take you up on your offer.”
“Really?” His ears turned forward, and his tail begin thumping against the divan. “Really!”
“Really really.” She leaned over and brushed against his cheek. “You're a handsome stallion, so big and strong, and our foal would embody the best aspects of grace and strength.”
“Well, bless your heart.” Big Mac leaned down and touched his lips to her perfectly coiffed mane. “When do you think we should?”
“How about here and now?” Her voice was husky and her breath was hot in his ear. “I'm ready.” She reached up and brushed her bangs back.
“Um, I wasn't—“ But his body belied his words, and as soon as her hoof gently brushed down his barrel he was lost. He let her push him back, his head jammed against the armrest, and she moved down his body, caressing him with kisses from his brisket to his fetlocks and everywhere in between.
Satisfied with her oral examination, Rarity stretched out on his barrel and locked lips with him.
“Oh, Celestia, you're so hot.” Rarity ran a hoof through his raggedy mane. “Are you ready?”
“Are you?”
By way of an answer, Rarirty leaned her head down on his chest.
He gripped her with his powerful forelegs, but not too tight. Almost of its own volition, his lips parted and his tongue caressed the rounded tip of her alabaster horn.
She moaned again, and he leaned his neck forward, taking her horn fully into his mouth, working his tongue around the tip, then along the spiraling course all the way to her forehead and back again. He could feel the magic inside of it, thrumming with potential.
Rarity writhed against his body as he suckled her horn like his mother's teat, until he suddenly felt her tense, and he quickly buried her horn as deeply down his throat as it would go.
Her release was prodigious, threatening to overcome him. He gamely kept his lips sealed shut, even as the magic lifted his back off the divan.
And then it was over, and the two of them came crashing back down, much to the detriment of Rarity's furniture.
Several Months Later
“Oh, goddess, who could that be?” Rarity finished her stitch and shut off the sewing machine. “I'm coming, darling.” After hours; it must be some kind of emergency—maybe a fashion emergency! She rushed towards the front door. Or else Sweetie fell down the well again.
Judging by the view of hindquarters she got when she swung open her front door, she'd just made it in time. And it wasn't hard to identify who that rump belonged to; even if she hadn't seen the cutie mark, the well-toned bucking muscles of Applejack were a familiar sight to every single stallion in Ponyville, as well as a few mares. “Applejack?”
“It's time.”
“Already?”
Applejack nodded.
“Well, let's go, then.” Most days, Rarity would have agonized over what to wear, but she knew that this was not such an occasion. She's be fine in just her fur.
The pair of them galloped to the hospital together. “He just went in a little bit ago,” Applejack said. “Ah made sure that he was restin' comfortable, and then Ah came for you.”
“That was very kind,” Rarity gasped. “Is . . . is he near?”
“Won't be much longer, the doctor said. Stupid stubborn lummox, shoulda gone in sooner.”
“It runs in . . . the family.”
“Yup. Near ta killed pa when we was born.” Applejack looked over at Rarity with some concern. “Should I slow down?”
“No, we've got to get there before it's too late.”
The pair galloped through the lobby without signing in, and upstairs to the delivery room. Inside, Big Mac was sitting in bed, while Granny Smith held his hoof and gave him advice. Nurse Redheart stood in the corner of the room, ready to intervene if something went wrong.
But nothing did, and after a bit of pushing and swearing and more bodily fluids than ought to come out of a pony, Big Mac was left holding his new colt.
The End