> Tea Time
>  by McCandless_63
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Tea Time
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“There! That’s the last of them!”

Twilight drops the final two-by-four on the floor of her bedroom, her purple magic dissipating in an instant. Although you have seen the unicorn mare use a simple levitation spell at least hundreds, if not thousands, of times by now, the act never fails to amaze you. An understandable reaction, even for a human who’s found himself nearing his first month in Equestria.

“Thanks Twilight,” you say as you open the toolbox.

The big, red stallion at the local apple farm was more than happy to loan you the tools needed to complete the job, for which you are thankful. Said stallion is so aloof that you barely remember his name—Big Macintosh, you realize after a few tries—but he seems nice.

Grabbing a hammer, you glance sideways at your host. “You sure you just want me to board up this window?”

Twilight nods, a sheepish smile on her muzzle. “The replacement glass I ordered won’t be arriving for another week, and Rainbow Dash said there’s a big storm scheduled for this weekend.”

Scheduled storms. The precision of pegasus magic is yet another oddity that will never cease awe you. If only such creatures existed back on Earth. Here on Equus, a tornado is a method of dispersing water, a blizzard a way to usher in the holiday season and blanket the land in rest. Whereas you grew to know both as acts of vengeful God against whatever atrocity the locals happened to commit. For some reason, God always seemed to be mad at the Midwest.

Of course, given your experiences there, you can’t exactly blame Him.

After hearing Twilight’s explanation, you nod slowly. “Fair enough. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so.” Maybe thirty if you take your time. Given how generous your host has been, it would be mighty ungrateful of you to dawdle.

“Great!” Twilight smiles. “Do you have everything you need?”

Glancing again at the toolbox, you find that Big Macintosh has provided you with far more tools than you require, many of them showing their age. However, the hammer feels right in your hand, the saw seems recently sharpened, and the nails of varying sizes will do just fine. “Think so. I can take it from here.”

Twilight opens a drawer of her nightstand with her magic. A long list is levitated from within, along with a quill. “Alright! ‘Make sure all supplies necessary for window repair are present,’ check!” She scratches the parchment. “That’s everything!”

“Oh really? Now what will you do?”

When she merely giggles in reply, you set to work. Smirking, you grab the tape measure and start taking the dimensions of the broken bedroom window. Rainbow Dash crashed through it yet again, though you weren’t here yesterday to witness it. 

You would think such a skilled flier would have learned not to crash into a library after the thirtieth time or so, but these ponies aren’t exactly the epitome of rational.

For example, you thought you had seen perfectionism, organization, and obsession back in your college days. A certain coed comes to mind—the one who would crush up caffeine pills and mix them in her energy drink during finals week The one who would rewrite her term papers fifteen times before handing them in. The one who went ballistic if you even tracked a speck of dirt into her dorm room.

That chick has nothing on Twilight Sparkle.

Out of the two, one ended up being one of the most powerful warriors, a student of her country’s monarch, and someone who saved the world three times over. The other was Twilight Sparkle.

Just kidding. That college chick ended up working at Starbucks. That’s what you get for majoring in Medieval Scandinavian History.

Twilight says with a final giggle, “Oh yeah? Looks like somepony—”

“Someone—”

“Someone is a bit of a smart mouth,” she finishes with a playful shake of her head. “Careful now, don’t give Spike too many new lines.”

Ah, Spike. A groan escapes your lips as you busy yourself with measuring the wood sufficient to cover Rainbow’s hole. That little bastard of a dragon…

While you were fond of dragons back on Earth—hell, you went through that cringeworthy “draw dragons on everything and wear those shitty Walmart dragon T-shirts” phase through middle school along with everyone else—you know those lizards are overhyped now. Thank God you weren’t one of those tools who got dragon tattoos as soon as you turned eighteen.

Then again, humanity’s idea of a dragon is a bloodthirsty beast with claws like spears and teeth like knives. Not a little shrimp who wears an apron, brews tea, and asks too many stupid questions.

Twilight seems to notice your lack of reply, so she adds, “You know, he’s quite fond of you.”

“How sweet,” you reply, back still turned to her. You mark a board using the dull pencil in Big Macintosh’s toolbox and then grab the saw. The silence that follows is punctuated by the strokes of the saw, slow and biting, as it chews through the cheap wood.

From your peripherals, you see Twilight shift uncomfortably. “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but—”

“But what?”

She clears her throat. “Princess Celestia summoned me to Canterlot. She and Princess Luna are expecting a visit from the ambassador of the Griffon Kingdom sometime this afternoon and she wants me to sit in on the meeting.”

Griffons? Interesting enough, sure. But what makes you pause is not the existence of half-lion, half-eagle creatures in this carousel of technicolor madness, but the slow, wavering tone of her voice.

You set the saw down and look over your shoulder. “Oh, why’s that?”

“I’m not quite sure, to be honest. She’s never been too adamant on having me present during diplomatic meetings, but she insisted I come to this one.”

“I see.” Running your tongue over your teeth, you consider the implications for a moment. “How long will you be gone?”

“The train ride isn’t that long. But I’m not sure how long the meeting will take, and the trains stop running to Ponyville after night falls.”

You sigh. “Which means—”

“I… might need you and Spike to watch the library, at least for today.”

Turning around fully, you see she’s given you her biggest, most apologetic grin. Coupled with her wide, sparkling eyes, she’s undeniably adorable. You had enough experience with puppy-dog eyes to resist even the cutest little beggar under your table, but pony eyes? Fat chance.

Sighing again, you reply, “I was planning on—”

“Pleeeeeeeease?”

“... Fine,” you say, huffing. “But!” You raise a finger. “By ‘you and Spike,’ I hope you mean ‘mostly Spike’. I wasn’t exactly a librarian back home, y’know.”

That, and the less you have to spend with him, the better.

“But I’ve shown you how the library’s organized! Several times, already!” Twilight lets out a huff of her own. “Please?”

“I’m sure Spike is more than capable of handling things himself.” Turning back around, you pick up the saw again.

Just as you set its teeth in line with the cut, Twilight says, “But it’s important that you start socializing a bit more. Other than my friends and Spike, you’ve talked to another pony maybe… three times?”

Four, you silently correct her, remembering that one night down at Berry Punch’s bar. The one mercy in suddenly finding yourself in this cotton-candy world was the continued existence of alcohol. And good alcohol, at that.

You start to reply, but realize she has a point.

“And you really should spend some more time with Spike! I know you two started off on the wrong hoof, but he really likes you. He lights up when you talk to him.”

Heh, “lights up”. A fitting idiom when applied to a dragon. Okay, you can’t help but smile at that. 

And as you face Twilight, you see that pleading look in her eyes again, and all your resistance falls to ashes.

“ … Okay,” you say after a moment. “Once I finish boarding up the window, I’ll head down and help take care of the library with Spike.”

After letting out a noise between a squeal and a whoop, Twilight envelops you in a hug, her small hooves barely reaching around her torso.

With a grin, you return the embrace, careful not to squeeze her too tightly. You found out the hard way that ponies aren’t as fond of bear hugs as humans. Still, Fluttershy’s squeaks were nothing short of heart-meltingly adorable.

Twilight thanks you several times over as she pulls away. Then, after clapping her hooves, she plucks her saddlebags from a closet and makes short order of packing for the day trip. Why she needs ten books for a single train ride is beyond you.

“Alright, that should be everything! I’ll say goodbye to Spike, then I’m headed to the station!”


The clop of hooves against floorboards follows after. Luckily, you get in a farewell before she leaves, the door slamming shut behind her. 

Once it’s just you and the hole in the wall, you sigh. A whole day with Spike? Ugh. There could be worser fates, you suppose. Such as the afternoon that Rarity saw it fit to make you a whole new wardrobe. Never before had you wished to be a nudist like these ponies… You still shiver a bit when you see seamstress’s tape or pins.

Still… Spike. You try to push his name from your mind as you set to work, finishing with the first board, then measuring and sawing the others, but fail to do so. 

If you’re honest with yourself, it’s not so much the dragon’s feminine nature or small size that you find annoying. No, it was your first impression of the reptile. While he was friendly enough, he was also curious—perhaps a little too much so.

After all, no one wants to be poked and prodded while they try to sleep away their first night in a strange land. Even if their prodder apologizes several times over the next morning.

Even if they didn’t mean to tear your only (original) set of clothes.

Pushing that memory out of your head, you busy yourself with completing the task assigned to you. Twilight offered you thirty dollars—er, bits—in exchange for this simple job, and you aren’t one to complain. Back home, you worked with your hands anyway, even if you branched out into academia for a time. Those were experimental years for sure.

Within fifteen minutes, most of the job is done. Only a small amount of work remains. Two more boards, and that window will be good as new. Well, good as it can be without still actually a window. The pegasi’s storm won’t drench Twilight’s bedroom this weekend, at least.

You put the tools back in the toolbox for now and stand up to stretch. Joints pop happily in your back and knuckles as you reach for the ceiling. On your tiptoes, you’re almost able to.

For a pony, the bedroom and the library are massive. For a human… Well, if Shaq ever found himself in Equestria, he would have a bad time.

Just as you sit down on Twilight’s bed to rest your knees, the pitter patter of little feet up the stairs catch your attention.

Ugh. What does Spike want?

You wait for it, but the initial knock comes slightly later than you expected.

“Come in,” you call, your voice gruff in your ears in your apathy.

The door slowly opens, only a little at first, and then is kicked wider. In the threshold stands the small purple-and-green dragon. The grin on his face is too wide and toothy to be genuine. “Shit-eating” is a great way to describe it. But that’s nothing new.

What’s somewhat new is not the tray he’s holding in his left claw, nor the kettle, cups, and tea cakes atop it. Nor is the fluffy, pink apron he’s wearing, complete with a red heart in the center.

No, what’s new for you is the way he addresses you.

“Hey there!” he practically sings as he walks over to you, the tray on his claw balanced perfectly. “I thought you could use some tea and treats. Twilight says she’s gonna be in Canterlot for some Griffon thing or something today. Isn’t that cool?”

“I suppose.” Without returning his smile, you pluck one of the teacakes from the tray and pop it into your mouth. The flavor is new, different than his usual creations—lemony, with a hint of vanilla.

“Heh, yeah. She’s always running around doing something for the Princess or the other.” Spike sets the tray down on the nightstand and picks up the teapot. Though he’s more suited to pick up such a thing than anyone but a unicorn, you notice his claws are shaking as he pours the tea. “Crazy, huh?”

“I guess.” Once he fills both the cups, you grab one and take a sip. Mmm. Jasmine, with a hint of sugar and milk.

You would never admit it back home, but you’re somewhat of a tea aficionado. One of the few things you found in common with your host was her love for tea. You and Twilight spent many a morning discussing the many varieties.

It seems that Spike was listening when you said jasmine was your favorite… along with the way you like that tea.

Spike takes his own cup and drains it in one gulp. This doesn’t faze you; hot liquids don’t bother the little dragon, nor do spices or hot sauces. The love of the spice seems to be the one thing the two of you have in common.

“So it’s just you and me taking care of the library today,” he says, a wide smile nearly splitting his face.

You sip your tea in reply.

“But if you want, I can just take care of anypony who comes in, and you can just relax up here! O-or downstairs, if you want.”

Did he just stutter?

“Heh, err, or, you can help, too, if you want.” Spike pours another cup and downs it again, deliberately avoiding your eyes this time.

Well, that’s odd. Though he seems chipper, he’s also clearly nervous… But why?

Beyond his initial, ahem, “curiosity,” the dragon has never seemed afraid of you. Perhaps the absence of his guardian—or boss, or sister, or whatever she is—has revealed his true perceptions?

Whatever it is, Spike is offering you a chance to relax and take the day off. While Twilight had a point regarding socialization, to be honest, playing librarian for the day isn’t your idea of relaxation or even time well-spent. Sure, you’re down for a Clive Cussler novel or maybe a book on woodworking, but tracking library cards, mingling with book clubs, and shelving books? No thank you.

Setting the teacup down, you take only a moment before you answer him. “Day off sounds good. I have to finish this anyway,” you add, gesturing to the window.

“Ohh, right!” Spike pops a teacake in his mouth and gobbles it up, crumbs spilling out the sides of his mouth. “That sounds… mmm… good!”

“Uh-huh.”

Spike slurps frosting from each individual claw and looks your way, his long, prehensile tongue cleaning his talons with ease.

It reminds you of an ex who did a similar thing with strawberries and whipped cream. That makes you shiver, although you know the sentiment is misplaced.

“So, whatcha gonna do when the window’s fixed? Take a nap?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble again, looking away.

Both your body language and your tone communicate disinterest, but the message fails to reach its intended recipient. 


“Well, if you need anything, just let me know! Twilight left some money for takeout, or I could make something. And there’s games and cards downstairs, and—”

You snap your head to face him, eyebrows furrowed. “Thank you, but I better get back to work now.”

The scales on Spike’s forehead and cheeks… deflate? “Oh. Okay.”

He turns around, his shoulders visibly slumped. After putting the teacups and kettle back on the tray, he picks it up and balances it on his opposite claw.

“I’ll be downstairs then,” he mutters, then leaves the room and closes the doors behind him.

Weird. It’s understandable that he’s feeling dejected by your disinterest, but this seems almost too much. You’re reminded of Charlie Brown’s glum walk home, though there is no red doghouse with a white beagle atop it anywhere in sight.

Shaking your head, you wrestle back your thoughts and return to the toolbox. You have a job to do.

~

What should have been fifteen more minutes of work—and that’s milking it—turned to several hours, courtesy of a familiar blue pegasus.

Rainbow Dash managed to not only smash through your half-finished patch job, but also destroyed a portion of Twilight’s east bedroom wall. Of course, the ruckus sent Spike running up, but other than Dash’s groans of pain and your own of annoyance, everyone was fine.

Well, Spike seemed more concerned than he should be, but you and Dash were fine.

After berating Dash, perhaps more than you should—but then again, she literally doubled the work you had to do—the two of you came to an agreement.

To avoid another one of Twilight’s famous lectures, Dash would fly to Sweet Apple Acres and retrieve the supplies needed to both board the window and fix the additional hole in the wall. In exchange, you would keep quiet about the incident, and tell Spike to do the same.

Of course that was part of the deal.

Thankfully, Dash took no more than fifteen minutes to fly to Sweet Apple Acres, consult Big Macintosh, and bribe—er, persuade—him to haul the supplies back to Golden Oaks Library. You thanked them and carried everything up to the bedroom.

Spike looked like he wanted to help, but Big Macintosh took advantage of this opportunity to check out a few books of his own. Something about alicorn sisters in an eternal winter or something. 

Grateful for the distraction, you started on the new project, sans chipper dragon. Since you had been pretty much stringing the original task along, the additional work at least made you feel less lazy than you were. Big Macintosh had even provided a can of paint that perfectly matched Twilight’s bedroom. No surprise, considering.

After about two hours, you wiped the sweat from your brow to gaze upon a job well done. The broken window was thoroughly boarded. The hole in the wall had been sanded and patched with fresh drywall, then carefully painted over with primer and the matching hue. Once the paint dried, there would be little, if any, evidence of Dash’s accident. 

Now, that just left upholding the other part of your bargain.

You sighed at this reminder as you locked up the toolbox and sealed the can of paint. Other than his initial conversation and his panic at the crash, you hadn’t heard from Spike all afternoon. Sure, you had heard him, his chipper tone and cackling laugh rising up through the floorboards as he mingled with patrons below, but he hadn’t disturbed you.

A part of you wonders if maybe you had been too hard on the dragon. After all, torn clothes or no torn clothes, he had been nothing but nice ever since that night, even if his brand of nice was persistent and inquisitive.

Questions were never your strong suit—you were more of a “Big Macintosh” back home, preferring those of the yes/no variety—and he had asked far too many, but wasn’t that what a child was supposed to do?

A child, yes. Twilight had explained that, although Spike was in his teenage years chronologically, he was still very much a child beyond dragon standards. He had only stopped sucking his tail a few years ago!

Yet… If Spike was a child, he was one of the most intelligent, responsible children you had ever met. Ever. And that included your weird niece who read psychology books.

Yes, you were definitely being too hard on him, you realized with a sigh. At least you had come to realize it somewhat early on. A month seemed like a decent amount of time to be over something, but when you were still adjusting to magic ponies who sent letters by dragonfire, controlled the seasons with wings and hooves, and primarily subsisted off cupcakes and daisy sandwiches, getting over something in a month was understandable.

After checking to ensure that the can of paint was sealed—another cleanup job was definitely not your idea of a relaxing afternoon—you stood up and took a breath. Apologizing was also not one of your strong suits, much less to mythical, alien creatures.

But hell, if you had learned anything during your time in Equestria, it was that these beings were profoundly quick to forgive. Shit, they forgave that Discord fellow, and he had, what, turned the  clouds to cotton candy and disrupted the rotations of the sun and moon? If they could forgive that monster, then Spike could certainly forgive you.

And if he forgave you, he was much more likely to keep Dash’s little accident a secret, which would save you some bits for the supplies and Dash’s fragile ego.

Now ready to face someone you wronged, you open the door, then look down the stairs to the library.

It was empty.

“Spike?”

Starting down the stairs, you glance around the room further. Not one book was out of place. The interior look swept and dusted. The giant horsehead statue in the middle of the room shines in the sunlight. The rugs appear freshly beaten and cleaned.

“Spike?”

The stairs creak as you walk down. The sound fails to elicit a reply from the dragon. Had he left? Perhaps he had taken Twilight’s mo—bits—for takeout and gone to the cafe down the street for lunch. Or maybe he went to Sugarcube Corner? A serving of diabetes sounded absolutely mouthwatering right now.

You reach the bottom of the stairs and see that the library’s sign had been flipped. It now reads “Open” on the inside; the library was closed at barely two o'clock in the afternoon. Twilight never closed before five.

“Spike? Uh… you here?”

No response.

Your stomach rumbles in the silence. Hmm. Well, no sense in solving a mystery on an empty stomach.

With a shrug, you start for the kitchen, thoughts of a peanut butter and honey sandwich luring you in. You aren’t much for vegetarian cooking, but there are a few things you can still—

You freeze.

The door to the bathroom just off the kitchen is halfway ajar. There, his back to the tub, sits Spike.

There’s a visible lump under his pink apron—one that his right claw is curled around.

Spike’s eyes are closed, his head leaning back against the shower curtain. Even from this distance, you see beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He moves his right claw rapidly, the motion pushing his apron up and down with each stroke.

At just the right angle, you’re able to see the head of his serpentine cock. Reddish-pink in color, narrowing as it tapers to the tip. It’s fairly impressive in length for a creature his size—at least four inches, you estimate—but small in girth. His extended claw is wide enough to encompass it completely as he strokes himself, over and over again.

You don’t know why, but you find yourself staring—

Okay, that’s a lie. You definitely know why.

Those “experimental” college years? They were experimental in more than one way. One of those ways involved a roommate. A basketball player, in fact—a center, tall and solid and strong. He was funny, smart, and, most importantly, rough and smooth in all the right places. It had only taken a mild curiosity in other men and a night of whiskey for the two of you to finally come together over each other.

Since that night, you considered yourself bisexual. Not that it mattered much. After all, manual laborers in the Midwest were hardly fabulous Freddies. Another opportunity at male sensuality would only be available in the form of rest-stop hookups or creepy Craigslist ads. 

But now…

You stand there in the kitchen, watching a young dragon jack himself off as your pants grow tighter.

Spike groans, his breath in ragged huffs, as his right claw works faster. Your erection continues to stiffen, pressing against your boxers and your jeans, as he pulls on his tail with the other claw. Eyes closed, he moans when he gives his tail a particularly rough tug. The pain amplifies his pleasure; it seems you have a little masochist living with you.

Damn.

Guided by the head throbbing in your jeans, you make your way closer, your boots slow and heavy on the tile floor. You make it halfway to the bathroom door before he opens his eyes.

Spike lets out a sound between a grunt, squeal, and moan. The sound is both arousing and alarming, and you jump back in surprise. He reaches for the door, but your boot is already against it, keeping it open.

“H-h-how—”

He struggles to speak, letting out another strangled cry. You look and see a small river of precum leaking from the tip of his little pink cock, glistening as it runs down the sides. Even as he stumbles and pushes against the tub, he’s stroking himself still.

He’s getting off as you lock eyes with him.

The throbbing in your pants is getting hard to ignore. A familiar heat spreads through your veins as you watch him, bringing a blush to your cheeks and an arrhythmia to your heart.

He’s young, he’s a dragon, he’s another male.

And none of that matters.

You feel hungry, but not for tea cakes or peanut butter and honey sandwiches.

Spike opens his mouth again, but his eyes move to the lump in your jeans. Crimson spreads across his cheeks as his eyes widen.

You’ve never been a braggart, but you’re definitely well-endowed among men. Definitely at least twice Spike’s length, and maybe triple his girth.

As corny as it seems, you’re compelled to ask, “Show you mine?”

His strokes slow, but he doesn’t stop. He swallows and meekly nods.

A curious little fellow indeed.

You unzip your jeans with some difficulty, your hands shaking. Your cock, flying at full mast, pushes past the fabric of your boxers and displays itself proudly before the dragon. 

Spike’s eyes widen even further. The last time you saw his eyes that wide, Twilight had brought a special gem home for a treat.

That prehensile tongue swipes across his lips. You shudder.

Spike lets go of himself, even as he’s hard as diamond and leaking rivers. For a moment, you two merely stare at each other, you standing tall before him and him sitting on the bathroom floor.

Then, you make another bold move.

Carefully, you bring yourself to sit down on the floor beside him. You’re aware now of how much you’re sweating, how much your chest is heaving. Pit stains mar your white work shirt. The air is thick with both your pheromones and his. 

The testosterone in your nose is more delectable than you remember. It makes your cock throb in anticipation, your mouth salivate, and further pull your mind away from any semblance of rational thought.

You look over at Spike, his hind legs spread with his pretty pink cock and a sheathed set of testicles beneath it, and all you want to do is pounce.

Everything before—the annoyance, the guilt, the apology, the need to tell him to shut his cakehole about Dash’s second crash—all of that is washed away in this moment, drowned by the rivers of pre leaking from that perfectly skyward prick.

He doesn’t shy away from you as you sit, his wide eyes taking in all of you in the silence.

It’s hot, so you take off your shirt. Your chest is toned from years of swinging sledgehammers in the summer heat, but your stomach is a bit on the softer side. A weakness for sweets does that to a man. A thin layer of hair covers your belly and chest, matching the shade of your cropped hair and the five o'clock shadow on your cheeks.

At seeing more of you, Spike lets out another sound… a coo.

You can’t believe what you’re saying. Yet, you say it anyway. “... Like… what you see?”

You’re feeling more cautious now, even as your cock screams for attention, either from you or him. The silence and absence of his strokes has helped you think a bit.

First, despite his autonomy, Spike still is a younger being. What you would like to do in this moment is risky at best, even more so if he doesn’t consent to it. Nothing’s sexier than consent in your book, especially when things get a little weird. And things are definitely getting weird.

Second, perhaps he’s in too much shock to object, you think. That could explain his strange lack of alarm, along with the fact that he seems more interested than horrified.

But…

You look into Spike’s eyes. Emerald eyes, they are, green and shining and hungry as they latch onto you, sweeping up and down your chest, belly, and then down to your rock-hard cock. Spike practically drools as he stares at your member, his own still shining with pre and begging for attention.

Then, it hits you.

The curiosity. The small talk. The chipper tone. The little favors—not just today, but every day. Tea and cakes. Cookies. Your favorite sandwich in the middle of the day, or at night, when it’s just you up and looking at the stars. His slight stutter when he spoke to you earlier. That same stutter in days before, days more recent, when it seemed that he both wanted to talk to you but often didn’t or wouldn’t. All those hints Twilight dropped… How he was fond of you, wanted to talk more with you, wanted to be by your side.

Damn, you’re thick.

You look down to see Spike’s eyes move from your cock at last. “I… I like it,” he answers, nearly in a whisper, his words drowned out by the heat on his cheeks.

You can’t help but grin. “That’s good. I like yours, too.”

Jesus. It sounds like a bad porno script. But, dammit, it feels right, partially because it’s so simple. Spike could be completely ignorant of sex for all you know.

Slow steps at first. Satisfy his curiosity.

Then, if things continued, maybe…

“Can I… Can I touch you?”

The question takes you completely by surprise. For a moment, you simply stare at him, your eyes wide as his own.

And, then, you nod.

Spike, his erection bobbing as he rises, moves over to sit on your lap. You find his weight pleasant, but not uncomfortable. He positions himself right before your cock. Then, to your surprise, he leans forward.

His right claw shaking, his brings it down on your chest, right above your heart. You blush slightly at how it quickens under his touch, like some lovestruck schoolgirl in some B-list chick flick.

Yet, his touch is… nice. That’s the best way you can describe it. Somewhat rough, as the pads of his claws—his palms, really—are still scaled, but not in a bad way. The scales on his underbelly, palms, and pads of his feet have always appeared to be more smooth than the rest of him, and now that seems to hold true.

You wrap your arms around him and hold him as he gently runs his palm down your chest. You’ve never hugged him before. Now, you want to, finding him just as cuddleable as any of the ponies you’ve met. Even his sharper, stronger purple scales aren’t that bad under your hands.

“What are these?” he asks, looking at your nipples.

“Nipples. Both men and women have them, but for men, they’re kind of useless.”

“So… They’re like teats?” He tilts his head. 

Damn, that’s cute.

“Uh… Kind of.” You recall the “crotchboobs” both the mares and fillies seem to have hanging beneath their bellies. “But human males don’t give milk.”

He seems to contemplate your words for a moment, then brings his left claw to join his right on your chest. Spike brings both his claws up towards your nipples, then gives them both a stroke.

Groaning, you arch your back slightly, pressing against the tub. The sensation makes you jolt, but in pleasure, rather than pain. He uses the palm of both claws to softly stroke your nipples. As he leans forward, your cock pushes against his belly.

With a gasp, Spike looks down at the cock that’s almost a third the height of him. Holding him close, you say, “You can touch that, too, if you like.”

“I… I-I would. In a bit, if it’s o-okay.”

Damn, if he keeps blushing, you might pass out from the blood rush to both of your heads.

“O-of course.” 

You watch as he moves his palms from your nipples down to the rest of your chest. His claws reminds you of a dog’s paws in a way, kneading gently at your skin with enough pressure to please but not hurt. He takes special care as he strokes your stomach, then gazes curiously at your belly button.

“That’s a bellybutton,” you explain. “Only mammals have those.”

“Oh, okay,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “You know what mammals are?”

Spike gives you a sly grin. “I live in a library.”

Oh, right.

“So…” You pause, struggling not to let out a moan as his belly, warm and soft, presses against your cock again. “Then… Do you know what...  Er…”

Now you’re the shy one, blushing deeper as you realize what you’re about to ask. What’s occurred so far could be written off as mere curiosity of an alien creature’s body. Once you cross the threshold into the question on your lips, however, there is no more going back; either you’ll be thrown out of town or worse, or you’ll have another experimental night to add to your memories.

Spike looks down at you, though there’s a new urgency in his eyes. Not forgotten, still hard, his cock presses against yours as he shifts his position. 

Both of you groan.

“D-do you know what sex is?”

This time, he laughs.

It’s not his usual cackle, the echoing laugh that pierces your eardrums and often brings you from your afternoon naps. No, it’s a giggle, almost a girly one, borne of nerves and anticipation and a little fear.

“Of course!” Spike exclaims, sounding a little more bold. “I live in a library. Duh!”

Ha. Duh, indeed.

“Well then…” 

You run a hand down his back towards his rear. “Do you—”

“Yes!”

Spike blushes at his outburst, making you chuckle. He brings a claw up to his cheek and chuckles nervously with you, as if to minimize his embarrassment. He’s reverted back to being adorable, and, dammit, that makes him all the more fuckable to you.

“Well then…” You feel yourself lower your eyelids as you reply, “Just tell me when to stop, okay?”

Spike nods. There is going back.

Your hand that’s been trailing towards his rump finds its purchase. You curl your hand around one of his cheeks, making him gasp. His flesh is soft and tender. His tail wiggles as you begin kneading his buttock, letting your fingers massage him.

Spike’s palms are down to the waist of your jeans now. His claws linger on the leather of your belt and the silver of your belt buckle before moving to the real prize towering through your fly. Those claws seem to tremble again as they hover near your cock, which has begun leaking a little pre of its own.

Then, Spike leans forward, his cock against yours, and wraps both claws around your cock.

You bit your lip at the sensation of his rough-yet-smooth palm scales against your length. Spike stares at your member in wonder as he begins to mimic his own masturbation. His claws barely can fully cup your girth, but he manages.

He begins to pump you with slow strokes, up and down, from base to tip. He’s clearly had practice. 

Meanwhile, your other hand has wandered from his back towards his other cheek. Crying out as his other buttock is found and grabbed, Spike arches his back in response to your touch. Both of your hands now knead his buttocks, fingers massaging his supple flesh in circular motions.

“Ahhh hahhh…” His tongue flops out of his open mouth as you continue your stroking. Little by little, you inch your massaging closer to the soft skin beneath his tail.

You know what you want, but that will come later. Right now, your goal is to get him used to the stimulation.

“Feel good?” you ask with a grunt, just as he strokes you a bit faster.

“Mmm…” Spike closes his eyes for a moment at your treatment. You feel him push his rear against your hands, his tail curling up into the air.

“Ever done this before?”

Opening his eyes, Spike shakes his head. “B-but I’ve wanted to.”

“With… stallions?”

“Not before you,” he says, smiling as his claws move up to the head of your cock. 

You smile back, wanting to reply, but watch as he moves his head towards… well, yours. The smaller one, that is.

Opening his mouth, Spike reveals that long, snakelike tongue of his. Admittedly, you hated snakes. Hell, perhaps a part of you still does.

But when Spike flicks his tongue across the head of your cock, snakes are your favorite thing in the universe.

A mix between a growl and a moan escapes your lips. You throw your head back again as Spike renews his strokes, long and thin and messy. He’s by no means an expert, but, damn is he trying.

The same tongue that you’ve seen lap up frosting, gravy, and diamond dust is now wrapping around your cock. You look down to see Spike stroking your cock with his warm and wet tongue now, twirling it from the base and moving it up to the head. You want to ask how he does that, but the sensation is too powerful.

More moans and growls slip your lips, and it’s all you can do to concentrate on returning the favor. Now Spike is on his belly, his cock pushing against your jeans as he licks and strokes you over and over. His little erection rubs back and forth across the denim, but you don’t mind. Little noises escape him, adding to your own arousal.

And when you move one hand back, then whap him on the ass, Spike makes an amazing little noise.

“Uuuhhhaaaah…”

In case it’s a fluke, you spank him on the other cheek too.

“Uhhhhhaaaaaah!” Spike’s tongue falls limp from your cock, his tail raised high in the air.

There’s only one word that describes this discovery:

Unf.

Taking a cue from his masturbation session, you grab Spike’s tail and pull it taut. Now with only one hand, you move towards massaging his backside rougher, faster, letting your fingers dance as they knead into the supple flesh. Spike’s lost track of your cock now, his eyes closed as more moans issue from his throat.

His warm, wet throat.

Head swimming, you know what you want, what you need, and, Equestrian gods-dammit, you want it now.

Moving your hand from his buttocks, you grab your cock. It’s nearly gushing pre now; you know from its throbs that you’re very close.

Spike opens his eyes, and, as you push your cock towards him, opens his mouth.

“Mmmmmmmf…”

The fit is perfect. Snug. Warm. Wet. All-encompassing. Like a billows. No, a furnace.

Spike opens his mouth wider as you guide yourself in, until you feel his lips clamp down, creating a seal around your member. For someone who’s never done this before, Spike seems happy to have your cock in his mouth.

Then again, this is a library, and you are his crush.

Spike’s mouth is incredibly warm. There’s only one other place on his body that can be any warmer. Your hand moves back to his backside and keeps rubbing, making him moan around you.

The vibration is absolutely delightful, so you buck your hips.

Both claws on the remainder of your cock, Spike begins, pulling his mouth back. His eyes are locked onto yours the whole way back, his tongue licking and sucking with every moment. You’re doing your best not to push too hard, not to gag him, but the temptation is becoming too great.

When he releases your cock with an audible pop, he looks up at you and grins. Then, with a smirk, he takes you in his mouth again. Slow at first, and then deep, and then deeper.

“Haaaaah… Mmm…” Looking down, you see he has you even deeper now. You can feel the back of his throat hitting the head of your cock, and are pleased to see he doesn’t even flinch. 

Damn, this is fucking hot.

You can’t believe it, so much that you whisper, “You like sucking cocks, don’t you, Spike?”

At his moan, you spank his ass again, hard, enough that your hand stings.

Spike groans, the vibrating massaging your member, and begins furiously grinding into your jeans.

Together, you’re both almost at climax. The pheromones in the air, the heat between your bodies, the heat in his mouth, the warm skin under your fingers, the sweat beading on his tail as you pull it taut as you can—all of it overwhelms you, and your thoughts are dissolved into a primal, pressing need, to come, to cum, to release deep inside that sexy little mouth that has enveloped and squeezed you like a vice.

Your fingers move faster, harder, squeezing and pulling and massaging. As you feel his precum seeping into your jeans, you mentally declare him ready enough.

You bring your middle finger to your mouth and spit on it, making sure you have a thick layer of saliva coating it.

Then, slowly, you slide your middle finger into his rectum.

Spike’s response is explosive. Once you feel your finger pass through the tight ring of muscles guarding his prostate, his efforts both at pleasing you and himself go into overdrive. As you slowly penetrate him with your longest finger, the dragon grinds desperately into your denim and sucks sloppily on your cock.

Back and forth, up and down go his wet, needy, moaning tongue and mouth, and his rock-hard, pretty little pink prick do the exact same. You continue to finger him, even as his ass becomes a vice around you, squeezing and spanking his ass with the other hand. 

The bathroom is a haze of moans and motion for what feels like minutes, hours on end, as you and Spike stare down and up into each other, claws and fingers and tongues in the most intimate of places.

And then, Spike takes you even deeper, and you fall over the edge.

With a deep grunt and a clenched jaw, you feel your erection give one last throb. The world goes white as you release, torrents of hot, sticky, cum erupting from your cock.

You pull out as fast as you can, but not fast enough. Spike slurps and coughs at what cum is trapped in his mouth. The rest lands on his snout, chest, and forehead as you finish.

The orgasm is the most intense you’ve experienced in a long time, and it never seems to end.

Once it does, you slump back against the tub, breathing deeply. The hand that’s been smacking and squeezing Spike’s tight little ass falls limp. It’s not needed.

Spike practically shouts as he finally stops humping, his little cock letting loose against your jeans.

You look down to see his cum pooling on the floor, smiling at Spike’s relieved, but still very adorable, expression. There’s quite more than you expect; his orgasm lasts long enough to rival yours, if only in duration rather than output.

Once he finishes, you gently remove your finger from inside him. His ass is somewhat loosened by the penetration, but you’re happy to see that it’s still generally quite tight. When your finger is free, you use it to scoop up some of Spike’s cum and rub it between your fingers.

Curiously, it’s rather warm. You lean down and lick your fingers clean. Though the texture is similar to what you’ve had before, the taste is rather spicy. Interesting, but not in a bad way. As Spike pants, catching his own breath, you happily lick the rest of his cum off your fingers.

You’re still hungry, for both food and sex. Only one can wait.

“Haaah… Haaah… Oh, wow…” Spike weakly lifts his head from your leg and smiles up at you. “That was… wow. Just…” 

He trails off, his eyes widening again as the take in your cock.

It’s still hard.

“Oh… wow,” he whispers. “You… You can go again?”

“Apparently,” you reply with a sheepish shrug. “I’ve never had that happen before. Guess you’re really good.”

And there comes that blush again. “Th-thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now…”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for this next question. In a way, its more pivotal than the last.

“There is one more thing that… males can do,” you begin. “It’s very special, and also, very pleasurable. But you have to trust me if you want to do it, because it might be—”

“Painful?”

You nod.

“So… Um…” Spike looks over his shoulder at his rump, stinging-red from your spanking. “You mean…”

You nod again.

Spike swallows. Then, more blood rushing to his cheeks, he meets your gaze.

And nods.

“Are you sure?”

Another swallow.

And then, in the softest, gentlest, most pleading, most adorable, most damned sexy voice you have heard in a long, long time, if not ever, Spike says, “Please?”

For the third time, you nod.

Spike starts to get up, but you stop him.

Caught up in your lust, you didn’t bother to do it right the first time. Now, you’re going to do it right.

Gently, you pick up the young dragon and move him to your chest. He stiffens out of confusion, but then relaxes as you wrap your arms around him.

When you lean forward, your heartbeat accelerates, and a warmth washes over you as your press your lips to his.

The kiss is passionate, Spike pushing back against you as much as you do to him. His claws wrap around your neck as you continue the kiss, stroking his back as you hold him closer. You opt not for tongue this time, choosing instead to reassure him with the soft, sweet kisses you can tell are driving him wild. He’s a fire of his own on your chest, breathing deep in time with his billows, and as you pull away, his face is akin to Big Macintosh’s coat.

“... Wow,” Spike says after a moment.

Indeed. Wow.

“Are you ready?” you ask, pecking him lightly on the forehead.

He nods, more firmly this time.

“Alright. Just trust me, and let me know if you want to stop.”

Holding him still, you guide him back towards your waist. Your cock is still hard, but not painfully so. You have time, and you’ll take it, make it memorable for the both of you.

Spike settles against your waist, his rear resting against your cock. You think about asking if there’s lube available, but realize what a silly question that would be. Even if Twilight had some, you doubt Spike would know where it is.

So, you make due. You spit a generous amount of saliva onto your middle finger, then move it down towards Spike’s rectum.

Knowing what’s coming, Spike closes his eyes and winces as you gently enter him again. This time, he’s not as aroused, so you penetrate him slower, more gradually.

You watch as he breathes slowly, keeping his breathing steady as you push your finger all the way in. Your cock is significantly larger than your finger, but his first true penetration will be far easier once he’s relaxed.

“Mmm…” Spike bites his lip, his claws digging into your hips as you push back and forth. When your finger hits his prostate, he gasps. His cock begins to emerge from its sheath, coming to half and then full mast as you continue to stroke him from the inside.

While you loosen him up, your other hand guides your cock against his butt cheeks. Spike gasps again at the sensation, his eyes snapping open. You grin as you look down at him, letting your cock brush against both his cheeks while you finger his hole.

Once you feel him begin to relax, you slowly withdraw your finger. As it is freed, you grab his tail again, pulling it back and up. This not only makes him give off a little moan, but it keeps him spread and wide.

“Feel more ready?” you ask.

“Uhh-huh,” Spike coos, almost dreamily.

“Alright. I’m gonna go slow, so… Just tell me if you want to stop,” you say again. You know he heard you the first time, but these things are about trust.

Spike nods again, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure and desire. You see now how hard he is, his smooth cock pressing against your belly as he holds on tight to your hips.

You spit several times into your free hand, then lather your cock. It’s not an ideal lubricant, but you’re determined to make this as painless as possible for Spike. When you determine that’s about as good as you’re going to get, you begin to brush your cock against his buttocks again.

This time, with his tail taut, his cheeks spread, and his rectum loosened, you’re feeling more confident about taking the plunge. For now, though, you grunt and grin at the sensation of those supple, soft cheeks embracing your cock. With each stroke, you get a little harder, your cock soon throbbing as you rub it between his cheeks.

“Aaahh hahhh…” Those cute little noises are back, along with Spike’s ecstatic emerald eyes. He stares up at you, telepathically begging, you reckon, as you continue to tease, your wet cock trailing down and up to his most sensitive skin.

With one more stroke, you reach his rectum again. 

This time, your head pointed towards him, you begin to push.

“Gaaah!” Spike closes his eyes and winces, this time in pain, as you begin to enter and spread him.

His tail held high with one hand, you guide your cock into him with the other. The dragon clenches immediately, leading you to stop. You whisper to him in a soothing tone, urging him to breathe and relax.

It takes a few moments, but then you feel the taut ring of muscles begin to loosen. Seizing this opportunity, you push the head of your cock in a little deeper. Spike groans, more sweat forming on his forehead, but continues to breath normally. You push in a little further.

Within another minute or so, the head of your cock is fully inside him. If Spike’s mouth was a furnace, his ass was the flames of Hades itself. The heat was indescribable, squeezing and clenching and pulling and pushing you in.

Sweat drips down both your foreheads now. You meet Spike’s gaze and take a deep breath. “That’s the head. Do you want to—”

”YES!” he roars.

He roars. 

Damn, you haven’t had that happen before.

But it spurs you on. You continue to push, gentle but more firmly now, until about half your length is inside of him. You feel your head tap his prostate on the last push and know you’re as far as you need to be. 

Now comes the ride.

Just as Spike catches his breath, you begin to pull out. And out. And out.

And then, just as your head nearly breaks free, you thrust up.

“Haaaah!”

Your balls whack up against his, a hefty set against a smaller, and you pull his tail as hard as you can.

Spike cries out.

You begin to withdraw again, a little faster, and then push back inside.

At the same time, you pull your hand back, then bring it against his bare ass cheek.

“Uhhhh-haaaaaah!”

Drooling, Spike’s tongue flops out of his mouth. He leans against your stomach, tail raised, hind legs spread, butt stinging as you pound his ass a third time.

Both your cock and your hand whack against him. Then another. And another. Another thrust. Another spank.

“Gaaah! Haaah! Aaaah-haaaah!”

Spike’s moans grow louder, more indistinguishable. You continue to thrust, going faster on each pump, harder. You feel his prostate fully with each motion, going from tapping it gently with your head to ramming it.

Spike squeals in ecstasy and writhes on your lap, his pretty pink cock squirming beneath him as he desperately humps your belly. Your hand starts to sting from the repeated spankings, but you can’t stop. You won’t. 

The faces, the noises, the squeezing of his tight little ass around your cock, hard as a diamond in an ice storm and hot as carbon pressurized by the Earth, is too fucking much.

It’s too much, and all you can think is, Unf.

Your motions become erratic. Before you can hear yourself, you’re groaning, grunting, snorting like a stallion in rut, pounding away at the dragon’s soft, supple, super-fuckable ass. The room once again becomes a cacophony of primal sounds—grunts, groans, moans, and cries—and even more primitive smells.

You’re vaguely aware of Spike cumming, thick and hot and white on your stomach, but you’re too transfixed by your own needs to address it. You continue to thrust fast and hard into him, until there is nothing but a steady rhythm of your balls slapping together in your ears. Your spankings are mostly missing the mark now, so you’ve taken to massaging his ass again, rubbing it, kneading it worshipping it, all while your cock stirs, thrusts, pounds, spreads, and splits him.

Spike cries out as he cums, rope after rope, on your stomach, the stimulation of his abused prostate and his own needy humping sending him over the edge long before you. But even as his cock falls limp, he continues to moan and groan, your name on his tongue as you ride him for all he’s worth.

You’ve never had a lay like this. No, nothing like this. The warmth and tightness of his ass is beyond any cunt or any other ass you’ll ever experience. The softness of his squishy rump, the contradictory smooth-yet-rough feel of his scales, the mix of heavy breathing, girly moans, boyish grunts, and in-between shrieks are more erotic than any man or woman could match.

You press hard against the tub as you feel yourself racing towards climax. Spike looks up at you, eyes wide, as you make your last, final, desperate thrusts.

Then, for the second time, you explode inside Spike. This time, you keep yourself in place, clinging to his ass cheeks as you spread him wide, eager to empty your seed inside him.

The sounds you utter are beyond any language, Equestrian or otherwise. All you know is white-hot intensity, weightlessness, and sheer bliss as you fill him, spurt after spurt, rope after rope, until your cock, falling flaccid, falls out of him with a slump.

Panting, the two of you struggle for breath in the haze of your afterglow. You pull your cock away from Spike and let go of him, just as he removes his claws from your hips. You look down to see a little bleeding, but you’re too high on endorphins to care right now.

Between breaths, you mutter, “That… That was…”

“A… A… mazing…” Spike finishes, his chest heaving just as much as yours.

The two of you eventually find your breath, though it is an uphill struggle. Once you do, you look up at each other and smile.

“Hah… Wow…” You rub the back of your neck, more in pain from your awkward position than embarrassment. “I didn’t… Wow… Just… wow.”

“Heh, yeah…” Spike twiddles his claws, even as he sits on your lap, even as he winces from the lingering pain of the pleasure you’ve just given him. “Um…”

He brings his claws behind his back, then looks up at you as innocently as someone you’ve just assfucked can. “Do you… Um… Want to do this again… s-sometime?”

Grinning, you lean down and kiss his cheek. “Sure thing, Spike, but first…”

“... Y-yeah?”

“We’d better clean up,” you say with a laugh.

Spike looks down at the messed floor, piles of both his and your cum mixing, and laughs. “Oh! Right! Twilight would flip!”

You two share a laugh.

Once you’ve calmed, Spike gets up off you, while you weakly rise to your feet. You find that one of your legs has fallen asleep, but you couldn’t care less. 

As you rise, you notice that Spike’s apron is on the floor. It must have fallen off early on, but you never noticed it. Now, though…

“Hey… There’s your apron.”

Spike glances over at it. “Oh.” He picks it up, then looks up at you with a mix of confusion and suspicion written on his face. “I thought you said aprons were for girls though.”

“I did, but I take it back.” You smile. “You look cute in it.”

Without a word, Spike smiles, then ties the apron around his waist.

~

The rest of the day is rather uneventful. Together, you and Spike clean the bathroom, scrubbing it clean of any indiscretion. You remember to tell Spike about your promise to Rainbow Dash, which his obliges without objection.

Once everything is back in order, the two of you leave the closed library with the bits Twilight left for takeout. Spike introduces you to his favorite pizza place, where you both order a few slices. It’s some of the best pizza you’ve ever had, vegetarian or otherwise.

The night ends with the two of you enjoying your meal as the day turns to night. Knowing that there are two alicorns who do it is both magical and terrifying at the same time, like most things you’ve come to know in this strange world.

Even so, you look down at Spike in his little apron, and things feel right for the first time in a while.