Silent Night
The Pianist and the Cellist
Fluffy snow swirled in the air around Canterlot as the stars in the sky hid behind dark clouds. Snow was like a thick blanket over the countryside; on fields, roofs and in every forest and valley it lay, obscuring the ground from all. It would have been a bleak landscape were it not for the smoke rising from countless chimneys and the light from every living room casting soft glows into every street.
It was Christmas Eve in the kingdom of Equestria, a time of great joy and celebration. Great evergreen trees that had been planted years before were once again decorated up and down every street, with tinsel and lights and all manner of bright baubles hanging upon their branches. Lamps were strung up with mistletoe and small wind chimes that gave little melodious tunes whenever an errant breeze brushed past them. Holiday shoppers passed one another by, waving and smiling and carrying with them all manner of gifts for their love ones and friends. Men and women dressed in bright red suits with white trim called out to passer-by, who dropped spare change into small buckets to help the needy at this time of year.
In a banquet hall near the royal palace, harmonious music drifted out of the main doors whenever they were opened. This was a time of celebration, and as such, many indeed were celebrating the good cheer of the season. Friends and family had gotten together to celebrate, and inside the hall, warmth and drink flowed freely. Perhaps a bit too freely for some...
“Another song, Spike!” a voice called, slurring her words so greatly that the one behind the piano could no longer distinguish her from any of the other party patrons. She had not needed to tell him to play anymore than she had even needed to speak; he was being paid to play, so there was no real reason for him to stop. His fingers tired but his spirits still at acceptable levels, Spike began to play, his perfectly combed hair starting to be tinged with sweat. It would have been easy to take off the fancy suit he was wearing, but both Twilight and Rarity had asked him to keep it on, and so it stayed on.
“Christmas,” he muttered as his fingers danced across the piano keys, bringing a soft melody to the gathered partiers as they gently danced and mingled. “Such a wonderful time of year.” Indeed, it was for most, but for Spike, it was tinged with bitterness and a sense of sadness. He loved Christmas, more than most might have guessed, but he was alone; single, in a world celebrating being together and with friends and family. Twilight, his adoptive sister, had long since accepted the fact that he had grown up, and with the best of wishes and a rather decent-sized gift of money, had sent him off into the world to make something of his talents.
Getting an apartment in Canterlot had been easier than he might have guessed, but there weren’t many jobs a pianist could just up and apply for. Rent wasn’t too bad, but it was always there, a constant reminder that every month he needed to make enough money to both feed himself and pay for where he was living. So, being the industrious sort, Spike had taken up as many jobs as he could; delivery man, carpenter’s assistant, construction worker, even a janitor at the local high-end buffet restaurant. The last one had turned out to be a great source of extra food, seeing as the owners of most fancy places made stuff ahead but didn't feel like taking it home themselves, and Spike had volunteered to take much of it instead. He couldn't argue that he needed food, and plus, this meant his bosses saved money on garbage disposal, which actually meant a small boost to his paycheck for his services.
Still, money was always tight, especially after his rent had been slightly raised, and he was always on the lookout for that next thing he could use to help him on his way. After saving up enough money, he bought himself a small piano, just to keep in practice in case some big-shot or even small-time talent scout found him at a local hangout. Soon after he started regularly playing in his room, people in his apartment complex started paying him visits, either to hear him play or even to try and learn for themselves. Word soon got out of this piano player who was willing to give lessons for a very modest price, and soon various people from all over Canterlot were asking to be tutored by him. He couldn’t keep having people visit his apartment for classes, as more often than not his apartment was too small for the number of people that showed up. So, after working overtime for a few months, Spike finally managed to buy a second piano, a bit larger than his first. This one he, with his landlord’s permission, stored in one of the unrented rooms on the bottom floor.
Using what skills he had learned from his carpentry job and others, Spike fixed up the room from a low-end dump into what could have been mistaken for a prestigious tutoring center. Here, all out of pocket, he had crafted the piano and the room into the classroom he had needed. Junk-picking chairs and refurbishing as best he could, rebuffing and polishing the floors, putting in new lights; he had done it all. Soon after, his lessons were paying better than any of his other jobs, but he still kept on them, putting extra money away each month so he could actually make a living. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was his life.
The fact that he had been hired for this charity function showed just how much he needed money. Normally he would have done something like this for free when he was younger, but... he was single and needed to support himself. It must have been evident, because the princesses, who had paid for the whole thing, had been watching him for the entirety of the event. His wandering mind must have been evident on his face, for he was soon approached by Princess Luna.
“Spike? Is something the matter?” she asked softly as he finished another gentle Christmas tune.
“What? Oh, no, nothing’s wrong, your highness," Spike said slowly, turning the page holding his music notes. “Everything’s fine.”
“But is it?” she asked. “We have noticed your posture, the movement of your hands, the way you sigh every now and then. Please do not lie to us; is everything all right?”
He sighed. “I broke up with Caroline a few days ago,” he said.
Ah, Caroline; a beautiful little flower of a woman who had come into his class, seeking help with her own piano lessons. Spike had taken an immediate liking to her, and had tutored her extensively for weeks on end. She had been talented, in more ways than one; it was not long before they had moved from the piano to his bedroom. She hadn’t been his first student he had carried on a relationship with, though most he had before had just been small flings that had parted on friendly terms. Caroline… he had thought he was in love with her.
“What? What happened? We thought you two were so close,” Luna said quietly as she signaled the band behind her to play. Immediately they struck up a slow song, their smooth jazz drifting over the partygoers like a relaxing breeze.
“I… I went to her home, to visit her,” Spike said softly. “There, I… I found her with… with another man, a man that I knew. He was another piano player, from Cloudsdale, and he… he was her longtime boyfriend. I heard them talking about it; she… she never cared for me. She only used me to make him jealous, when they were apart, but I heard them get back together.”
“No,” Luna said softly with a gasp. “How could someone do that to someone else so close to Christmas?”
“Yes,” Spike said, feeling like crying. “She… came in that next Saturday, to continue her lessons. I confronted her about it. She… she didn’t deny it; she was happy! She was happy that she had gotten back together with him; that she had managed to build her talent in playing to match his, which was what they had both always wanted. I had just been a tool, a means to an end for her. I… I called it off with her right there, telling her I would be her tutor no more. She didn’t care, she said. Then… then that was when I saw her last.” His heart ached as the words spilled forth; he hadn’t told anyone of this, of his pain and misery. Some days it was so hard just getting out of bed in the wee hours of the morning; it was as if life no longer held meaning.
He was quiet for a few moments before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, the pianist saw his employer smiling down on him, a soft, sad smile; as if they too knew what he was going through. Then again, he had had may a dream of sadness and woe, and the princess had surely picked up on them. “Go, Spike,” she said. “Go home, or for a walk; you needn’t be here if you don’t want to.”
“But… but I’m getting paid for this, and I… I really need the money-,” he began, before a finger made his words die on his lips.
“Go, Spike; you will still be paid, in full, for all you have done here tonight,” the princess said. “Might we suggest a stop down by the Canterlot Diner? We hear they have the best coffee on this side of the city.”
Spike wiped a tear away and slowly stood up, giving the princess a small bow. “T-Thank you, your highness,” he said softly, before being surprised by a hug. He had known the princesses for many years, but it still surprised him how personal they could be.
“Think nothing of it; just a nice Christmas gift from one friend to another,” she whispered into his ear. “Now go; celebrate the holidays.”
With a nod and another word of thanks, the young man left, making a short stop by the coatrack to fetch his winter jacket and gloves. Giving the princess and his drunk friends one last wave, he wound his way through the sea of patrons and opened the door. Then, in a rush of cold air and drifting snow flakes, he left the banquet hall and set off down the sidewalk, not looking back amidst the swirling snow.
“Vinyl? Could you please keep it down? I’m trying to get in some practice,” Octavia called from her bedroom, wishing her door could just magically enchant itself with a sound-cancelling spell. Her cello by her bedside, and the note sheets spread before her, the woman tried to focus but just couldn't. Vinyl was usually considerate enough to cast such a spell during her normal times, but it was Christmas Eve, and she couldn’t be torn away from her party.
“What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over my awesome tunes!” her roommate shouted, gyrating at the mini turn table down the hall.
Even now, more and more of Vinyl’s “club” friends were showing up to her personal Christmas bash, and just like every year, Octavia had to put up with it. Most years she hadn’t minded the noise, even choosing to mingle with everyone, but this year was different. She had a very important recital in a few days, where she would be playing for the princesses for the New Year’s Eve ball, and she really needed to relax. Being anxious for such an event never helped her with her skills, and she knew the notes by heart, but the loud music and drunken cat-calling down the hall was ruining her focus.
So much so that, after another hour of it, she had had enough; placing her cello off to the side, she put her notes away and stood up. Dressing up in her nicer winter clothes and wrapping a scarf around her neck, she walked out of her room, narrowly missing two groping partygoers from bumping into her as she moved down the hallway.
“Vinyl, I’m going out for a walk,” she called to her roommate as she shut the door to their spacious apartment.
“What?” the DJ called out, only to be interrupted by a song request. “Okay, here’s a nice little number I like to call “Dubsteppin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, and it’s goin’ out to those two frisky youngsters in the corner over there!” Even more drunken catcalls and wolf whistles sounded from the crowd as the music began to blare over the stereo system.
Outside amidst the falling snow, Octavia could barely hear the music anymore, for which she was glad; she had started feeling a small pain in the back of her head from the incessant beat and needed some time alone to relax. As it was, the streets by this time of night were nowhere near as busy as they had been just a few hours before, but there were still plenty of shoppers bustling to and fro stores, looking for the best deals on the latest gadgets.
Walking along, Octavia looked around her, at the tinsel and the holly and the lights; the streamers, the Christmas bows, and the bright bulbs that hung from every evergreen branch like some exotic fruit. For her, as it was for so many others, it was a most wonderful time of the year, a year for family, friends and goodwill towards all.
Then why did she feel so... sad?
She had grown up with Christmas as most people had in Canterlot; a busy yet fun day filled with food, family, friends, and most importantly of all (for the younger ones), presents. Octavia knew she had a good childhood, and she had never wanted for anything. The fact that her parents provided for her as much as they did was a source of never-ending gratitude on her part, but there was some vinegar in the honey that was her life.
Her parents had always loved to celebrate things, from when Octavia first began to talk to when she first started school. Her mother always talked to others about it, dropping hints here and there to just how talented her daughter really was. Her father, on the other hand, was far more subtle about it, usually telling friends when he was at a party, so that they would spread the news. Maybe that was where her father had learned to love the drink. He had always been a social drinker, but had been very temperate; a man of many, but close to a select few. However, as the years wore on, and Octavia grew older, she began to notice that her father didn’t just drink; he began to live in the bottle, and neither she nor her mother knew just why.
Her father’s drinking problem soon drove an invisible wedge into her family’s happiness. He was never loud or boisterous, he never hit her or her mother or anyone, and he was as faithful to Octavia’s mother as anyone could have been. He was still friendly, outgoing, and overall the perfect picture of a devoted husband and father. But to those who truly knew him, he grew cold, distant over the course of Octavia’s youth, so much so that when he had visited her first big concert, it was as if he hadn’t even been there. He had smiled, congratulated her on her wonderful performance and told everyone how proud he was of her, but by then Octavia had grown to know better. He was just wearing a mask, the mask that the alcohol had given him, and though both she and her mother still loved him dearly... he was almost like a stranger to them.
Perhaps it was due to the personality alcohol had given her father that Octavia had devoted herself to becoming a master cellist. Perhaps, one day, when he and her mother visited one of her concerts, and she had an absolutely performance, maybe then he’d be genuinely glad for her. Maybe then, she could break through his mask, and see her father again, see the man who had given her her first cello and told her she'd be destined for greatness. But until that day, she’d keep practicing, keep improving, and keep on being the best daughter she could be, not only to finally shake her father from his alcoholic stupor, but to prove to herself she really was the best.
“That’ll be the day,” Octavia muttered as she walked along, the snow swirling around her hair, tied up in a ponytail and dangling out from underneath her wool cap. “Maybe after that I’ll land a steady boyfriend.”
The chatting, laughing couples passing her by did little to alleviate the feelings of disappointment in her heart. Octavia had several boyfriends over the years; most if not all of them had been fellow musicians, though that DJ fellow Vinyl had known technically didn't count as a "musician" in her book. A clarinet player, two trumpeters and even a tuba player, among a few others; her last, a drummer, had been perhaps one of the worse ones, seeing as he was a notorious womanizer. Maybe it was his flair with his drumsticks that had first brought her to him, but as she soon found out, that was what brought them all in. She had walked in on him at his apartment “entertaining” a fellow musician, a clarinet player whom she had known for several months, and she had called it quits right there. Luckily for her, she had had the tact to not just kick him in the nuts when he tried explaining things to her, but that had not stopped her from telling every fellow musician about his philandering ways. Last she had heard, the bastard had been fired from his newest job for trying to seduce his boss’s daughter.
She smiled at the thought, even though it was a smile devoid of cheer, unlike the smiles of countless faces passing her by. Christmas was indeed a wonderful time of the year, and it was more evident by the two couples kissing on a nearby bench, waiting for the bus.
Octavia sighed as she walked past, feeling like she was just so alone. “Maybe a cup of coffee will cheer me up,” she muttered turning a corner and glancing around. There were simply gargantuan lines at the local StarswirlBucks, and she really didn’t feel like stopping in at Joe’s Donut Shop either. She always had a craving for those powdered treats whenever she went in there, ad right now she couldn’t afford to grow out of her dress for her major recital.
That was why, when she turned another corner, she was surprised to see a small diner sitting in-between two massive apartment complexes. It must have been a good seventy years old, if the paint was anything to go by; the color screamed “speakeasy is here, don’t tell the police”, but the door seemed new.
“What the hell, I need some coffee,” she muttered, walking up to the door. The “open” sign looked nearly bleached by the sun’s rays, but it was still legible, even with the great green Christmas wreath surrounding it. Tired and feeling a tad cold, Octavia walked in to the suitably-named Canterlot Diner.
As she walked inside, the bell above her head jingled with the door’s movement. Inside, the diner was impeccably clean, even if a bit crowded. It seemed to be the perfect locale for couples, as the stalls and stools were just littered with kissing and hand-holding pairs. The Christmas wreath behind her gave of a fresh smell of pine needles, and above her, small streamers hung, with words like “Merry Christmas” and “Goodwill to All” adorning their sides. If it weren’t for the fact that Octavia could remember helping her parents put up such decorations at local charities during her high school years, she would have thought the decorations looked... tacky.
“Hello dearie; can I help you with something?” a stout, matronly woman asked with a sweet smile. Her outfit was that of the everyday waitress, though most waitresses didn’t have a red outfit with white trim and a green belt buckle across the waist. It still looked like a waitress outfit, but... the colors were unnaturally bright and slightly hurt Octavia’s eyes.
“Yes, I was wondering if I could get a cup of coffee,” Octavia said.
“Sure, dearie,” the woman said sweetly. “I’m afraid we’re almost full at the moment, but we do have one place to sit, if you don’t mind the company.”
“Where?” Octavia asked, dreading the possibility of potentially sitting across from a pair of face-sucking youngsters. She didn’t hate couples, but seeing as her relationships hadn’t amounted to much as of late, she felt rather jaded about the whole “dating scene”, as Vinyl put it.
“Over there, by the window,” the older woman said, pointing behind Octavia. “There’s a handsome young gentlemen over there who I’m sure would like some company.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Octavia muttered as she followed the waitresses’ direction, walking over. The man at the table was young, younger than herself but not by much. A face that seemed freshly shaved, a head of thick, wavy hair, and a rather lean appearance; his skin even seemed a bit too pale. He had a rather put-down appearance to him, as if he would like nothing more than to just relax and try not to think of what tomorrow might bring.
All in all, someone who looked just like she felt. “Excuse me,” she said, causing the young man to look up from his cup of coffee. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
“No,” the young man said softly, looking back at his coffee. “No, I don’t mind.”
Sitting down and removing her cap and mittens, Octavia looked up when the waitress from before came up to the table. Her little nametag, which she had missed before, said “Dorothy”.
“Hello again dearie; how would you like your coffee?” Dorothy asked, her pad of paper and pencil at the ready.
“Black, with milk and a pinch of cinnamon, please” she said simply. There wasn’t really a menu to look at, but at this time of the evening, not a lot of people were in the mood for a meal. Most had already eaten full dinners and though Octavia had done the same, she did feel a bit hungry.
“Anything else with that?”
“I’ll take an apple fritter, if you have any,” Octavia said. With a smile, Dorothy walked off, leaving the two of them alone.
“You’ll like their coffee,” the man said, earning a raised eyebrow from the cellist. He didn’t say anything after that, and for the next few minutes, he just sat there, sipping his coffee and glancing out the window into the street. Octavia wanted to ask him a question concerning the price, but decided against it.
It wasn’t long before the waitress returned with a small plate, complete with one mug of steaming coffee and a fresh-looking apple fritter. Thanking Dorothy, Octavia took a sip and immediately found the taste to be far better than most coffee she had drank at higher end restaurants. Slowly cutting up her fritter with her fork and taking small bites, she discreetly watched the man across from her. Octavia wasn’t sure what to make of this guy. He looked her way every now and then, as if about to ask a question, but then seemed to decide against it. He also kept looking out into the street, where she noticed his gaze lingered on particularly happy couples. That and he seemed to sigh every now and then, as if something unexpected had passed him by and wouldn’t happen to him; like he was disappointed.
“Is there something wrong?” Octavia asked after finishing her fritter, the warm mug of coffee in her hands shooting pleasant warmth through her arms.
The man looked at her. “Why would anything be wrong? Can’t you see I’m having the time of my life?” he asked, cracking a sad grin. His eyes conveyed sadness that one his age shouldn’t be experiencing.
“Is that sarcasm I hear?” she countered, raising an eyebrow.
“How could you tell?” he asked.
“Call it a hunch,” the cellist replied. “I’m well-versed in it.”
“Ah,” he said, setting his mug down and offering his hand. “I’m Spike, by the way.”
“Octavia,” she said, shaking the offered hand. Hmm, he was warm, far warmer than she might have guessed.
“Octavia? That’s a lovely name,” Spike replied. “Where are you from?”
“Canterlot, originally, though in a different part of town.” Hmm, a charmer; she was interested to see where this could go, but didn’t really want to get her hopes up. Most charmers were after sex, and if there was one thing she hated among men, it was the dirtbag smooth-talkers that only wanted to get into women's pants.
“Same here, though I lived out in Ponyville for a while before coming back,” Spike said. “It’s changed since I was gone, that’s for sure; and yet... it doesn’t feel like it.”
“I know what you mean; I used to walk these streets all the time with my parents when I was little, and everything just seemed... bigger.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” The chatter died away for a short time, neither one really knowing just what else to say. Spike, after draining the last dregs of his coffee, looked back at the woman across from him, a thought forming in his mind.
“Do you like the holidays?” he asked.
She set her mug down. “I should think I like them as much as any other person,” Octavia said. “Christmas is always a wonderful time of year, but...”
“But it’s not all it’s cracked up to be?” Spike finished.
“Yes,” she replied. “How-,”
“You have the same look on your face as I have had in the past,” he said. “Or so I’ve been told.”
“What kind of look?”
“Oh, the kind that says “I really love the holidays, and want to enjoy them, but my life is so complicated right now, and is so tiring, that I just don’t feel festive”, or something along those lines,” he said. “I’ve been told I have that look far too often for it to just be a Christmas thing.”
“Well... why don’t you like Christmas?” Octavia asked. “I mean, you said you love the holidays, but...”
“But what’s the point?” he asked simply. “I’m supposed to feel all joyful and full of goodwill and be happy for everyone, but my life is such a menagerie of confusion and angst that I just... I can’t dig deep enough to feel all that, you know? I just feel so burnt out, living the life I do, and trying to make it better is just so hard sometimes.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Octavia said with a sigh, taking another sip of her rather good coffee. She’d definitely have to come here again sometime. “Life sucks for everyone; it’s just that at this time of the year we’re supposed to shed these shackles that bind us to our pain and, if only for a day or two, feel free of it all.”
“I know, I know, but... Christmas used to mean so much to me,” he said, looking out the window once more. “When I was younger, I looked forward to it so much, but now that I’m older... it gives me a feeling of dread. Friends seem to drift away the older I get, family just doesn’t hold the same meaning as it once did, and relationships... they’re over in the blink of an eye, a part of my life that just passes me by before I realize it’s done and gone.”
“Relationships?” Octavia asked, trying to piece two and two together. “Did... did something happen between you and someone?”
“You might say that,” Spike said. “I’m a pianist by trade, but there’s not a lot of jobs out there for someone like me. I do what I can with what I’ve got; I’d dabbled in jobs with carpentry, construction and janitorial duties. I make just enough money to get by, and so I manage to start giving piano lessons.”
“Really?” Octavia asked.
“Yeah, it pays good, but one of my students... I thought she was something she wasn’t,” he said, ruffling his hand through his hair. “I knew the world of music could be cutthroat, but I never knew it could be so... degrading. I felt used for what she did to me; how I was just some puppet on a string for her to discard when I had no further use.”
“I know what you mean,” Octavia said with a nod, looking into her own coffee mug. She had no idea why she was opening up to this guy, but it felt... right. “I’ve had my share of bad relationships, mostly with former colleagues. One was some philandering drummer who had this inexplicable feeling that he would be the next great orchestral director, even though he’s never done anything but drum his entire life.”
“One of those idiots, eh? Now why would anyone want to cheat on someone like you?” Spike asked, looking her up and down. She wore very nice clothes.
“Some men just feel like they are the princesses’ gift to women,” Octavia said simply.
“Truly, women are a gift to men, for without them, we could no more function that sun and moon could move through the sky without the aid of those gifted with magic,” Spike said softly, his fingertips just barely brushing her own. He sounded so sincere when he said that, like he truly believed it more than anything.
“Is that... is that Emerson?” she asked, feeling a curious heat filter through her cheeks that definitely wasn’t the coffee. She had always loved the works of Emerson, whom she saw as a fellow musician in one his past lives; if you believed in that sort of stuff, that is.
Spike nodded, but before he could speak, the waitress named Dorothy came over.
“Sorry, dearies, but it’s closing time,” she said, causing the two to look past her. Indeed, so wrapped up in their conversation they had been, that they had failed to notice all of the other customers leave the little diner. They, along with Dorothy and whoever was making a ruckus cleaning up in the back, were likely the only ones left in the place.
“Oh, okay,” Spike said, taking out his wallet and fumbling around. “How much did that come out to? I know I have a dollar or two in here somewhere-,”
“It’s on the house,” Dorothy said simply, a small twinkle in her eye matching one in her smile. “Yours too, dearie,” she added, looking at Octavia.
“But... but why?” she asked.
“Because it’s Christmas, and sometimes, the gift of giving means more than just getting something for someone else,” the matronly woman said, her words carrying with them a strange, almost joyous tone. “Now, run along you two; it’s getting late.”
Thanking the woman, Spike and Octavia walked outside, to be met by an increased wind that bit at them in an instant. The snow still swirled around, but at a much quicker pace, so much so that every little flake felt more like a miniature shuriken than frozen water vapor. The howling wind flew seemingly up and down every street, trying to strip the magically-protected trees of all their ornaments and, upon finding that useless, instead trying to do the same with the body heat of passing people.
“I’d best be heading out; don’t want to catch a cold in this blizzard,” Spike said, making a motion to walk away, only for a mitten-covered hand on his arm arresting his step.
“Do you... do you think you could walk me home?” Octavia asked, rather unsure why she was asking this total stranger to do such a thing. “It’s not far from here.”
The man stared at her for a few seconds, as if fighting a battle in his head. “Sure,” he said finally, offering his now-glove-covered hand. “Lead the way.”
Gingerly taking his hand in her own, Octavia headed off, noticing the severely reduced number of people walking up and down the sidewalks. The increasingly turbulent weather was driving them all inside, but then again, it was rather late; the large clock that chimed in the square showed it to be nearly ten o’clock.
Turning another corner, Octavia found herself on the street where her apartment was. As the pair of them walked down the sidewalk, a thought came unbidden to the cellist’s mind. It was a strange thought, one she wasn’t privy to much, but it was there, and though she half-heartedly tried to quash it, it remained, like an ember in an old fireplace that would just not go out.
As the two of them went up the steps to her apartment, she turned to look at the man. “Um.. t-thank you for walking me home,” she chattered, feeling the icy grip of winter slowly working its way through her clothes.
“It w-was n-nothing,” he chattered back, holding himself. “I, I guess I’d b-b-better be g-going, or-,”
“Would you like to spend the night?” Octavia blurted out, surprising the both of them. Time seemed to stand still for her as he apparently mulled this over in his head. It was getting so cold, and being inside would be so much more enjoyable than freezing into popsicles on her doorstep. Oh, what a stupid question! She shouldn’t have asked him, he must have thought of her as too forward, or just plain desperate; a desperate, plain, utterly-
“Sure,” he said, his one word derailing her entire inner turmoil.
“Oh! Um, uh... okay,” she said simply, leading him inside the apartment complex. Up above, she could faintly hear the thumping of her roommate’s music, which meant the party was likely still in full swing. Well, if he was going to stay the night, then at least he’d be warm; her roommate had this habit of keeping the main room a good ten degrees warmer than the individual rooms. Plus, the couch folded out into a bed of sorts, and they did have some extra blankets and pillows for just such an occasion. Usually it was just one of Vinyl’s club friends needing a place to crash, or-,
“Octavia?” Spike asked, once again needing only one word to knock her out of her train of thought as they reached the top of the stairs.
“Yes, Spike?” she asked as she fumbled for the keys to her door. Why it was locked, even with a party going on inside, she didn’t know.
“What do you do for a living? What is your trade?” he asked as the door opened and a wave of dubstep and partygoer shouts washed over them.
“I’m a cellist,” she called out, leading him past the gyrating and clearly drunk dancers. Vinyl, her glasses askew but her hands still rocking the turntables, didn’t even look their way as she slightly readjusted her headphones with a small burst of magic.
“A cellist, eh? Can’t say I’ve met too many of them,” Spike said as they entered her room. He glanced around; her room was nearly as large as his whole apartment, and the room where the party was going on was likely as large as three of his apartments, and then some. “How do you and your roommate afford this much space?”
“We both have several jobs; me, a cellist and assistant director at the Canterlot Youth Symphony Orhcestra, and Vinyl is a DJ, and a very popular one at that,” Octavia said simply as she removed her scarf from around her neck. “She also teaches interpretive dance, but doesn’t like people to know; thinks it’s much too “girly” for someone as “hip” as she is.”
“Hmm, I can see why she’d think like that,” Spike said softly as he looked around, slowly removing his jacket and gloves. “I’ve never gone to a dance class or a dance... what’s the term? Party?”
“I believe the term you are looking for is something akin to ballet,” she replied, removing her winter coat and turning around. “I myself never enrolled in ballet, as I was far too... far too...”
She stopped talking at the sight of Spike. He had removed his winter jacket, which had made him look far more rotund than he was. The suit that he wore was rather fancy-looking, and obviously of a very high quality, hence the care he took in slowly removing it from his trim body. In fact, he was very lean, far leaner than she had thought at the diner, and yet, he wasn’t underfed by any stretch. No, he had the look of a man who knew a hard day’s work, but wasn’t some musclebound meathead like the ones at the gym down the street. No, Mr. Spike here was shaped almost like a predatory cat from a zoo Octavia had gone to once. Slender yet radiating with power, muscular, but not obnoxiously bulgy or showy; there was a grace with every move he made that did not seem at all like that of some ordinary pianist. Was he by chance related to the dragons of the lands far to the east? He seemed to share quite a few features, now that she had a closer look at him; those eyes, those cheekbones, the jawline...
“Yes?” Spike asked, looking her way as the wind outside continued to buffet and lash against the building. Snow from outside, now swirling so thick as to be perfectly opaque, combined with the light of the outside lamps to give the appearance of an orange wave, seething and raging against the glass. It was truly a blizzard of Christmas, the kind where Santa would be in need of a certain red-nosed reindeer to save the day.
“Ah, yes, I was... I was far too busy when I was younger; with my cello lessons,” Octavia said, tearing her eyes off of his suddenly scrumptious-looking body. “Down girl, he’s just a friendly visitor staying for the night, no need to get all excited,” she muttered to herself, despite feeling that she’d like it a lot more if he took off his shirt... and his pants; and his-
No! Not that road, stay off that road!
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, trying to get her mind off of the sudden predicament going through her head. Vinyl’s music didn’t seem as loud as before; soon, perhaps, there would be enough room to pull out the couch and let Spike sleep out there.
“Sure,” Spike said as he removed his shoes, his legs pressing against the fabric as he bent them closer to his chest. “What do you have in mind?”
“I do have some wine, if you’d be interested,” she said, making sure to turn around just enough to speak to him, but not enough to try and eye his stomach muscles through his shirt. Seriously, how was he both this good looking and a struggling pianist? He could have modeled for several art majors she knew and been paid handsomely for it!
The bloody hell had been in that apple fritter of hers?
“That sounds good,” he said, keeping his eyes off of her figure as she reached under her bed and made to grab for something. To think she had been hiding all of that under that coat of hers. He’d have-,
No! Why was he thinking like this all of a sudden? What had been in that coffee? He wasn’t some animal who just subtly convinced a woman to invite him up to her room, dammit! Spike was a gentleman, almost to a fault, and as such never took advantage of someone who was clearly as lonely as he was... gah! Where had that come from? How in the world did he know she was that lonely?
“I h-have two glasses, but they’re a bit dusty, so give me a m-minute to wipe them off,” Octavia said as she extricated herself from under her bed, trying not to enticingly wriggle her ass. She felt so embarrassed, so out of control, but she had to remain in control, she had to reel in her emotions lest they get the best of her. She had to remain calm, composed, the picture of a woman who knew what she wanted and how to act properly. She could not just throw herself at this young man, this young, handsome gentleman who was so obviously alone in this bleak world... gah! How on Earth did she arrive at that conclusion?
The pair of them struggled against these inner thoughts as Octavia cleaned the wine glasses, making sure to keep her eyes as focused as she could on the task at hand. This Spike gentleman was handsome, single and sitting in her room; any other single woman would have been practically throwing herself at him by now, her roommate included. But Octavia held back; it just felt so... wrong, to take advantage of him like that. He was clearly in pain from a previous breakup; she didn’t need to make him feel used any more than she needed a good fu-
“Spike?” she asked, somehow managing to maintain her composure as her insides twisted and turned with every thought that passed through her mind.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You... you said you taught piano, yes?” Octavia asked.
“Yes; I’m a private tutor,” Spike said.
“You... you said before that one of the people you had tutored... a woman... she had hurt you,” Octavia said as she poured each of them a small glass of wine. “When? Why?” For some reason, she just had to know, and yet normally she wasn’t the prying type. Just what had brought about this sudden change within her?
“Just a few days ago,” he said softly, gladly accepting the glass from the cellist. “I... I was her tutor, but it wasn’t long before our lessons went... elsewhere.” Normally he would have been just mortified to talk to anyone else but his closest friends about something like this, but with this woman, he felt... comfortable; like he could tell her, like she would understand. “She... she only used me to make her former boyfriend jealous. A fellow pianist, from Cloudsdale; I don’t know how I didn’t see the signs sooner.”
“That’s terrible,” Octavia said, taking a sip of her wine. “How could anyone do something like that to another person, especially so close to Christmas?”
“There are terrible people out there,” he said softly. “They care only about themselves, and they never give a damn about the people they hurt. I was just... unlucky, was all. I must have just been craving for attention to attract the likes of her, and not see her for what she truly was.”
“I know the feeling,” Octavia said, sipping more of the wine. “That former boyfriend of mine I told you about? The drummer? I walked in on him “with” another woman, a fellow musician, whom he had been seeing behind my back. Both of us, the woman and I, let word get out, and after a while, more and more women confided in me just what kind of scum he was. I wasn’t the only woman he’d been stringing along, it seemed.” Her hand tightened around her wine glass slightly, the feelings of betrayal and anger forming a small knot in the pit of her stomach.
“You’re right; he is scum,” Spike said softly, looking into his already-empty glass. “What kind of fool would cheat on a woman like you?”
“Like... like me? What do you mean?” Octavia asked, feeling rather embarrassed she had opened up to him so quickly. Being forward or polite had nothing to do with it; she rarely if ever talked about things like this, if only because she didn’t want to relive the memories.
“Well, you’re smart, kind, successful, driven, and rather secure in yourself, something most men aren’t,” he said, rattling them off slowly as if trying not to forget anything else. “You’re also rather modest, something I’ve found to be lacking in many a fellow musician; that, and your beauty.”
“Hmm?” Octavia asked, a blush creeping across her face as she watched Spike’s own face begin to turn a light shade of red.
“Well... yeah,” Spike said, wishing he could just stop talking, and yet, for some reason, he couldn’t. He was never this forward, ever, ever, ever; why couldn’t he just curl up into a ball and shut up? “Your hair, your lips, the way you walk, your eyes...”
“Mr. Spike, you are quite the forward gentleman,” Octavia said, shifting a bit closer to him. She felt the urge to do something, something she hadn’t done in what felt like forever. "I don't know where you learned your manners from, but they are very good."
“I’m sorry, I’m usually not like this,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. “I mean, we’ve only just met, and I know that-,”
She cut him off with a sudden kiss. At first, it was shock that seemed to hold them together, but slowly, softly, they pulled one another closer, their hands beginning to roam over one another, the heat from their bodies soaking into one another’s skin, the-
Octavia pulled away suddenly. “I’m... I’m sorry, I d-don’t know what came over me,” she said, her spine tingling as she felt both of their grips tighten slightly. “I’m sorry, I just-,”
Spike pulled her back, and she did not resist as their lips met once more, this time turbulent and filled with passion. It was a passion both had been denied for what felt like their entire lives, the feeling of another soul who experienced the same kinds of hardships and was floundering in the sea that was life. Only now, the two lost souls had found respite, together, on an island in the middle of the tempest around them.
They broke apart for a split second. “Clothes off; now,” Octavia whispered, wishing she could just rip the fabric from Spike’s back.
“Only if you do the same,” Spike said in a rush, recapturing her lips as he crushed their bodies against one another. Somehow he had already removed his socks by the time his arms had pulled this amazing woman’s shirt up over her head.
Octavia, not wanting to feel left out, had snaked her arms between the pair of them and had finished unbuttoning Spike’s shirt before she was deprived of hers. Then, in a flash, she had it off of his chest, and looked him up and down; hmm, what a set of delicious abs and pectorals. Oh, she was going to enjoy this; he was in far better shape than any of her previous lovers, as most of them had been either string beans or had had at least some meat on their bones. She didn’t like the obnoxiously musclebound meatheads like other women did; she needed a man that was man because he took care of himself but didn’t flaunt it. She hated men who used their bodies over their brains as pickup lines; they were no better than the skanks out there who flashed every bit of skin they could just to get into someone’s pants.
Spike fumbled with the back of Octavia’s bra as kissed her neck, letting his teeth lightly graze her skin as he did so. She shivered under his touch; good, she was enjoying this. Having long ago learned the simplest of techniques was always the best, Spike nimbly gave a few small flicks with his dexterous fingers, and soon, the bra joined the woman’s shirt over on the floor. Spike broke the kiss apart to get a real good look at her, earning a soft moan of disappointment from Octavia. She was in her prime, and it showed; a slender figure, breasts perfectly sized for her body and a flat stomach. He loved it when women took care of themselves, and it was obvious Octavia took very good care of her body.
Spike felt his belt fly off and into some corner, and soon enough, his pants were at his ankles. “You’re good with your hands,” he whispered as he did the same, kicking his pants away from them.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered back, unnerved at just how quickly he had gotten her pants off. She hadn’t even felt him unbutton her belt or pull down her zipper.
Soon enough, underwear was gone as well, and lo and behold, Spike and Octavia were looking at each other as naked as the day they had each been born. Octavia blushed as the sight of Spike’s rising... well, she never ever said the word “cock” out loud, mostly because she just felt embarrassed by the its “dirty” connotations. However, to her, this was not like the others; for once, all of her lovers had been unshaved, something she had found rather annoying. Spike here didn’t have a spot of hair down there, which only made him look that much larger. He wasn’t porn-star big, which Octavia knew all about, seeing as she watched porn from time to time, but... damn.
Spike, on the other hand, was in awe. Octavia’s skin looked as smooth as silk, and down in her most hidden area, she too lacked hair, like he. Did she shave too? He had had several women with hair, and while he didn’t hate it, he always felt a sense of... squeamishness if there too much. There wasn’t any liquid trailing from her leg, though; that was a situation he would have to rectify.
“Foreplay?” Octavia asked, feeling suddenly conscious of herself as she undid her ponytail, letting her dark hair cascade down to her shoulders. Spike wasn’t much taller than she was; maybe an inch or two, even without his rather spiky hair, but in her room, she felt like he was a giant towering over her. The lust in his eyes surely must have been a reflection of hers, but it was unlike anything she had felt before; beyond mere lust, but something deeper, far more intimate...
“Of course,” Spike said, and in a flash, he had scooped up the cellist into his arms and was spinning her around. Octavia, for her part, only managed to let out a squeal before Spike had her pinned, his lips recapturing hers before one his hands wormed its way past her neck. There, began to trail down her collarbone, then into the valley of her breasts, before lightly flicking both nipples.
“You tease!” Octavia muttered through her lips, resisting the urge to laugh. She was awfully ticklish all over her body, something her roommate had used more than once to her advantage during a fight. She was also surprised this man hadn't wanted her to immediately go for a blowjob; all of her previous lovers had loved blowjobs, though her inexperience and rather clumsy approach had made it painfully obvious she didn't care for it right off the bat. No, it seemed he was going to get her all hot and bothered, a thought that thrilled her very much.
“Hmm, so you say,” Spike said huskily, his hand moving down her stomach and lower still, his palm and fingertips just barely touching her soft, milky-white skin. “Tell, me, Octavia, how many letters are in the musical alphabet?”
“W-What? Seven; A through G,” she whispered back, somewhat confused. What did that have anything to do with- oh!
“And that would be key A,” he replied softly, pressing his finger somewhere along her outermost labials. It had taken several lovers for him to master this technique, but he hadn't done it with Caroline, so maybe this amazing woman here would enjoy it that much more. “Tell me, Octavia, have any of your other lovers played piano?”
“N-No,” she stuttered, her heart fluttering as he kept massaging that one, little point with his finger. "Why do y-you ask?"
“Well then, let me be the first to say, a woman’s body is a lot like a piece of music,” Spike said. “There are seven different points, which by themselves are very nice, but when combined together... they create a world of music. This, was A.” He pressed a little harder onto the spot, earning a soft sigh from the woman.
“What about A sharp?” Octavia asked with a little laugh in spite of herself, feeling like she needed to breathe twice as fast just to get the same amount of air to her lungs.
“Hmm, just a derivative of A,” Spike said, his finger slowly traveling elsewhere. “Not equal, not better or worse, but not too different; just another form of an already wonderful note. Oh, by the way... B.”
Octavia spasmed softly; this was new. He was playing her like some grand piano, and the fact that he somehow knew of spots that she didn’t or couldn’t seem to remember... good God, she was getting horny. So very, very horny.
“Hmm, getting wet down there, I see,” the man above her said, his heartbeat much slower than her own as their chests pressed against one another’s. “C.” His free hand gently rubbed the back of her neck, just below her head, supporting her at the same time so she could look him in the eye as he ministered to her.
Toes curling, eyes fluttering, heart stammering, Octavia felt lighter than a cloud as he rubbed there. She was getting somewhere fast, far faster than anyone else had gotten her.
“D.”
Her mouth seemed to drain of all saliva, instead diverting her body’s liquid-producing efforts to a very special area below her waist. Her eyes started to tear, if only because she could just not believe how amazing this felt.
“E.”
Her fists clenched her sheets, the fabric the only thing preventing her nails from digging into her palms. She was getting closer, and yet when she looked, he was barely even hard. This bastard must have had a will of iron!
“F.”
“F-F-Fuck!” Octavia moaned, her body feeling as though it were on fire. Her nipples were so hard, her legs were spreading themselves wider on an almost instinctual need, and her tongue felt like it was swelling inside her mouth. She was close, so close, just one more, one more note...
“G.”
Her mind spun, her body rocked like a boat in a hurricane, and for a split second, Octavia felt her vision go white. She had had plenty of orgasms before, but this... this was transcendent. It was as if the world of music had opened her eyes to everything, how there was music everywhere; notes, lines and all sorts of sounds filled her ears and vision as her body rocked under Spike’s warm body. Everything was a symphony of lights and sounds; every breath of air was a pause before the next big concert. It was mesmerizing, it was astounding, it was... beyond beautiful.
Coming back down to Earth was hard for the cellist, or at least, it was, until she realized she wasn’t done. normally she'd have been done after a round like that, but deep inside her, she needed more, she needed more... from him “What about the finale?” she asked coyly, placing her hand up on the side of Spike’s face and pulling him in for another kiss. “You’re not just going to leave a lady waiting, are you?”
“Of course not, ma’am,” he said, his voice low and husky. "Let's get to it then." Sitting up and pulling her with him, the pianist pulled Octavia up into a hug, his arms clenching around her back as his hands went down to knead her taught ass. Octavia, feeling a bit adventurous after such an experience, jumped slightly and quickly wrapped her legs around the man’s waist, her now-dripping core mere inches above his now-hard erection. Flared glans, pulsating heat, shriveled balls; he was ready and waiting, just like her.
Spike stumbled over to the wall, where he pressed this amazing woman into the cool plaster. She didn’t care that they could feel the beat from the party through the wall; all she wanted was him to be inside her, and forcing herself down just enough, she felt him slip into her with a loud squelching sound.
“Oh God!” she cried out, her hair flailing wildly as she began to try and bounce up and down on him. The friction of the wall to her back made this nearly impossible, but then his hips bucked upwards, and she squealed in delight He was taking the initiative; she loved that in a man, more-so than she loved a man who knew how to play her like a piano. She felt him fill her with every thrust, just perfectly stretching her to the point of pain, but not exceeding, it, causing the pleasure building inside of her to just skyrocket with every bounce and thrust.
“My lady, you needn’t... exert yourself,” Spike said between grunts as his hip began to piston up and forward into her. “A real gentleman... obliges a lady... with everything... he’s got.” Fuck she was tight! Her previous lovers had obviously been either selfish or clueless; likely both, if what he had just done to her was anything to go by.
“Ah, you’re... oh... too good!” Octavia cried out, her hand interlocking behind his neck as she pulled him in for another kiss. “To think... a man like you... was... gah!... hiding in this city... all this time!” She could feel his throbbing piece of meat churning her insides, the slickness of her body making it all the easier for him to slip in. “I should have... found you... mmm yes... long ago!”
That didn’t mean she wasn’t tight, though; even with the fantastic foreplay, she had never felt more alive during actual lovemaking. Her other lovers... they hadn’t done this to her. Some had been two-pump chumps, and others had never wanted to just make her go wild. They were scared of her talent on stage, and perhaps had thought she’d outperform them in bed; that was why they never tried anything with her. This Spike gentleman... he was different. He knew, he somehow knew how to drive her wild in all the right ways; his hand clenching her ass cheeks, his dick relentlessly trying to pound her into the wall, his tongue dancing with hers between haggard breaths.
“What about... a condom?” he asked suddenly, his hips never stopping their pounding motion. He never risked sex like this, if only because it just didn’t sit right with him that something unexpected but preventable could happen after a long night of passion...
“S-Screw it... I’m on... the pill, and... just keep going! Faster, harder damn it! Break this wall!”
Spike could not believe what was happening to him. Here, he was balls deep in a talented, wonderful, beautiful woman, and she wanted more than anything for him to keep going. His other lovers had been happy with him in bed, but never this... expressive; never this passionate. So, he did as the lady said, and driving himself harder into her with every stroke, he pushed her into the wall, their sweaty bodies pressed tight against one another.
Her nipples pressing into his chest, his glistening abs grazing her taut stomach; the world outside could have frozen solid for all they cared. All they could focus on now was each other; the feeling that, as they made love, all of the pain and sadness they had been carrying with them melted away with every gut-wrenching thrust. Juices ran down their legs as the pair rutted into the wall, neither caring about the party noises coming from the outside. They didn’t care about the swirling snow, the problems of yesterday, or even that they were soon approaching a climax. All they knew is that, united as one, they were loving it; every single moment of it.
“Gah! I’ close, so close!” Octavia cried, this time shoving herself down onto Spike’s hard cock with every upward thrust of his, causing him to plunder her depths like never before. Her hair swirled around her head like it was caught in a whirlwind; her breasts bounced up and down, the firm flesh barely managing to extricate itself from Spike’s hard chest to do so. Her nipples stuck out like eraser buds, the little pink tips beginning to feel chafed from all this sweaty skin-on-skin contact. She didn’t care; she was loving it.
“Me... too!” he grunted, his arms bulging as he shoved her down onto himself, his ass cheeks contracting with every flex of his waist as he continued to shove himself inside her, her warm insides making him feel like he were making love to no mere woman, but a goddess in disguise; the goddess of music and passion and love and all things good.
Then, in an instant, several things happened. Octavia pushed them away from the wall, and, startled, the two of them fell backwards onto the bed. Spike, his hips still thrusting upwards, pierced Octavia once more as her whole body came down in one fell swoop. Then, they came; Octavia moaning as her body clenched tightly around the amazing man underneath her, and Spike groaning as he let loose a torrent of seed deep within her. Octavia, crying out in joy as she felt the inner fire course through her lower region, fell forward onto Spike, her sweaty breasts mashing underneath her as they lay. Her stomach expanded with every breath, meeting his own as he too drew in sweet, sweet oxygen. The whole room smelled of sweat and sex, yet neither of them cared. To them, in their stupor and blissful union, it was a smell sweeter than honey, an incense of immeasurable value.
They lay there for some time, trying to catch their breaths as the afterglow of the sweaty, mind-numbing sex slowly faded away. With a squelching noise, Octavia rolled off of Spike, his slowly-softening cock slipping out of her, still covered in their mixed juices. They lay together, arms slowly wrapping around one another, and then Spike leaned down. Their lips meeting, the two of them smiled and sighed, their hearts beating in time as they lay, disheveled, on Octavia’s bed. The sheets were all over the place, and the comforter had nearly fallen off, but it didn't matter; slowly, the man pulled a blanket over the pair of them, pulling the woman next to him close enough so that they were both covered in its embrace.
“Merry Christmas, Octavia,” Spike whispered, holding her close.
“Merry Christmas, Spike,” she whispered back, feeling secure in his embrace. They pulled each other closer, their bodies forming against one another, until it was as if they were no longer two separate beings, but one, two halves of a whole. Their breathing slowed, their eyes drooped, and their limbs relaxed, but neither’s sight left the other until, at last, the two of them were asleep.
High above, in the Canterlot Palace, a lone figure stood in her room, her eyes trained on the magic mirror in front of her. The dreams of Equestria’s citizens flitted past, like trees whizzing by a passing train, but two in particular had caught her eye. She had been keeping an eye on them for a while now, and this night, this wonderful night, they were at peace, for what was the first time in a long time.
“Canterlot Diner; the finest place for Lonely Heart Coffee in all of Equestria,” Princess Luna whispered to herself. She never partook of the stuff, for if she had, it might have been her and that young gentleman down there in a bed together this night, and not the woman named Octavia. She was a princess; she could do without a relationship, if only that another one of her subjects be happy and at peace and she herself would not be. Both Spike and Octavia had needed peace, and had found it that night, in each other’s arms. “It is always a wonder, how two lonely hearts are always drawn together at this time of year. The coffee’s spell always draws them together, but only if they both wish it, and tonight, I am glad it did for you two. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new gifts, and new surprises, as it always does, but for tonight, at least, sleep soundly you two. Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.”