The Wager

After what seemed like an eternity of hesitation, Rarity indulged her waiting friends with a shrug. "Smash, I suppose."

The rest of the girls in the bedroom reeled, with Pinkie Pie falling on her back, shrieking in laughter and kicking her feet into the air. Applejack smirked, looking at her fashionista friend with an appraising look. "Really?"

"Mr. Cake?" Rainbow Dash added incredulously, hugging a pillow to her chest as she laid on her stomach, looking up at her friend.

Rarity tried for a smile, though her sheepishness colored her cheeks. "He seems a decent man, even if he isn't the most...robust," she tried, rubbing her arm and shifting in her white tank top and leggings.

"He's my boss," Pinkie Pie said, laughing shrilly into a comforter laid out on the floor of Twilight's room. Her chest heaved, desperate for air, as Pinkie writhed with glee in her too-small blue pajamas. "Holy crap, Rarity," she wheezed.

"So you mean to tell me," Applejack said, clad in a form-fitting t-shirt and black hot shorts, "that if Mr. Cake came in here right now–"

"I'm not saying I would leap at a married man, Applejack," the dressmaker hissed.

"But you wouldn't exactly turn him down, now would you?"

Twilight chuckled from her place at the foot of her bed. "This is all hypothetical, of course." Her midriff showed from under her yellow and pink dotted sleepwear, which, much like her pink friend's wear, hugged her frame due to a noticeable size difference.

"Exactly!" Rarity exclaimed, pointing at Twilight as if the woman were a lifeline. "Hypothetical, yes. If it weren't a matter of him being married, then, well..."

Applejack, sitting cross legged on the carpet, prodded her on. "Well?"

Rarity hesitated for a moment, before shrugging. "Well, his wife obviously saw something in him–"

Pinkie Pie snorted. "Yeah, sure."

The rest of the girls turned to the resident party girl, intrigued. Fluttershy looked out from her curtain of hair, pulling her knees up to her chest in a self-embrace.

"What do you mean by that?" Twilight asked, leaning forward on her mattress, her face a shade more mischievous than usual.

Pinkie reached for a bowl of nearby potato chips, holding them to her face as she ate and looked up at the faces peering down at her. "Let's just say his parents had amazing foresight when they named him 'Carrot'," she concluded.

The other girls leaned in close, eyes widened at this new piece of gossip. "Holy shit," Dash breathed, huddling up to Pinkie. "I always wondered how you covered rent–"

Applejack smacked her upside the head, prompting an indignant "Hey, what'd I do?" from the sharp-tongued athlete.

"I accidentally walked in on them before, actually," Pinkie Pie said, shooting a flippant glare at Dash, who shrugged, grinning.

"So you wouldn't?" Rarity asked, glad to have the spotlight pointed away from her.

Pinkie Pie shrugged. "I'd rather do his wife," she admitted.

Applejack choked on the bottle of cider she had unfortunately just decided to drink from.

"Really?" Twilight squealed, leaning over the bed in her excitement.

"Why so interested, Twilight?" Rarity asked, batting her eyelashes and smirking.

The Princess of Magic rolled her eyes. "I just so happen to enjoy learning new things about you girls is all." She looked to Rarity and added as an afterthought, "Don't get your hopes up."

"Oh, honestly," Rarity muttered, crossing her arms, unamused.

"Never would've pegged you for someone who plays for the other team," Applejack said, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Pretty sure all I said was that I'd rather do his wife than him," Pinkie Pie said. She burped, her face dusted red from earlier drinking. "Who wouldn't choose booty over a pencil dick?"

"Point taken," Applejack said dryly, eyebrow raised despite the quirk of a smile on her face.

"Alright, alright," Dash said, waving her hands in the air to gain the attention of her sisters. "Next round, skanks!"

The girls looked to Twilight, who blinked in recognition. "My turn already?" she asked, resting on her stomach.

Applejack nodded, grasping the bottleneck of cider as she lifted it to her lips. "Pick one," she said, speaking around the lip of the glass.

Frowning, Twilight held out her hand, fingers brushing through the bowl offered to her. Sifting through the various slips of paper, she settled on one near the bottom. Plucking it out, she unfolded it before her eyes, scrutinizing the scrawling lines of text—no doubt Dash had written it. She froze.

"What does it say?" Fluttershy asked, seeing as Twilight hadn't willingly come forward with her selection.

"Um," Twilight mumbled, wide-eyed, fingers a-tremble. Her eyes flickered briefly to Applejack's legs, but she said nothing.

"Sometime tonight, egghead," Rainbow drawled, laying on her side and scratching a bare thigh. Twilight had to resist the urge to screech at her indirect betrayal. The rainbow-haired athlete knew as well as anyone how overly protective Applejack was of her family.

This is on you! she screamed to herself, before inhaling deeply and reading out in a neutral voice, "Big McIntosh."

And, simple as that, the atmosphere died. Crickets chirped, the silence was deafening, and Twilight was sure that if music had been playing, a record would have just scratched.

Looking up, Twilight surveyed the faces of her friends.

Rarity excused herself to the restroom, leaped to her feet, and promptly hid directly outside the doorway, ear pressed to the partition in the walls.

Pinkie Pie blinked, before wrapping herself into her blanket and retreating under Twilight's bed. Fluttershy soon joined her.

Only Dash was oblivious to the sudden rise of tensions as she looked excitedly from Applejack to Twilight, awaiting either's reaction.

Applejack's wry smile had turned taut and strained, and humor no longer reached her eyes, which was somehow worse than her not smiling at all. "Go on, now," she said, her voice soft but firm.

Twilight bit her lip. If she said yes, Applejack, despite her best intentions, would be furious with her. If she said no, she'd know Twilight was lying and would get mad anyway.

Sighing, the Princess rubbed her eyebrows and sat up on her bed. "I...guess I'll say sm–"

A gasp sounded from the hallway, followed by the sound of feet shuffling just outside of the door. Rarity stepped out of the doorway, her face slightly colored.

"Jeez, who died?" a male voice asked, and Spike swept casually into the room, unconscious of the rigid ambiance of the atmosphere. He carried a tray of steaming mugs to the center of the room, setting them just before Twilight's bed after offering one to the woman herself.

"Thanks," she murmured, accepting the cup and bringing it to her nose. Hot chocolate.

Eyes lidded, Twilight peered through the steam at Applejack. She felt a mixture of relief and apprehension upon seeing her gaze focused upon her young charge.

Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy came out from under the bed, thanking a bemused Spike for the drinks. As he reached Applejack, Twilight noticed somewhat sourly that Applejack's eyes remained riveted on Spike's face. Except for when the teen was facing the farmer directly, however, her eyes never traveled above his neckline.

"Appreciate it," Dash said, clapping the young man on the arm and grinning. Her hands lingered slightly longer than necessary, brushing over his exposed biceps.

"S'what I do," he said, half-smiling as he tucked the now-empty tray under his arm. "What are you guys playing?"

"It's a secret! A grown-up's game," Pinkie answered, laying back on her stomach, and Twilight thought for the first time that evening that the pink-haired girl really shouldn't have worn something so...form-fitting.

"I'm grown-up," Spike asserted, frowning slightly.

Pinkie simpered, eyes half-lidded, and Twilight immediately decided that she'd never liked Pinkie to simper.

Rarity sat down to the young man's left, an action that wasn't lost on any of the other party-goers. She frowned as her body pointed subtly towards his. "I noticed you only brought six mugs," she said, indicating each of the cups the girls held.

"Well, yeah," he said, skittish as always when in proximity to the dressmaker. "I was just, y'know, coming in to check on you guys and then–"

"You're here now," Fluttershy said softly, still hiding somewhat behind her hair, and Applejack, the damn hypocrite, still hadn't stopped looking him up and down. The girl had to blink sometime.

"Sit down and stay a spell," Rarity reaffirmed, taking a draught from her hot chocolate before offering it to Spike. When he tried to refuse, she affected a subtle pout and said in a near-whisper, "It's only my lips that've touched it."

After that, he had no qualms drinking after her.

"You guys still haven't told me what you're playing," he noted, handing the cup back to Rarity and jolting briefly when her hand conveniently brushed against his.

Twilight cleared her throat, catching the attention of the girls and Spike. Finally breaking her eyes off of the young adult across from her, Applejack looked up at Twilight. A single look was all she needed to know that the purple-haired woman had caught her staring, and the farmer looked away somewhat sheepishly.

"Actually, Spike," Twilight said, speaking slowly, "I don't think you'd be all that interested. We're just talking about boys and all." Her gaze passed briefly over the other girls, silently challenging them to countermand her statement.

"Oh," Spike said, grimacing. "Squick. Sorry I asked." He made to move away, only for Rainbow Dash to halt his movement by leaning over his lap and blocking his view of Twilight.

"Chill, green man," she said, smirking at him as her hands grasped the fringe of cotton on his thighs, "we're just discussing prospects and whatnot. Nothing nefarious."

Spike raised an eyebrow, grinning. "I'm proud of you, Dash. Only eight years of you hanging out with Twilight and you're already learning new words."

Twilight fully expected Dash to reward the young man with a elbow to the stomach for his comment, as per usual. To her alarm, however, the rainbow-haired athlete instead decided to giggle, which was undoubtedly far worse.

As Dash pushed Spike's face away in the approximation of a playful slap, Twilight realized that the shorter woman's kittenish behavior was Rainbow's own method of flirting. On some scientific level, it amazed her that she'd gone so long without seeing it.

Pinkie Pie darted a look at Twilight, saw her preparing to protest, and proceeded to follow Dash's example. "Twilight just wants you to leave because your name hasn't come up yet," she whispered loudly as she marched over on her knees, perching both hands on Spike's other leg and leaning towards his head.

Spike's smile wavered in uncertainty. "Just plain old gossip, right? I don't mind."

"You are just adorable," Pinkie Pie squealed, rubbing the young man on the head. Fluttershy murmured something in the affirmative.

"Thanks, Mom," Spike replied sardonically, gently knocking Pinkie's hand aside. "So are you guys gonna tell me what game you were playing—"

"I'd rather not say," Twilight interjected.

"Oh Twilight, please," Rarity said, placing a hand on Spike's shoulder. "He's of legal age, after all, there's no harm in letting him know."

"Girls," the Princess protested.

"Especially if we're just gonna talk about him after he leaves," Pinkie added.

"We. Are not. Talking about him," Twilight snarled through gritted teeth.

Their friend's uncharacteristically venomous display cowed the girls into quieting down. Pinkie sat back, releasing her grip on Spike's leg.

Spike himself frowned. "It's just a game, Twilight," he said quietly.

"You don't know what we're talking about," she countered.

"Well maybe if you guys would just tell me already!"

Pinkie started to speak, only to go silent at a withering look from Twilight. The pink-haired girl shut her mouth, humbled.

Rainbow Dash bit her lip, eyes darting from Twilight to Spike, before seeming to make her decision.

Pulling Spike's head down, she grasped one cheek, cupping Spike's ear with the other and whispering into it.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "I don't...oh." He looked to Twilight, eyes wide as Dash continued to speak into his ear. "Oh wow—her brother?"

Twilight went stiff, a mad blush making its presence known on her face. Applejack's demeanor hardened once more, albeit now with an air of triumph marking her features.

Rainbow Dash chuckled, dropping her hand momentarily before continuing. Twilight managed to catch something about "Rarity" and "pencil dick", but the rest of the girl's speech was unintelligible.

Spike's jaw dropped, before the boy looked over at Rarity, incredulous. The dressmaker winced, though she said nothing.

Applejack's gaze flickered to her purple-haired friend, before darting back to Spike and his chest.

After several seconds of awkward silence, Spike exhaled. "Oh, wow. Who else?"

Pinkie Pie burped, excusing herself as a disgusted looking Rainbow Dash wiped the spittle off of her nose. "Applejack said she'd do Time Turner if he asked."

"W-well hold on now! He's easy on the eyes, and he's got a nice voice," said Applejack, wincing, speaking up for the first time since Spike's arrival.

"And Fluttershy said she'd let Rarity's dad plow if he was single," Rainbow Dash added, grinning.

"I didn't say it like that!" Fluttershy fretted, doing her best to pretend as if Rarity's indignant glare didn't phase her.

The dressmaker huffed. "As if I needed any reminders. I already know full well that I come from great stock."

Fluttershy sighed, falling back on her comforter, arms clutched to her chest. "You really do."

"Dashie drew Blueblood, but she said she'd rather set herself on fire and jump out a window."

"Said it just like that," Dash said, grinning.

"I can imagine," Spike said, amused. He turned to Pinkie. "Who'd you get?"

She blinked. "I haven't gone yet," she admitted, before smiling coquettishly at the young man. "I'm more interested in who you'd choose," she said, elbowing Spike jokingly.

Twilight's eyes flashed bright white before she could stop herself.

"This may come as a surprise to you, Pinkie," Spike droned, unaware of Twilight's lapse of self-control, "but I'm not actually all that forthcoming about wanting to sleep with other men."

A flare of crackling purple energy engulfed Spike, and with a POP! he vanished from the bedroom.

The girls started, staring wide-eyed at the spot where the young man disappeared from.

Rarity was the first to recover. She looked to Twilight, her expression souring. "We were just having a bit of fun," she said disapprovingly.

"I will deal with you girls later," Twilight growled, getting up from her seat and stomping her way out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

As she left, she heard the room behind her explode into a din of low, excited whispers. Twilight paid them no heed; her eyes locked onto her young suite mate, who found himself sitting cross-legged and confused at the bottom of the stairs.

"What gives?" he griped, rising to his feet as he caught sight of his caretaker. "I was having fun talking to them."

"I don't want you around them right now," Twilight grumbled, arms crossed as she walked past her young charge.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "And why's that?"

Twilight blew her hair out of her face, her gaze troubled. She sat down at a nearby bench, one of many in the dark crystal hallway near her quarters. She patted the seat next to her, and Spike, after a moment of glaring, obliged her silent gesture by sitting next to her.

Steeling herself for the awkward talk about to follow, Twilight exhaled and squared her shoulders. Bending over and clasping her fingers together, the purple-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Did they seem to...act different to you? Out of the ordinary?"

Spike blinked, looking down and frowning in concentration. "Kind of?" He thumbed the leather cushion between his thighs. "I guess Dash was more hands-on than usual, and Rarity was kind of quiet."

Twilight looked up, intrigued. "Really?" She was so busy being incensed at Pinkie and Dash that she didn't notice much of the other girls' behavior.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "She barely said anything the whole time I was up there."

"You mean like Applejack," Twilight said quietly, leaning back.

Spike frowned. "I figured she was mad at me or something, she was a lot more intense than usual." He scrunched his nose. "She seemed really focused on me, which didn't really make sense."

Twilight rolled her eyes. "What part of it doesn't make sense?"

The green-haired youth looked at her incredulously. "Well it didn't make sense for her to be mad at me, since you kind of said you'd do her brother–"

"It was a game!" Twilight said, exasperated. She sighed, resisting the urge to pull her own hair out. "How can you be so oblivious?"

At Spike's indignant look of surprise, she elaborated. "Spike, look…" She looked up at him, meeting his gaze softly. "Ever since your party a couple months ago, well…you're an adult now. You know that, right?"

Spike stared at her, unsure of what she was getting at. "What are you getting at?"

"The thing is…um…the girls might be, well rather are…starting to um, notice…you." Twilight mumbled.

"Why wouldn't they?"

Twilight groaned. "No, Spike. I mean, they're starting to notice you." She indicated her frame with both hands, and Spike's eyes lingered for a moment at her bare midriff, before widening in recognition.

"Oh."

"Yeah," she said, rubbing a shoulder. "I–I haven't said anything up until now because I didn't want to address the elephant in the room." She stared at him almost guiltily. "And it wasn't just when they were flirting with you tonight–"

"They were flirting?" Spike asked, bewildered.

"–but for the past couple weeks, they've been dropping hints that they're interested. They want my permission to–um..."

"Permission for what?" Spike asked slowly, looking slightly nervous.

"To 'court' you," Twilight finally said, wincing at her own words.

Spike stared at Twilight long enough for the young woman to look away, ashamed. "All of them?" he asked, skeptical. The young woman looked back at him, chewing her bottom lip.

She nodded. "Applejack's been bugging me about going camping, and how none of her family has the time to go with her. So she asked me to go instead." Twilight folded her hands together. "I told her I couldn't, of course, since being a Princess means I can't just take off like that. So, can you guess who she asked permission to spend the weekend with?"

Spike blinked. "Me?"

"Correct. Then Pinkie asked me to help her watch the Cake's house this week, since they'll be out of town until next Saturday. I figure, it's odd that she'll ask for my help, since she knows I've got a town to run." She blinked slowly, leaning over to Spike. "Do you know who she asked for next?"

"...me?"

"Right! Now, funnily enough, Pinkie Pie wasn't the one who's going to be babysitting the Cake's kids, which I personally thought was a no-brainer. Instead, they decided to let Fluttershy watch over the twins."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Spike said weakly.

"Not bad at all," Twilight agreed, pulling her legs up on the bench, holding her knees to her chest. "But then one day, over tea, Fluttershy lets it drop how nice it would be to have a male presence around the house while the kids are there."

Spike went silent.

Twilight shrugged. "Of course, when I asked her who she'd want around the house, she backtracked and said Big McIntosh. But I could feel her staring at me when she thought I wasn't looking."

The green-haired young man leaned down, shaking his head. "That's...wow," he said, exhaling heavily, "I can't believe I didn't know they saw me like that."

"That's the point," Twilight said, anxious. "Spike, I don't want the girls looking at you this way." She shuddered. "They knew you as a boy, they practically helped raise you. The fact that they're thinking of you in this way...it scares me."

"Why me?"

"Probably because they figure you're safe," Twilight guessed. "You're cute–objectively speaking," she clarified, at his look, "you're easy to be around, and you're obviously a virgin."

"Wow, okay, Twilight–"

"Logical reasons aside," she continued, "you can get why this whole situation is...morally difficult."

Spike frowned, though Twilight could sense a vague sense of dissent emanating from him. "You disagree," Twilight said, quietly.

"I get that it's kind of weird, yeah, but...." he swallowed, "is that really a bad thing?" He looked Twilight in the eye. "Even if something ends up happening, we've known them for years now."

"You're telling me you're fine with the women you grew up with, who're practically your aunts, trying to date you." Twilight peered at him, unbelieving.

"Yeah, I guess that's what I'm saying." He looked offended on their behalves. "Can you honestly tell me you think they'd take advantage of our friendships?"

"And if it was me?" Twilight asked, incensed. "You'd be comfortable if I was up there with them, pulling your name out of a bowl and telling my friends whether or not I would screw you?"

Spike crossed his arms. "Sure."

Twilight stopped mid-tirade. "What."

"If that was how you felt, I'd be fine with it." He shrugged. "I'm not saying it wouldn't be awkward–"

"I can't believe you just said that–"

"Well gee, Twilight," Spike snapped, "I guess you're right. What would I know about not being able to help who I fall in love with?"

Twilight stopped cold, chastened. Her heart slammed against her ribcage at this new uncertainty. "I–", she swallowed, feeling the hot sweat gather on her skull and on her face, "You have a point, I guess."

She got up from her seat, leering at Spike warily. "I don't see you that way, you know."

Her young green-haired charge snorted. "I gathered."

Twilight's heart started to retreat from her esophagus. "But...hypothetically speaking...if I did?" She chewed the inside of her cheek. "How would you react?"

Spike looked into her eyes, really looked at her, as if he was trying to divine her intentions from her face. "You really think this is worth discussing?"

"I think we should be on the same page about it," she asserted.

The teenager sighed, feeling his Princess's eyes on him. "Then," he said slowly, "if you were, I'd suggest pajamas that aren't so tight."

"Not funny," Twilight growled, uncrossing her arms. She leaned down, sighing as she grasped her friend and pulled him into a tight hug. "You know I worry about you."

"Uh, yeah," Spike said, in a somewhat distracted voice.

"What's wrong?" Twilight asked, worried. "I just–" She stopped, before separating their bodies and glaring at him. "Why the fuck are you hard."

Twilight felt sick.

Her stomach churned as she walked back up the stairs. Her bare feet seemed unsteady as she considered the events of the night. On top of the girls dancing around her ward's apparent animal magnetism, Spike himself was fine with it. Hell, he was fine with Twilight joining in, even though they'd practically been family for the entirety of their conscious lives. She hadn't believed him at first, but the devil downstairs proved his indifference.

Nothing seemed certain anymore.

She found herself on the threshold to her room, and it was now that Twilight's anxiety seemed to climax. No doubt her friends would react poorly to her rash exit, but even worse was the knowledge that she herself was the only person in the castle to be offended at the recent turn of events.

Twilight ignored the girls's stares as she re-entered the room and seated herself on the edge of her bed. She looked at none of them.

A hand brushed her ankle, causing Twilight to look down.

"What's wrong?" Fluttershy asked soothingly. "Where's Spike?"

The Princess of Friendship tried for a smile, with limited success. "Went to bed after our little 'talk'. I'm thinking of turning in myself."

"Boo, whore!" Pinkie cried, hurling a pillow at the purple-haired host, who yanked up a surprised Fluttershy and used her as a barrier.

Twilight grinned slightly, hoisting Fluttershy next to her on the bed. "Pillow fights won't change my mind, either."

"So, are we not gonna talk about what just happened?" Rainbow Dash asked, frowning and crossing her arms.

"If by 'what just happened', you mean you girls visually and somewhat physically molesting my surrogate little brother, then no, we're not talking about it." Twilight said, effectively ending the discussion.

"This is bogus," Dash concluded, crossing her arms and falling on her back.

"I bet his dick tastes like pop rocks," Pinkie commented, to Twilight's horror.

"Rock candy is more likely, dear," Rarity said in correction, checking her reflection in a handheld mirror and bouncing her hair in one palm.

The rainbow-haired girl huffed. "Not like we'll get a chance to find out, huh Twilight?" She groaned, rolling on her side.

Pinkie Pie bounced over, plopping down next to her friend. "Single and lonely like always, huh Dash?" She poked the girl in the side. "Wanna practice kissing again?"

Rainbow Dash pondered the question, before nodding. "Only if you call me Daddy." She smacked the taller girl on the rear as Pinkie straddled her.

"Sure thing, Daddy!" Pinkie laughed, settling down. She pursed her lips together, before pressing them to her friend's in a deep kiss. Her soft pink flesh met Dash's brusque tan as they collided roughly, tongues surging into each other's mouths. Rainbow's hands settled on Pinkie's abundant bottom as the two young women pressed their bodies together, free of any barrier except for their thin nightwear.

"Look at them go," Fluttershy said, too used to the sight to be embarrassed.

Twilight rolled her eyes as she looked on, the side of her head resting in her palm. Now that she thought about it, with the way the girls went at each other each time a sleepover was held, their haphazard approach to their dealings with Spike didn't seem quite so farfetched.

Suddenly, a shocked expression cut across Pinkie's face. "Oh my gosh!" she squealed.

The rest of the girls looked at the pair. "What is it?" Applejack asked, uncrossing her legs and leaning over.

"You guys, Rainbow Dash's boobs are missing!" she exclaimed, pointing at the shorter girl's washboard chest.

"Oh, screw you!" Rainbow Dash snarled, pushing the party girl off of her hips.

Applejack outright barked with laughter, while Twilight and Rarity shared a glance, chuckling. Pinkie wore a shit-eating grin as she reasserted her hold on her friend, trembling with delight. "W-wait, I could've sworn they were here a second ago–" Her hands moved up Dash's shirt, cupping her small mounds and pretending to search the girl's chest for the missing mammaries.

"Lay off!"

"Only if you call me Daddy!"

"He said that?"

Twilight nodded, laying down near the headboard of her bed.

Rainbow Dash whistled. "I mean, I'm glad, personally," she said, holding her hand to her chest, "but wow, I guess even you aren't off the table, huh?"

The Princess of Friendship gave Dash a sullen glare for her troubles.

"Personally, I think it's rather sweet of him, leaving the door open for her," Rarity said, gently rubbing Twilight's calf. "After all, the age difference isn't that great, and Twilight's parents as well as Celestia did most of the actual raising of the two." She smiled beatifically. "Two childhood friends, living together," she sighed, clasping a hand to her heart, "loving together–"

Applejack and Rainbow Dash both groaned in exasperation.

"Oh hush, you two," the seamstress chided. "Few things in life are more beautiful than romantic destiny."

"I think you're taking it a little far, Rarity," Twilight said, rolling her eyes.

"You are kind of hamming it up," Fluttershy admitted.

"Please," Rarity said, grinning. She snatched Applejack's bottle of hard cider, tilting the glass back and downing the rest of the drink despite Applejack's protests. "Unlike you uncouth streetwalkers, I can appreciate beauty in all its forms."

"Like your hot dad?" Fluttershy near-whispered.

Rainbow Dash snorted, immediately clutching her side. "Oh no," she grunted, torn between pain and laughter.

"That's not funny," Rarity snapped.

"It's kinda funny," Applejack said, smacking the dressmaker soundly on the rear.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" she barked.

"You're one to talk," the farmer barked back.

"Y'know," Pinkie said, getting their attention, "it's probably good that Spike isn't in here. All these lesbo shenanigans would probably make his dick explode."

Twilight chuckled. "In rock candy-flavored fragments, I'm sure."

As they laughed, Rainbow Dash brushed her hair back, biting her cheek. "Speaking of rupturing penises–" Rarity choked on a laugh, "–what did you do when old boy cracked a fat one on you?" Her eyes were clouded but calculating, as if she was working out something in her mind.

"That's not fair, Rainbow Dash," Pinkie Pie chided. "I know my dick gets hard whenever I hug Twilight."

Twilight's smile lessened, before the young woman leant back, rubbing her elbow. "To be fair, I wasn't wearing a bra when we bear-hugged, but..." She sighed. "I don't know–"

"How big was it?" the rainbow-haired girl whispered.

Twilight looked up, glaring at her, scandalized. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Princess," Dash near-purred, climbing into her leader's lap and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You were right up against him, I know you felt it." She felt the air still behind her, felt their friends hold their breathing.

"I didn't–see it, okay?" Twilight snapped, irritated and ready for the conversation to be over. "It was dark, and I only felt it for a second."

Rainbow Dash wasn't deterred. "How big was it?"

Twilight glared at her friend, holding eye contact for several tense seconds. When the athlete didn't waver, Twilight groaned. She held her hand out, allowing for her magic to snatch the now empty cider bottle by the neck. "This thick," she said, hating herself for saying the words. "Happy now?"

"Lip or the base?" Dash murmured, eyes scrutinizing the glass.

Twilight gave a sound of derision. "The bottom of the neck, obviously."

Rainbow and the rest of the girls stared at the bottle, sketching in their mind's eyes how the size would equate to the male figure. The bottle's neck was decidedly thin towards the top, but filled outwards to a fair girth when reaching the body of the glass.

Rainbow Dash gave a satisfied sound of contentment. "I can work with that," she said in a low voice.

"No the hell you can't," Twilight growled, her eyes flashing. She pushed the insensitive sprinter off of her and onto her back. "If you're planning on doing any fucking in this castle, it'll be between the six of us."

"Is that a promise or an order, Twilight?" Dash asked slyly. Her hands reached around the girl's waist, hugging her.

"I'm serious," she said gravely. She looked up now at the four girls surrounding her. "It's fine when it's just the six of us messing around, but we're not bringing Spike into this."

Rainbow Dash scrunched her face in mock-confusion. "'Messing around?' I was being serious."

"Of course you weren't," Twilight asserted.

"I don't know, Twilight," Fluttershy hummed, "Rarity looks pretty exploitable tonight."

"Oh," the dressmaker droned, "now you try to butter me up."

"I'll sleep with as many people as it takes as long as your dad is one of them."

"My heart," Pinkie cried, cringing and bending over in laughter.

The fashionista lunged after Fluttershy, restrained only by Applejack. "If you so much as sniff his aftershave–"

"Are you guys okay in there?" a voice called out from behind the bedroom door, causing Rarity to stop mid-rant. "I heard yelling!"

"Everything's fine!" Applejack called back, getting up and sprinting to the door. She opened the door slightly, only wide enough so that Spike could see her face. "Just playing a real exciting game here, 's all!"

Spike squinted at her, unbelieving. "What kind of game would that be, exactly?"

Applejack blinked, stumped. "That's, um–" she looked back at the girls, who were staring at her, mouthing frantically and making unintelligible hand gestures. The farmer rolled her eyes. "Wager match," she breathed, turning back to Spike, smiling unconvincingly.

"'Wager match,'" he repeated.

"Yeah huh."

"What are you all wagering?" he pressed, still unconvinced.

The blonde-haired woman wracked her brain for an answer, whatever would cause the young man to leave and stop asking questions.

Then she recalled his earlier fight with Twilight, and decided to ruin his evening.

"You."

Spike stared at her, uncomprehending. "I don't get it."

Applejack sighed, running a hand through her long, thick hair. "We got around to talking about gamblin' and what not, and outta nowhere, Twilight," the girl back on the bed wringed the air around her fists at the betrayal, imagining it was Applejack's neck, "–decides that she'll loan you t' one of us if we win a bet."

"That's bull," Spike immediately said, crossing his arms and frowning. "Even if I did believe you, what do any of you have that Twilight would wager me for? And why, for that matter?"

"W-well," Applejack said, and now she was thinking on her feet, "there's some stuff that Twilight's crazy about getting her hands on, y'know." The aforementioned girl was on the verge of getting up from her seat and yanking Applejack away by the ear. "Like a few free dresses, free food at Sugar Cube Corner–" Rarity and Pinkie both winced respectively, "and other such, y'know, sundries." She grinned weakly, conscious of the sweat on her brow.

Spike rolled his eyes. "And what did you wager that she needs so much?"

"My brother," she answered automatically, and though she wanted to curse herself immediately afterward for blurting out the first thing that came to mind, Applejack realized that the answer was completely obvious. Men were a precious commodity in their town, after all, and Twilight herself had indicated her interest in Mac not half an hour ago.

Twilight stopped her silent ranting, staring at Applejack's back, mouth slightly ajar.

Likewise, Spike goggled at her, now visibly worried. "You're lying." Shit, he thought to himself, I forgot, Twilight's fucking lonely.

"Am not," Applejack said with mock petulance. Her voice turned sultry–or as sultry as it could get when she was buzzed–as she prepared to tell the truth for the first time in their conversation. "And far as I'm concerned," she said softly, reaching out a hand to stroke Spike's side, "it's a good trade."

Now, Spike looked terrified.

"If you want, though," she said, catching his attention, "we can call off the game, and go somewhere private." She opened the doorframe slightly, allowing the light from Twilight's room to frame her body and bring attention to her bare legs. "To talk."

"That–that's not necessary, Applejack," said Twilight, still sounding shocked. "Come on back so we can...continue."

"Wait," Spike said. His eyes flickered back to Applejack's toned legs, before meeting her eyes. "You never said why she'd 'wager' me." His face was radiating heat.

Applejack smirked internally, she was already home-free. "Something about 'confused erections' and 'needing space'," the farmer lied, making air quotes with her fingers.

Spike reeled back, his face blanching. "Oh my God."

As he started to retreat, Applejack called out. "Hey."

The green-haired teenager stopped just before the edge of the stairs. "W-what?"

Applejack winked at him, leaning against the door frame. "I hope I win," she murmured.

She closed the door, walking back to join the others on the bed.

"Holy shit, AJ," Rainbow Dash whispered in awe, "how'd you come up with that on the fly?"

The farmer rolled her eyes, smiling. "I just took notes from all the times I caught you lot bullshittin'."

Now it was the athlete's turn to look incredulous. "So says the alleged Element of Honesty."

Twilight stared at her blonde-haired friend. "Did you mean what you said?" she asked quietly, and Applejack knew then, without a doubt, that she'd found an in.

She held eye contact with her friend, the Princess, for several seconds. Instead of answering, however, she reached for the empty cider bottle and moved to the floor in front of the bed. "Listen here, cause I'm only saying this once."

The other girls followed her, moving to form a circle. Twilight sat across from her, resting on her knees.

"We're gonna have ourselves an actual wager match, somethin' real exciting." The farmer smiled. "Now y'all don't have to play if you don't want to, but if'n you do, you gotta put up somethin' of real value." She eyed Twilight especially. "If Twilight agrees to lend me Spike for a week...well, if I win the wager, I'll let her have a shot at my brother for the same amount of time."

"For what?" Twilight asked, making sure.

"Use your imagination," Applejack said dryly, "but kindly leave out the details."

Twilight bit her lip, looking down in hesitation. Her shoulders heaved at some internal defeat. Finally, she said, "Okay, I accept."

Rarity beamed. "In that case, I'll wager this: I'll make Twilight any outfit she so desires, no matter how outlandish it seems." At the other girls' collective grimaces, she sighed and waved a hand. "Oh, and I'll throw in Sweetie Belle for a week or so. I'm sure she'd make an excellent assistant in the meantime."

Twilight nodded, ignoring the feeling of unspecified guilt she felt making these agreements.

Fluttershy spoke up next. "Um, if it's okay with you," she said, speaking to Twilight, "I'll clean the castle for you." She hid behind her hair. "If you think that's fair."

The Princess's eyes bulged. "What? The entire castle?" At Fluttershy's reassurance, Twilight shook her head. "Fluttershy, I can't ask that of you. You could spend days in here just exploring the place, cleaning it would take forever!"

The animal caretaker shook her head in gentle disagreement. "I wouldn't be alone," she asserted.

"Oh, right," Pinkie Pie said, bopping herself in the head. "Snow White over here."

The purple-haired woman sighed, working her jaw before nodding. "If you really want to wager that, then I'll take it." Fluttershy smiled in return.

Twilight now turned to Pinkie. "What've you got?" she asked, somewhat warily.

The pink menace smiled mischievously. "I'll throw you a party!" She held up her hands at the complaints that immediately followed. "Not just any party, though!" She leaned across to Twilight, winking conspiratorially at her. "A special party, just you and anyone else in Equestria that you want. You want 'em? I'll get 'em." Rarity leaned over and whispered into the girl's ear. "And I promise that they'll be there of their own free will," she added.

"Would you be there the whole time?" Twilight asked, suspicious.

"I Pinkie Promise not to peek!" Pinkie said, winking madly and inserting a finger through a hole in her closed fist.

The former librarian rolled her eyes. "Good enough, I guess." She turned to Rainbow Dash, who had remained strangely silent for the entirety of the game.

At her glance, Dash grunted. "I don't have anything you could want. You already own all the books I have, and I'm kind of fucking poor to boot."

Twilight smiled at her. "No attractive family members to auction off?" she asked sarcastically.

"Fresh out," Dash confirmed. "Besides, we all know AJ's just going to win anyways because of her brother. I'd probably kill all of you if it meant tapping that."

"None taken," Rarity said.

"Actually," Applejack interjected, "I was just—fuck you, by the way—I was going to use this here bottle as the deciding factor." She placed it down on the bare floor where none of the comforters reached. "Y'know, so things would be fair. That way, whoever it lands on just trades with Twilight."

"That's a brilliant idea, Applejack," Twilight said, smiling.

Rainbow Dash blinked. She grinned and leaned forward, her hope renewed. "Well in that case, I bet myself!"

Twilight raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"You heard me," the athlete said. "I don't have much to trade, so I might as well go all out." She winked at Twilight. "If I win the wager, I can have Spike, and Twilight can have me."

"You do realize that she can use you as a lecture dummy," Rarity added, to Twilight's immediate joy.

This realization dampened Rainbow's spirits somewhat. The girl half-smiled. "Well, if it gets really bad, I can always fucking kill myself."

"Oh come on," Twilight said, wincing. "My lectures are nowhere near that bad."

"I keep a gun in my purse in case it ever gets to be too much," Fluttershy disclosed.

"Okay," Applejack said, before Twilight could respond angrily, "are we all agreed?"

The girls around her nodded, ready for the verdict.

Frowning and anxious, Twilight spun the bottle, wondering which of the girls around her held her assistant's fate in her hands.

Path One: The Art of Camping

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Applejack couldn't believe her luck.

At first, Spike had been reluctant to join her on her week-long retreat to the heart of Whitetail Woods, but some lighthearted reassurances by Twilight and herself were all that the young man needed to assent to their one-on-one excursion.

"Relax, sugar," she had told him the day after she'd won the wager—Twilight had looked equal parts terrified and overjoyed, seeing the bottle's nose land on Applejack—"that talk last night was jus' me poking a little fun at 'cha." She had smiled gently, clapping him softly on the shoulder. "'Sides, it'll be fun. When's the last time it was jus' you and me?"

Spike had paused, pondering, until it became clear that he couldn't come up with an answer.

"Fine, sure," he said, cracking a half-smile. "Besides, you'll need someone to keep you safe for when things get scary out there."

Applejack had rolled her eyes, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Thank goodness I've got such a big, strong man like yerself to keep me from harm's way," she drawled. Neither of them addressed the fact that Applejack could kick a tree in half if she so chose.

Rainbow Dash had insisted that the apple farmer had cheated, but couldn't provide an explanation as to how. In any case, Twilight wasn't willing to consider a re-spin. Applejack, for her part, had kept the showboating to a minimum.

So it was that several days later, the two found themselves backpacking to the wilds west of Ponyville, a scant few miles away from the base of the vast and imposing Smoky Mountains.

The first day had been the worst so far. Spike was used to traveling vast distances on foot, but he lacked the endurance and powerful muscle that Applejack had acquired from years of hard manual labor. They had needed to stop multiple times for him to rest, particularly on the more difficult hills and burrows. It was something that, despite Applejack's affections for the young man, caused her no small amount of frustration, though she did well to hide it.

They'd stopped for the day near a small stream, one that hadn't been indicated by the map she had brought. She'd made sure to avoid the railroad tracks—she'd wanted to remain as immersed in nature as possible—and going by the surrounding terrain, they were in the westernmost heart of the woods this side of the mountain range.

They had made good progress for the day, despite setbacks, Applejack had concluded. When Spike had complained about his aching muscles, the farmer teased him, offering to carry him bridal-style the rest of the way.

He hadn't found that very funny.

As for keeping clean, they had agreed to take turns bathing in the nearby stream, something that Applejack had looked forward to taking advantage of.

"You've got five minutes," she'd told him, as the young man emerged from his tent wearing only a towel.

He snorted. "Or what? You'll fish me out?"

"Or I'll come in," she'd replied. She'd had her back to him as she said it, though she could only imagine the stunned look on his face. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of walking around in my own filth, so if you don't want little ol' me to harm yer young virgin eyes–"

"I got it," he called back, already walking away. Applejack chuckled, hunkering down and gathering supplies for a campfire later that night.

She busied herself with the usual preparations, and after a suitable amount of time had passed, she removed herself to the tent—they had only brought one—and undressed, throwing the clothes she had shed in the corner.

Exiting the tent, she donned a towel, which she noticed covered only the bottom half of her breasts to an inch or so past her buttocks. Applejack grumbled to herself, somewhat displeased to once again be reminded of her abnormal body size.

She sauntered to the stream, taking her time as she absorbed the crisp but heavy presence of the woods. Speckled light marked a path in intermittent bursts, a walkway nearly untrod by human feet. Applejack inhaled the deep earthy aroma and felt her muscles relax. She was in her element, she knew so without thinking it.

As she reached the stream, indicated by the burbling of water sounding like so many marbles coursing over each other, she thought to herself how easy it was to imagine that she and Spike were the only people on the planet. The thought lent itself to the unbridled freedom of the outdoors, and at that moment Applejack was fiercely glad of her decision to come here.

No responsibilities, no joint-grinding work. No family or friends to go see, no long walk down to the town square.

No one watching them.

Spike had remained in the stream longer than his allotted time, but Applejack couldn't blame him. As she dipped her feet into the surprisingly warm water, the current beat coaxingly at her skin and she let out a slow groan of approval, one which was drowned out by the peaceful, serenading rumble of the river.

She inched herself in gradually, starting when the water surged past her thighs, until finally she found herself neck-deep in the burbling brook. The current was just shy of being obtrusive, tugging without any real force, allowing Applejack to release her hold on the bank and wade out toward the middle where Spike was.

"Couldn't get out, huh?" she asked teasingly, when she had positioned herself directly behind him.

Spike cursed, nearly losing his balance and falling over into the water. "Warn me next time you do that," he cried, backstroking a safe distance.

"I don't blame you," she confessed, closing the distance again, smiling. "Nothin' like losing yourself in it completely, innit?" She sighed pleasurably, rolling her shoulders. "I can't believe I almost forgot what it was like."

"It's nice," he agreed cautiously, eyeing Applejack somewhat uncomfortably.

The farmer rolled her eyes. "Land's sake, there's no reason to be a stick in the mud. We're jus' out here, bathin' together. Nothin' nefarious." She feinted towards him, grinning as he flinched away.

"I–Applejack, I'm not even wearing clothes!" He protested.

The blonde held his gaze, now finding his prudishness less entertaining. "Neither am I, but you don't see me making a deal of it, do ya?"

He said nothing, only watching her reservedly.

Applejack had had enough. "C'mere," she said, reaching for his arm.

Spike recoiled, backing away. "Wh–no! Don't touch me!"

"Would you stop being afraid of me?!" she barked, swimming closer. Spike's back pressed against the riverbank, to his dismay. Applejack planted her strong, firm arms on either side of him, preventing him from retreating further. She drifted in the water, not a foot away from him.

"Look at me," she ordered, lifting a hand to grasp his shoulder gently. She repeated herself once more, her expression softening when he complied, albeit with visible reluctance. "Spike, do you trust me?"

He didn't answer immediately. She could tell from his troubled stare that he wanted to answer in the affirmative, but part of him was expecting a trap, a try at some primal desire that lurked at the back of his companion's mind.

"I think so," he finally answered, voice low.

Frowning, Applejack allowed the statement to sink in, before trying to decide how next to proceed. She lifted a hand to his neck, rubbing it softly. "You know that I'd never hurt you, right?"

"Yes," he replied, slightly faster than before.

"And you know that I'd never take advantage of you?"

Now he looked at her, peered into her eyes, her green orbs offering honesty where his emerald were seeking it. She could tell by looking at him the moment he reached an inner conclusion. Spike seemed to shrink in on himself slightly. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Okay then," she said, just as quiet.

She inhaled, bracing herself for what she was about to say. Exhaling, she noticed the effect her breath had on his wet, exposed skin.

"Spike," she breathed, "you have to realize something." She met his eyes again, massaging his jaw with her own powerful hand. "You're not a little kid anymore, you jus' ain't. And I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, but now that you're full-grown and all, I know I can't expect you to react the same way ya used to do when y'all were little." She moved slightly closer to him. "Things are always gonna weird be like this, now that you got big and we went an' noticed each other. And there's nothing we can do about it until we talk it out."

He gazed into her eyes, and Applejack realized with an unexplained guilt that some part of him felt a deep, internal responsibility for growing up, for steadily gaining a deeper understanding of his friends as he grew older. Somewhere along the line, Spike had come to view the people around him in a complete and unfiltered capacity, something that he had been loathe to confront.

All of this, she could understand from the honesty of his eyes. She pressed forward, winding her arms underneath his to grasp the bank opposite her. Their chests pressed gently against the other, and Applejack rested her head on his shoulders.

They stayed like that for a while, with Applejack registering the young man's fevered heartbeat slamming into his ribcage at the proximity of her bare breasts.

"Breathe," Applejack commanded gently, and the boy obliged her with obedience. Soon, after a minute of steadying breathes and coaxing words from his companion, Spike's heartbeat slowed, to the point where his and Applejack's flickered in and out of synchronization.

"Better?" she asked, and she felt him nod, before he remembered she couldn't see him, and answered audibly in the affirmative.

"Better," he said, his voice more stable.

Applejack disengaged her body from his, smiling. She retreated to a respectable distance, maintaining eye contact. His gaze was slightly lidded, as if he was tired.

"Now look," she said softly, and he paid full attention to her. "I'm naked," she said, turning around and indicating her bare back, before rotating back. "You're naked," she stated, indicating his bare chest and wet hair. "The fish are naked," she proclaimed, to Spike's surprise. "The birds are naked, hell, that squirrel over there's got his cock hangin' out–"

"Applejack–"

"Now you can go and be embarrassed all you want," Applejack said, focusing her attention again on her young companion, "but the fact of the matter is that I'm the same ol' Applejack, whether I'm wearin' pants and a shirt or jus' the hide on my back. I ain't any more liable to act out jus' cause you caught the girls drifting."

Spike nodded, the last traces of reddened embarrassment leaving his face.

"And if you don't trust me to treat you right," Applejack said, and Spike caught a pained look fleeting across her face, "well then, we're gonna have a time of it spending these next couple days together."

The green-haired teenager sighed, rubbing his shoulder and looking away. "Okay, Applejack. I get you."

"Do you?" Applejack asked. "Because if we're gonna be out here, I need you to feel safe around me."

"I–" he started, before taking a deep breath. "That's fair," he admitted. "But I trust you." After a moment of hesitation, he added, "And I'm sorry."

The apple farmer beamed. "Much obliged." She turned around, wading out towards the middle of the stream, towards the shore nearest to camp. "Now do me a favor and give me one of those back massages you're so good at."

Twilight sat up in her bed, cursing and loving the pain in her hips at the same time.

It was close to three in the morning, she noted as she grasped her eyeglasses from the nightstand next to her. Gentle snores echoed forth from under a pillow, and the Princess made sure to move as quietly as possible so she didn't wake her partner.

Big McIntosh, or Mac, as he preferred to be called, was deceptively peaceful. He possessed all of Applejack's strength, and then some, as her aching thighs could attest. In addition, he possessed none of his sister's intensity. The large man was calm, if not firm, and certainly well aware of the attention he garnered wherever he went.

Twilight felt somewhat guilty for not seeking out the elder Apple sibling earlier, for not getting to know him on a personal level, but there was no helping that now. There had been an unspoken law between the girls that demanded all of friends of Applejack maintain a friendly but respectful distance from her brother. If Mac's earlier comments, few as they were, were any indication, he'd been on the same boat. Being a family man before all else, and having no close friends of his own, he had felt reasonably isolated.

I would've liked to get t'know you first, he had confessed to Twilight before they started, and her guilt was palpable.

The same day Applejack and Spike had left on their week-long trek to Whitetail Woods, Apple Bloom and her big brother had stopped by the castle to check in on her. Luckily enough, the other Crusaders had been close by, so after a short while Apple Bloom hadn't needed much coaxing to leave the two adults to themselves.

One look at McIntosh was all that Twilight needed—they both knew why he was there, it was in his eyes. To her credit, she smiled and offered to "Make some dinner, first."

He accepted, smiling gently, but it seemed almost as though he was looking through her at something else.

It was with a detached, surreal quality that Twilight went through the motions, and wondered if she should really be doing this. She knew herself well-enough, though, to know that when she got like this it was impossible for her to stop herself from going forward.

As the sunset painted the kitchen in warm light through a nearby window, Twilight found that she immensely regretted inviting her partner to dinner. Mac wasn't much for talking, but since he was only here to fuck—she'd only invited him to fuck—a companionable silence wasn't really in the cards. So she had tried talking for the both of them, filling the conversation with meaningless filler until they could get to the reason of his visit. The main problem was, however, that her conversation filler sounded fake and guilty, which made it so much worse than the awkward silence.

And then Big McIntosh—beautiful, smart McIntosh—declared halfway through dinner that no, he wasn't that hungry after all, and would instead like to talk a walk around the castle. And Twilight, being the opposite of an idiot and realizing an out when it was provided, graciously deigned to guide him through the halls.

So they found themselves in the throne room, that beloved circle of chairs where Twilight and her sisters spent many sacred nights in each other's company. A pang of icy guilt shot through Twilight as she stopped, feeling as though she was fumbling through the dark with matters she shouldn't concern herself with.

Then Applejack's hot brother asked Twilight to sit in her seat and put on her crown, before he promptly ate her out in the middle of the throne room, and the Princess of Magic simply stopped giving a fuck.

He had hiked up her skirt past her hips, pulling her starburst-patterned underwear off her pelvis and flung it God knows where, and buckled down, brushing his tongue against the outer folds of her vagina and allowing his steaming breath to wet her lips.

Twilight shuddered, falling down slightly in her seat as her eyes watered. "Please take off your shirt," she asked submissively, and the tanned farmer obliged, pulling back to unbutton his rich red flannel shirt and discarding it. Twilight hadn't given it much thought before then, but she was immensely glad that his toned and muscular chest was free of hair. She recalled that his build was that of a strongman, not that of an athlete like so many of the other showoffs in town.

It was then that Twilight reminded herself that this is why she made that deal with Applejack, this was what made up for the awkward filler and the guilt and the going through of the motions. She reminded herself that at the end of the day, the two of them, she and Mac, were two consenting adults who really just needed to get laid.

It having been weeks on months on years of Twilight going without any kind of sexual involvement, it didn't take McIntosh long at all to bring her closer and closer to a climax. His tongue and lips rarely left Twilight's loins, coursing and kissing wherever they could find purchase. He pushed into her a few times, licking her insides while he did this thing with his upper lip that made it brush against her clit every so often and tease the hell out of her.

She splayed her legs wide open—what if someone saw her, she thought with a thrill, the castle wasn't locked until an hour after sunset—and her feet rested on her lover's broad, broad shoulders, surging back towards her with each thrust of his head.

Twilight gave a low cry, whimpering and placing one hand on Mac's head while the other covered her eyes. This doesn't happen, she thought to herself, Twilight Sparkle doesn't get fucked in her throne room by her best friend's brother.

His tongue slithered out of Twilight's pussy, clinging to the roof and brushing so hard against her clit that Twilight swore she could count the taste buds as they passed.

He looked up at Twilight, his green eyes uncharacteristically fierce and demanding. McIntosh's lips clamped down around Twilight's bump, and as the Princess thought that he really did look a lot like Applejack after all, Mac sucked.

Twilight's body wracked, feeling as if her life came tumbling out of her veins and shooting out through her cunt. She really didn't know any other way of describing her orgasm; after the waves of pleasure had come coursing down her body and out across McIntosh's face, Twilight felt spent, like a sweaty, cold, freshly-electrified corpse of a woman. Some part of her wondered if she had ever done anything to warrant Applejack's older brother wanting to go down on her, or if that was simply something he liked to do for the women he bedded.

Big McIntosh—sweet, beautiful, great-with-his-mouth McIntosh, bless the child—pulled her up, the Princess of Magic, and smiled at her. "Still with me?" he asked.

Twilight knew she was exhausted, but she didn't know she would sound so tired as she bleated, "Please let me suck your dick."

His smile widened into a softhearted grin, and Twilight realized that she had managed to flatter the guy. "Can you lead me back to your room?" At her weary gaze, he unzipped his pants and revealed himself to his Princess.

Twilight's eyes widened as the woman got up in her seat and instantly reached for it, open-mouthed and skeptical. She almost wanted to check with her magic to make sure she wasn't seeing an illusion.

Mac batted her hand away gently. "Bedroom," he insisted, and Twilight obliged. With a wave of a magic hand, the two were teleported to Twilight's room, landing soundly on her purple circular mattress.

"I know, I said I'd suck your dick, and I will," Twilight rambled, throwing herself down on her back and spreading her legs, "but if you don't get inside of me in the next five seconds, I think I might actually die."

"Can't have that," McIntosh said sarcastically, leaning down and lining up his apple-headed monster with Twilight's already soaked folds. With a quick check to her face to make sure Twilight wasn't in pain, he pushed into her, groaning loudly all the while. She kicked off her modest purple heels and yanked her lilac dress to above her stomach. She remembered to keep her crown on, though—she wasn't so far gone as to forget what he liked.

As her lover reached all the way back to the innermost caverns of Twilight's pussy, the Princess of Magic seriously debated whether it would be irresponsible to dedicate a holiday to Mac and his life-changing dick.

In that moment where he bottomed out, in that single infinitesimal moment in time, Twilight knew a peace that defied all understanding. She perceived the universe in motion around her, the cures to any and every disease, saw even the moment of her death in the far off future, and welcomed it all lovingly.

Then McIntosh pulled his dick out of her, Twilight slid across the sheets with him because she was clamping so tight, and as he thrust back into her, Twilight could only scream "FUCK!" as the universe collapsed around her.

As he slammed into her, Twilight's breasts jostled themselves out of her bra, rocking along with the bed as the man with the beautiful cock speared her again and again, killing her a little bit more each time. She didn't know what her cervix ever did to Applejack's brother, but the guy seemed to be doing his damndest to bash its brains in with the head of his dick. It wasn't exactly painful, but Twilight soon found it hard to breathe through her mouth, feeling as if she was being punched in the gut repeatedly.

Eventually, she switched positions, lying prone on her stomach so he could beat into her and watch her ass move with the motions. He spanked her roughly with the palm of his hand, and Twilight vaguely recalled calling him Daddy a few times, she wasn't sure.

The farmer's thrusts soon lost their consistency as his hips rolled continuously into Twilight's, becoming erratic and urgent. His cock buried itself in Twilight's scorching insides as Mac breathed, pressing close against his lover's back and asking if she wanted him to pull out.

In the heat of the moment she had answered Fuck No, I Want Your Big-Dicked Babies. Mac didn't really know what to say to that, so instead he just pulled out and unloaded several thick jettisons of cum into Twilight's mouth, which the Princess concluded was still a pretty awesome finish.

As Twilight finished her recollection of the night's events, she reminded herself that Spike and Applejack had left only that afternoon. She still had six days to commit sacrilege with Mac all over her castle, and maybe form an actual lasting friendship that was eight years overdue.

She realized that yes, in the interest of a week of amazing sex with her best friend's beast of a brother, it was completely worth selling out Spike to aforementioned best friend. Hell, Spike was likely getting his soul fucked out right now, he'd probably end up thanking Twilight for her unusually wise decision.

Of course, though, all the real credit lay with Applejack, who thought so quickly on her feet and made the whole deal possible.

Fucking bless you, Applejack, she thought to herself, nestling back down in her bed and pressing her back to her lover's snoring chest.

After giving his companion one of his famous back massages—he'd had to work from the side as Applejack was fond of allowing her legs to drift with the current—they'd gotten back to camp. With a little work, Spike found himself able to look at a naked Applejack without feeling undue discomfort, or other, more polarizing emotions. The ease with which he could suddenly separate sexuality and nudity astounded him.

They napped through most of the afternoon, after which they ascended a nearby hill, which afforded them a clear view of the sky above the canopy. Together, they watched the sunset as they rested in the grass, side by side.

Applejack sighed, causing Spike to look over at her. The bleeding amber skyline was reflected in what he could see of her slanted eyes. Her skin, reddened by the horizon, radiated energy and strength, which was reinforced by the gravitas of her powerfully built body. The young man wondered what was on her mind, and thought to inquire. As if she had felt his curiosity, Applejack spoke up before he could ask.

"You ever think of running away, sometimes?" she asked, her voice pondering.

Spike's eyes widened. "From what?"

"Everything." Her arms folded underneath her chin, contemplative in stance. "Jus' getting up and leaving everything behind to go see something new."

Spike wasn't sure he was comfortable with this line of thought, but if Applejack was interested enough to broach it, he felt he could at least indulge her. "I used to, when I was a kid, sometimes."

"Me too," she admitted. "I mean, I actually did, once, but I came back."

"Where'd you go?"

"Manehattan."

Spike ahhed in recognition. "Right, you told me. Your aunt and uncle took you in?"

"Eeyup."

She was silent, so long that Spike felt awkward waiting on her to continue. "I don't think that counts, though."

Now she looked at him, the sunset still in her face. "Why not?"

"Well, you weren't really running away," he observed, "you just moved to go live somewhere else. Running away means not telling anyone where you're going."

She blinked, absorbing that.

"Do you want that?"

Applejack shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe." She sighed, her voice sounding pained and filled with longing. "Sometimes I jus' need to get away from it all, so's I can remind myself who I am."

Spike pondered this. "Was that the reason for this trip?"

"Yep."

More silence, though this time it felt to Spike amiable rather than awkward.

After several minutes, the sunset started to wind down, the massive orb of fire shrouding itself in the skyline.

"It's jus'," Applejack said, breaking the silence, "sometimes I get caught up in the 'me' that I am with everyone else, and I don't get too much time to find out what I'm like inside. Like, I don't know the deep-down Applejack anymore, and I gotta come out here sometimes and do some diggin' to find her again."

Spike sat on his side now, turning his body towards her. "Like you're wearing so many hats, you forget what color your hair is?"

Applejack snapped her fingers, a small sound of laughter escaping her mouth. "Jus' like that, see!" She rolled onto her stomach, glad of his understanding. "You ever feel like there's a buncha different 'you's' all bunched up in your skin, and you lose track of who's who?" She didn't wait for an answer, which was fortunate, as Spike didn't have one. "See, it's like, I'm Apple Bloom's sister. And I'm also the woman out there fightin' monsters and helpin' save the kingdom every other month. But the two, they don't even know each other. Granny Smith's granddaughter ain't the same person as Rainbow Dash's best friend. I ain't the Element of Honesty the world needs me to be when I'm minding the apple fields 'n breaking my back." She shifted. "And it's like they're all me, but there's more to me than jus' them. Sum of your parts, and what not."

Spike's eyes widened in realization. "Lots of hats," he murmured.

"Lotsa hats," she confirmed, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, I..." she shrugged. "I jus' get to thinking these things, and, I dunno, it feels...heavy." She rolled onto her bottom, supporting herself with her hands as she gazed into the distance. "So I come out here, and it gets better for a while." She ripped off her stetson and shook her long, flowing hair loose. "I come out here, I can remember what I'm like, and I can stand a little straighter 'cause I ain't gotta wear no hats."

They got up from the hill, guiding each other with their hands and minding the stars in the sky as they meandered back to camp. Applejack heaved a sizable amount of firewood into a circle of stones, then signaled for Spike to let loose. The young man pursed his lips, calling forth a stream of green fire to ignite the pile of kindling. Moments later, they sat on separate logs, watching the pillar of flames grow higher and higher into the night.

Applejack felt the scorching heat cause the skin on her face to retract. She removed her boots and socks, allowing the heat of the bonfire to surge through her body. Next to her, Spike opened a duffle bag, pulling out a pair of bent wire coat hangers, a massive bag of marshmallows, and an eight-pack of hot dogs.

As he speared both sticks, Applejack monitored him out of the corner of her eye.

Over the years, Spike had changed greatly in physical appearance, but little in terms of personality. Indeed, with the spirit of a sardonic old man, it seemed that his body would forever be playing catch-up with his mind.

He wasn't particularly muscular or otherwise physically imposing, but he had a natural sort of beauty, much like Applejack herself, or even Fluttershy, though obviously more masculine. His stiff sylvan hair pointed ever forward, and his gently pointed jaw leant his face a sense of male confidence.

Somehow, he had felt Applejack's gaze on him and ceased his movements to look at her, questioningly. "What is it?"

The farmer grinned slightly. "You wanna play a game?"

Spike looked at her, suspecting a trap. "What kind?"

"Let's say, uh, Twenty Questions. Sound good?"

He considered her request. "Alright, sure. Bring it on."

The blonde smiled, stretching back and accepting a marshmallow on a stick as it was offered to her. "Okay then." She entertained several different questions before deciding on one. "Who's the prettiest woman you've ever seen?"

Spike groaned, as if he had been expecting this. "Should've guessed."

"C'mon, who?" Applejack pressed.

The green-haired hesitated. "Cadance," he answered.

Applejack blinked. "Really?" She hadn't expected that at all.

"Yeah."

"Huh," she said, chewing on her tongue. "If you could have any of the Princesses, who would you choose?"

Spike pondered the question briefly. "Twilight."

Applejack was stumped again. "Why?" She thought for sure he'd repeat Cadance's name, or at least say Celestia.

"Cadance is married," he clarified, "Twilight worships Celestia like a goddess, Luna scares and arouses me at the same time, and if I messed up with any of them, I could potentially ruin a country." He shrugged. "Twilight's the safe bet."

"Huh," Applejack repeated. "That's...actually well-reasoned." Spike shrugged, accepting the compliment.

"What next?"

"Alright, how about this?" Applejack said, rubbing her hands together. "Any woman in town, who do you pick?"

"For what?"

"For anything," the farmer said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Spike sighed. "Zecora."

Surprised for the third time, Applejack wondered what the rationale was behind his choice.

"Satisfied?"

Applejack nearly choked on her spit. This was a getting a little too real for her. "Satisfied," she confirmed.

After taking a few moments to get her breath back, she composed herself. "Okay, this'll be good: most important part on a woman's body?"

"Hair," he answered immediately.

"Bullshit," she replied, skeptical.

Spike grinned at her response. "I think it's important for a woman to look classy." He crossed his arms. "Give me Sapphire Shores with a bald spot, I wouldn't touch her."

Applejack wondered if he was telling the truth. "Was that why you said Cadance at first?"

"Part of it, yeah."

"If you had to do someone's mom–"

"Mrs. Cake."

"Biggest walking fetish?"

"Nurse Redheart."

"Nicest ass–"

"Your sister–"

"Oh, fuck you–"

"You asked!"

Applejack growled. "Whatever. Hottest old woman?"

Spike looked at her suspiciously. "Celestia...?"

The farmer rolled her eyes. "Hottest old woman who looks old?"

"Oh. That one games inspector."

"The one with the short hair and the fat ass?"

"You know it!" Spike laughed, getting into it.

"Favorite position?" Applejack asked, hoping to throw him off.

It worked. Red-faced, Spike eyed her, thinking. "Missionary," he finally said.

"Oh," Applejack said, waving the answer away like an irritating fly, "I forgot, you're into that vanilla mess."

"You can see each other's face while you're doing it," Spike protested. "It's romantic."

"In theory," she added, winking at him.

Spike crossed his arms, unable to challenge her remark. "Whatever."

She burned through a few more questions, until Spike reminded her that she only had three remaining. He watched her, curious as to what she would ask with her final inquiries.

"If you could have anyone out of the six of us," she started, and this caught Spike's attention, "who would it be?"

Spike hesitated, leaning back and looking at the night sky. "Pinkie," he decided, looking back at his companion.

Truth be told, Applejack was surprised, but not out of disappointment. "Why not Rarity?"

"I don't..." he sighed. "I don't think I feel that way about her anymore," he said, to Applejack's immense surprise. "Not as strongly, at least." At her insistent look, he continued. "It's just, the more I think about it, the more I felt ridiculous for ever really thinking it would happen. It feels like I'm in a different league than her, sometimes. Like she's operating on a different level than me." He spoke as if he'd thought about the subject at length.

"And Pinkie isn't?"

"Pinkie's on everybody's level," Spike stated, and Applejack found that she couldn't really argue that point.

She was silent for several moments, mulling over this rather significant piece of news. It shifted pretty much everything she thought of Spike, from her opinion on his maturity to hopefulness of her own, to a kind of wilting sadness that her friend felt he wasn't the right person for the woman he grew up loving.

Suddenly, before she could stop herself, she asked, "What about me?"

Spike looked up at her, his expression nearly blank. It bothered Applejack that the question hadn't seemed to surprise him. Was she really that transparent?

"I think you're out of questions," he said quietly, and turned back to look at the fire.

They spoke no more that night.

After nearly half an hour of silence, a mute sense of agreement reached the two that it was time to retire for the evening.

After Applejack kicked dirt into the ebbing flames of their fit pit, she turned to her side, expecting to tell Spike to gather up their supplies and bring into the tent. Which was unnecessary, as he had already done so and left Applejack to herself.

Sighing, the farmer kicked off her boots, leaving them just outside the tent as she entered after her partner.

Spike was already undressed and shirtless, resting under the comforter as he read an untitled book by light of the bug zapper hanging outside their tent. Applejack stripped herself of her clothes, wondering if he would look at her while she did it. If he had, he did a good job of hiding it.

Clad in only a reasonably-sized sports bra and boyshorts, she settled in the covers next to Spike, wincing slightly as she felt the brush of the ground through the tent layer underneath her.

"G'night," she whispered, frowning when she heard him repeat her sentiment to her in a grunt. She fell asleep while he was still reading.

The next few days were by far the worst.

Applejack rose late, to her own surprise. Usually she and her family woke while it was still dark in the sky, but on that Tuesday morning the young blonde farmer exited her tent to find blue skies and sunshine overhead. She frowned—she thought she had felt Spike leave the tent in the early hours of the morning, but she didn't anticipate him allowing her to sleep in so late.

Blinking, she glanced around the campsite. Directly in front of the tent, drawn in the dirt was an arrow pointing away from the clearing, towards the river. Her frown deepened, carving deep lines into her usually proud and youthful face.

It was a matter of seconds before she noticed the plate sitting on top of one of the logs from last night. Applejack raised an eyebrow, surprised that the young man had thought to make breakfast for her before setting off to the river to bathe. She hunkered down on the rough piece of wood and ate, wishing that it had been a little warmer.

As she got halfway through her meal, she heard footsteps approaching the camp.

"Hey," Spike said, clad only in a towel and flip-flops.

"Hey," Applejack returned, keeping her gaze on the dead wood in the fire pit. Neither camper met the other's eyes.

As the farmer finished, she placed the dishes to the side and grabbed her towel, heading to the river to bathe.

Applejack inhaled the air as she walked down the path, but no matter how fresh it smelled to her, it didn't seem to fill her lungs to the brim quite like it did yesterday. Her soaking was brief and strangely sordid. For the first time in her adult years, Applejack felt naked, truly exposed out in the water. She found herself glad to exit as soon as she had finished, then angry and sad at herself for betraying the woods with her discomfort.

As she got back to the clearing, she found that Spike had dressed and packed up the rest of the camp.

His eyes widened as he saw Applejack return—he had already collapsed the tent. "Sorry, I forgot–"

"It's fine," she said, trying for a smile and failing. She pulled her clothes out of a duffle bag and began to change. Spike turned around to allow her to change in silence, but Applejack forced a laugh and commented, "It ain't nothing you haven't seen before." But he didn't respond, and the fake laugh felt fake and stale and Applejack felt stupid for even daring to speak up.

She was pissed off at him and at herself: one question, one stupid little desperate comment and they're weren't talking to each other. He had to know she was attracted to him, she had assumed that was common knowledge by this point. They were both regarded as the 'mature' ones of their friends, dammit, they were above this petty, awkward cold-shoulder nonsense.

They traveled in silence for the rest of the day, Applejack not singing wilderness tunes, Spike not complaining of the distances traveled. Applejack made sure to eat on the way so that she wasn't hungry come nightfall: when they set up camp at a cozy little cove, then, Applejack entered the tent early and didn't come out. She pretended not to have seen Spike's look of surprise as he held open the bag of rations, though she felt a vindictive satisfaction all the same.

Wednesday, it had rained.

Spike decided that he was going to stay in the tent all day, even though it leaked occasionally. Since Applejack was still upset with him for ignoring her, though, she stubbornly decided to crouch under a reasonably sheltered tree, even though it leaked occasionally. Come sunset, the rain still hadn't let up, and Spike opened the flap to the tent to find a sullen Applejack hunched over, sopping hat drooped as she peered miserably out at a tumultuous lake.

Eventually, she had decided to come in and towel off. After some hesitation, she removed her underwear and exchanged it for a new pair. She was sure that she had felt Spike's eyes on her this time, and allowed for that to be her only small satisfaction for that disastrous day.

Later that night, Applejack curled up under the covers, shuddering when Spike's hand brushed across her back.

"You're freezing," he said, worried.

"'m fine," she grumbled, her voice raspy from not being used all day. She asserted that she didn't need any special attention, but neither did Applejack protest when she felt Spike's bare chest align with her back. She sighed when his arm encircled her waist, and figured that just this once, she could forgive him.

Applejack woke the next morning in a decidedly better mood.

Despite the misery of yesterday, the stocky young woman felt uncommonly well-rested. Yawning, she attempted to sit up, only to stop, confused, when an arm wrapped about her stomach stopped her.

"Don't get up yet," Spike groaned, and Applejack was reminded of her deep love for a man's early morning voice. It was one of her more enjoyable reminders that the young man she had watched grow up was no longer a boy.

"Okay," Applejack whispered, gently easing her way back down into his bare-chested embrace. Spike gently brushed the hair out of her face, and Applejack urgently reminded herself that they weren't yet at the point where she could turn around and kiss him.

Eventually, though, the farmer knew that the peace of dawn had to end. So it was that a scant few hours later, their silent vigil together ended, and Applejack disentangled their limbs as she rose to face the day. Gone were the fleeting early morning moments where they could curl up next to each other and forgo thinking—the day was for Walking and Talking and Fighting, or so the past few days had proven.

Applejack and Spike decided to go without bathing that morning: the nearby lake was teeming with wildlife, and the ground was still loamy from yesterday's torrential onslaught, as evidenced by the abundance of earthworms on the surface.

Instead, Applejack decided to go fishing.

Grabbing a slim, sturdy wooden rod nearby, Applejack placed it to her side, then selected a handful of hairs from the bottom of her ponytail and cut them with a utility knife from her pocket. She examined the golden strands she held—they were certainly long enough, especially when placed end to end, but her foreign, oily smell would likely keep the fish from biting. She resolved to roll the strands around in the mud a little after she finished braiding them.

Applejack's work took her only ten or so minutes, so deft were her hands. She tugged on the thirteen foot-long braid: tough, just like her. She grinned.

Using her knife, she created a thin slit through the thickest part of the branch and slit the cord through. Taking one of the wire hangers from the previous nights, she bent off a small piece and fashioned it into a hook, grinding the end against a rock until she deemed it sharp enough.

The work on the makeshift fishing pole was crude, she noted, but it would serve its purpose well. She speared a nearby earthworm and cast her line into the lake.

The sky overhead was grey, with a very light drizzle coming down. The mountains were to their backs, and Applejack could hear a faint rumble off in the distance, a portend of a coming storm.

She had been in no mood to get even more of her clothes wet, so she wore only a flattering red bikini top and deep black swim trunks. Her hair lay against her back, unmarked by her usual tie. Her trademark stetson rested in her lap.

Nothing was biting so far, but then, fishing was a game of patience, after all.

After a while, Spike came over to sit beside her. Neither of them felt the need to speak, but Applejack was glad to notice that the tension from the past two days seemed to have died that previous night.

They sat for what seemed like hours, comfortable and trusting in the other's presence. The only sound was the constant hoots and howls of the forest behind them, and the gentle percussion of rain on the lake's surface. Occasionally Applejack would snag a fish on her makeshift pole, which she would immediately retrieve, snuff out its life as quickly and painlessly as possible, and add to a growing pile next to her. The smell started to bother her after a while, but she didn't complain.

After an eternity of silence, Spike asked, "Why did you really ask me to come with you?"

Applejack wasn't quick to answer; not because she needed to think of one, but rather that she felt no need to rush, such was the effect the outdoors had on her.

The farmer breathed in the drizzling rain, the untamed wilds, felt it coat her insides with its primal energies. The mud beneath her toes and the water lousy with life called to her, bled into her, and she was reminded for the first time in a long time what it was like to be Applejack.

"I got another hat I been wearin'," she said slowly, and Spike had to strain to hear her over the rain, "and no matter how I look at it, I can't seem to take it off." She looked at Spike, green eyes shining from behind the flaxen stands of her hair. "Only, sometimes I can't tell if it's a hat at all, or jus' me. Cause the only time I even know it's there, is when you're there."

Spike's eyes widened marginally, though he didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled in closer, his shoulder bumping hers.

Applejack turned back to face the lake—it was easier to talk to him when she didn't have to look at him. "It's funny," she said, "being around you. Cause sometimes I jus' don't know how I should act. I don't know what hat to put on, or if I should jus' be m'self. I dunno if you want the Applejack that you grew up with, or the girl who saved ya from those timber wolves all them years back, or what."

She shook her head. "I dunno if you'd be mad at me if I told you I was puttin' on a brave face for ya all those times. And, ya know, I watched you grow up 'n get big, and I seen what you've become, and I approve of ya, I like ya. And then sometimes I get to feeling guilty for," she swallowed, hard, "for feeling attracted to you." Applejack wiped a glistening corner of her eye with her wrist and sniffled. "And I don't really know what to do about it, and I'm not sure if you're ready to see me as an equal jus' yet. I don't know if tellin' you will hurt you or not, cause it feels like I'm tramplin' on somethin' sacred when I think about kissin' you."

As soon as she finished, Applejack wished that she'd never answered in the first place. A great weight seemed to lift from her shoulders, but at the cost of her privacy. She felt naked and exposed and stupid in front of him, and it was a terrible vulnerability that she knew he wouldn't be able to handle.

She hadn't seen him move, but suddenly his arms moved under her shoulders, enveloping the two companions in a close embrace. Applejack's fishing pole lay to the side, forgotten.

"Look at me," Spike said, his voice low and comforting. Applejack obeyed, lifting her teary green eyes to meet his, which were alienating in their composure. The young man pressed his forehead against Applejack's, and it was in moments like these that he seemed so much older than he really was. Maybe it was the dragon in him, Applejack resolved.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

Instantly Applejack nodded, her eyes never breaking contact with his.

Spike smiled gently, with a hint of sadness. "And you know I'd never hurt you?" he pressed.

"I know," Applejack murmured, eyes watering as she prepared herself for rejection.

"Then help me," he said, pleading, and now it was Applejack's turn to wear a look of surprise.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hating her voice for sounding so weak and childish. "Help you how?"

"Tell me what to do," he begged, pulling back and looking Applejack in the eyes. "Tell me what I can say to make things better, because I've never done anything like this before." He bowed his head, accidentally brushing her collarbone with his lips and causing her to shiver. "The only thing I know how to do in life is stand by my friends," he said, releasing the blonde from his embrace and kneeling so that she looked down at him. "So," he said, his voice shaking in nervous anticipation, before he managed to steel it, "if you still want me, then...yes, but you'll have to keep teaching me a little bit longer."

Applejack was speechless. She worked her jaw, closed it when she realized words weren't coming out, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"On one condition," he added, and Applejack looked down at him, sniffling. Spike's hand reached down and plucked Applejack's stetson out of her lap and plopped it down on his own head. "No hats," he stated, smiling as his hands rested on her thighs.

The farmer let out a choked laugh, hugging her partner's head to her chest and shaking with relief. "No hats," she promised, her voice tremulous.

The two lay that way for a while as they waited for Applejack's rapid heartbeats to calm, and Spike felt the pumping in his companion's chest slow to match his own. Heat rose to his face as the farmer sighed, her chest sagging and bringing Spike's face down with it.

"Applejack?"

The blonde looked down, twitching as she felt the green-haired youth angle his head up at her, his chin gliding between her cleavage.

"Yeah?"

"Can...can I kiss you?"

She blinked slowly, sitting up and watching as Spike followed the motion of her body. "You know," she said, her voice ardent and nervous, "you wear that well," gesturing to the hat on his head.

He bowed his head, his face flushing. It was obvious, though, that he was still waiting for an answer to his request.

"Clean the fish," she whispered into his ear, "and then we'll see."

She pulled away, relishing the look in her companion's eyes as she did so.

As night fell, the two companions—Spike wasn't exactly sure what they were now, actually—returned to the campsite. They had been hard-pressed to find dry wood under the cover of dark, but eventually they managed to build enough of a stockpile to create a fire to wash the cold from their bones.

The two sat close to each other, but far enough that they could see the other's face when looking up. Applejack had donned an orange flannel shirt to keep her shoulders warm, but left the front unbuttoned, an act which Spike deeply appreciated.

She had barely taken her eyes off of him.

They had finished dinner but a short while ago. Applejack remained turned towards the fire, but her piercing green eyes rarely strayed from Spike's body. Every now and then, they would rise and accost Spike himself, but they mostly seemed content to roam over the young man's chest and forearms. Spike wasn't sure if the woman had noticed, but Applejack's nostrils would flare whenever her eyes strayed to his collarbone; her toes would clench and her breathing would hitch whenever she saw his torso flex.

"Applejack?"

The farmer's eyes contracted, softening as they reached her partner's face. "Yeah?"

"Uh," Spike mumbled, and it was difficult to tell if he was blushing or if it was just the fire reflected on his face. "Should we do something...?" He shrugged, grinning nervously. "It's just, you're staring at me really intensely right now, and it's making me kind of nervous."

Applejack laughed anxiously, looking away in mild guilt. "Sorry 'bout that," she apologized, rubbing her arm.

"Say, uh..." he started, only for his voice to waver and halt.

"What is it?"

The green-haired youth ground the tip of his shoe into the dirt, arms crossed as he looked away from the farmer. "Why me?" he asked, voice soft and unsure.

The farmer looked at him, half-smiling. "I don't really know," she confessed, and judging by his face, it was clear that this answer wasn't what he had wanted. "You ain't changed much since we met, and I didn't jus' up 'n wake up one day and think you were gorgeous, neither." She shrugged, looking into the fire. "One day, I jus' thought that you were getting to be a man, and seein' as how you are who you are," she said, gesturing to him vaguely, "I started figurin' you'd start wantin' someone to be with. And o' course, you being you," she laughed uneasily, "I thought you'd have an easy time of it, gettin' any girl in town. Course, one day I figured 'any girl in town' included me." She looked at Spike, chest heaving, but he only gazed softly at her, waiting for her to continue. So she did.

"I didn't think much of it at first, you an' me. Figured you wouldn't be into someone my age, and if you were it'd be someone like Rarity." She shrugged tiredly. "But it was nice to think about, from time to time."

"And then what?" Spike asked, intrigued. He pulled his legs to his chest as he settled in for a story: as far as he was concerned, Applejack's thought process was as fascinating a fireside tale as any.

The farmer bent over, hugging her chest. "Then...I got to thinking about it more, and more. I'd think about you an' me, together. Not even the frou-frou romance junk you'd catch from Rarity, jus' the simple, every day stuff. Jus' being together, see?" She smiled as if thinking of a fond memory. "Like, layin' down in a field together after a long day, or me playing with your hair the way you like. And I got to thinkin' about it an awful lot, 'cause sometimes you need a good idea to chew on t' get you through the day, and I liked that one cause it never got stale."

She looked at him, eyes tight with guilt, but his gaze was soft and inquisitive, so much so that the farmer felt compelled to continue.

"Wasn't long after that that I couldn't go long without thinkin' of you," she confessed, meshing her fingers together and looking into the flames. "I started goin' into town hopin' I'd catch you out on an errand, cause the you in my head never really measured up to the you I could lay hands on."

Spike blinked, feeling a rush of blood heat his face. He stared at her, mouth slightly ajar as he processed this new, flattering information.

"What else?" he asked, curious.

Applejack looked at him, twiddling her thumbs and looking guilty in general.

"I dreamed about you a few times."

Both Spike's ego and affection for Applejack skyrocketed with that revelation, and he decided then that Applejack had earned that kiss.

"What kinds of dreams?" he asked lowly, sliding off of his seat and rolling to his feet.

Applejack studied him, a nervous, hunted look on her face. "A bunch o' kinds," she answered cautiously.

He sat down next to her, leering mischievously at his partner. "Were any of them...graphic?"

The farmer appeared shy and abashed, something Spike was far from used to seeing on her face. She seemed half-likely to bound away from him, so tense was the nervous energy in her body.

"Some of 'em," she admitted, breathing heavily. She seemed to steel herself as she processed her partner's interest.

Turning, the farmer scooted closer to the young man, draping her naked legs over his lap and slipping her arms around his shoulders. She buried her nose in his neck, inhaling deeply and tracking the line of his collarbone with her lips as the stress slowly melted from her body. Spike shuddered, hugging the girl closer to him.

"I wrote 'em down," she said, "the really good ones, I wrote 'em down so I could think about them later."

"Yeah?"

"I can show you, once we get back in town," she offered, breathing warm, sweet air onto Spike's neck.

He chuckled excitedly, and Applejack savored the deep rumbling motions that shook from his chest into hers. She felt his hand part the hair over her cheek, and he whispered into her ear, "Only if we get to reenact them." Applejack shivered, nodding vigorously in agreement.

"Y'know," Applejack said lowly, speaking directly into her partner's nape, "we're th' only people out here. No one else for miles around." She rubbed Spike's back and pecked gently at his jaw. She rotated so that her abundant chest pressed into Spike's. "If you've got a mind to capitalize on that, well, I don't think I can stop a big, strong man like yerself."

Spike's heartbeat picked up. "I thought you said you weren't going to take advantage of me," he said slyly. His hand gripped her well-toned thigh, caressing it with mild feverishness.

He could feel her smirk into his neck. "But you never said anything about not takin' advantage of me."

Spike laughed inwardly, his voice low and having the slightest gravel to it. "No, I guess I didn't." He gently bumped Applejack's head with his own, prompting her to raise her gaze to meet his. Without hesitation he pressed his face to hers, relishing the smell of smoke from her breath, and the warm, subtle heat of her pinched skin. His unexplored mouth closed ranks with hers, their lips stroking against one another's before clasping themselves together.

The kiss was brief but exploratory. Applejack groaned, a sound of pleasured suffering and willful compliance as she jerked back. Recovering, she allowed Spike to press his lips once more to hers, yielding access to the warm, moist confines of her mouth. Again and again their lips collided, their respective holds on each other's body tightening and growing more passionate with each passing second.

Feeling brave, Spike broke their kiss, swinging Applejack around so that she straddled his waist. The bonfire cast her body in warm tones, bringing to light the farmer's long, messy hair and bruised red lips, mouth parted slightly. Her freckles appeared dark and enticing, her eyes bright and wondering, curious of what her partner would do next.

Shuddering but confident in Applejack's trust in him, the young man placed one hand on his lover's waist, allowing it to roam over her compact and tightly muscled stomach. He palmed her six pack, and his eyes widened, reveling in the thrumming power of the older woman's body. Another hand traced the line of Applejack's spine, rubbing the small of her back as she shivered in appreciation.

A bold hand completed its path up Applejack's chest, yanking her bikini top to the side to reveal one tawny, freckled breast. He gasped at the sight as he groped her chest, awed by both her beauty and the simple fact of her nudity. The blonde cried hoarsely at the contact, arching into her lover's touch.

"Oh, wow," he whispered, rolling the ball of flesh in his shaking hands. Applejack was known for striking a cutting figure, but Spike had had no idea that the woman could appear so unlawfully feminine.

He pulled her further, taking the tip of her breast into his mouth. Applejack groaned at the warmth of his tongue and ground her hips into his involuntarily.

Spike retracted both of his hands, allowing Applejack to support herself as he leaned backwards. The farmer's body now spanned over his, and while she was slightly bigger and more physically imposing, Spike found her weight on his waist and torso to be comforting.

Applejack deftly reached a finger around to her back, slipping under the shirt and loosening the red strap, throwing the red bikini top to the dirt. Her breasts heaved forth and she sighed at the freedom.

Bold hands slid down past Applejack's swim trunks, pawing at her firm rear and spreading her cheeks. "Shit," she groaned, backing her hips into his hands, trying to coax his fingers inside her.

It was almost too much for her, with Spike tonguing her breast from the front, and grasping her ass so possessively from behind. It was hard for her to not feel adored.

"Wait, wait," she panted, trying with shaking legs to stand up. Her swim trunks, pulled halfway down her legs, were quickly loosened and discarded.

Now naked except for her orange flannel shirt, the apple farmer rose from her seat, her skin glowing with a healthy sheen of sweat.

"What's wrong?" her partner asked, confused and worried that he had under-performed somehow.

"Nothing, sugar," she breathed, catching her breath. She pointed over her shoulder at the tent. "But if we're gonna keep goin', I'd rather be on a flat surface."

"Oh! Okay then, I'll be right th–ERE! HEY!" he screeched: Applejack had grabbed the young man by the waist with one arm and proceeded to walk over to the tent. "Put me down!"

Applejack laughed, her face red with humor. "I'll put you down soon enough," she promised, before reaching up and snatching off the young man's shirt. Spike continued to protest vehemently, until Applejack lowered him just enough so that her lips reached his collarbone.

"What are you–" he started to say, before grinding to a halt upon feeling Applejack's lips on his throat. He shuddered as her lips found purchase in a small tender crevice just under his chin.

"You like that?" the farmer purred, kissing his sensitive flesh and glad that she had found his weak spot. Teasing him thus, she pushed aside the flaps to the tent, settling to the canvassed floor with her partner in tow. Spike's only response was a series of unintelligible groans.

Grinning, Applejack gently placed her lover on the floor, on top of a well-loved comforter. With a slight tug, his shorts fell below his waist, allowing Applejack a view of his dark purple boxers. Smiling deviously at the sight of his manhood, she gave his bulging erection a kiss through the fabric, making sure to leave her lips long enough to make him squirm.

"Look at me," she ordered.

As soon as their eyes met, Applejack took the band of his boxers by her teeth and dragged them south. Her tongue traced the veins of his erection, and as Applejack maintained eye contact while lapping at the engorged penis before her, she reasoned that Twilight's estimation of Spike's girth was fairly accurate.

Making sure he was lathered properly, Applejack shuffled forward, delivering a thick, wet kiss to her partner's stomach while grasping his throbbing erection in one hand. Looking into Spike's eyes all the while, she shifted his cock directly between her breasts and began to pump.

"Ohhh no," Spike groaned, sitting up, sweating. His arms shook as he tried to support his weight.

"What's wrong?" Applejack asked, puzzled as she juggled his cock between her breasts. Going by his quaking voice and unintentional thrusts, the farmer thought that she had been doing a good job.

"I'm close," the green haired teenager explained, grunting.

The farmer scrunched her nose, still grinding at her partner's dick. "Already?"

"Virgin," he reminded her.

Applejack rolled her eyes, though she supposed she couldn't blame the young man for his lack of experience. Seizing his dick in place with her ample breasts, the blonde leant down and wrapped her lips around the tip of his member. Her tongue flicked across his head, curving around around the contours of his manhood and massaging each vein.

She was just getting into it, deepthroating him, when he came. Applejack squirmed: she had just been kissing his balls, her lips grazing his crotch when the first load came shooting at the back of her throat.

"Mmph!" She pulled back, pounding her chest and trying not to cough.

Spike sat up, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. "Are you okay?"

Applejack nodded, getting on her hands and knees. After a few moments of idle silence, she swallowed the load, coughing once she had finished. She looked at at Spike, and he could see that tears had sprung up from the corners of her eyes with the effort. "A little warning next time?" she asked, her voice groggy.

"Sorry," Spike said, wincing. He moved to put his head between Applejack's legs in interest of returning the favor, only for the blonde to shrug him off.

"We can do that later," she assured him, still catching her breath. Applejack fell onto her back, spreading her legs and grasping her young lover by the wrists. "Y'all said this was your favorite position, didn'tcha?"

Spike nodded, eyes wide as he surveyed Applejack in the dark. He couldn't actually believe it was happening. Applejack—who had seen him growing up, who had been a pillar of authority in his early life, who had saved his skin more times than he could count—was sweating and willingly exposed to him, waiting for him to part her folds and make love to her.

What did I ever do to deserve this? he asked himself as he propped himself over Applejack, gasping as his member brushed her unseemly hot thighs. The mess of her loins was slick and firm, something Spike realized as he pressed against Applejack's lips and felt a substantial resistance.

"It's okay," she whispered, and placed insistent hands on his buttocks, gently pulling him into her.

Spike's eyes bulged as he entered her; whatever he had been expected the inside of a vagina to feel like, this wasn't it.

Applejack was warm—incredibly so—and gripping him with a startling tightness. Her womanhood throbbed against his member, leaking a hot moisture that ran down Spike's thighs and past his knees onto the comforter. She hadn't stopped pulsating since he'd entered her, and as Applejack trembled involuntarily at his proximity, Spike wondered how it was possible to be so deep inside another person.

"Keep going," Applejack said, voice strained. Her fingers clenched down on her partner's rear as she forced him deeper inside her, until she had spread herself as completely as possible on his member. Her muscular legs wrapped around Spike's waist, her freckled breasts speckled with sweat.

Spike lifted his hips, marveling as Applejack's waist followed him. The farmer moaned noisily as he pulled out, something that Spike took great pride in.

"Keep doing that," he murmured, settling on his forearms and kissing Applejack's nearest nipple.

She blinked, eyes half-open. "Doing what?" she asked. She yelped as he pressed back down, forcing himself back into her shivering crotch in one stroke.

"That."

They had worked themselves into a rhythm, Spike pumping slowly but consistently into Applejack's hips, Applejack sighing his name and running her fingers through her lover's hair. A couple of days ago the farmer might have had scruples about making love to the young man given their history, but each time Spike punched her to the core and absolutely speared her on his cock, she became more and more sure that she had made the right choice. What ending capable of being seen as good could possibly end in anything other than this?

They shifted positions a few times: Applejack found that her favorite was when she sat on her hands and knees and allowed Spike to just beat the shit out of her from behind. His nails dug deliciously into each side of her ass, and as he bottomed out into her again Applejack considered looking into getting a ball gag as she screamed an octave higher than usual. She couldn't see Spike's face as he raised an eyebrow.

"Are you close?" he asked, running his hand over her muscled back and grasping her waist.

"Yeah," she panted, her face in the pillows. One of her hands grasped a jostling breast, the other massaging her clit feverishly. She groaned as she felt her climax approaching: she never thought that she'd enjoy bottoming so much, but Spike wasn't afraid to be rough with her, which she both appreciated and needed.

He slammed into her ass, jolting her muscular, freckled cheeks and slapping his balls noisily against her working fingertips, and ideas sprang to life in Applejack's mind as he drove her further to the edge: ropes, handcuffs, leashes and collars if he was willing to trust her; surprising him with her mouth on his beautiful cock while their friends were in the next room talking. Hell, maybe for his birthday she'd let him fuck her in the ass, she'd been curious about that kind of thing for years anyway.

Following this train of thought, her once-innocent ideas of spending time with him evolved, warping to something more mature and intimate now that they breathed the possibility of fruition: Spike coming to see her after her work day had finished, kissing her neck, taking her to the barn and ripping her sweat-drenched jeans off before rutting her brutally in full view of all who would watch; Spike throwing pebbles at her window in the darkness of midnight, waiting impatiently but lovingly for his girlfriend—Applejack's heartbeat raced so fast she thought it had stopped—to let down the rope, before climbing up, kissing her hello and making love to her womanhood while she forced herself to remain silent so her siblings wouldn't hear; Spike walking unashamed into a room with her on his arm, his hand playing with her long golden hair, the two of them being simply at peace together; Spike at the family reunion, meeting her loved ones, baking with her aunts and great aunts, arm wrestling the other young men, reading his comic books and minding the toddlers with Apple Bloom and Babs, toddlers with Spike—

She shivered as she recalled her surroundings, as if she was coming down from a dream-fueled high, and Applejack had to suspend her hopes for the future, intoxicating and dangerous though they were. Her fingers pinched down on her clit, spiking her with pleasure, and another hard thrust pushed the girl's face into her pillow completely. The simple act of unintentional derision was enough to send her over the edge, and as Applejack's last thoughts of her possible future bled from her mind, she wondered how Spike would think of her if she offered to swallow his cum one more time.

Applejack knew it went against his nature to be disrespectful to any woman, but she couldn't help but think of how wonderful their lovemaking would be if he wasn't afraid to shame her every now and then: she thought of him slapping her face, of pulling her roughly by the hair, of him forcing himself into her when her back was turned, and marking her insides as his with his wealth of hot semen—

"I wanna fall in love with you," she mumbled unintentionally, then immediately slammed her head into the pillow once she realized what she had confessed.

"Come again?" Spike asked, sweating. He hadn't caught what she had said, thank God, though that hadn't kept him from thrusting.

"Nothing, I ain't said nothing," Applejack lied, and she fell prone on the ground, face burning in embarrassment.

Spike shrugged, leaning back down and savoring the view of Applejack's firm, freckled rear as his pace slowed. "Can I say something immature?"

"Like what?" she asked, looking back at him through tired eyes—they'd been going for close to twenty minutes now.

"I really," he grunted, "and I mean really, love your ass!" He punctuated each breath with a hard thrust.

"It's yours," she immediately responded, out of breath and exhilarated.

Spike grinned, his damp green hair hanging in front of his eyes. He was close again, so close that moving was a dangerous proposition. Even so, his lips reached Applejack's ear, and he whispered, "I'm going to cum inside you."

"Oh," Applejack shuddered, and her muscles slackened at the wonderful, wonderful statement. "You really shouldn't," she whispered, her voice begging with its passiveness.

Spike, thankfully, knew enough about women to be sure of her unspoken answer. He turned Applejack over onto her back so that they were facing each other, and reentered her. As he rammed into her, bottoming out that very second to her pained squeals, he kissed her tenderly, full on the lips. Just as her neck stretched to reciprocate, his fingers closed around her throat, pushing her back down to the covers. Her eyes widened, and Spike could've sworn that he felt her squeeze him that much tighter.

"That wasn't a request," he whispered back to her, and her eyes rolling back in her head was all he needed to make her finish.

Applejack's womanhood shook weakly, her body wet and exhausted from the effort of having a young man beat into it so insistently for so long. She clenched unbearably on Spike's member, so much so that he felt sure that Applejack couldn't be wringing him more tightly if she were using her hands.

Her fluids trickled down his hardened cock, warm and distracting, and as she clenched him one too many times, Spike felt the floodgates burst open and he unloaded into Applejack for the second time that long night.

To say his dick flexed would be an understatement; anything that was left over from Applejack's oral treatment earlier shook its way out through his head, almost painfully ejecting itself into her waiting folds.

A lazy smile graced Applejack's face, and as she looked down at him, Spike knew instantly what people meant by the term "afterglow." Applejack radiated contentment and feminine energy, and all the young man could feel at the sight was pride and intrigue.

He got up from her side, working his muscles as he pulled on his shorts again. Applejack frowned, reaching for him to pull him back down, but he simply shushed her, holding her hand and gently kissing it. "I have to put out the fire," he explained, and she nodded at the necessity. While he shuffled outside and Applejack listened to the sound of dirt being kicked onto the hissing flames, she pulled on a nearby pair of running shorts and folded her flannel shirt closed. She knew it was irresponsible and childish, but she wished he could've let the flames die out so she wouldn't have had to spent those few seconds cold and alone.

Those thoughts were forgotten, though, when he reentered, kicking off his shoes and sitting down next to her. He fell to his stomach, one rough hand meeting another as he adjusted his position to meet hers.

Green eyes met green, and as the two gazed comfortably at each other, Applejack smiled kindly, crinkles forming around her eyes.

Spike returned her smile, before leaning forward and kissing her on the nose. "How do you feel?"

She enjoyed watching his lips move, so she had to think that much longer after he had posed his question to come up with an answer. After a moment of consideration, she answered, "At peace." A gentle drizzle started up, pelting the tent with gentle taps and a peaceful background noise to their togetherness.

Spike smiled, feeling some gratitude and self-importance at his part in her tranquility, and as he leaned over her, staring almost lovingly into her eyes, Applejack was reminded of what it felt like to be so young and to feel anything so passionately.

The guilt at her romancing him hadn't exactly vanished, but it had been substituted, replaced in part by a pride and ownership in her newfound lover. She had helped raised him, she'd had a stake in his state as a person, and now? Now she had him, owned him in so complete a way and in such a short amount of time that even Twilight would be hard-pressed to contest her hold over the young man.

And even so...

She felt a pull towards Spike—not the pull to kiss him, though that was strong too—a pull of responsibility and the willingness to serve that she had previously only felt so strongly towards her own family. She knew, and not merely suspected, that Spike now owned her as well, to a degree that both frightened and comforted her.

Applejack found that she didn't really mind that frightening thing, equality, as much as she feared she would. Instead, as she was coaxed to rest on top of his hips, his strong arms caressing her thigh and securing her waist, she found that it was actually, rather deceptively...

...light....

Ping!

The pebble bounced off of the high window, and Applejack reasoned that she was getting better at judging the angle and force required to hit her desired target with each toss.

As she armed herself again in the darkness of midnight, the farmer pulled back an arm, preparing to launch another missile when she found that she didn't have to.

A window opened, and Applejack grinned, only to retract it in embarrassment as she saw a head of ruffled purple hair poke itself out the window.

"Who is that?" Twilight snapped, squinting through her sleep at the perpetrator on the ground. She groaned at her friend, who waved apologetically. "What are you doing? It's nearly morning!" she hissed.

"Sorry! Sorry," Applejack apologized, waving her hands in regret. "I just got the wrong–" she started to say, before seeing a familiar tan-haired head poke itself out the window next to Twilight's.

Applejack turned on her heel and walked away, not bothering to ask or answer any questions.

Twilight shook her head and turned to the man next to her. "Could've gone worse," she said, shrugging.

"Eeyup."

The blonde farmer ignored these comments and walked down to the next window, which was conveniently located next to a fledgling set of growing trees. Putting the sight of Twilight and her brother out of her mind—yuck—she reached into her pockets and launched a pebble at the window, grinning when she hit her target on the first try.

After a time, she heard a distant shuffle of feet, before a light turned on and the window opened. A head of green hair slowly poked its head out of the window, yawning. Applejack chuckled at the sight of her boyfriend in a t-shirt and striped lilac nightcap. She climbed the tree next to his bedroom, glad that it was strong enough to hold her weight.

"Applejack?" her partner yawned, stretching his arms by the windowsill. "What are you doing here so late?"

"I wanted to hear your voice," she answered, grinning and blushing childishly.

Spike smirked, slightly more awake. He leaned on the sill, head in palm as he glanced at her. "You could've just called, you dork." It was obvious, though, that he appreciated the attention she lavished on him. "It's not like we haven't been dating for like a month now."

Applejack shrugged, though the thought drove her wild that they had been together so long; trite sayings notwithstanding, time simply seemed to melt away whenever they were together. She couldn't remember a time she had felt so young, or full of energy. Being around him made her smile more, made her bones ache less under her responsibilities. They didn't even have to leave town: every time they were alone together felt like an escape.

"That, uh...wasn't the only reason I came by," she admitted, rubbing her arm nervously.

Spike blinked, intrigued as he sat up and looked at her. "What do you mean?" It was then that he noticed a dark contraption on Applejack's back, something that had melded with the blackness of night so that he hadn't been able to see it clearly before. His eyes widened. "You didn't–"

Applejack grinned, her partner's surprise killing any fear left in her as she slung the dark amber guitar from around her back and held it in her hands. "This is happenin', partner," she said, grin stretching as the look of shock on Spike's face doubled.

"Appl–what if someone hears you?" he asked, bewildered and shy beyond words as he looked out the window from side to side for any possible onlookers.

"Then let'em hear me," she challenged, crossing her legs as she adjusted herself on the sturdy, wide tree branch. In spite of her lover's disbelieving eyes, Applejack strummed up an easygoing tune on her instrument and began to sing.

Spike's face was soon to change. His gaze turned from red-faced and embarrassed, to open-mouthed, to moved. By the time Applejack was halfway through her song, his gaze was watery and emotional, and the farmer couldn't help but grin into her song at her lover's susceptibility for sappy expressions of adoration.

His eyes followed every movement of her lips, and Applejack decided that that look of wonder was worth betting her brother, worth those days of misery out in the rain, worth Twilight's warnings of retribution if she ever hurt the young man, because the ends more than justified the means. She would do everything in her power to treasure that look of wonder, to protect and love the young man it belonged to, and to honor the faith Twilight had placed in her.

All this, she thought to herself as she serenaded her loving, tender-eyed boyfriend under the dark, blessed horizon.

There's no need to complicate,

Our time is short,

This is our fate,

I'm yours.

Path Two: The Art of Playing House Part 1

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To be perfectly honest, Fluttershy just wanted to be a part of the group. She never actually anticipated the bottle landing on her and naming her the winner.

So when Applejack's empty cider bottle had nosed its way toward her, she was sure it would keep moving and name Rarity the winner, or something like that. It hadn't.

Instead, she simply sat there, the seconds passing as heat crawled to her face and she realized that the others were staring, waiting for her to say something or otherwise acknowledge her unforeseeable victory.

In those few spare seconds of hot-blooded insanity, a myriad of thoughts sprang to her mind, each branching off to innumerable tangents.

I won—that shouldn't have happened, I never win—will he want to stay over, is he good with kids?—Angel won't like this—TWILIGHT won't like this—Rainbow Dash is going to be really, really mad at me—do I have enough bleach to clean Twilight's castle?

So it was that the pink-haired girl shrank into her big yellow sweater, holding herself and crying inconsolably at the torrent of emotions.

Twilight and Rarity reached her first, brows furrowed as they rubbed Fluttershy's shoulders consolingly and tried to figure out why she'd be so upset.

"And here we go," Rainbow Dash grunted, rolling her eyes at the wasted chance.

"What's wrong?" Twilight asked softly, rubbing the sensitive girl's shoulder. Truth be told, she was relieved that the bottle had landed on the shyest of the six of them; aside from herself, Twilight was confident that Fluttershy was the only one who wouldn't take advantage of Spike in light of this arrangement.

"I–I," she stuttered, hiccuping in her nervousness.

Rarity stroked her back, acting like a blanket over the girl and glaring defensively at Dash and Applejack when the two gave each other looks. "Breath now, darling," she said soothingly. "Now, what's the matter?"

Fluttershy swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I don't have enough bleach to clean Twilight's castle," she whispered.

"Hey God, are you there? It's me, Rainbow Dash," the prismatic-haired girl said to herself as she lay spread-eagle on the carpet. "Why am I surrounded by pussies?"

Getting Spike to agree to watch the kids with her had been the easy part.

Despite his protests to anyone who would listen, Fluttershy and the girls knew that the young man was a receptacle for all things sappy and pathetic, small children being among the greatest of these.

It hadn't hurt Fluttershy's chances that, in spite of Twilight's wagering him to her friends for favors, the young green-haired man regarded Fluttershy as the least harmful of the six. While that was irrefutably true, however, that didn't mean that Fluttershy had to like it.

She shook her head as she remembered her mission. If she had to play the part of the blushing, impressionable little pushover, then she'd use that. Years of being best friends with Rarity had taught Fluttershy that subtlety was everything when it came to getting what you want. It had worked on her animals, it had worked on the Crusaders, and darn it, it was going to work on Spike.

All she needed was an in.

Currently she found herself outside of Sugar Cube Corner, having just knocked on the front door. Fluttershy had come by to pick up the twins, Pound and Pumpkin, and bring them back to the cottage for the remainder of their parent's "business trip." She wished someone would hurry up and open the door: the yellow sweater dress Rarity had made her was lovely in appearance, but it did nothing to keep her bare legs warm. She scolded herself internally for only stepping out with stockings and flats to cover her legs in this chilly weather.

She stood patiently in the crisp morning air, waiting for Pinkie to open the door to the bakery. A pair of slim hands slipped around Fluttershy's back, one pinching the startled girl's arms to her stomach, the other clamping her mouth shut before she could cry for help.

"Scream and I'll cut ya," a voice snarled in her ear, and Fluttershy quaked in her boots, all thoughts of subtlety and plotting for boyfriends banished from her mind.

A pair of plush, soft lips collided with Fluttershy's cheek, and with a mighty pphlbbbt! blew a wet and noisy raspberry onto the shocked girl's face.

Strong arms flipped Fluttershy around, showing the pink-haired culprit she had come here to meet. "Hiya, Fluttershy!" Pinkie greeted, either ignorant or uncaring of the taller girl's look of incredulity. "How did you like my serial killer impression?"

The caretaker wasn't amused, covering her chest in order to calm her heart's machine gun pace. "I think I just aged ten years," she said lowly.

Pinkie shrugged, taking her friend by the hand and leading her into the bakery. "Ah, well! They can't all be winners." She flipped the light switch to the front room, gesturing dramatically for the long-haired girl to make herself at home.

Fluttershy giggled. She could never stay mad at Pinkie for long.

She blinked as a thought occurred to her. "What were you doing outside this early? It's seven in the morning."

The party girl looked over her shoulder at Fluttershy, radiant blue eyes shining piercingly. "Normally, I'd tell you that I was doing something wacky and amusing, but I was really just out for a morning jog."

Fluttershy tilted her head, surprised. "Oh, I see. I didn't know you took those." Though it explained the girl's choice of attire: a form-fitting pink t-shirt and black track shorts that showed an enticing amount of skin.

Pinkie leaned on the counter that held the register, her hand rummaging out of sight before seizing a water bottle. "Sure do!" she said, before taking a quick swig. "Don't got a man to make my ass clap, so I gotta let gravity do it."

Fluttershy laughed softly, before hearing the distant patter of small feet above her head. "You don't want the twins to hear you talking like that," she whispered, smiling gently.

Pinkie Pie rolled her eyes as she sat down on the counter, crossing her legs. "Sorry to tell you, Fluttershy, but the little dickens—dickenses? Whatever, they live right across the hall from the parents, so," she said, shrugging, "they probably know a pretty good deal about ass-clapping already."

"She does have a big behind," Fluttershy agreed.

"Right?" Pinkie said, gesturing with her hands to outline an exaggerated hourglass figure, with a heavy emphasis on the bottom half. "It must be like cutting a hole in a peach and trying to thread a piece of spaghetti through it!"

The taller girl could only cover her mouth to hide her wheezing. "You really," she breathed, "shouldn't say those kinds of things."

Pinkie grinned and lay prone on the counter, striking a pose. "I calls em as I sees em." She looked towards the ceiling as she realized that the flurry of sound caused by the twin's running around upstairs hadn't ceased in the slightest. "Geez, what's taking those two? I told them to get packed last night."

But Fluttershy wasn't ready to let go of their previous subject just yet. "So do you think you could do a better job with his wife?" she asked, eyes cut mischievously at Pinkie.

The curly-haired girl snapped her eyes back to Fluttershy, grinning. "If I had a dick? You're darn tooting!" She leapt up from her place, grabbing a pastry bag full of white icing, holding it to her hips and slinging it menacingly as if it were a cock. She slapped it on nearby tabletops as she stalked towards an immensely amused Fluttershy, who watched her actions with raised eyebrows and quirked lips. Each slap left a small dab of what was, with enough imagination, a small, sugary smear of pre.

"Fluttershy, baby," she growled, made all the more hilarious by her squeaky, high-pitched voice, "we're talking missionary." She ground herself against a nearby table, maintaining eye contact and somehow keeping a straight face while Fluttershy laughed. "We're talking cowgirl," now sitting back on the table and rolling her hips while an imaginary partner rode her imaginary cock. "We're talking nasty shit she doesn't even know existed, she'd think I invented sex, busting all kinds of nuts on their wedding bed."

Fluttershy was convulsing now, bending over and waving at her friend to stop. Her chest-wracking laughs turned to squeals as the pink menace positioned herself behind Fluttershy and slid the pastry bag between the taller girl's thighs, pulling up her skirt.

"Pinkie–"

"Arch yer back, bitch," she rasped, in a gruff approximation of a man's voice, and Fluttershy found herself giggling again as Pinkie dry humped her from behind. It was a mark of their friendship that Fluttershy didn't die of embarrassment or shrug her off, like she surely would have done in years past.

"Goodness, you sure are a passionate one," the caretaker said through her giggles, rolling her eyes at Pinkie's exaggerated movements.

The smaller girl ceased her movements and wheeled Fluttershy around, pushing the girl gently down to her knees. "Open wide, princess," she ordered, and as Fluttershy opened her mouth obediently, albeit with a grin, Pinkie noted that if she had been a little bit bolder and just a teensy bit gayer, things would've played out differently.

Instead, she stroked her pastry bag penis off, shooting several strands of icing into Fluttershy's waiting mouth and hands. The girl licked her lips and obediently swallowed, showing a clean tongue when she finished. She smiled with one eye open, as a line or two of icing dotted her face. "Did I get the job?" she asked excitedly, and now it was Pinkie's turn to double over laughing from her unexpected response.

The curly haired girl wheezed for breath, having to pat herself on the back several times before she could focus herself again. "Oh no," she gasped, standing straight and wiping a tear from her eye.

Before Pinkie could congratulate her friend on her performance, however, the door to the bakery swung open, revealing Spike, wearing a purple hoodie and looking generally well-off. "Hey Pinkie, is Fluttershy h–" he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as dinner plates at the sight of Fluttershy on her knees, face covered in a mysterious white substance while Pinkie stood hunched over her, grasping something just in front of her crotch.

"Spike–"

"I'll come back later!" he screeched, covering his face and sprinting out the door.

Of course, Pinkie being Pinkie, she managed to catch up with the young man in a matter of seconds, and hauled him back to the bakery in even less.

Screams of "no, please," and "I'm a virgin" were a few of the protests the teenager threw out, but the curly-haired temptress was hearing none of it. She slapped him down on a nearby chair, plopping herself on his lap and looking intensely into his eyes with those adorable baby blues.

"I didn't see anything!" he immediately claimed, freezing in place. Fluttershy came to stand behind the chair, clearing her throat in a displeased manner and helping Pinkie to make the young man less comfortable. She giggled silently as Spike squirmed, uncomfortable with her standing where he couldn't see her.

"That's right," Pinkie quipped, tapping Spike's chin with the tip of her pastry bag and squinting at him suspiciously. "You didn't see a thing. But I know about teenage boys." She poked him in the chest. "If I let you go, you'll go around spreading rumors, telling people that the local pastry chef spends her free time giving pretty girls facials!"

"I don't know what I saw!" he screeched, leaning away from her, and Fluttershy marveled at how gullible the young man was. "I mean, I didn't see anything, I won't tell anyone, please don't hurt me–"

"I dunno, Pinkie," Fluttershy said, her voice grave. "He'll say anything to get out of here in one piece." She made the effort of cracking her knuckles; she managed to pop one, and was proud that she only cried for at the pain for ten seconds.

"Agreed!" Pinkie said, looking back down menacingly at their young victim. She tilted Spike's head back, prying open his mouth and forcing her tongue onto his. Fluttershy started, and she suddenly stopped finding their little prank funny.

Pinkie released the young man, smacking her lips as he floundered in his seat beneath her. "You had oatmeal with brown sugar this morning, with milk and french toast," she concluded. "Four thousand, eight-hundred and fifty-two tastes buds to count, more or less."

Despite her distaste with the woman's actions, Fluttershy couldn't helped but be a little impressed.

"How did you–" Spike started to ask, before having a finger shoved on his lips.

"You've got yourself a nice tongue, Spike," the baker said, patting him patronizingly on the cheek. "It'd be a real shame," she added, reaching a hand into her mass of voluminous hair, "if something happened to it."

PLONK!

Spike's eyes widened as somehow Pinkie retrieved a hammer from God knows where and set it down on the table next to them. He worked his mouth, unable to form words, before he looked up at the grim-faced woman before him. "I swear on my life, I won't tell anyone you have a penis–"

The party girl was unable to keep a straight face anymore. Pinkie's stone face morphed to a shit-eating grin, and a deep, shaking laugh shook from her gut. "Spike! Oh my God, we were screwing with you!" She leapt up from the chair, leaving their victim free to go. "I don't have a penis, me and Fluttershy were just pretending I did!" She flicked a glob of icing at him, which he dodged instinctively.

Spike's face was a mixture of rage, relief, incredulity, and maybe a smidge of good-humor. "Why would you pretend to have a dick?" he asked.

"Oh, because Fluttershy has a bukkake fetish," she explained, and Spike, being a rube, nodded slowly, accepting the bullshit as fact.

Fluttershy, for her part, didn't know what "boo cocky" meant, so she just smiled and nodded.

"So, what are you going to do while the kids are gone and the shop's closed?" Spike asked conversationally.

"'Sit down, be still, and try not to break anything,'" she repeated loyally, just like her employers/landlords had instructed.

As she said this, a rush of feet could be heard coming down the stairs, followed swiftly by a thunder of luggage scraping the wood.

"Get ready," Pinkie said, half-smiling wearily.

Suddenly, the Cake twins were on them like a storm, dropping their luggage and bringing a din of noise with them.

"Hi Fluttershy!" "Hi Pinkie!"

"Who's this?"

"He looks lonely." Pound surveyed, circling around the chair and staring unabashed at the apparent stranger. Pumpkin mimicked his actions, leering at the green-haired weirdo in her house. The two both wore sneakers, Pound in a black t-shirt with a skull on it and shorts, and Pumpkin wearing a yellow shirt with overalls.

"His name is Spike," Fluttershy added quietly, watching the interaction with sparkling eyes.

"Hey Spike," Pound asked, "hey, are you lonely? You don't look like you've ever been loved."

"Do you have someone you love?" Pumpkin added. "Do you have someone you love more than anything but she doesn't love you back?"

"Hey Spike, do you think you're gonna die alone someday?"

"Can I hit them?" Spike asked, getting up from his seat.

"No, no," Pinkie sighed. She heaved herself up from her seat on the counter and stretched her arm muscles. "They move way too fast for that."

The walk back to Fluttershy's cottage was proving to be long and awkward, though surprisingly full of conversation.

Then again, Fluttershy remarked to herself, said conversation was decidedly one-sided.

"Hey, hey Spike?"

The teenager looked at Pound, running circles around the two adults and generally touching whatever seemed nailed down to the ground. "What?" he asked, already tired of the two's boundless energy.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" the younger male asked, peering up at Spike as he ran in place.

Fluttershy tried not to be too obvious as she watched Spike's face out of the corner of her eye.

"Can't say that I have," he grunted. He shoved his hands back into his park, seeming to huddle into the hoodie, eyes thin as slits.

Pumpkin made a face, then discreetly handed what appeared to be a shiny metal object to her brother, who pocketed it triumphantly.

"Is it because your hair's a weird color?" Pumpkin asked, looking upset with Spike, as if it were his fault she'd just lost her pocket change.

Spike glared at the girl, unamused. "Pumpkin, baby, you're a ginger. Don't start with me."

Pumpkin's face soured, though it was obvious she didn't understand the significance of the insult.

"What about me, huh?" Pound asked, stepping in front of Spike and nearly making him trip. "What am I?"

"A broken condom–"

"Isn't the weather just lovely today?" Fluttershy interrupted, shooting Spike a displeased glare. He shrugged it off, his good mood long-since soured.

Fluttershy stared straight ahead in discontent. Their small group had been together less than five minutes and the caretaker could already tell that their week together was going to be a trying one.

She couldn't exactly blame Spike for getting upset at the twins'...candid behavior, but now, as she watched Pumpkin glare openly at Spike, mouth flat with blatant dislike, she wondered if bringing the green-haired teenager had been a wise choice.

Fluttershy pondered how she would be able to salvage their already lackluster day, when a nearby outdoor cafe caught her eye.

Smiling, she turned to the two children walking beside her. "Have you two darlings eaten breakfast yet?" When the two shook their heads in the negative, Fluttershy clucked her tongue. "That simply won't do. Come on, we'll go get something to eat after we get you two settled in–"

"Actually, Fluttershy," Spike said, getting her and the children's attention, "you guys go on ahead. I'll bring the stuff back to the cottage then come back, if that's alright with you."

The pink-haired woman blinked in surprise. "Oh–no you don't have to–" she started to say, before being cut off by an enthusiastic yell.

"WOO! Free food, let's book it!" Pound yelled, dropping his bags and grabbing his sister by the hand. Pumpkin, to her credit, glanced back at Spike, face clouded in indecision.

Fluttershy smiled gently at her friend, clasping her hands together at the waist. "That's really sweet of you."

The teenager smiled wanly, shrugging. "I guess kids have that effect on me," he said sarcastically, green eyes slanted in mischief.

She chuckled, looking down at the ground and back at Spike. "It wasn't so long ago that you were their size, you know."

"Ugh, don't remind me," he groaned, rubbing his head.

The young woman contented herself with just looking at him a moment more. Even knowing him as a child, she couldn't have predicted that he'd grow up to look so...noble. She began to wonder if it had anything to do with growing up with among the mages of Canterlot, or rather if it was in his genes. In any case, she knew there was no denying that he was a native of the fair city. Part of her thought he could be a superb Royal Guardsman—strong, resourceful, and intimidating if he put his mind to it—but in the end, Fluttershy knew that Spike simply didn't have it in him to cause deliberate harm to others. They were kindred spirits in that way.

"What is it?" Spike asked, and Fluttershy realized that she'd been staring long enough to make the young man uncomfortable. The twins glanced over at the two adults, wondering what was taking them so long.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, blushing and rubbing her shoulder. Fluttershy brushed a strand of pink hair out of her face and looked at him, smiling mildly. "You just...remind me of someone." She handed the keys to him, allowing her fingers to graze his momentarily.

As Spike stalked away, grunting and carrying both duffel bags under his arms, Fluttershy found her way to the table where the twins sat staring up at her.

"What do you two think of him?" the caretaker asked, smiling as she sat next to Pound.

Pumpkin gave a noncommittal shrug, head in hand and tracing idly on the tabletop.

"He seems alright," Pound said, leaning back and kicking his feet. "Kinda grumpy, though."

His twin looked up from the table, small blue eyes tracing the strange-haired jerk who was taking their luggage to Fluttershy's cottage. "He better not drop any of my stuff," she grumbled, swinging her legs and wishing she weren't so short.

Spike was a strong believer in karma.

Following Twilight for so many years had taught him that if you pissed off enough people, the universe would make sure to send some laser-guided justice your way with a quickness. He knew it from seeing it with his own eyes; it had happened to Nightmare Moon, it had happened to Chrysalis, and so on. Hell, Cadance and her people killed a guy with weaponized happiness, so Spike had decided early on in life that upsetting The Powers That Be was a no-no of the Nth degree.

It was for that exact reason that he found himself wondering just what the hell he did to ruin Angel's day, to the point where the furry little bastard felt justified in tripping the young man going up the stairs. As Spike growled and picked the scuffed duffel bags up off the floor, the white-haired jackass darted to a nearby windowsill, hissing at the intruder and shaking an angry paw.

"I'm going to fry you," Spike scowled, but he didn't concern himself with Fluttershy's second-in-command. The laws of the universe demanded that pricks like Angel get their comeuppance one day, and with the small white rabbit's track record, Spike could only hope he'd be there to see said comeuppance in person.

His mood sullied further, the teenager hefted the bags up to Fluttershy's room, where Pound and Pumpkin would be sleeping. As he noted how inviting and impossibly nice-smelling the room was—of course Fluttershy would have ridiculously soft down comforters on her cozy little bed—Spike soon realized that he heard humming. Frowning, he turned around, trying to identify the source. Placing the bags just in front of the bed frame, Spike circled the small room, before finding—feeling, rather—a curl of moist heat brush against his ankles. Now that he had stopped moving, he soon realized that the sloshing of water could be heard if one listened closely.

He moved to the other side of the room, apprehensive. Who would be bathing in Fluttershy's home when she's not here?

All of the other girls were occupied and Spike seriously doubted any of Fluttershy's animal wards knew how to work a shower nozzle. His hand grasped the doorknob, and he turned it inwards, pushing–

"Oh, what the hell!" he screamed, instantly regretting his choice to investigate, and wondering which manner of primordial being he had pissed off to deserve walking in on Discord mid-bath.

"I'd say good morning to you too," the elderly spirit of chaos droned, hoisting one gnarled and hairy leg mid-air as he shaved, "but I'll have you know, Spike, that I don't abide peeping." He wore a pink and white polka dotted shower cap, to speak nothing of the carpet of grey hairs matted to his chest.

"What are you doing here?" Spike demanded shrilly, facing away from the door. His eyes caught a large sewing needle nearby and Spike seriously wondered the merits of driving it through his skull to stop the pain.

"Well you see, I like to drop in on dear Fluttershy from time to time," he commented, finishing his leg and moving to his armpit. "The view from her bathroom window is just lovely–"

"I mean, what are you doing in her bathtub?" Spike asked, turning back to face the speaker while keeping his eyes riveted directly above the shower curtains.

"Oh, that," the older man said as he examined his knobby, wart-covered hand in boredom. "Well, for one, Fluttershy has the most delightful little shower oddities, wouldn't you know it? Very powerful showerhead, and some miracle-working apricot scrub that gets in all the right crevices."

Spike gagged. "Before I go out back and shoot myself–"

"Rude."

"–I should probably let you know that Fluttershy's going to be back with the kids she's babysitting soon. So I think it'd be best for everyone if you finished up before then."

Discord pondered this for a moment, before sighing. "I would hate to cut my well-deserved leisure time short, but I suppose that's for the best."

Spike sighed in relief.

The elderly man then spun onto his stomach, before hoisting himself halfway out of the water. "But seeing as how my arms aren't as limber as they used to be, you'll have to scrub my back first."

"I'll be dead and buried first, old man!" the teenager roared, feeling a vein pulse in his head.

The spirit of chaos and disharmony laughed exuberantly, rising out of the water entirely and stretching his arms. "Oh, Pinkie Pie has it right, I do so love making people laugh!"

"I'm not laughing," Spike growled, back turned to the lamentably nude gentleman.

"Well no, but I'm 'people', am I not?" Discord suggested.

"Not even on your good days," Spike returned.

Discord chuckled, his voice echoing in the small room. "Oh, you've got spunk to you, all right. Definitely Celestia's man."

"I'm no one's man," the teenager snarled.

"Oh dear, that's right; you aren't, are you?" the spirit said, chortling.

Spike's face lit up in embarrassment, but as he turned around to retort, he saw that the bathroom was empty, the tub drained and deceptively clean.

Deep, mischievous chuckles filled Fluttershy's cottage, and despite the years lacking in hostility between the two men, Spike couldn't help but feel shivers shaking down his spine at the sound.

Of course, that could change very easily, an oily voice seemed to whisper in his ear, and Spike couldn't help but feel as if the spirit of chaos was watching him, garbed in shadows and leering at him from some unreachable place. But it all depends on you: you'd be surprised at what people are in the dark.

"What the hell does that mean?" Spike growled, sounding braver than he felt.

It means, you little runt, that even she keeps secrets of her own...

One, she keeps in the dresser.

After the voice gave one last laugh, Spike felt the presence lift. He sighed at the lack of pressure he hadn't known he'd been feeling, feeling air rush back into his lungs.

He reflected on Discord's words, wondering what he meant by his mysterious message. What did Fluttershy keep in her dresser? Apparently it was important enough that the older man felt Spike should find out for himself.

As he inched closer to the cherry armoire opposite of Fluttershy's bed, Spike swallowed, feeling guilty for the trespass he was about to commit. His curiosity, however, was proving to be the stronger of the two emotions...

I swear to God, if I find a dildo...

Prying open the double doors, he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. As he surveyed the contents of the dresser, he failed to find anything of note aside from a few spare comforters and other such sundries.

Wait.

His eyes focused in on a square of leather near the back, and as he pulled on it, Spike found it to be a compact journal, lovingly worn by the feel of it.

It seems a little wide for a diary, he thought to himself, flipping it open to the middle. His eyes widened as he beheld a sketch of an animal, a falcon, rendered in stunning detail. If it hadn't been for the medium on which the image was supported, Spike could've sworn it was a black and white studio portrait. She drew this?

He admired the drawing a moment more, before flipping to a new page. A squirrel, bright-eyed, muscles tensed, seemingly ready to spring from the page. Flip. Angel, scowling yet personified in pencil. Flip. Another of Angel, this time not so angry and in much greater detail; the hairs and bits of exposed flesh were drawn with such attention that even Spike found it hard to loathe the creature in this representation.

Spike continued to flip the pages; Fluttershy had drawn dozens of animals, some from her shelter and some from her travels. Spike soon stumbled across a sketch of Philomena, Princess Celestia's pet phoenix, which he immediately admired for its sheer intensity and regality.

Looking back at the first entries, the older woman's portraits were noticeably blocky and heavy-handed, but even her meanest works alluded to some well-hidden talent and a meticulous eye. Her first entry, a series of body sketches of Angel—as seen by the somewhat visible circles and crosses of the heads—seemed to be several years old, dating back before Spike himself had arrived in Ponyville.

"I never knew she was such a good artist," Spike murmured to himself, turning the pages to more recent entries. He grinned upon seeing Rainbow Dash's hotblooded gaze stare up at him, and Spike was amazed how much she and Scootaloo looked alike when hair color wasn't an issue. Then came Pinkie Pie, curling, sinuous hair drawn with the utmost effort and dedication, so much so that Spike's attention couldn't focus on anything else on the page for more than a few seconds at a time.

Flip. Twilight looking down at a book, glasses on the bridge of her nose and her neck sloping beautifully.

Flip. Rarity, hair wrapped in a towel and smirking girlishly through a haze of steam. Spike's heart skipped wretchedly and he hurriedly moved past it.

Flip. Big McIntosh and Applejack, sitting side by side and playing chess, mirroring each other as they placed their heads in their hands, contemplating.

Flip. Mac again, holding a small child in his arms—one of his cousins from a reunion, no doubt.

Flip. Mac, again. His shirt practically clung to his chest like a second skin, and Spike suddenly felt like putting the journal back. He looked down at his own chest, which seemed scrawny and boyish in comparison.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Mac, Mac, Mac.

Spike didn't exactly know why he felt angry, or jealous, or inadequate, but he did. His nostrils flared and he wondered just what the hell Fluttershy even saw in Applejack's brother. Aside from the whole 'built like a brick house' thing he had going on, that was.

Thankfully, the art book soon featured other subjects, to Spike's relief. Applejack and Rarity on a boat, Rarity reading a small book under a fashionable sunhat, Applejack rowing and looking content.

Flip. Spike and Twilight resting under a tree, pictured at an angle.

Viewing it, Spike smiled, glad to see a drawing of himself, at last. His head rested on Twilight's lap, eyes closed as the dappled sunlight touched gently upon his face. Twilight looked down at him, face tired but unequivocally proud, and Spike felt himself grow uncomfortable at the thought of Twilight looking so strongly at him when he couldn't see her doing it.

Flip. Spike again, leaning against a bed and reading a comic book.

I wonder when she drew this, he thought, smiling gently as he turned the page.

He blinked.

It was him again, laying on his side and staring at the viewer lazily. His t-shirt was hitched up, exposing a bit of stomach just above his jeans. His bare arms, though admittedly not very muscular or developed, sported a surprising amount of detail. He wore no shoes or socks.

The gaze his drawing-self gave was the main focus of the work, though. Spike swallowed, feeling a nervous pit form in his stomach as he viewed himself. He never recalled ever looking at anyone that intensely, that...temptingly.

It shook him in a bad way to know that he could be seen as this, that Fluttershy had seen this in him. He felt like he should be flattered, but something about his portrait's barely masked sensuality had unsettled him, like an unwelcome invasion. It didn't feel like him.

He turned the page, somewhat startled to see yet another drawing of himself. Admittedly, though, it made him feel somewhat better than the last.

His hair was wet as he rose from out of a swimming pool, eyes shining boyishly; only the top half of his body could be seen, though Fluttershy had spared no expense when detailing what was available. Drops of water traced Spike's detailed musculature, marking every inch of sinew and outline of bone that was viewable whenever Spike himself was shirtless.

A small detail at the corner of the page caught Spike's eye, which he soon found to be a record of the date. His eyes widened in surprise—Fluttershy had finished this sketch of him only two days ago. Further checks confirmed it—this was her most recent entry.

He wondered at the woman's recent fascination with him as a subject, before deciding not to worry about it—chances were, she was on a kick with male subjects and didn't have much to work with.

His eyes found a nearby clock, and he frowned. Between his snooping and Discord's cryptic bullshit, he'd spent nigh-on fifteen minutes at Fluttershy's cottage when he was supposed to have spent one.

Unsure of what to do with this newfound information, Spike carefully replaced Fluttershy's art book in the dresser, leaving it exactly where he'd found it. Whether or not he'd eventually bring it up to her...

Well, that was Future Spike's problem.

Just when Fluttershy was starting to worry, Spike appeared in the distance, giving a half-smile and waving apologetically at their small group.

"What kept you?" the pink-haired woman asked as Spike sat down next to her. Pound and Pumpkin continued to tear into their pancakes, both eyeing the older male curiously.

"Your roommate gave me a bit of shock," Spike droned, smirking as a look of recognition struck Fluttershy's worried face.

"Oh, I hope Angel didn't cause too much trouble," she pleaded, nudging closer until their thighs touched.

"Who's Angel?" Pumpkin asked, mouth still full of food.

Pound swallowed, before adding, "That sounds like a stripper's name."

Fluttershy returned her attention to the twins, looking displeased.

"It's only a stripper's name if it's a guy's name," Spike clarified, reaching across the table and snatching a slice of bacon off of Pumpkin's plate. "Well, human guy, anyway," he said, ignoring Pumpkin's indignant glare. "Angel's a rabbit."

"Could we please not talk about strippers at the table?" Fluttershy cried.

"Why do you know so much about strippers?" Pumpkin asked noisily, pointing a fork at Spike.

"Pumpkin, honey, don't talk with your mouth full," Spike stressed, staring at the girl while taking a bite out of her stolen bacon.

"You're not my dad," she protested, chewing defiantly with her mouth full.

"Pumpkin–" Fluttershy said, irritated, before being interrupted once again.

"Yes I am," Spike said, leaning forward with the side of his head in his hand, gazing lazily at the orange-haired girl.

Fluttershy and the twins blinked, looking at Spike incredulously. "No you're not!" Pumpkin screeched, getting up from her seat angrily.

"Yes I am," Spike repeated, somehow keeping a straight face.

"No, you're not!"

"Yes I am."

"No you're not!"

"Prove it," Spike said, grinning when Pumpkin's face fell, stumped.

"W-well," she spluttered, "you're too young to have kids! You were barely older than us when we were born!"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Spike said, nodding. He felt Fluttershy eyeing him, but he paid her no mind. "Do you know where babies come from, Pumpkin?"

Both twins gaped at Spike, shaking their heads in the negative.

Fluttershy cringed. "I don't think this is a good conversation topic," she pleaded, frowning when Spike waved her off.

"Nah, they're good kids," the teenager said, grinning. "They're old enough to know." His grin widened when Pound and Pumpkin both nodded their heads in excitement. "Well, as I'm sure you two know by now, it's scientifically proven that babies can't be born unless a mom and a dad love each other very much." He felt Fluttershy hesitantly chuckle next to him as she cottoned on to his plan, and elbowed her gently under the table. She cleared her throat and smiled complacently.

"We know," Pound lied, his food off to the side, forgotten.

"Great!" Spike said, smiling. "Now, before you two were born–" Pumpkin scrunched her nose, still skeptical, "I was about ten or so, really young for having kids." He leaned forward on the table, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "But I didn't care," he proclaimed, "because I was deeply, madly in love."

Pumpkin gasped, her face flushing. Fluttershy's chest wracked with silent tremors as she restrained herself. "Who were you in love with?" Pumpkin asked, breathless.

Spike smiled at her. "You mean, who am I in love with. And I'm getting to that. Now of course, Princess Celestia made a law a long time ago that said anyone that had babies outside of marriage would be pushed off a cliff, so if I wanted any kids of my own—you two—I'd have to get married and get to work." He winked cheekily at Fluttershy, who rolled her eyes, smiling.

But Pound leered at him, skeptical. "I don't believe you. No one gets married when they're ten, it's against the law."

"Oh yes they do," Spike challenged. "You forgot, Twilight was good friends with the Princess, so it wasn't hard convincing her to make an exception for me."

The young boy stared at him, less sure of himself now, and Spike marveled at how easy it was to sucker children. Now he could understand how Twilight managed it so often when he was younger!

"Where's your ring?" Pumpkin asked curiously. She looked doubtful, but it was obvious that part of her wanted to believe his story.

Spike gasped, looking wide-eyed at the little girl. "It's invisible, of course! Do you know how big of a scandal it would be if people found out I was married?"

Pumpkin leaned back, sucking in her breath. "You mean...no one else knows?"

The green-haired bastard shook his head. "Besides Twilight, Princess Celestia, and you guys, no one else knows."

"And Fluttershy," Pound noted, his head resting on crossed arms as he looked up at Spike. "She didn't looked all that surprised when you told us."

"Well, of course not," Spike said, not missing a beat. "Who do you think I married?"

Fluttershy's jaw stopped working. She snapped her head to Spike so quickly that she could've sworn she gave herself whiplash. Part of her felt displeased with him for putting her in his lie without her permission, but the other part could only think...

JACKPOT.

"Oh," Pound said, blinking slowly and looking at Fluttershy in a new light. "I guess that makes sense."

"Does it?" Fluttershy asked through her teeth, not releasing Spike from her gaze for an instant. He simply shrugged at her, silently willing her to play along.

"How did you two fall in love?"

Both adults turned to look at Pumpkin. The girl shrank back, suddenly feeling sheepish at the attention being focused on her. "I was just wondering, s'all."

Fluttershy cleared her throat, looking at Spike pointedly, albeit with a small, nearly undetectable air of good humor. "Yes, Spike, please tell these young, impressionable children how we fell so madly in love."

The teenager grinned, though a sheen of sweat matted his brow. "Actually, dear," he stressed, "I think we'll save that for later." The twins groaned in unison. "If you two are good, I'll tell it to you as a bedtime story," he offered.

Pound grumbled in assent, arms crossed. "I still don't believe you guys are our parents," he muttered. "Mom and Dad won't think it's funny when they get back." Pumpkin nodded in agreement.

"You'd be surprised," Spike murmured, getting up from his seat. He held a hand out to Fluttershy, who graciously accepted it and rose from her seat. He kissed her hand, earning a giggle from the older woman.

Pumpkin followed their movements, frowning flatly. She got up from her seat as well, yanking her brother up with her. "Fluttershy, does your family know you're married?"

Fluttershy smiled gently at the girl, grasping Spike's shoulder and leaning into him convincingly. "Oh, yes. My mother approved, but my father didn't."

"No kidding," Spike added, squeezing his fake wife about the waist. "There was a huge falling out after he tried to kill me."

Pumpkin's eyes bulged. "Really?"

"Oh yes," Fluttershy nodded. "You can't get married without parental permission, so before he could propose, Spike had to duel my father."

"Who's a lumberjack," Spike added. He pulled Pumpkin by the hand, motioning for the others to follow him as they made to return to the cottage.

Pumpkin stared up at him. "A lumberjack."

"Why do you think Fluttershy loves nature so much?"

The twins found they couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Yes sir, that's my dad," Fluttershy lied, grabbing Pound's palm and following. "He just loves jacking those lumbers."

After dropping Spike and the kids off at the cottage, Fluttershy apologized profusely before heading off to the castle to start her work cleaning it, as per her agreement with Twilight. The majority of the animals—Angel included—had left with her, leaving the small house feeling hollow and quiet.

The caretaker had felt terrible for leaving Spike to take care of the twins all by himself, especially since she had been the one approached by the Cakes for babysitting in the first place. However, despite their rough start, Spike and the kids had started to click, that much Fluttershy could tell. He hadn't grown so old yet that he had forgotten how to get inside the head of a child, as evidenced by his skillful behavior when talking to the twins and convincing them of various untruths. The thought often caused her to smile as she went through her day's work, aiding and assisting her animal companions as they went about cleaning Twilight's castle.

Eventually, the day wore to a close, as evidenced by the deep crimson sunset percolating through the many windows of the citadel. Angel perched himself on Fluttershy's shoulder, thumping it with his foot in communication. She nodded in agreement.

"Alright everyone!" she called out, getting the attention of the creatures under her supervision. "That's enough for today, so please start wrapping up. We'll all head home in a couple of minutes." Her followers made various noises of assent, gathering up their supplies and meandering placidly in the direction of Fluttershy's cottage.

Fluttershy wiped her brow clean of sweat, smiling tiredly. Even with all of the extra help, they had only made a small dent in cleaning Twilight's castle. Though she was loathe to admit it, the young woman had underestimated the enormity of the building: it would likely take her the rest of the week to finish tidying up the main body, in addition to the many unexplored branches.

She didn't bother going to find Twilight to say goodbye—doubtless the girl was holed up in one of her studies by now—so instead she made for home, filling up her thoughts with Spike and the children, and wondering how they had spent their first day together.

Spike was an imaginative young man—as his 'wife' could confirm, chuckling at the thought—and he was a fiercely protective person towards those he loved. As Fluttershy puzzled out each of the young man's personality traits—his love for cooking, his life as a humble assistant, his sarcastic but often cheery disposition—she realized with more and more certainty that he had all the makings of a good househusband.

She blushed at the thought as she stood outside her front door, absently watching the creatures dropping off their supplies in the shed near the side of the house before milling about outside in the wide-open range.

Fluttershy knew she wasn't the type of girl given to obsessing over men, but something about Spike had a sort of drawing quality that the pink-haired woman just couldn't shake. Sure, he was good-looking and pleasant to be around, but she hadn't begun to notice him, really notice him until a couple of weeks ago, and boy, was he a good thing to notice.

It was after the fact of Spike's reaching adulthood that she began to comprehend the reality of his status—or rather, the girls did. Technically, any one of them could pursue him now and not be looked down upon for it. Technically, there was a very eligible young bachelor up for grabs, one whom they knew like the backs of their collective hands, and had absolutely nothing to fear or distrust.

To be perfectly honest, Fluttershy had just wanted to be part of the group; when their conversations shifted to concern Spike, and Twilight was nowhere to be found, the girls would speak shortly but passionately on the topic of interest, always stopping short of their true sentiments towards their leader's young ward. Fluttershy had offered up a few words of assent here and there—implication on her part meant that the others were less nervous about her silence, as silence meant discomfort, and discomfort meant a tattle-tale—but for the most part she had left the gossiping to the other girls.

Whenever these brief, passionate conversations would sprout up, the girls never ceased to amaze Fluttershy with their candidness; Applejack, normally so confident and deliberate, would become a blushing, shifty-eyed mess; Pinkie would become exceptionally grabby and lonely-eyed, wetting her lips unconsciously from time to time; Rainbow Dash would become unusually quiet, while occasionally offering an unusually intuitive insight about the young man: it was she who pointed out his love for children and other "sappy crap" which had kept the conversation going and had sent Fluttershy's mind a-scheming.

And of course, Rarity had to skirt around the obvious truth, now and again reminding the girls through one implication or another that all she had to do was give Spike the Look and even Twilight would be hard-pressed to stop the two of them being together.

This position of power annoyed the other girls to no end and placed them on edge, and even Fluttershy found that she didn't much care for Rarity in her moments of superiority. Her comments, though, left the taller girl wondering...

In reality, the only thing stopping any of them from going after that "barely-legal slice of ass", as Pinkie had so eloquently stated, was Twilight herself. Fluttershy was soon to realize that their situation was no different from the one concerning Applejack and her brother: the laws of friendship dictated that some lines simply couldn't be crossed, and if Applejack didn't want any of her closest friends within spitting distance of her big brother, it was a safe bet that Twilight Sparkle would be hanged and dead before she let her girls break a few couches with her surrogate son.

Only, Fluttershy knew herself fairly well. She knew she had a longstanding issue with temptation; any good thing that she knew she shouldn't have, couldn't have, only seemed that much more appealing to her. Philomena had done it, Mac had certainly done it, and now Spike had done it too. Want trickled into need, churning and twisting from thought to idea to plot, until the scorching thing deafened everything else. The fact of his prohibition only fed the intrigue she felt towards him, until she felt it bleeding from her mind and into a small and faithful tablet, channeling her would-be vices into art, abating her passion in one of the only ways she knew how.

Just inside the door, just inside her safe little retreat, was her taboo. He would be staying the rest of the week, he'd be sleeping only a few feet away from her tonight, he even came up with the lie that they were married with kids, which Fluttershy had to admit was actually kind of funny now that she thought about it.

He'd made it so easy for her.

Twilight trusts me, she thought to herself, and the thought doused the fire in her as easily as any bone-chilling shower. She trusts me and I shouldn't go back on my word.

Steeling her spine, she opened the door to the cottage and defiantly strode in. She had made up her mind to vent her passion to her sketchbook, and that would be that. Besides, a drawing of Spike in an apron would be cute, something to show off his more sensitive side–

"Welcome home!" a chorus of voices greeted her, and Fluttershy stopped in her tracks, stunned. She looked over to the kitchen, seeing Spike and the twins sitting behind a counter, smiling as steam billowed behind them.

Pound sat in a chair next to Spike, hands splayed across a cookbook. Pumpkin sat happily in Spike's lap, wearing an apron much too large for her as she stirred at a bowl filled nearly to the brim with batter.

Fluttershy's heart never stood a chance.

She melted, feeling herself fall dangerously in love with the idea of her pretend-family, with her pretend-husband and pretend-children and pretend-life. She knew then that she couldn't wait, would not wait for the absolute real thing to take place. All thoughts of betraying Twilight's trust were thrown to the wayside, and Fluttershy was confronted with a very real, very realizable case of the Baby Crazies.

I want one, I want five, I want a HUNDRED, she thought to herself as she crossed the distance to stand by her pretend-loves. If she could just have her own young and her own love to great her at the end of each day, she reasoned, she knew she could do any and everything she set her mind to. If only she could have these small blessings.

"I-missed-you-all-so-much!" she squealed with delight, punctuating each word with a kiss—to a cheek, to a forehead, anything that looked unloved and exposed.

Pumpkin giggled in Spike's lap, hugging Fluttershy's neck. "We did so much today!" she said, adjusting herself on Spike's knee as she tightened her embrace on her caretaker.

"You did, did you?" Fluttershy asked, pinching a blushing Pound on his cheeks, before turning to the man himself. She smiled brilliantly at him, as if to say You Did Good, and was glad to see him return the smile gratefully, before averting his eyes in embarrassment.

"Yeah, well, what else would you expect from your dad?" Spike asked, looking suspiciously down at Pumpkin.

"You're not our dad," she insisted, headbutting his chin gently. Spike squeezed her waist mildly with one arm, only offering a petulant "Yes huh" in retort.

Without thinking, Fluttershy. beaming, leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. As Spike's face blanked before erupting in a shade of crimson, Fluttershy licked her lips gently, wondering at how natural the act had felt. She turned her head to the children, who apparently thought nothing out of the ordinary at the display. "What all did you do?"

"We made a pillow fort," Pound said, tracing the words in the cookbook with a finger.

"Read some comics," Pumpkin added.

"Had a pillow fight–"

"Played truth or dare–"

"Then freeze tag–"

"Then hide and seek, Pound cheated–"

"Did not!"

"He did," Spike laughed, poking the boy in the side and still blushing.

"'sonly cheating if you get caught," he grumbled. Fluttershy giggled, which brought a smile to his face.

"Well," the older woman said, moving behind Spike and wrapping her arms around his torso in a hug, "I'm glad you all enjoyed yourselves." She brushed the edge of Spike's ear with her lips and felt him stiffen in her grasp.

"You and me both," Spike said in his thrumming voice, and Fluttershy reveled in its bass, feeling quite assuredly that she liked the way the bones in his chest rocked hers.

After a healthy, green dinner—Fluttershy had firmly insisted that no, triple decker brownie bombs were not an acceptable meal alternative—the children were shooed off for a bath before bed. Fluttershy stood smiling as the twins grumbled their way up the steps, before turning to Spike and grasping him by the hand. "We'd better get ready to put them to bed," she explained, before gesturing to Spike to make his way up the stairs.

"Sure thing," he answered, placing his hands on the railing and marching up. Two slim fingers clenched down on the flesh of his rear, and Spike yelped, nearly loosing his footing on the hardwood stair steps. He looked down at Fluttershy, incredulous. "What was that?"

"What was what?" she asked innocently, hands clasped in front of her chest.

"You pinched my butt!"

Fluttershy cocked her head. "I don't recall doing that."

"You totally just did!"

"You're being so silly right now."

The young man rolled his eyes, before turning back around and continuing up the steps. He made it only a few more feet before–

"Really?" he asked, spinning back around.

"Really what?" Fluttershy asked, blinking in apparent confusion.

"Are you just going to keep groping me every time I turn around?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she protested.

"Sure," he said, eyes narrowed. He feinted going up the stairs, before whipping his head around. Fluttershy froze, caught in the act: her hand was outstretched, reaching for the young man's lower half. "I knew it!"

"Fine, you caught me," Fluttershy grumbled in mock-petulance, placing her hands on her hips. "A girl can't even grope her husband in the comfort of her own home. What is the world coming to?"

Spike snorted, looking at her comically. "Alright, Rarity." He laughed when her nose scrunched at the comparison. "I wouldn't have taken you for a deviant, 'Shy."

She smiled mischievously, and Spike started to wonder if she'd been spending too much time around Pinkie. "You just wait until the kids are asleep."

He wasn't sure if she was being serious or not, given her character and history. As he opened the door to Fluttershy's bedroom—which still smelled excellent—his eyes flicked to the dresser, where the secret journal lay. Fluttershy seemed chaste enough, albeit with the makings of a tease skirting the edges of her personality. The fact of her courageous behavior as of late, as well as the existence of her secret artwork spelled out the rather obvious fact that Fluttershy had hidden depths to her. How deep? Spike hadn't the slightest.

Still, he resolved not to get his hopes up; this was Fluttershy, after all. A pinch or two on the rear didn't mean the girl would go after him as soon as the sun went down.

How deviant could she be?

Path Two: The Art of Playing House Part 2

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As Spike settled onto a modest stool and prepared to spin a tale of intrigue to his listeners, he found himself wondering what Twilight would think.

The Princess of Magic was many things, but 'child lover' was not one of them. Spike knew that his caretaker would likely never have consented to look after Pound and Pumpkin in their parents' absence, much less recite to them an improvised bedtime story; he wondered how many small blessings she had missed out on in that manner.

In that same vein, Spike knew exactly how favorably Twilight would react to his pretend-marriage to Fluttershy—that would be to say, not at all well, considering her overprotective nature as of late.

Then, as the pink-haired angel herself practically coasted into his lap and Spike realized just how thin a sweater dress and stockings could be, he came to the conclusion that Twilight could think whatever the hell she wanted, as long as it was from a distance.

As his arms circled Fluttershy's waist and the older woman riposted with a downright sinful repositioning of her hips, the increasingly distracted teenager begrudgingly admitted to himself that he owed Twilight a debt.

For all the fun he'd had with the Cake twins, that was. If his suspicions and hopes were right, and he ended up owing the woman any Fluttershy-related debts in the near future, he prayed to whatever gods would listen that Twilight would never know he owed her for it.

"Now, where should I start?" Spike asked to himself, rubbing his hands together and leering at the twins roguishly.

"At the beginning, probably," Pound snarked, reclining on the bed and resting his head on his arms.

"Bite me," Spike returned. "Let's see...yes, that's right." He grinned down at them. "You two didn't know that I'm part dragon, did you?"

Pound and Pumpkin both narrowed their eyes at Spike from under the covers, the suspense of Spike's claims broken. "We're not stupid," Pumpkin snapped, crossing her arms. "Why would you say something that's obviously a lie?"

"Yeah," Pound agreed, looking upset and let-down, "there's no way that's true."

Spike smirked, looking at the children craftily until they shifted in discomfort. "Are you sure?" he asked slowly.

"Positive," Pound asserted.

"Would you bet your life on it?" the teenager questioned. He leaned in closer, allowing them to examine him closely.

Pumpkin gasped. "Your eyes...why are your pupils slanted like that?"

He held their gazes for a moment longer. Then, "Do you still want to know how I fell in love with Fluttershy?"

Fluttershy perked up, and squirmed slightly in Spike's lap in anticipation. Pumpkin nodded her head rapidly, while Pound looked on, suspicious.

"I still don't believe you're part-dragon," he muttered.

Smirking, Spike tilted his head back, aiming into the air, and spat out a small stream of green fire.

The twins stood stock-still, jaws agape.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Great," Spike said, smiling when he heard Fluttershy giggle. With that little display, he'd made them question everything he'd said so far, and made them consider whether or not he had been telling the truth.

"Now," the teenager said, in a tone that implied his story had begun, "as everyone knows, dragons love treasure, and I mean we love it. The stuff drives us crazy, and the rule wasn't any different for me."

"So you became a pirate?" Pound asked.

"No, shut up," Spike said. "I may not have had collected a lot of gold or jewels, but that was only because I was smart, ahead of the curve." He tapped his temple, winking at the kids. "A dragon knows the worth of things, and I found something more precious than anything you can find in the ground."

"What was it?" Pumpkin asked earnestly, laying on her side and looking up at the young man.

Spike smiled, allowing one hand to stroke Fluttershy between the small of her back. "Friends."

Pumpkin ahhed in recognition, while Pound rolled his eyes and smothered himself with a pillow. "That's so lame," he groaned into the fabric, before turning towards the wall.

"It really isn't," Spike said, continuing to massage his faux-wife's back—going by her soft, subtle circling into his lap, she appreciated it—as he scooted forward on the stool. "Do you know why so many dragons are always grumpy and mean?"

The twins shook their heads no.

"Well, it's because they're lonely," Spike said, and he felt Fluttershy press back against his chest. "No one ever tells them that they're smart, or handsome, or particularly good at anything. I mean, sure, they've got a whole bunch of gold and jewels and junk, but in the end," Spike shrugged, "it's just...metal and rocks. Nothing that can love you."

Pound pondered that, frowning as he lay next to his sister.

"Well, what about their parents?" Pumpkin asked.

"A lot of dragons don't get to know their parents," Spike confessed, looking somewhat sad. "I didn't know mine."

"Really?" Pound asked, wide-eyed.

"Really," the teenager said, but he soon smiled after the fact. "'Course, that ended up not being such a bad thing. I grew up with a great family, fell in love, helped save an ancient kingdom from an evil king..."

"Is he telling the truth?" Pound asked Fluttershy, who nodded in the affirmative.

"I was there," she confirmed. "He was very brave."

"Brave but scared," Spike laughed, tightening his hold on his partner. "But the point is, I couldn't have done all that if I didn't have my friends. Otherwise," he shrugged, "I'd probably be laid up in a cave somewhere, bitter and lonely for the rest of my life. Or a stripper, who knows."

Fluttershy smacked him on the arm.

"Oh right," he said, remembering the purpose of his story. "Well, at the time I didn't know it, but Fluttershy wanted babies too. Only problem was she couldn't decide on who to have them with."

The aforementioned woman huffed, crossing her arms.

"But you couldn't really blame her, you know?" Spike continued, resuming his massage of Fluttershy's back. "After all, she was even more famous than me, so she had plenty of guys to choose from."

"Really?" the twins asked.

"Uh huh," Spike nodded, grinning and jostling his 'wife' slightly by the waist. "She scared a dragon away when he threatened the town; she stared down a cockatrice and saved Princess Twilight's life; she convinced a very nasty man to see the error of his ways, and so on. She was even a supermodel for a while, believe it or not."

Fluttershy flushed on top of Spike's lap. "It sounds impressive when you talk about it like that," she fretted, "but it really wasn't much at the time. I was just doing what anyone would've done."

"And that's what makes you awesome," Spike said, giving her a one-armed hug. "So, somehow, Fluttershy heard that I wanted to have a baby, and so she found me one day, and she cornered me."

"She did?" Pumpkin turned to Fluttershy. "You did?"

"I guess I did," she said, shrugging.

"What'd you do next?" Pound asked.

"She told me that she could get me all the babies I wanted, a whole pile of 'em, but first I'd have to defeat her father in mortal combat."

"Who's a lumberjack," Fluttershy reminded them.

"What happened?"

"Oh, it was very dramatic," Spike said. "He challenged me, and we dueled."

"With swords," Fluttershy added.

"On top of an erupting volcano."

"During a thunderstorm."

"And you won?" Pumpkin asked, wide-eyed.

"You're darn right I did," Spike said excitedly. "And a good thing too, cause if I hadn't, the two of you wouldn't be alive."

"Somehow I doubt that," Pound muttered.

The teenager shrugged. "Believe what you want. After the duel, we had our wedding. Rivers of champagne, lots of people crying, the whole deal."

"And then?" Pumpkin asked.

"And then," Spike said, waggling his eyebrows, "we got to work on getting us some children."

Slowly, Fluttershy turned her head to look at Spike, her mouth set in a flat grin.

"How did that work?" Pound asked, now sitting up, interested.

"Well, you see," Spike said, "we'd met all the requirements: we were married, we were madly in love, and we'd paid off our car notes."

"You don't have a car," Pound noted.

"Yeah we do, you just haven't seen it yet, so shut up. We'd gotten all that stuff done, and we were on our honeymoon."

"Where did you go?"

Spike grinned. "We vacationed in Los Pegasus. Saw a lot of great sights, danced on a few tables, the usual stuff." Fluttershy giggled next to him. "Then, well, we came back to the hotel room, and Fluttershy looked so beautiful, like more than usual." He turned to the kids. "Hard to imagine, right?"

They nodded uncertainly, much to the pink-haired caretaker's embarrassment.

"So we sat down on the bed, we looked at each other," Spike said slowly, "and we were so much in love and so ready to be parents," he inhaled deeply, "we stayed up all night filling out the paperwork."

Fluttershy, Pound, and Pumpkin blinked collectively.

"Paperwork?" the twins asked in unison.

Spike nodded earnestly. "For the stork."

Fluttershy had to bite her hand to keep from laughing at her idiot partner's remarks.

"I knew that," Pound hurriedly said.

"Me too," agreed Pumpkin.

"Right!" Spike said, nodding. "Now me and Fluttershy, we wanted a kid that was just like the two of us. Someone who was kind, beautiful, brave..." He smiled, as if looking at something off in the distance. "We wanted a kid that reflected the best of ourselves."

Fluttershy's heart soared as she recalled Spike's sappy, overly sentimental habits, and going by the looks on the kid's faces, they were eating it up too. Pumpkin looked on, wide-eyed, while Pound stared down at the bedspread, blushing.

"So we sent the stuff in, but it took a long time—about nine months or so. Then, one day we got a letter in the mail. Unfortunately," he said, rubbing his neck, "they said there was no way they'd be able to do it. Their exact words, the company that makes babies, was 'One person can't have all that good inside them. They would explode!'"

"Twice," Fluttershy said, wiping her eyes.

Pound looked confused. "Can you do that? Can you explode twice?"

"You can explode three times if the universe really hates you," Spike said.

"So what happened at the baby factory?" Pumpkin asked.

"Well, ideally we wouldn't to go to jail for premeditated infanticide, so we compromised." Spike smiled, tapping Fluttershy on her thighs as a signal for her to get up. He leaned on his elbows on the edge of the mattress, staring one child in the eye, then the other. "They took the biggest baby they had in the factory, filled it up with a couple pounds of kindness...beauty...and bravery...and BAM!" he yelled, clapping his hands and startling both the children. "They karate chopped it right down the middle, and instead of one big newborn, there were two little ones. One girl, one boy."

He bumped Pumpkin on the forehead. "The little girl, she was destined to be as beautiful as the most beautiful woman in the world, just like her mother. And I mean gorgeous," he said, winking at Fluttershy standing at the corner of his vision. "But in the real way. Not just here," he said, booping her nose with his finger, "but here," pressing gently against her small beating heart.

Pumpkin's face turned cherry red as she buried it in her hands.

Spike turned to Pound, smiling mildly. "And for the little boy, he was made to be as brave as the bravest man. Not because he didn't fear anything," he said, shaking his head, "but because like his dad, he feared everything, but carried on anyways."

Pound bowed his head, swallowing and uncharacteristically silent.

"Their parents thought it was for the best," Spike said slowly, looking up at Fluttershy and peering mysteriously at her. She breathed in fascination—he was doing that thing, the thing where the old man in him—or dragon—came out and said something wise and insightful far beyond his years. "They had spent so long looking for a companion, for a kindred spirit, that they didn't want their children to waste a single second searching."

Pound and Pumpkin stared at Spike, open-mouthed, before turning to look at the other. Their mouths closed as they beheld each other in a new light, as if they had always been two halves of a person and had just now realized it.

"Of course," Spike said, looking past the two children at nothing, "they couldn't keep the kids, or else everyone would know what they were up to, and they'd be run out of town. So they entrusted their offspring to a couple of pastry chefs, who always wanted kids but couldn't have them."

"Why not?" Pound asked.

"Oh, they were both men," Spike said simply, and Pumpkin wrinkled her nose. "And their parents waited for years, biding their time until the day when their children were old enough to learn the truth. And so...that," Spike said, speaking with an air of finality, "is the story," he kissed them both on their eyelids, "of you."

Fluttershy blinked the tears from her eyes, as she realized the story was over. Smiling and tender-eyed, she made to embrace her partner, but the children got to him first.

Spike sighed contentedly as Pound and Pumpkin both embraced him from his sides, and he returned the gesture by holding them both about their waists. "I'll see you guys in the morning," he said lowly, sounding almost sad, before releasing them. Pumpkin kissed him quickly on the cheek before pulling away under the covers. She peered at him in a queer way, studying his face with unadulterated attention.

"Goodnight, my dears," Fluttershy whispered, kneeling down and kissing each of the children on their foreheads.

"Night," they both replied, and as the lights were turned off, Spike was sure he could see a pair of small blue eyes tracing him even in the dark.

They'd made it to the living room before Fluttershy jumped on him.

"That was brilliant," she cried, holding Spike by the hips and beaming. "That was just so clever and unbelievably sweet of you to say those things."

Spike laughed gently, returning the hug, though Fluttershy apparently didn't plan on releasing him anytime soon. "Just telling a story, 'Shy," he said. "Maybe something I would've liked to hear as a kid."

"But how?" she asked, genuinely curious as her hands rested on his belt line. "How did you come up with all of that on the fly?"

Spike scratched his head. "Not all of it was on the fly," he admitted. "Most of it I came up with on the spot, yeah, but I was working from a general idea I'd been thinking on all day."

"What was it?"

"'Friendship is one mind in two bodies,'" Spike said, holding up a finger as he slid gently out of Fluttershy's grasp, even though it felt comforting to be held by her. "It was some old proverb that Twilight had posted on the fridge, and it came to mind."

Fluttershy smiled in understanding, crossing her arms over her waist. "I see. You thought of it because they're twins?"

Now Spike looked somewhat guilty, not allowing his eyes to meet Fluttershy's. "No, actually." He rubbed his shoulder. "I, uh, was thinking of that whole 'kindred spirits' thing I mentioned earlier, and, I dunno, I kind of...thought of you."

The pink-haired woman blinked, dropping her arms to the sides of her waist. "Really now," she murmured, and if Spike had been looking closely, he might have seen her pupils dilate as she looked at him.

"Is...that okay?" Spike asked, laughing nervously.

"Certainly," Fluttershy insisted, smiling. "Would you care for some tea?"

Considering the uneasy pace his heart was currently jogging at, Spike concluded that a refreshment would do wonders for his nerves. "Tea would be great, thanks." He sat down on a comfortable green couch just under a window, peering silently as Fluttershy strutted away. His eyes fell to her lengthy, well-shaped legs. Oh man, I hate it when you leave, but I love it when you go.

His hostess set the kettle in her kitchen on to boil, before taking a large bag and retreating to the bathroom. Taking advantage of her absence, Spike changed into his nightwear—a plain t-shirt and purple shorts—and deposited his day clothes into a nearby bin.

Soon after, the door to the bathroom opened, and out swept Fluttershy, barefoot and adorned in a pleasant yellow satin nightgown that hung just short of her knees. Her hair, which usually extended well past her shoulder blades, was bound into a tight but comfortable bun.

She smiled as she strode up to Spike, who realized a little late that staring with an open mouth could be seen as rude.

"May I sit with you?" she asked him.

"Please do," Spike said, hoping he didn't sound too eager. He resisted the urge to bite his cheeks; was it a trick of the light playing across her chest, or was Fluttershy not wearing any undergarments?

Part of him felt it necessary to hold back from being too forward with her, but then he recalled her conduct from earlier that evening. Aside from groping him somewhat casually, Fluttershy had been nothing but reciprocal when Spike initiated contact with her. It was this thought that circled his mind as he sat up on the couch, rising until his head was a scant few inches from hers. "You pinned your hair up," he observed.

Fluttershy's hand went instinctively to the small bun. "Does it look okay?" she asked somewhat shyly.

Spike reached up and gently nudged her hand away. "Your hair is always down, so I never see much of your skin." His fingers played across the nape of her neck, stroking softly against the bundle of nerves and gently massaging her incredibly supple flesh. "It looks nice," he amended, gazing pointedly at her lips.

Fluttershy sat relatively still as he examined her; going by her experience with familiarizing herself with others, humans and animals alike, it was good that Spike was willingly touching her. "I can wear it like this more often," she said softly, almost so Spike couldn't hear her. Her hand moved to drift over his wrist, and when the contact held and he didn't shrink from her, Fluttershy continued her search.

Slowly but not without respect, her hands roamed from wrist to arm, grazing over bicep to pectoral, caressing the well-formed muscles until her slim fingers touched upon his clavicle. She paused to admire the bone structure—he was strong and healthy, life thrummed under the skin and sinew—before moving on.

He had a weak spot, she knew it. All of her friends did. Rarity's was in the small of her back, Rainbow's in the soles of her feet, even Twilight would melt into a puddle if you massaged just under her ear–

Her fingers pressed against the hollow of Spike's jaw, just under his chin, and the young man shuddered heavily. There we are, Fluttershy thought victoriously to herself as she pulled Spike up gently so as to have better access to his upper half. This was it, she decided, this was how she'd win him over to her.

Her hand cupped the side of his face, her thumb massaging firmly at the sensitive muscle under his chin. "Do you like that?" she inquired softly, rubbing his side with her other hand as she brought her hips to rest on his thighs.

Spike only made a deep groaning sound and nodded, his eyes closed tight.

Smirking, Fluttershy gently tipped the young man's head back and pecked at the spot with eager and unbearably plush lips. Spike twitched, before slackening his body and making himself more readily available to his partner.

"There's my guy," she said coaxingly, continuing to pepper his neck with kisses and massages. She worked her way across his flesh, pressing with tempered passion and leaving his unspoiled body searing, until finally she neared the edge of his mouth.

Spike's hands rested on his partner's hips, holding her back in weakened protest. "Mm, Fluttershy, I–I'm not sure..."

She was just on the corner of his lips. "Not sure about what?" she asked lowly, kissing again and pressing lightly into his chest with hers.

"The kids–"

"The kids are asleep," Fluttershy asserted. She brushed his chin with her hand and came to sit on him fully.

"But–" he started to say, but the older woman was having none of it. She kissed him straight on the lips now, kneading against him and patiently counting out the moments until she could ease her tongue into his mouth. The few protests Spike had left generally died out, smothered by his partner's lips until his only comments were groans of satisfaction.

"Okay–mm–okay," he said, trying to sit up, before being pushed insistently back down into the couch. Resigning himself to his fate, Spike allowed his hands to drift past Fluttershy's waist, gliding over the satin of her nightdress and pinching down on the flesh of her inner thigh–

Fluttershy flinched.

Spike looked up at her, face reddened and chest beating heavily. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing that she had stopped moving entirely.

The older woman didn't respond. Instead, she leaped from her seat, brushing her dress down and staring straight ahead as she marched into the kitchen. With rigid movements, she jerked the kettle from the stove top, poured the steaming water into a waiting mug and teabag, and downed the whole mixture without waiting for it to cool.

Spike's eyes widened as he shifted on the couch. "Are you okay?"

She nodded her head up and down, leaning into the counter and nearly breaking her nails on it with her grip.

"Stellar," Fluttershy answered, her voice high-pitched and strained.

The next few days were both the best and worst times of Spike's young life.

On the downside, Fluttershy would spend most of the day at Twilight's castle, leaving Spike to take care of the children while his partner worked. He had grown to greatly care for the Cake twins, love them even, but his undue share of the labor involving the two irritated him, especially when considering he'd only volunteered to help share his friend's burden.

On top of that, even when she was home Fluttershy's free time was scarce: between taking care of her animals and spending what quality time she could with the children, the contact the two adults had together was little more than fleeting.

But when Fluttershy wanted to make a move...

Holy shit, could the woman move.

It hadn't taken Spike long to piece together the fact that, if she wanted to, Fluttershy could be a real tease. Maybe it was just a series of honest mistakes; maybe it was payback for their "experimentation" getting her a little too heated on their first night together.

The former had initially seemed the most likely the first few days; a misplaced hand at the breakfast table accidentally knocking a container of jam onto Spike's jeans, followed by Fluttershy apologizing frantically and toweling away the mark that had fallen so conspicuously close to his inner thigh; reaching over him as he sat on the couch with the kids, she absentmindedly straddling his waist and affording him a decent view of her chest while she adjusted the blinds; asking him to smell her perfume, then coaxing him to brush the hair from her shoulders so that his hands grazed her neck.

Other times, she wasn't so subdued with her actions. Much like Pumpkin, Fluttershy had taken to sitting in Spike's lap. She was fond of leaning close to his chest and draping her long, bare legs directly in his line of sight. Sometimes he would pretend not to notice, refusing to play her game and would instead read one of the magazines Fluttershy was wont to leave hanging around her house; sometimes, when his nerves felt especially frayed, he would lose their little battle of wills and knead her beautifully toned thighs, while she would smirk coquettishly to herself, victorious, before kissing his jaw tenderly.

Technically, Fluttershy hadn't done anything that could be seen as sexually motivated, but to Spike, every action she took felt as if it were a small rebellion. She was all smiles to his face, as well as to the children, but there was an aura of...something, he couldn't really say what, something giving purpose to the woman's subtle but deliberate actions.

Whatever she was doing, it was working.

Spike found himself distracted and unmotivated throughout the day; Fluttershy had left with the animals to start back cleaning Twilight's castle, and even now, these hours later, the young man was looking to the clock, waiting for her to get home and wondering just what the hell he would do when she did. He felt irritable, and confused, and really fucking horny the entire day, and all the more pissed off because she'd only done it to make him want her when she wasn't there.

It was the most female kind of payback she could inflict on him, and Spike didn't know whether he wanted to suck it up and not give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, or say Fuck It and haul her off to the bedroom as soon as she walked in the front door.

He wondered if this was part of the married life, if the subtext and the power play came with the territory. One thing was sure, though: he'd never been more turned on, for so long, in the entire span of his life.

"Spike?"

The young man looked down, blinking. Pumpkin had been waving her hand in front of his face, looking worried. "Sorry honey, what is it?"

Pumpkin's cheeks colored with the nickname, but she continued nonetheless. "You've been staring off into space for a couple minutes now. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he reassured her, smiling and rubbing the small girl's shoulder. "Just...waiting for Fluttershy to come home."

"Fluttershy's not coming back until late," Pound pointed out, sitting upside down on the couch as he read one of Spike's comic books. "Said she was going out with Rarity after she got done cleaning for the day."

Spike's eyes widened in surprise. "She said that?"

Pumpkin nodded, looking up at him worriedly. "She said that this morning at breakfast. You nodded so we thought you knew."

"S'probably cause he was 'lost in her eyes', like a mook," Pound noted.

Soon after that, Spike duct taped Pound to the wall for "being an insubordinate little prick."

"You know, you're acting a lot like a needy housewife," Pumpkin observed as her caretaker shuffled around the kitchen, cleaning whatever lay in sight, doing whatever he could to keep himself busy and less focused on his partner.

Spike groused at the little girl as he leaned over the kitchen counter. "Do you want to go up on the time-out wall too?"

She shook her head no, visibly zipping her mouth shut with two fingers.

After finding he had run out of things to do, Spike resorted to moping for the rest of the afternoon. Every so often he'd take to looking out the window and sighing, wondering just how long it would take for his friend to come home.

Fluttershy sighed as she leaned back against the moist wood railing.

She wasn't sure why, but it seemed like it had been ages since she'd last been to the spa with Rarity. She could feel the accumulated stress from the past few days melt from her aching muscles and drip to the floor, intermingled with the countless beads of sweat trailing down her skin. Beside her, Rarity leaned back, arms spread out to either side as she too took in the cleansing steam of the dark, woody sauna.

The seamstress's hair lay out of a towel in a rare show of disarray, one that few others besides Fluttershy ever saw. The younger girl felt privileged at being able to see Rarity with her hair down, both figuratively and literally: no one else, not even the other girls ever got to see Rarity in such a deliberately unkempt manner. The stringy, dark hair suited her, Fluttershy felt, but then again Rarity could wear a rotting potato sack and still be the most gorgeous woman in the room.

Rarity must have felt her gaze, as she turned her head to look at Fluttershy, and wow, her dazzling blue eyes had an even stronger stare than Pinkie's. "Is something wrong, dear?" she asked, and Fluttershy shook her head 'No'.

"You just look really beautiful today," she answered, shrugging and smiling.

The dressmaker's eyes widened imperceptibly, before crinkling with an appreciative smile. Her lips pursed in mirth. "Why couldn't you have been born a man, Fluttershy?" she asked petulantly as she leaned to face her friend. "We would've been perfect for each other."

Fluttershy doubted that, but she found the thought somewhat entertaining. "It's for the best," she murmured, laying both her hands on the luxuriant white robe trimmed with purple that was customary of the spa. She yawned. "You would've just wanted me for my body, anyway."

Rarity chuckled. "I guess you know me too well." She reached her hand across and squeezed Fluttershy's. "I know you've been busy lately," she said, flipping her head to clear her face of a few wet hair strands, "but I truly am glad that you made the time to come here with me today." She scrunched her nose as she looked at the warm amber-red ceiling light overhead. "You're so easy to be around, you know, and the others just don't appreciate these things the same way you and I do."

Fluttershy returned the squeeze. "I feel the same way," she said, and she meant it.

Over the years, she'd come to really look forward to her time with Rarity. She loved her friends, she really did, but none of them cared about their appearances the way she and Rarity did. Of course, Fluttershy would never claim to hold herself to the same standard as her violet-haired friend, but she still loved to look her best. She liked to look beautiful, liked others to see her being beautiful and think she was beautiful too. After all, she worked hard to look good, and it paid off every day. Fluttershy loved it when others noticed her hard work, and being a woman was certainly that if nothing else.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash didn't understand the appeal of extensive self-maintenance, or didn't care. Pinkie and Twilight saw the merits but apparently didn't think it was worth the time or energy. Rarity did.

Their trips to the spa had caused the two women to rub off on each other; Rarity found herself becoming more patient and sympathetic, especially in Fluttershy's presence, while Fluttershy herself became more readily eager to speak of her own life, and had come to confide her own secrets in the older woman the same way Rarity had come to confide in her. Now there were few things that the two women didn't know about the other, and the candidness was both exhilarating and refreshing to Fluttershy.

No one but Rarity knew about the Journal, or the ideas for that zoology book that she'd yet to run past Twilight, or just how much money Fluttershy had saved up from that modeling stint a few years back. In the same vein, Fluttershy was privy to some of Rarity's deepest thoughts, such as her private fears for her friends growing old, alone and unmarried, or of what would happen when Sweetie Belle eventually grew up, or her apprehension bordering on terror when the bottle nearly landed on her those nights ago.

"I don't know what I would've done," Rarity had confessed, to Fluttershy's surprise. "All these years of me thinking I'd be ready for him when the time came, but then it came, and my mind...blanked. Poof," she said, imitating an explosion with her fingers before sinking back on the bench. "So many years of playing myself up as a 'mistress of romance', and I don't even trust myself with the power I hold over one teenage boy."

"It's only natural," Fluttershy assured her, rubbing her friend's thigh. "He's an important person to all of us, and you were just being considerate of that. If you weren't, then it would've been a problem."

Rarity had smiled in appreciation of her coaxing, but it was clear that it hadn't done much to restore her self-confidence.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do with him, Fluttershy," she said, and was displeased with how much fear she'd allowed to seep into her voice. "He's going to want an answer out of me one day, and I just don't know what I'm supposed to do-"

"What do you mean, 'he's going to want an answer'?" Fluttershy asked before she could stop herself.

Rarity blinked at the interruption, looking at her pink-haired friend in confusion. "On whether or not we can be together," she said slowly, as if this were an obvious fact, brushing hair out of her face.

Fluttershy resisted the urge to huff, feeling a twinge of annoyance spring up in regards to her friend. "You seem awfully confident that he won't turn out to be interested in someone else." She crossed her bare, slicked legs, feeling a heat rise up in her chest that had nothing to do with the steam.

The seamstress's mouth worked silently for a moment, before curling into a coy smirk. "I see what this is about." She leaned forward, placing her head in her hands as she looked placatingly at her friend. "Fluttershy, dear, you must be confused."

Fluttershy's back went straight and the girl felt a cold wave of How dare you shiver through her body.

"You see," she said, chuckling, "you and Spike and the dear little twins, you've been playing house for the past few days or so. Now don't get me wrong," she said, holding up her hands in a mock-defensive manner, "that is extremely cute, if nothing else." She smiled thinly. "But the only reason he isn't already mine is because I haven't moved for him yet."

"I thought he wasn't yours because Twilight said he wasn't," Fluttershy countered.

"Oh, don't play this game with me," Rarity snapped, annoyed. "You don't know how."

"You'd be surprised," the caretaker said quietly.

Rarity scoffed, and Fluttershy flinched at the sound of utter disbelief. "Surprise me, then. Go ahead."

The younger woman's chest wracked with anger. She wouldn't have said this to any of the other girls, she would have at least had some faith in their ability to keep a young man like Spike interested. She hated it when Rarity did this, when she felt the need to flaunt her power, when she felt the need to speak down to Fluttershy like she was some virginal mess, to be ugly to her–

She fished her phone out of the robe's pockets and opened it to the dial pad. Sniffing, she wiped the sweat from her ear as she entered Spike's number. She held the phone up to her head as it dialed, maintaining eye contact with Rarity all the while.

He answered partway through the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi," Fluttershy said warmly, crossing one leg over the other. "How have you been?"

"Fine, I guess," she heard him say, though it was obvious he sounded anything but. "Me and the kids just had a do-nothing day. How are you?"

"I'm just wonderful," she near-purred, and she caught Rarity roll her eyes, though her arms seemed to move a bit jerkily as she laid them over her lap. "What are you doing right now?"

"Right now?" There was a pause. "Uh, Pumpkin and I just finished watching one of her shows." He chuckled. "Pound didn't want to, but I made sure he hung around for it."

"So you're not busy?" Fluttershy asked, seeking confirmation.

"Not at the moment," he said. "Why, what do you need?"

Fluttershy paused for effect, before letting her voice lower, conspicuous with mischief. "What are you wearing?" she asked.

Rarity flinched.

There was silence for a moment, and Fluttershy swore that if Spike ended up making her look bad, or weak, he'd pay for it when she got home–

"What's it to you?" he asked, his voice flirty and eager. Fluttershy beamed; if he was upset with her for teasing him the past couple days, he wasn't letting it show.

"It's in your best interests to cooperate," Fluttershy said coyly, looking down and biting the inside of her cheek.

He snorted. "Right, sure. I've got on a purple t-shirt and blue jeans. Happy?"

"What else?"

There was a sound of clothing shuffling before his next answer. "Black boxers, you perv."

Fluttershy chuckled, glad that the volume on the phone was loud enough so that Rarity could hear. The other woman worked her jaw, looking suddenly wary and agitated, though she said nothing.

"Show me," Fluttershy said, shocking the both of them.

"What?"

"You heard me."

She swore she could visualize him putting one hand on his hip and staring incredulously at the phone. "And just why should I do that?"

Now it was Fluttershy's turn to roll her eyes, though she knew the boy wouldn't be able to see it. "Because, you goober, I'll return the favor."

Silence again. "Now, or when you get home?" he asked, cautious but intrigued.

"Both," she answered gladly, before terminating the call.

In the intervening silence, Fluttershy smiled beatifically at the woman next to her, proud of her imminent victory. "Spike's actually quite shy, as a lover. He's more submissive than you might think," she commented, and part of her felt satisfied at seeing part of Rarity's resolve break, the woman's face falling and turning grey. The rest of her felt sad, though. Because of her, the source of a large part of her friend's confidence and pride for the past few years had just vanished.

Poof.

Rarity started to open her mouth, but her voice broke, and she simply stared at the ground, clutching her elbows.

Fluttershy's phone buzzed, startling Rarity out of her dazed state. Attempting to ignore the crestfallen look on her friend's face, Fluttershy held the phone up to her face, grinning uncharacteristically.

She whistled.

Spike had certainly come through, and Fluttershy was once again reminded of the young man's growth over the past few years. She didn't know how he knew to pose for the picture, showing her just what she wanted, but there it was: his boyish face, his beautiful green troublemaker eyes, his not-too-toned, not-too-soft stomach and well-defined Apollo's belt, a hint of the dark black boxers hiding his delightfully firm–

She blinked. Now that she looked at it, it looked almost exactly like her sketch of Spike from a couple of days ago. She frowned–it had to be a coincidence, there was no reason to believe that anyone other than herself and Rarity knew of the Journal's existence.

Still, Fluttershy had to admit, it was a good look for him. She decided that he had earned that returned favor, and then some.

Smiling, she turned to Rarity, whose eyes bulged as she took in the young man in the photo. "What do you think?" she asked, holding up the phone. "Couldn't you just gobble him up?"

Rarity swallowed as she eyed the picture, as if she were thinking of doing just that.

Laughing lowly, Fluttershy got up from her seat to sit next to her friend. Rarity followed her motions cautiously, as if she weren't sure of what the younger woman would do next.

"Get ready to smile," Fluttershy said, leaning in and wrapping an arm around Rarity's waist.

"What are you doing?" Rarity asked, uncrossing her legs. Fluttershy noticed that the woman's pronounced accent seemed to have dropped.

The caretaker shrugged off the top half of her robe, to Rarity's shock. "Returning the favor," Fluttershy answered, boldly squeezing her arms together so that her bare breasts became more pronounced. To her credit, Rarity only ogled at the sight for a couple of seconds. Fluttershy didn't have much in the way of endowment–few women from Cloudsdale did–but her perky, well-formed breasts, glowing with sweat, framed her deceptively firm torso beautifully.

Rarity stammered for a moment, strands of wet hair falling into her flustered face. "You–you're not going to show him, are you?" she asked, dubious of Fluttershy's uncharacteristic boldness.

"Of course not," the pink-haired woman said, smirking. "We're going to show him."

The dressmaker stared at her friend, uncomprehending, before feeling a hand pull at the back of her robes. "Wha–HEY! Where do you think you're grabbing?"

Fluttershy yanked Rarity's robe down to the woman's waist, leaving her top bare. "Oh, wow," she proclaimed with wide, searching eyes, "Rarity, your chest is gorgeous."

The dressmaker felt her ego inflate at the praise, in spite of Fluttershy's rash actions. "I know that without you telling–" She made a gurgling sound as she felt hands on her chest, feeling Fluttershy's nails dig gently but insistently into her bare breasts. She turned to the side to shield herself from prying hands, but Fluttershy was having none of it.

Click!

The artificial shutter sound on Fluttershy's phone went off, and Rarity froze. "You didn't," she hissed.

"I did," Fluttershy said, shrugging. With one hand she held off her vengeful friend—Rarity didn't look nearly so beautiful with a hand smushing her face—and sent the image to her waiting partner.

"Fluttershy, I swear, I am going to murder you."

The aforementioned traitor rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Can we postpone that until after I get laid?"

Rarity choked.

"Oh look," Fluttershy said, smiling, "he responded."

Despite her anger and embarrassment, Rarity was immensely curious of Spike's reaction. He'd waited nearly a decade, after all, how did the body of his once-crush measure up to his expectations? "What did he say?"

Fluttershy's eyebrows raised as she looked down at the message. "He says that he's going to have to put his penis in a sling."

Rarity snorted, then immediately covered her mouth. "Really?" When Fluttershy nodded in the affirmative, she asked, "Did he say anything about me?"

The caretaker shook her head. "No, not–oh, hold on, he sent something else." She scrutinized the text momentarily, before laughing. "He's worried that you saw the picture."

Rarity leaned forward over Fluttershy's lap, resting on hands and knees on the moist wooden bench. "I approve," she breathed, her earlier ire towards Fluttershy forgotten.

Fluttershy nodded, sending off Rarity's reply. She sat back on the bench, feeling the hot wood press into her exposed shoulder blades.

It was funny; all it had taken was a phone call to Spike, the object of their shared affections, and suddenly the power dynamic between the two women had completely shifted. Now Fluttershy was the bold and confident one, and Rarity the meek and mild one. And to top it all off, she was going to go home to two lovely children and a gorgeous young man who would rail her right into a hospital?

Fluttershy loved her life sometimes.

"He's glad," Rarity's voice said, snapping Fluttershy out of her trance.

"That's nice," Fluttershy smiled. She turned to her friend. "Wanna tease him some more?"

Rarity blinked, before smiling uncertainly. "If you want to, why not?"

Fluttershy beamed, grasping her spa buddy by the shoulder in appreciation. "That's the spirit. Now, get on top of me."

As Fluttershy crossed the bridge leading to her home, she sighed in contentment. The ordeal with Rarity had worked itself out rather nicely: while the fashionista had been extremely reluctant to admit defeat, she was gracious enough to apologize to Fluttershy and gave her word not to interfere. If anything, she was grateful to Fluttershy for allowing her a chance to enjoy Spike's affections by proxy, for being able to indulge their mutual attraction from a safe distance.

That made Fluttershy wonder, however: who she was to Spike that she could negotiate who got close to him?

It would seem awfully presumptuous of her to declare him as hers, as off limits, simply because of a few days worth of kissing and teasing. Were they dating? Or just overly-deprived amateurs, glad to have someone to vent their passions to?

Was she wrong to consider giving him a threesome for his next birthday?

She wasn't sure of the answer, but even if she was, it wouldn't change her goals. He'd be leaving in a few days, and Fluttershy was determined to give him a reason to keep coming back.

As she neared the house, she heard loud voices coming from inside. Frowning, she wondered what could be the cause of so much noise.

"...for the last time, we're not doing Patty Cake!"

"Why not?" came a girlish voice.

"Because it's not hardcore enough!"

There was a sound of exasperation. "It's not supposed to be hardcore! It's PATTY CAKE!"

Fluttershy rolled her eyes as she walked up to the door.

"We're doing 'Rockin' Robin', and that's final!"

"Or what?"

"Or no more bedtime kisses!"

A gasp. "You wouldn't."

"I'll give them all to Fluttershy and make you watch, I swear to God."

Hearing her name, the pink-haired caretaker opened the door and stormed in. "Did somebody say 'bedtime kisses'?"

Both Spike and Pumpkin looked up at the sudden entry. Pumpkin's face fell. She looked to Spike. "Okay, okay, we can play–"

"Too late!" Fluttershy squealed, rushing forward and grabbing Spike by the hand. He chuckled at her boldness and allowed himself to be led up the stairs.

"No!" Pumpkin cried, "my kisses!"

Spike turned, smiling, and scooped Pumpkin up in one arm. "Get dinner ready, and I'll give you all the kisses you want. Deal?"

Pumpkin froze in place, suspicious. She squinted up at him.

Sighing, Spike leaned in and smooched the young girl on the nose.

"Deal!" she said, slipping out of her caretaker's grasp and running to the kitchen.

"Oh yeah, and get your brother down, or something," Spike added, as he continued up the stairs with Fluttershy.

"Oh, now you care," Pound grumbled, still attached to the wall.

Fluttershy blinked, pausing on the stairs. "Why is Pound duct taped to the wall?"

"I can't feel my legs," he called out.

"No reason," Spike said hurriedly, pushing his partner up into the bedroom and watching her muscles shift through her black pants.

They slipped past the creaking door and locked it, breathing somewhat excitedly.

The two stopped in the middle of the room, feeling no rush to release the other from their grasps.

"You look nice today," Spike said in a near-whisper, leaning back on the edge of the mattress and holding his partner by the wrists.

"Do I, now?" Fluttershy asked softly, smiling as she rested between his legs and kicked off her flats. Her light brown sweater hung over her deceptively small body, hiding most of her torso and contrasting her slim, shapely legs by comparison.

"You used to model, genius," Spike pointed out, looping his hands around Fluttershy's waist, "you tell me."

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, before retreating from her partner's grasp. She studied him momentarily, before allowing her mouth to curve into a small smirk. "Would you like me to model for you?"

Spike groaned. "After today, I don't think my dick can take much more stress."

"Oh, it'll take a lot more before I'm through with you," Fluttershy said, and Spike slowly clamped his mouth shut.

The older woman turned so that her back was facing the bed. Pushing herself onto her bare toes, Fluttershy made a show of stretching, flexing her legs and causing her sweater to ride up past her bellybutton. Raising her arms over her head and clutching an elbow, she looked over her shoulder and fixed the man on her bed with a half-lidded stare.

Spike swallowed heavily. His mouth was slightly ajar as he got up from his seat with outstretched arms.

"Not yet," Fluttershy insisted. She ran her hands over the exposed skin of her stomach as she shifted to another ballerina-like pose. "You can't touch me until I'm finished."

The teenager groaned, but acquiesced to her demands. He returned to his spot on the mattress. "You've got some nerve saying that," he commented, "after pulling that stunt with Rarity earlier."

"We were just expressing ourselves," she countered, laughing softly. Facing away from him, she fell to the ground, holding her torso up with her arms and bringing attention to her legging-adorned rear, which clung to her like a second-skin. "She thinks you've got a nice butt."

"I think I have a nice butt too."

Fluttershy rolled her eyes, turning onto her side, flipping her hair over her shoulder and bringing her leg to line up with her bellybutton. "You should've seen how jealous she was."

Spike sat up in his seat despite himself. "She was jealous?" At Fluttershy's nod, he shifted nervously. "What does she know about us?"

The caretaker rolled to face him, pressing her chest to the ground and raising her hips to the air. Spike swore silently—the dimples on her ass were visible through the sheer fabric.

Fluttershy smiled thinly. "She knows what we've been doing." A pause. "She knows what we're going to do."

"You told her?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrows.

"In detail," she shrugged. "I had to, she didn't think I was serious about you at first."

The green-haired teenager cut his eyes at her, admiring her form even as he pondered her meaning. "'Serious about me?'"

She held his gaze, wondering what she would need to say next. "Spike, I won't pretend that I know what we are right now," she admitted, "but I do know that I want to keep going." She moved on her hands and knees to the bottom of the bed, perching her head on Spike's knee and hugging his leg to her chest. "It's only been a couple of days, and it feels like I've learned more about you now than I have in the past few years."

Spike's face softened, but his posture still suggested that he held some reservations. "Like how good of a kisser I am?"

"Well, there's that," Fluttershy admitted, and she frowned on the inside, realizing that of course it would be more difficult for Spike to connect to her emotionally as opposed to physically. "But there are other things, too."

"Such as?"

Fluttershy bit the inside of her cheek. Should she tell him? Doing so would run the risk of insulting his pride and closing him off to her, which was the last thing she wanted...

On the other hand, she'd show him just how well she knew him, just how similar they really were. She could let him know that she could get inside of his head better than anyone else, because she hoped for and feared the same things he did.

Kindred spirits. One mind in two bodies.

Making up her mind, she sat next to him on the bed. "I've learned that you're scared," she said, bumping her head against his and taking his hand in hers. "Scared of the people you love, the ones you've devoted yourself to, and what they can do to you. You're scared that you already love them more than they could ever possibly love you back, and that they'll hold that power over you forever, even if they don't know they're hurting you with it."

Spike said nothing, and Fluttershy wasn't sure if she'd offended him or not, but she didn't feel like checking his face to find out just yet. She lowered her gaze to his chest, unwilling to look him in the eyes.

Fluttershy sighed. "You've let your heart grow so big that it gets heavy at times, and you don't know who you're allowed to pour it out on because no one's ever told you. And then, when you get the chance, you...you hesitate, because you're afraid they won't take it seriously, and they'll make fun of you, or leave you because they'd think that you're–"

"Weak," Spike breathed.

Fluttershy tightened her grip on her partner's hand, and was comforted when he returned it.

He shook slightly on the bed, his voice tremulous. "How...how could you know that...?"

"Spike," she said, looking him in the face now—he needed to know she was telling the absolute truth—"I've learned so much about you in the past few days, and it's been more of a pleasure than you'll ever know." She rubbed his jaw with a tender hand. "You're funny, and noble, and so full of good that you just don't see in most people. And I feel ashamed of myself for not seeing it sooner, but at the same time I'm glad," she confessed, laughing happily, "because I got to you before anyone else could."

She looked him in the eye, taking note of his reddened eyes and scarlet-hued skin. "I swear to you," she said quietly but firmly, "that I'll always stand by you, however you need me. I can take better care of you than anyone else. I won't leave you, and I won't make fun of you, because I'm just like you." Her hands pressed to his chest, before winding around his neck. She lifted her lips to his ear, before pursing them for a whisper: "And I believe in people like us."

Spike sighed shakily, leaning on Fluttershy and allowing himself to be held by her. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, listening to the other's heartbeats and hearing the tiny footsteps of the children downstairs.

His face fell to the crook between Fluttershy's chin and shoulders, and he grasped at the woman's waist. "Thank you," Spike said quietly, moving his hand to embrace hers and feeling her fingers intertwine around his.

The older woman felt shivers race across her skin at the contact, but managed to keep herself composed. She started caressing his neck and running long fingers through his moist, matted hair. "We could be together, even when the kids leave. We could try for the real thing."

Spike raised his eyebrows, looking up at Fluttershy in mild surprise. "You mean, like dating? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Fluttershy shrugged. "I was thinking more like 'partners'. Or...lovers," she added tentatively, watching his expression.

The teenager's face lit up, and Fluttershy felt a laugh spring up in her throat, as if the implications of being intimate with her wasn't something he'd been dwelling over the past couple days. "I didn't think you'd want me for something like that."

"Like what?"

"Falling in love."

Blinking, Fluttershy chuckled before embracing her partner in a tight hug. "I already love you, Spike," she said, feeling his heart beat against hers. "I've always loved you, from the moment I met you." She pulled back, holding her arms wrapped around his waist. "And if we do this, if we go down this road, it'll change, that's all." She kissed him on the corner of the mouth. "I can only love you more than I do now, but that's only if you'll let me."

She pressed her lips to his mouth, and, drawing back, found that he followed her as she pulled away.

"You don't have to decide now," she said, kissing him on the mouth again, "but it's–mm–it's something to think about."

Spike said nothing, but continued to press against her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and Fluttershy jumped in place. Before she could appreciate the gesture, however, he pulled away hastily. "Thank you," he repeated, breathing heavily.

Fluttershy smiled, tilting her head downward and obscuring her face with a curtain of pink hair. "You don't have to–"

"Yes I do," Spike interrupted, surprising her by gently pushing into her with his chest and coaxing her onto her back. His hand kneaded her hips, moving up the side of her torso and bringing her loose-fitting sweater riding on his fingers. "Before this week, I..." he shook his head. "I never really felt any of the things I felt here. I never felt funny, or clever, or, or attractive, or like people could depend on me to be in charge, or anything. And it's like I didn't even have to try!" he exclaimed, looking down at Fluttershy with subdued jubilation and gratitude. "It just came naturally to me, like I could just be myself and other people would somehow like me for it."

He brushed the hair from Fluttershy's face and kissed her, long and deep. She shuddered beneath him, wrapping her arms around his torso and encircling his waist with her legs.

Spike receded and kissed his partner gently on the eyelids, and reached farther up her chest. "So thank you," he repeated, smiling gratefully, "thank you for making me feel...necessary."

And when one hand clasped the breasts hidden under her sweater, and the other snaked through her overly thin leggings and into her damp loins, Fluttershy's second thought was her pride in making a difference.

She wanted to scream when his fingers penetrated her, but Spike must have had taken the arching of her back as a sign, because he quickly silenced her frantic moans with a deep kiss. "No screaming," he admonished gently, "the kids are right downstairs."

Fluttershy had a few choice words about how much she cared about the kids hearing them right now, but she was somewhat distracted.

Instead, when Spike hooked his fingers inside of her and stroked her clit with a moist thumb, she settled for biting her tongue and glaring indignantly at him for the teasing.

The young man raised an eyebrow at her expression, though he didn't seem deterred in the least. "That's some look you've got there," he commented, continuing to thrust his fingers in and out. He pulled the sweater over her head and shoulders, leaving it on the side of the bed. "Getting teased doesn't feel all that great, now does it?"

Fluttershy opened her mouth to retort, but Spike pinched down on her clit and all that she managed was a gurgling sound. She shifted in his grasp, feeling an unbearable heat in her chest despite only being clothed in her slim black bra and leggings.

"I bet you thought you were off the hook," Spike taunted, grinding his fingers out of her and pressing one into her mouth. "But you can't just bait me like that for days and not expect a little payback."

Fluttershy, despite herself, grinned and wriggled in place, releasing his waist from the grip of her legs. "I'd do it again," she asserted, jostling her head ever so slightly to add her messy hair to the effect.

"Oh, I bet you would," the teenager growled.

"I'm awfully sorry," Fluttershy insisted, batting her eyelashes unconvincingly. Her hands traced his stomach, caressing the muscles of his torso and shyly shuffling the obtrusive purple t-shirt out of the way. "I was just having a little fun. I hope you won't be too hard on me."

Spike sighed, and though his lap was out of Fluttershy's sight, she could hear a belt buckle coming unfastened, followed by a zipper coming undone. Excited, Fluttershy pushed her partner's loosened jeans from his waist with her feet, laughing gently when she heard his startled protest. Her eyes settled on his black boxer shorts, and as her hands immediately clasped on the mounds of firmly toned flesh, she knew that all of her past trials and tribulations were worth suffering, if only to gain a handful of that sweet, sweet ass.

"Having fun down there, sport?" Spike asked, and Fluttershy looked up to see him smirking at her.

"Shh," she whispered, palming her partner's behind and sighing. "We're having a moment."

Spike rolled his eyes, though his face marked him as flattered at her interest.

He closed the distance between their bodies. He heard Fluttershy gasp beneath him as his loins aligned with hers, and she felt his hardened length through thin layers of fabric. He could feel the heat of her torso, the sweat pooling in her modest cleavage as she arched into him.

"What day do the kids go back?" he asked lowly.

"Saturday," Fluttershy breathed, hurriedly pulling her leggings down past her knees before doing the same for her partner.

"Saturday," Spike repeated, sounding the word in his mouth. Pushing under the black bra, he held his lover's breast in his hand, tweaking the small pink bud in his fingers. "Clear your schedule for that day."

"The whole day?" she asked, sweating with nervous excitement and writhing under his handiwork.

"The whole day," he reaffirmed, grinning. He kissed her firmly, stroking the back of her teeth with his tongue and bruising her lips bright red. "Are you ready?"

She responded by kissing his throat, then pushing up with her hips once she was sure they were lined up correctly–

"Ow!" Fluttershy yelped, scrambling backwards and accidentally colliding with the headboard. "Ouch," she groaned to herself, rubbing her bruised head.

"What's wrong?" Spike asked, leaning over her, worried.

Fluttershy sucked her teeth. "Wrong hole."

Spike stared blankly at her, before bursting into laughter. "You mean you forgot where it was?"

"My hand slipped," she said petulantly. "It's not funny,"

"It's kind of funny," Spike insisted, chuckling. His gaze slowly changed as he looked at her, going from teasing and mischievous to anxious and animated. "Hey," he said hesitantly, "before we get into this," Fluttershy glared at his unintentional pun, "I...I've never done anything like this before."

She rubbed his cheek consolingly. "Neither have I," she admitted. "I'm right here with you, so there's no need to be scared."

The young man laughed nervously, twitching as the tip of his member brushed against her folds. "Why would you think I'm scared?"

Fluttershy shrugged jerkily, trying for a grin and failing. "Because I am."

Before he could respond, she pulled him deep into another kiss. She rubbed at the center of his back, massaging his muscles and getting them to lose their tension. When he was sufficiently distracted, Fluttershy reclaimed her grip on his rear and successfully maneuvered him into her.

Her knees shook slightly as they hovered inches above her partner's waist. As he entered her, and Fluttershy felt the intrusion spread her apart so readily, she thought to herself that she might just start to begin to understand the craze of sex, of why so many people sought it and why it sold so well.

So that's what this is like, she thought, tightening her grip on Spike's rear and widening the gap between her thighs a bit more. It hadn't hurt nearly as much as she'd heard it would—only a flash of pain, and then she'd forgotten it had happened. Like getting a tooth yanked out.

In her innermost thoughts, those few introspections which even Rarity was not privy to, Fluttershy had always been terrified that she would be horrible at sex. She'd wondered, if and when the time came she entrusted herself to another person, she'd be any better than a dead fish, too humble and reserved in bed to enjoy herself, much less give any enjoyment to her would-be partner. It was something she'd feared, intensely, as it seemed not only possible, but quite likely that she'd end up just a pretty face with no passion behind it.

But this...

"Are you okay?" Spike asked, holding himself up with his arms and frowning at her stillness.

"Do that again," Fluttershy whispered, eyes wide.

Her partner was confused at her shift in demeanor, but he obliged her request nonetheless. Raising his hips from his lover's, Spike shivered at the warmth he left behind, before shoving back into what felt more than anything like moist, burning silk.

Fluttershy shuddered gleefully, inching backwards as she felt a delightful little tickle run nearly to her stomach as her partner penetrated her for a second time. She hugged her waist to his, pulling back when he did and gracefully gliding back up to meet him when he stroked into her.

"Oh," Spike groaned, and his arms went weak for a moment, failing at the joints. Fluttershy was reminded that for all his wittiness and sexual appeal, he was still an inexperienced teenager, and she resolved to be angry with herself later for not cherishing the moment in which the two of them took the other's virginity.

But all that aside...

Fluttershy wanted to scream in happiness. As Spike picked up the pace and Fluttershy had to bite into his neck to keep from groaning, she realized that she wasn't bad at making love. If anything, with some practice and a little elbow grease, she could be pretty damned good at it. She felt a sort of internal confidence, the same she felt when comforting others, or drawing, or getting up in the morning and making sure she looked her best: this was something she could do exceedingly well, if only she put her mind to it. If she and Spike—young, only recently of age but wise before his time—really took it seriously, really managed the thing, then they could be superb lovers someday soon.

She could see herself teaching Spike to care for animals, and him being good at it; Spike holding Pumpkin in a hug and shooting Fluttershy a look of such blessed kinship and longing that was reserved only for her; she and Spike actually going to Los Pegasus on a honeymoon, actually dancing on tables and going back to hotel rooms and seeing each other look more beautiful than usual; she and Spike, simply being in love and simply being good to each other.

They could stay up late and talk to each other until the sun rose, or go get lost in a field somewhere and feed each other with no one watching, or stay inside on a rainy day and listen to the other's heartbeats, because they were lovers and lovers were allowed to do those sorts of things...

All in good time, she thought to herself, kissing her partner in the sensitive spot just under his chin. Spike groaned, his pace slackening as he continued to pump into her.

"I don't think I'm going to last much longer," he grunted. Despite his meager forays into the subject of sex—what few books Twilight allowed on the subject—no amount of clenching his stomach or distracting himself would keep him going for long. His rosy-faced partner simply looked up at him, letting out small 'oh's' and 'mm's' each time he sank into her, and Spike could only wonder where it all that dick went.

"It's okay," Fluttershy reassured him, smiling. Her face was glazed with sweat and sported a dusting of a blush. "Just do your best. We've got all night, after all." Her smile widened when she saw his face lift, and she immediately resolved to do her best to drive him to a great orgasm.

Fluttershy wrapped a hand around her partner's neck and brought him close to her lips. "God, it's so big," she groaned directly into his ear, and she felt his muscles tighten as he held her. Even if she had to ham it up a little—just a little, he was good enough that she didn't have to overly embellish her enjoyment—she knew that his performance was directly tied to her reactions. She knew people well enough to guess at how important a man's confidence was when it came to lovemaking.

"Oh please, please," she moaned, and she nearly yelped when he switched positions on her. Now she rode him while he lay on his back, thrusting up into her and she rolling her hips back down to meet him. A delightful little slap sounded each time he bottomed out in her, causing Fluttershy's fingers to dig into her lover's chest. Her long pink hair formed a curtain around their faces, obscuring everything else from view and giving a magenta-colored hue to each other's appearance. Fluttershy's face was full of wonder as she stared down at her young partner, rubbing his cheek gently even as his fingers had seized her ass and spread her even wider with a tight handhold on each firm cheek.

"This could be our lives from now on," Spike said, his voice trance-like, face both blissful and dreamy. He lifted Fluttershy's hips up and brought them coasting back down onto his cock, buying an unusually loud squeak from her and driving a line of liquid appreciation down her thigh.

Now Fluttershy was sweating more readily—she wasn't used to prolonged physical exertion, and they'd been at it for a while now. "Do you want that?" she asked, and she was surprised because she felt somewhat close and Spike still hadn't finished yet. "Do you want this life—with me?"

Spike looked up at her, and whether it was the exertion or an honest blush that colored his face, Fluttershy couldn't tell. "Honestly? I feel like I could do anything with you, Fluttershy." He looked her in the eyes so she'd know he was telling the absolute truth. "I don't think I've ever felt so...fulfilled. I want the laughing, and the homemade dinners, and the power play, and–and seeing you walk in the door at the end of the day–"

"And the kids?" Fluttershy asked, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Spike blushed. "Well, I mean, I'd definitely be up for that, and I think we could make great parents someday, but it's a little soon–"

Fluttershy, eyes bulging, held a hand to her mouth and coughed. "I, uh, meant...babysitting. With the, um, twins."

Spike stopped completely. "Of course you did." His hands covered his steaming red face. "God, I can't believe I just said that."

Fluttershy, for her part, was at a loss for words. Was he really okay with thinking that far ahead?

"It's, uh, nice of you to be open to that, though," she said, and tentatively started moving her hips again to try to get back on 'subject'.

He laughed nervously, and resumed pushing back into her. His hands roamed over the globes of her rear, feeling the ripples on her flesh arrive with each lazy thrust. "Sure thing," he complied, then added as an afterthought, "honey."

She looked at him, her face thunderstruck. "What?" she asked slowly, sure she hadn't heard him right.

"You heard me, darling," he said mischievously, sitting up now and bouncing her up and down in his lap. "If we're gonna be together," he grunted, hugging her to his chest and driving into her moist, scorching flesh, "then we need pet names."

Fluttershy laughed, gyrating her hips as she drove herself onto his cock. "I like honey. You can be bubble-butt."

Spike snorted. "I am not letting you call me that."

"Sweet Cheeks?"

"Nope."

"Sugar Bottom?"

"Try again."

"Ass Face?"

Spike gasped, leaning back and staring at Fluttershy. He smacked her soundly on the rear.

"Ooh," she said, sucking her teeth in. "I think I just found something that I like."

Her partner raised an eyebrow. "Oh really, now?" he asked with a grin, raising his hand to spank her again, sure that his plan was a brilliant one.

Several seconds later...

"I didn't mean to spank you that hard," he pleaded to her, face down on the bed in shame. His guiltiness exceeded Fluttershy's actual displeasure, but she wasn't about to let him know that. After all, she could still milk the situation a bit further...

"I'm sure you didn't," she said soothingly, in her best 'I'm-not-angry-at-you-just-disappointed' voice. "But whether or not you meant for it to happen, it still hurts."

"I'm sorry–"

Spike's apology was cut short by Fluttershy pushing him backwards on the bed, then straddling his face with her hips. The skin on her rear was flushed red, nearly bruised, but not quite so.

"Kiss it better," she ordered, and with only a moment of hesitation, Spike complied. And for his first time being in the dog house, he found that it wasn't actually all that bad.

Dinner was awkward.

Pumpkin and Pound looked to their guardians, wondering why one was staring directly at his plate and pretending not to notice anything around him, and why the other was eyeing her partner and chewing her tongue while she did it.

"Um, Fluttershy?" Pound asked, breaking the painful silence, "are you two having a fight?"

"Of course not, sweetie," she answered with a smile. At the sound of her voice Spike twitched, and the small movement was enough to bring Fluttershy's eyes back on the young man like a magnet. "Your father just...took things a bit far when we were upstairs talking."

Pumpkin looked at the young man, who seemed to curl even further into himself. "Is he in trouble?"

"He's screwed," Fluttershy answered shortly, and Spike sank in his seat until it seemed his knees would hit the floor.

"'said I was sorry," he seemed to groan, but if his pink-haired companion heard his whine, she didn't acknowledge it. The twins shared a look with each other, but otherwise said nothing.

After dinner, all it took was a halfhearted kiss on the cheek to convince Pumpkin to draft her brother for cleaning up. She beamed at Spike from the sink, and through the young man's depression he realized how easy it was to sucker a younger person of the opposite sex into doing what you wanted. He could see why Rarity did it every chance she got.

"You two are just wonderful little blessings," Fluttershy cooed, embracing them from behind in a hug and kissing Pound on the cheek. "Now we'll be back down soon. We've got to get our turn in the bathroom before it's time for bed."

The twins nodded, and as Fluttershy turned to follow her partner up the stairs, she winced at the still-warm pain on her rear that had made sitting a chore.

Reaching the room, she closed the door behind her. Spike sat sheepishly on the corner of the bed furthest from her, not meeting her eyes but clearly aware of her presence.

Rolling her eyes, Fluttershy grasped her partner by the arm and lugged him to the bathroom. She leaned over the empty tub to crank the hot water, feeling Spike's eyes on her rear, before coming to a standing position in front of her pretend-husband.

"Strip," she said simply, and with little hesitation he did as told. Spike's shirt hit the floor, and the caretaker let out a sigh that could only be described as ravenous.

"I was under the impression that relationships are supposed to be equal," Spike commented, and as he shuffled out of his pants he could see the gears whirring in Fluttershy's head as she studied his physique. He wondered if she'd be visiting her sketchbook when they were finished.

"Generally, you'd be right," the older woman said, biting her thumb as she looked him up and down. "But you're still in trouble."

Spike stared at her in surprise. "Even after all that?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "What about when you're in trouble?"

Fluttershy made a gravelly, muted sound in her throat but said nothing else.

The young man simply smirked at her, before turning around to get the rest of the bath ready. Being familiar enough with the small room after the last few days, he took a small reddish bottle from a nearby cabinet—pomegranate-scented bath salts—and poured a measure into the steaming tub.

"That smells heavenly," Fluttershy commented. She stepped out of her shoes, only to stop when Spike held up a hand to her.

"Allow me," he said lowly, and Fluttershy obliged him, holding her hands out to her sides for his convenience. Her skin tingled delightfully as he lifted her sweater off of her chest, followed swiftly by her modest black bra. She then sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding her legs out for him. Grasping her by the ankles, Spike kissed her on the sole of one foot—Fluttershy giggled at the act—before shedding the opaque black clothing obscuring her long, slim legs.

Slowly, and never losing eye contact, Spike kissed his way up his lover's body, starting from her ankle and tenderly leaving each spot with a moist impression of his lips. He paused on her stomach, and his face grew clouded, before moving to her ribs, her small but perfect breasts, her delightfully pale neck, her thin pink lips, her unsuspecting eyelids–

Chuckling, Fluttershy wrapped her legs around Spike's waist—a position of which, he noted, she seemed to be growing increasingly fond. Rising to his feet, Spike carried her to the bathtub, taking care to find the matted support in the porcelain container before lowering themselves inside.

Fluttershy's grip on his waist loosened, and as the pleasantly hot water and suds engulfed their soiled bodies, Spike couldn't help but reflect on how amazing his position was: one of his best friends, a beautiful, kind-hearted caretaker slash ex-supermodel, was currently bare-ass naked with him in a bathtub. The tension from the past few days receded; it hadn't disappeared completely, and some part of Spike hoped that it never would. But it had lessened somewhat, as if it was paying off somehow.

As they lay together, simply content to listen to the other's heart beating and thereby confirm their sanctuary, Spike suddenly felt that it was too perfect; things simply couldn't be this sublime without some sort of imminent heartache. Experience and intuition had taught him that much.

A change had to come in the very near future, something wretched to offset all the good, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. With a glance down at Fluttershy, who lay so content on his chest, eyes closed and breathing easily, he knew instinctively that it wouldn't involve her.

But what?

After putting the children to bed, the two adults retreated to their usual cots in the living room. Comfortable with each other's bodies as they were, they spared no formalities and changed casually in each other's presence, with both man and woman having their fair share of over-the-shoulder glancing.

Fluttershy finished first, and after throwing her shirt at an unsuspecting Spike's face, and after Spike realizing that even though it actually smelled pretty nice it was still kind of a dick move, the two young adults wrestled each other to the ground, laughing. Spike grasped her about the back, seizing hold of Fluttershy's waist, surprising her, before landing with her on the couch.

"I let you win," she lied, gasping for air as she pulled herself to the edge of the sofa, her stomach pressed against the worn cotton cushions.

Spike snorted, falling on her back and rubbing her shoulders. "I bet you're just gonna let me do this, then," he whispered into her ear.

Fluttershy had little time to react, yelping as she felt his hands on her thighs. He yanked up the hem of her nightgown, exposing her pale ass to the evening atmosphere.

"Grab on to something," she heard him say, and shit, he wasn't kidding. He lined himself up with her womanhood—it wasn't hard, she'd been winking unintentionally since he'd grabbed her—and absolutely skewered her.

Fluttershy clutched a nearby throw pillow to her mouth and cursed violently into it, with enough passion to make her partner stumble and blush. As he bottomed out inside of her, her feet kicked at the cushions, the motions only bringing more attention to the invader in her womb.

"Am I still in trouble?" Spike asked innocently, grinding his hips into hers and sending her toes a-clenching. He groaned as his hands roamed over her hips and thumbed the dimples on her ass. "God, you're soaked."

Fluttershy writhed on the cushions, her bravado gone—he didn't know, he couldn't really know since he wasn't receiving, but he was really fucking DEEP inside of her when he said that.

Her fingernails nearly broke whenever she moved, because to move was to be reminded of that wonderful vulnerability, which on one hand felt amazing, but on the other was absolutely terrifying and mind-eating. The thought that she'd bought his ferocity with all of her teasing and mischief made it that much sweeter.

Her voice hoarse, Fluttershy cried, "Please!", and bless him, he understood.

Spike took a handful of her hair, pushing his partner's head back into the cushioning. It was needed, the both of them knew, for when he really got to plowing her, as the slapping of flesh against flesh was loud enough without adding her groans to the mix.

His dick surged in and out of her at a steady pace, pushing her roughly into the fabric and leaving her delicate ass tender and sore, much more so than earlier. Fluids leaked freely from Fluttershy's crotch, easing the passage as Spike stormed into her again and again.

He was thankful for their earlier exploits that evening in the bath, as having come already meant that he could pleasure the two of them for a substantially longer period of time, and with much greater force. Indeed, as Fluttershy shook her hips back at him, returning her lover's thrusts shakily and quaking under his assault, it was obvious that some part of her preferred his more aggressive lovemaking.

Over the slaps of their hips colliding—he had to make sure it wasn't too loud, or the kids might get curious and come down—he could faintly hear Fluttershy's shrieking into the pillows, and he wondered just how loud he could get her when they wouldn't be risking an audience.

"MMPH!" she cried into the fabric after a particularly harsh thrust, only to follow it in a string of moans when he got inspired and really started beating some hell into her. "MMH–MMH–MMH–MMH–MMH!"

Soon after, her voice broke, and Fluttershy curled over, her back curving beautifully as she hunched over on the couch, shaking strongly. Her walls clamped at Spike's member, doing their damndest to flatten his dick as hot, clear cum spilled from her womanhood.

Fluttershy had choked on her own breath, her left leg cramped, and she was pretty sure she might have tilted her back muscles the wrong way, but all of it was paltry compared to the aching, hot satisfaction in her loins: never in her life had she achieved orgasm that way, and never had it been so powerful.

She swallowed, clutching at the edge of the love seat and trying to gain a better position, despite the strength of her arms having run off with with the rest of her bodily control. It had been so long since she'd had any significant sexual excitement that she'd utterly forgotten the drain that came with climbing over that edge.

The sweat on her body—forehead, armpits, back, groin—made her acutely aware of the chill in the late night air, and the muscles in her calves felt like rocks. Fluttershy never knew that sex could be so much work.

She remembered reading something about women having an afterglow post-sex, but she didn't feel particularly elegant or graceful. She made to ask Spike if she looked any different, before she felt him start to push back into her.

"Ooh," she grunted, "I think I may need a breather." Her womanhood felt sensitive, much more so than usual, as did the rest of her body–

Which, evidently, Spike didn't care enough about to stop. "Not stopping now," he said, before shunting roughly back into her.

Fluttershy wheezed at the sudden entry, feeling his cock inside of her with almost painful perception. He had hilted himself inside of her in one stroke, as evidenced by his testicles resting just over the hood of her clit, brushing against her outer lips.

The older woman placed a weak hand against her lover's chest in halfhearted protest, not that it did much to slow him. "We have really," she said between raspy breaths, "got to talk about you going so de-hah–" she shook her head to clear her mind when he slammed hard enough to momentarily lift her off the couch. "About you going so deep." she finished, in a low, croaking voice.

Spike slid a hand inside of her dress, riding her sweating chest up to her breasts. "What are you gonna do about it?" he asked challengingly, groping her as he jolted his hips into her.

Fluttershy only made a low, mewling kind of sound. As the force of her grip increased yet again, though not as fiercely this time, followed by a stream of clear, hot liquid, Spike wondered if he'd made her come again.

The knowledge of his ability gave Spike a powerful sense of satisfaction, and as he watched his partner quailing under his motions, her ass slick and jostling, her face red and teeth gritted under his assault, he knew he was close. Already, he could feel his balls tightening, and then Fluttershy finally let out a disbelieving "Oh my God–"

And then the door to the bedroom upstairs opened.

The two adults froze in a cold sweat, both wondering if they'd already been caught. Shit, Spike thought to himself as he thrust hurriedly into Fluttershy in an attempt to finish quickly, shit shit shit shit SHIT.

"Spike!" Fluttershy hissed to him, her voice seething as a pair of small feet traveled down the stairs, "don't you dare!"

A tuft of orange hair became visible from their place on the couch—of course it would be Pumpkin—and Spike wanted to curse, he was so close, dammit!

"Spike?" she asked hesitantly, rubbing her eyes and walking up to the couch. "I couldn't sleep," she grumbled, "Pound won't stop snoring."

She wore one of his t-shirts, a light green thing with Wise Guy emblazoned on the front, which covered the entirety of her small frame, down past her knees. Spike would've thought the sight beyond cute if the little shit wasn't currently cock-blocking him on a phenomenal level.

Thinking past the panic and arousal in his mind and crotch, respectively, Spike did the only thing he could: he ripped the throw pillow from Fluttershy's hands, and, before the young impressionable girl could see his act of absolute debauchery, pelted her right upside the head with it.

Pumpkin fell to the ground, disoriented but ignorant. Spike winced; throw pillow or not, that thing had to have been doing close to fifty miles an hour when it popped the little girl in the cranium.

Fluttershy looked at the little girl collapsed on the ground, horror struck. She looked at Spike incredulously. "Spike, what the hell–"

But Spike was having none of it. Taking advantage of Pumpkin's brief incapacitation, he clamped his hand over Fluttershy's mouth and thrust rapidly into her unsuspecting womb.

The urgency of the situation affected the both of them, and as Spike saw Fluttershy's eyes roll in the back of her head, he felt himself spilling into her. His cock twitched and throbbed, shooting several hot loads into his partner's drenched womanhood. Spike's legs shook at the sensation, and as he came for the second time that evening and felt the heat make its invisible path through his dick, he quickly pulled himself off of his weary partner.

There we go, he thought hastily to himself, pulling up his sweatpants and pulling Fluttershy's dress down to cover her stained rear.

Just in time, he noticed, as Pumpkin started to pick herself up off of the floor, growling.

Preempting her anger, Spike swept forward and picked the little girl up in his arms. "I am so sorry, sweetie," he said, kissing her on the cheek and setting her on a nearby chair. "You startled me."

"That hurt," Pumpkin said indignantly, blue eyes radiating anger at the betrayal. Her small fingers dug into Spike's arm, so much that he nearly released his hold on her.

Spike frowned. "I said I was sorry, Pumpkin," picking her up again, only for her to push away from him. "Don't be like that," he protested.

Fluttershy got up from the couch, glaring at Spike and sticking her tongue out at him as she limped her way to the bathroom.

"I'm going back to bed," Pumpkin grumbled, trying to maneuver her way out of her caretaker's grasp. "Lemme go."

Getting down on his knees, Spike pressed his forehead to hers, staring into her eyes and forcing her to stare back. "I'm sorry I hit you," he repeated, reaching up and taking gentle hold of her wrists.

Pumpkin said nothing, stubbornly glaring at him and conveying silently that 'sorry' wasn't going to cut it.

"Are you going to stay mad at me forever?" he asked.

"Yes," she asserted.

Spike frowned, leaning back and visibly wilting. "Does this mean you don't love me anymore?"

Pumpkin flinched, shuffling on her feet before crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't say that."

Sensing a weakness, Spike rubbed her wrists with his thumbs, before taking her hand and placing it over his heart. When she stared at him, uncomprehending of his gesture, Spike asked, "Do you know what that is?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed. "It's your heart, duh."

Spike nodded. "You know the special thing about dragon hearts?" he asked her, his voice lowered to a whisper.

She shook her head, and honestly looked as if she could care less.

"They're made of gems," he told her, and her eyes widened slightly. "But they're really, really fragile."

"Really?" Pumpkin asked, intrigued, but still visibly upset.

"Really," Spike answered. "Which is why so many dragons end up living alone and in caves," he explained, once again relying on his wit to spin a tale to his young listener. "Because if we ever meet any cute little girls," he said, poking her on the nose and causing her to giggle despite her anger at him, "and if those little girls get angry, or upset, or start to cry, well," he shrugged, "our hearts would break, and we would die."

Pumpkin gasped, looking down at the spot on Spike's chest where her hand currently rested. Her fingers curled slightly around the beating muscle, as if she feared shattering it in her grasp.

"I don't want you to die," she said hurriedly, looking up at Spike with wide eyes. "I'm not mad at you anymore."

Spike inclined his head towards her. "Thank you," he said lightly, smiling. "Now, it's time for us to go back to bed."

"Can I sleep with you?" she asked suddenly, and Spike realized with a start that that was the initial reason the young girl had come down the stairs in the first place.

"Why not?" he said, sitting down on the couch where he and Fluttershy had been occupied not five minutes ago. Pumpkin sidled up next to him, the two laying sideways on the couch as Spike draped a nearby comforter over themselves. "Did you want a story?" he asked, already feeling the soporific effects of the thick, musty blanket on his shoulders.

Pumpkin was silent for a moment. "Actually," she said, sounding wary of how he might react, "I was hoping you could sing me a lullaby." She looked over her shoulder at her caretaker. "If that's okay."

"Well, songs aren't usually my forte," Spike admitted, "but yeah, I know a few." He adjusted his arms around her. "There was this one that the Princess used to sing to Twilight and me, back when we were kids. Do you want to hear it?"

"Uh huh," she nodded, excited.

Spike smiled, then cleared his throat as he prepared to sing.

You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine...

Several minutes later, Fluttershy exited the bathroom—thank goodness she'd had the foresight to pick up a morning after pill, she hadn't been planning on letting Spike finish inside of her like that. Once she'd gotten over how insanely pleasurable it felt to be marked from the inside like that, she realized that with their current positions, the pleasure couldn't quite gainsay the risk.

Then again, she couldn't think of making him wear a condom, not now that she'd had the real thing.

Fluttershy huffed, blowing a messy strand of hair out of her face. They'd have to figure something out.

As she started to return to the living room, still limping, she paused as she heard a deep voice carrying throughout the lower part of the house. It lilted rhythmically, and Fluttershy realized that Spike was singing. Intrigued, she followed the sound back to the couch, where Pumpkin lay next to her caretaker, the back of her head just under his chin. To Fluttershy's dismay, the song was already over and she'd had no idea of what it was; Pumpkin's head was already nodding, and Spike's with it.

The older woman smiled at the sight, and realized that Spike loved being a parental figure more than he let on, perhaps even more than Fluttershy herself.

She started towards the couch, when she heard a creak at the top of the stairs. She looked up at the sound, only to see Pound standing there, a pillow in hand as he stared down at them. His eyes traced over his sleeping sister on the couch, and his frown seemed to tighten.

"Couldn't sleep?" Fluttershy asked gently, and the young boy started, not having noticed her.

"I can't, when she's not in the room," he explained, looking somewhat sourly at the back of Spike's head.

Fluttershy took him by the hand, guiding him to a nearby lounge chair. She grabbed a nearby comforter and draped it over her shoulders. "I may not be your sister, but I hope you don't mind sleeping next to me." Going by the look on his face, though, it looked as though he couldn't have minded anything less.

As he sat in front of her, his small head just in front of Fluttershy's chest, Pound shuffled nervously, as if he had something on his mind.

"What's bothering you?" Fluttershy asked softly, brushing his hair with her hand.

"Nothing," he said quickly. After a moment of silence, he took a shuddering breath, as if he had a freezing cold in his chest. "It's just...I used to be able to tell what she was thinking."

Fluttershy frowned as she continued to brush his hair. "And now you can't?"

Pound shook his head. "She just thinks about boys all the time," he said, as if the subject made him feel strange, or isolated. "She talks about Spike, like, a lot."

"Are you mad at him for it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's just...we haven't been as close as we used to be." He turned on his side, so that he could look at Fluttershy. "And I don't think she's noticed."

The pink-haired woman brought her face up to his. "Are you scared?"

He blinked slowly at her, lips drawn, before nodding.

Fluttershy smiled wanly at him, holding him to her chest. "It's okay to be scared," she whispered to him, "but you have to realize something."

"What?"

"You and your sister are growing up," she said simply, and going by the pained look on Pound's face, this was the one thing he didn't want to hear. "You might not be as close as you used to be, but that's okay. You both need space to grow, but that doesn't mean she loves you any less." She squeezed his shoulder. "That doesn't mean she's replacing you."

Pound's eyes widened, and his shoulders seemed to slump in relief, as if his worst fears had been abated. "That's...good," he said, yawning. "That's really good."

He backed into Fluttershy's stomach, eyes fluttering to close as he felt sleep take him again.

Oh.

Spike stood outside of Sugar Cube Corner, body rigid as he stared at the familiar establishment. Pound's luggage rested in his left hand, Pumpkin's in his right.

And when Pinkie opened the door, face ecstatic as she scooped the twins up in her arms, and Spike wondered why they and Fluttershy were laughing when all he could feel was a pang of ugly jealousy in his heart, he realized something about himself.

He hated saying goodbye.

That was what that feeling of foreboding had meant earlier, when he lay in the bath with Fluttershy and had felt an uneasy sensation of despair with no knowable cause. It was because some part of him knew that it couldn't last, no matter much they'd grown to love each other over the past few days. Because, despite the bedtime stories and the games, Pound and Pumpkin were someone else's kids; they were never his to love, or feel obligated to, and he knew now that he had gotten himself into this disappointment with his stories.

It all went by so fast, he thought to himself, and he walked calmly into the store, bringing the luggage with him.

He made his way to their room—see? Here was proof: Pumpkin's bed, orange and creme-colored, across from Pound's, brown and white. They'd had a life before they'd even met him, and they'd keep having those lives long after they'd gone back. They were never really his.

He knew he didn't even really have a right to be pissed off, but that knowledge didn't help his bitter mood.

Spike took a deep breath. The kids didn't deserve to have their day ruined just because he got lost in a stupid fantasy and wasn't happy to come out of it. He'd put on a good face for them.

Shuffling back down the stairs with his hands stuffed in his jeans, Spike heard Pumpkin's voice ask Pinkie, "So what did you do while we were gone?"

"Wait for you to get back," she said sadly, and despite himself, Spike had to laugh. Until he came back down the stairs and saw the twins standing there next to Pinkie, and his chest started to hurt.

Do you have someone you love? Do you have someone you love more than anything?

He went over by Fluttershy, and that made the pain recede a little. Sitting down in a chair, he took her hand in his, and without pause she rested in his lap, rubbing his shoulder, as if she knew without words the feelings he was experiencing.

Pinkie looked up from talking with the twins, and as she saw the two of them sitting together, hands overlapped, something clicked in her head. She visibly deflated somewhat, her smile seeming a little less bright, though Spike had no idea why.

Thankfully, before the scene could get any more awkward, Pound and Pumpkin made their way to their former caretakers, and Spike could tell by their meek approach that this was Goodbye.

"It...it was really nice getting to know you," Pumpkin said softly, rubbing her shoulder and looking just below Spike's face.

"We had a lot of fun," Pound added, his face uncharacteristically subdued. His hands were in his pockets.

"We feel the same way," Fluttershy said, eyes bright as she embraced the two children and sighed. "It's been such a pleasure having you at home." Releasing them, Fluttershy turned to Spike, silently imploring him to find something to say.

Spike wilted, and his grasp on Fluttershy's waist tightened, as if he was holding onto a pillow. "Do you have to go?" he asked petulantly, his head drooping as he looked sadly at the two children.

Pumpkin's eyes started to water. "Spike, we—yes, we live here, this is our home." She blinked sadly. "We have to go back."

Pound said nothing, but he took his sister's hand in his, and the small act seemed to give her strength. "We really enjoyed getting to know you, but...I'm not your little girl."

The look on Spike's face was one of such resignation and pain that the young girl immediately regretted her words. Pumpkin wondered if his heart was okay, and very nearly asked.

Fluttershy and Pinkie shared a look. The party girl, despite her disquiet, blinked in confusion. Going from their first meeting, she never expected Spike and the children to get so close.

"We won't be that far from you," Pound tried, but it was obvious that it wouldn't be the same.

Spike tried for a smile, with moderate success. "You're right, Pound," he said gently, and he took both of their tiny hands in his. "It may not be perfect, but we'll see each other again, just you wait."

He hugged them both tightly to his chest, and felt Pumpkin's hand just over his heart, as if checking to make sure everything was in order. "Take care of each other, okay?"

"Okay," they responded in unison.

Spike released them from his hold, though they continued their embrace for a few seconds more. Eventually, though, they stepped back and looked him in the eyes, examining him. At some invisible signal, they blinked, seemingly satisfied with what they found.

"Let's get you guys some breakfast," Pinkie said hurriedly, coming forward and grabbing the two children by the hands. As they allowed themselves to be led away through the kitchen doors and out of sight, they looked over their shoulders, mouths set in identical half-smiles.

Then the swinging doors stopped swinging, and Spike and Fluttershy were alone.

She nudged her head against his, running her fingers against the tender spot under his chin. "We should go," she said soothingly, eyes all but closed.

"Yeah," Spike said quietly, "yeah, I know."

Path Three: The Art of Knowing Yourself Part 1

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Pinkie Pie had been laughing for close to fifteen minutes now.

To the ever-increasing ire—and disturbance—of her friends, the pink-haired party girl had barely breathed or paused since the bottle had sealed her fate as Spike's partner for the upcoming week.

She had snickered, chortled, and giggled her way through a hiccuping fit before spiraling into a trilling, reedy series of airy gasps. The girls had watched on in troubled fascination—Twilight especially was torn between scientific curiosity and practical hysteria—but it seemed that Pinkie Pie simply didn't need oxygen the same way other humans did.

It had been funny at first—Applejack and Rarity had rolled their eyes at Pinkie being Pinkie, while Fluttershy and Twilight had simply looked on, mildly amused. Dash had chuckled with her for a while.

But then Pinkie had gone three whole minutes without so much as inhaling, and the girls agreed with a shared glance that the bitch was starting to creep them out a little.

Around the seven minute mark, Pinkie's sniggering had caused tears to leak from her eyes, causing the mascara on her eyelashes to stream down her face in dreary, malformed streaks. Her voice had grown uncharacteristically deep and gravelly, a result of her overused throat. She clutched her heaving chest as if she was in pain, but still she laughed.

The weaker-willed of them would later cling to Applejack as they slept, using the muscular young virago as a sort of charm to fend off the sure-to-come night terrors. Applejack herself clung to Twilight, who ended up not getting any sleep that night.

The Princess of Friendship had made the mistake of making eye contact with Pinkie as the shorter girl's eyes had danced across the ceiling and had fallen on her friends. Pinkie's eyes had only grown more piercing for the ruination of her makeup, and Twilight found herself unable to look away. Which she kind of wanted to do, since Pinkie's laughter had begun to die out.

Her lips were flushed red, pursed in suppressed amusement, and Twilight's eyes flicked to them before meeting Pinkie's gaze again.

The two stared unceasingly at each other, Twilight's eyes strained and anxious, Pinkie's studious and mirthful. The pressure weighed on the Princess's chest like an anvil as her heartbeat sounded out each increment of the increasingly pregnant silence.

A single bead of sweat rolled from Twilight's searing hairline, making a path down past her temple and continuing over her collarbone, until it sank into her too-small pajamas.

The baker stirred, as if the small act had roused her in some way. Smiling, with her chest heaving gently from the remnants of laughter, she made her way across Twilight's carpeted floor, crawling with hands and knees. Twilight could only watch, pinned in place by her friend's watchful orbs.

"Twilight," Pinkie spoke, and holy shit, her throat must've been raw by the sound of her voice.

Twilight blinked, breaking eye contact with Pinkie long enough to see the hand being offered to her.

"Shake my hand, Twilight."

The Princess twitched, Pinkie's flat command shocking her out of her trance. "What?" she asked, flinching away. Rainbow Dash stared at Pinkie, bug-eyed and frozen.

"We had a deal," the baker clarified. Her smile was unusually stretched, and she wasn't blinking. "Shake my hand."

The remaining girls migrated across the room from Pinkie, latching onto each other's shoulders for support. Fluttershy peered out at Pinkie from behind Applejack's back. "I don't think you should, Twilight," she whispered. The other girls nodded in shaky agreement.

Swallowing, Twilight tried for a grin. "Actually, um, Pinkie, maybe...I mean, it might be best if we just went for a re-spin–"

Before the words had even finished tumbling out of Twilight's mouth, Pinkie's hair deflated, falling well past her chest in dull magenta locks.

"Then again," Twilight said hastily as she willed her pajamas to remain shitless, "that wouldn't exactly be fair, would it, girls?"

Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow, and Fluttershy all shook their heads in terrified unison.

"That's more like it!" Pinkie exclaimed, and with a disturbingly loud sputter of air, her bouncing, springy tresses were returned to their usual luster. Smiling, she again extended her hand to Twilight, who eyed the soft pink palm dubiously. After a long, idle silence, she hesitantly took Pinkie's hand in hers and shook it.

"What do you have planned for him?" Twilight asked as she pulled her hand back, already feeling as if she'd made somewhat of a mistake.

But the party planner only smiled in response, falling back on her haunches and arching her back as she stretched her arms. "I'm not going to spoil the fun, Twilight," Pinkie chuckled, eyes closed as she got to her feet. "And even if I did," she said, bringing her hands close together and staring down at the girls looking up at her, "you couldn't stop me."

Pinkie clapped her hands together twice, and with a resounding hush, every last light in Twilight's room fizzled out.

Rainbow Dash cursed violently, twitching as she and Applejack both flailed in surprise in the dark. "I freaking hate it when she does creepy shit like that," she groaned, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"Why do you even have clap-on's?" Applejack asked Twilight, her voice tight and accusatory as she cradled a shaking Rarity in her arms.

"I don't," she answered, illuminating their small circle with a soft violet light springing from her hand. Pinkie was nowhere to be seen. "Those were candles." She looked down at her palms, pondering a small something that lay in it. Her breathing hitched.

Rarity swallowed, shifting in Applejack's strong embrace and pulling her knees up to her chest. "I just wonder what drove her to make that wretched cackling for so long."

"I think I have an idea," Twilight murmured, turning over the small slip of paper in her hand. She held it up so that the others could see.

"What the fuck," Rainbow breathed, eyes wide as she took in the small, delicate script written on the hastily torn parchment.

It was Spike's name, on a slip of paper taken from the bowl of eligible men relating to their previous game.

Ironic, they found, that Pinkie had drawn the young man's name when the bottle had landed on her as well; ironic that, as evidenced by the playful handwriting and the tittle in Spike's name being replaced by a heart, Pinkie herself had added Spike to their selections.

It was roughly midnight when Spike felt the chill run down his spine.

He didn't exactly remember waking up from his dead sleep—only a sensation of cold air on his brow, the hot, reeking sweat causing his shirt to cling to his back. He breathed heavily as he pushed his nightcap up on his forehead, brushing his steaming hairline as he panted for breath.

Spike didn't know how he knew, but he was certain of one thing: he was being watched.

Heart racing, he squinted as his eyes roved over the darkened bedroom. Save for a long beam of moonlight, buffered by a pair of sheer purple curtains, Spike's room was filled with an all but impenetrable darkness.

He couldn't pinpoint where his intruder stood, but he was sure of their presence—he could feel the air shifting as it did when another was near. It smelled sweeter than usual as well, and held a tightness that portended imminent conflict.

A shadow shifted near the corner of the room, and the motion immediately drew Spike's attention. A pair of gleaming blue eyes peered out at him, unblinking.

The young man backed into his headboard, shielding his bare body with the purple bedspread he slept under. "Rarity?" he asked tentatively.

"Nope," a small, light voice called out, and Spike sighed in relief when Pinkie sauntered into view. She smiled gently at him, but the humor of her lips seemed to stop before it reached her eyes.

"You scared the crap out of me," Spike laughed nervously, lowering his guard as the tension left his limbs. The comforter fell from his shoulders, exhibiting his bare arms and sweat-coated collarbone. Pinkie's eyes traced the motion with blatant, if not detached, interest.

Spike rubbed his arm absentmindedly, feeling awkward at the young woman's uncharacteristic silence. "So, uh...what are you doing here so late?"

The baker blinked, looked down at her much-too-small blue pajamas, then looked back up at Spike with a raised eyebrow, as if to say What kind of stupid question is that?

"I mean, in my room," the young man clarified.

Pinkie shrugged. "I was looking for you."

An unwelcome bead of sweat rolled down Spike's waist. "Why?"

She didn't immediately answer, but instead sauntered her way to his bed. Pinkie's movements were slow but deliberate: she never put too much swing into her hips, never went beyond the invisible boundaries of subtlety in her motions. The silence was orchestrated: she wanted Spike to leer at her, and she wanted it to be very clear that she knew he was doing it.

It was on purpose that she softened her gaze enough to the point where Spike didn't feel obligated to look her in the eyes for fear of appearing salacious. Pinkie knew from experience that eye contact would do nothing but force conversation where none was needed. They would talk when she wanted them to talk.

She reached the edge of his mattress, and Pinkie's chest gave a delightful little jump when she saw Spike swallow at the sight of her bare midriff. Sitting down, she casually flipped her hair over her shoulder, bringing the young man's eyes up from her stomach and forcing him to look her in the eyes. Pinkie was satisfied to see the beginnings of a blush on his face.

Once she felt enough time had passed, Pinkie fell backwards on the bed, letting her body bounce and her hair flare out behind her. "I won the wager, y'know," she said, crossing her arms behind her head.

Spike's eyes widened, and he seemed to stiffen. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," he said quietly, and suddenly the heat in his forehead became ants in his palms, and he ran them, sweating, over the dark grey bed sheets on which he sat. The itch in his hands didn't seem to go away, though, and the fact that a young woman who was currently donned in far-too-tight nightwear lay sprawling out on his mattress didn't help to stop his brain from slowly melting.

Even as he thought it, Pinkie inhaled deeply, and the gap of skin that was her uncovered stomach increased, until he could see the outline of her rib cage. Her chest arched slightly into the air—she was yawning, her eyes were closed, and Spike swore he could smell the cotton of her taut pajama top from where he was sitting. Was she doing it on purpose? Spike couldn't tell, he'd always been too oblivious to know when a girl was flaunting herself—

Pinkie's mouth closed, and Spike preempted her speech with a question, as if to assert that no, he hadn't just been staring at her tits. "So, uh, you," he gulped when his voice cracked and Pinkie raised an amused eyebrow at him. "You seem kind of...quiet?" He rubbed his arm and looked away from her gaze. "Compared to usual, 'swhat I mean."

She laughed a short, harsh-sounding laugh, and it was just disturbing enough to clear Spike's senses for the moment. "It's been a long night," she explained, rolling onto her side. She supported her head with her left hand, assuming a laidback thinking position, and drew one calf up as she curled slightly into herself.

Spike was noticing that her resting pose actually framed her hips rather well, as well as the fact that Pinkie was the kind of woman whose ass you could see coming from the front, when he finally realized that she hadn't finished speaking to him. "Huh?" he asked, and fuck him, he'd actually been drooling.

If Pinkie noticed, or took offense, she made no indication of it, other than a surely unrelated shifting of her hips. "I said I was sleepy."

Despite himself, Spike couldn't help but snort and grin through his nervousness. "You're on a bed," he said without thinking. Pinkie, for her part, continued to not look offended. If anything, she looked impressed that he'd had the balls to insinuate what she thought he was insinuating.

She smirked. Leaning forward, she clutched at the corner of the mattress and pulled herself forward, until her face was level with Spike's. "Well," Pinkie said slowly, "you're not wrong." She breathed out excitedly, and as the warm air rushed over Spike's face and set his stomach to a cold boil, he noted that her breath smelled like sour apples.

Pinkie was barely touching him—her chest curled next to his side, her thigh grazed his thigh, her fingers on his collarbone—but Spike's body was responding as if they'd already been...active for the past few minutes.

He knew it had something to do with her eyes: she wasn't looking at him in her usual friendly, furtive way, but instead she stared very nearly into him, in a way that seemed to demand more intimacy than any physical approach. Pinkie peered into his eyes with such blatant investment that Spike was inwardly surprised that he hadn't picked up on it prior to tonight. He almost looked away out of embarrassment, but her hand on his neck prevented it.

"Scoot over," she commanded, and she was already pushing him when he obliged her.

Soon after reaching the middle of the bed, Pinkie straddled his waist and wrapped her thighs firmly around it. With one hand, she pushed Spike down onto the bedding, while using the other to tease the space just south of his bellybutton.

Without a word, and never breaking eye contact, the young woman began to grind herself up and down her partner's body, taking note of the tent he was pitching through the thin veneer of his clothing. She made sure to glide over it with her hips, savoring the hard heat holed up in the young man's sparse cotton pants.

Spike gave a pleasant shudder at the feeling and instinctively thrust his groin up at her, causing Pinkie to gasp in blurry surprise, before she shoved back down in stubborn retaliation.

Truth be told, Spike had absolutely no idea what to do, and it showed: nervously, his hands raced up his apparent partner's thighs, until they clutched at her rear and pinched hesitantly, as if asking Is this okay? Though he was excited beyond anything he'd ever felt up to this point in his young life, nothing had prepared Spike for this sudden introduction into foreplay, and part of him felt far too uncomfortable asking the woman on top of him for guidance. Why did he feel alone all of a sudden?

If he showed how inexperienced he was—would she lose interest? Would she laugh at him and call the whole thing off? Spike wasn't even sure if he was ready to be intimate with someone else—wasn't sure if he wanted it, from her, even—but he felt some virile compulsion to prove himself all the same.

Unbeknownst to Spike, Pinkie had picked up on part of his internal conflict and decided that things would move quicker if she was in charge. She'd enjoyed him groping her, to the point where she'd been stunned at how much she had missed feeling rough hands on her body, but he'd hesitated too much for her tastes.

Through the haze of her mind, she wrenched his hands away from her bottom, and pinned them above his head with her own. As he lay there, immobilized, Pinkie descended upon his neck, and when he shrugged away with a moaning chuckle, Pinkie reasserted her mouth and peppered his skin with deep, searching kisses. Her tongue roamed over his flesh, committing his taste to memory and feeling the muscles and veins pulse under her touch.

It was funny, Pinkie thought as she worked at him, how different men were from women when it came to kissing. She had always been the dominant one in the few relationships she'd had, and even when 'practicing' with Rainbow Dash, she usually found herself on top when the subject turned to tongue-mashing. Then again, most of her kissing experience came from Dash: with her, it was practically where she'd learned most of her moves and eventually perfected them.

Kissing Spike had been nothing like with Dash.

For one, it was obvious that he'd had absolutely no experience whatsoever, meaning that he was completely dependent on her direction. He was more patient than the few boys she'd dated, and certainly less aggressive. Indeed, as her chest ground into his and her teeth bit into the section of neck just left of his shoulder, Spike groaned out an "Oh God," and writhed against her in perfect submission.

And, well, she couldn't just not ram her tongue down his throat after a compliment like that, so Pinkie buckled down and crushed her lips to his.

As her tongue invaded his mouth with uncharacteristic forcefulness, Pinkie wondered what he'd eaten to make his lips and tongue taste so good. Then she realized that he probably hadn't had anything in his stomach since that hot chocolate from before, which explained the sweetness of his mouth.

Spike seemed content to let her work—even more so than before, his inexperience showed in his kissing, as he hesitantly tilted his head to the side to allow her better access to his mouth. He had no desires to embarrass himself in the presence of an expert, so he remained just shy of passive as she dominated his jaws.

Though, that wasn't to say that it didn't feel amazing. Despite his lack of practice, even Spike could tell that Pinkie was an exceptional kisser, regardless of the taste of bitter apples on her tongue. The fact that she had sought him out and cornered him was a massive confidence booster—not even that, he reasoned, it was more like his ego was getting a backrub, and from Pinkie of all people...

The next morning...

"Ugh!"

Twilight winced at her friend's shriek, and seriously would have considered muzzling Pinkie if she wasn't confident the girl would find her way out of it. "Not so loud," she groaned, laying face down on one of Rarity's armchairs. "My head is killing me." She wore a lavender camisole and a pair of tan capris. Rarity stood across the room from her, clad in a pristine white blouse and black wide-cut pants.

"That's what you get for indulging in excess," the dressmaker clucked at her, staring over her red-rimmed glasses as she faced away from her friends. Her hands handled a stretch of measuring tape as she double-checked the seams of one of her creations. "Just because we don't drink in public doesn't mean you ought to cartwheel past the BAC legal limit."

Twilight moaned painfully into the fabric. "Please," she groaned, drawing her knees up to her chest and cradling her head in a pillow, "don't lecture me when I'm hungover, Rarity. I don't think my brain can withstand the irony."

Rarity rolled her eyes as she continued to move around her work-in-progress. "Turnabout is fair play, Twilight dear." She smiled over her shoulder at the cringing Princess who was currently writhing on her furniture. "Heaven knows when I'll get another chance at it."

"Try next Saturday morning," Rainbow Dash groused, arms and legs askew as she lay sprawled out on one of Rarity's loveseats. She wore a black wife beater and sweatpants, as well as a pair of heavily tinted sunglasses. She drank briefly from a bottle in her hand—hard lemonade—before wincing and allowing a shiver to run through her limbs. "Can't have our weekly 'Lonely Bitches Anonymous' meetings without some friendship lube."

Twilight looked over at her friend, her face the personification of disbelief. "Why are you still drinking?"

Dash scratched at her stomach, her nails digging into the hardened muscle of her abdomen. "Ever hear of 'hair of dog'?" Turning on her side, she angled herself towards the others. "And speaking of mutts," she turned to Pinkie with a shit-eating grin, "how's life in the doghouse?"

While Pinkie fixed the athlete with a withering scowl, Rarity perked up and faced the two. "Come again?"

"My scuttlebutt sense is tingling," Twilight narrated in a sarcastically nasal voice, only to cry out in pain when her hostess flicked her dead in the temple.

When Rarity looked to Dash to elaborate, the girl simply shrugged. "You were probably asleep when it happened, but Pinkie came back to the room about half past midnight."

Rarity raised an eyebrow, her hand on her waist. "Having returned from...?"

Twilight chuckled, her eyes still sheltered by Rarity's blessed throw pillows. "From getting rejected."

Crossing her arms, Rarity moved her lips slowly as she recalled the events of the previous night. Pinkie hadn't left the castle, of that much she was sure. But Rainbow's smug attitude and Twilight's relaxed humor could only mean that—

"Really, woman?" she asked, turning to Pinkie, who sat petulantly on the round partition which the dressmaker reserved for showcasing outfits. "You couldn't wait, say, twelve hours?"

The baker grumbled some unintelligible response, crossed her arms, and looked away.

Sighing, Rarity turned back to Rainbow and Twilight. "Why'd he turn her down?"

Last night...

As he reassessed his thoughts, something clicked in Spike's head—or rather, his tongue—something that prompted him to immediately sit up and seize his partner by the arms. Pinkie looked at him, face frozen in surprise, her shoulders rigid. Spike stared at her in return, completely stone faced.

"Have you been drinking?"

She blinked, and it was clear that in her current state she was wondering why such a question mattered. Clearing her throat, she answered quietly, "I, uh...yeah? I mean, it was just some hard cider–"

"How much?"

Pinkie squinted at him, unsure whether or not the question was a trap and considering whether or not she should lie to him—considering what was the fastest way to get back into his mouth. "Like...seven?"

That morning...

"I was too busy nearly pissing my pants at the time," Rainbow admitted, "but I forgot how Pinkie gets, like, super zen when she's smashed. Like she's the opposite of herself. You don't even know she's drunk."

Rarity tossed her hair over her shoulder, beaming radiantly at this news. "Well, it just goes to show you what manner of gentleman our Spike is." She went to Twilight and clutched her by the shoulder. "You did good by him."

Surprised, Twilight said nothing, but smiled gently and covered her face bashfully. "It had nothing to do with me," she said softly, turning on her side. "He's just that kind of person."

"Damn straight," Rainbow agreed, and she was grateful for her shades hiding the burning of her eyes. She knew how very few men would resist the urge to take advantage of a young woman in an intoxicated state, and it pleased her immensely to know that Spike was one of them. Her respect for him only grew when she had found that he hadn't hesitated in sending Pinkie back to the room, despite the woman's protests that she was perfectly able of giving consent.

To combat that confusing swelling in her chest, she leaned forward on the loveseat until her torso hung lazily over the armrest. She raised her bottle in tribute. "It's a rare man who'll turn away some perfectly fine ass."

At this, Twilight frowned and sat up, lacing her arms around her kneecaps. "It was just some harmless kissing, Rainbow Dash. It's not like she was trying to sleep with him, right?"

She looked to the sullen girl sitting on Rarity's exhibition stand. "Right, Pinkie?"

Pinkie was sweating.

Last night...

As Spike's eyes widened to a bulge, Pinkie immediately concluded that the truth was overrated. She held up her hands to try to head off his anger. "Now hold on—"

"Seven bottles—" he hissed incredulously.

"I'm just a little buzzed, really!"

"Most people are in bed after six!"

Pinkie laughed nervously, only to wince at the rough pain in her throat. "I mean...I'm in a bed, aren't I?" The laughter died at the look on her friend's face, which showcased his complete lack of amusement at her turning his previous statement on its head.

"What did you even think was going to happen when you came in here drunk?" he asked angrily, arms outstretched. His face seemed to burn with indignant displeasure, and perhaps a hint of embarrassment.

Pinkie shrugged awkwardly, her earlier confidence long-since departed. "I dunno," she confessed, cocking her head innocently, "I mean, I was just trying to get piped, y'know?"

That morning...

On one hand, Twilight knew she should want to choke the Pink Menace out for soliciting her young ward for sex, and not even an hour after their wager match had concluded at that. On the other, she knew how the baker consistently made shitty decisions even on her good days, so she couldn't exactly expect much better from Pinkie Pie in her drunken state.

And to be perfectly honest, hangovers were a bitch to deal with. Summoning up the energy to be pissed at her friend would only prolong Twilight's agony.

It was this clarity that allowed her to voice one of several observation's about Pinkie's admittedly hilarious strike-out.

"You probably embarrassed him," she remarked, gaining the attention of the other three girls in the boutique. "I don't think he would've minded as much if you weren't drunk, because frankly," Twilight said, shrugging, "Spike's really prideful. Your being intoxicated likely meant to him that you saw him as an easy lay."

Pinkie blinked in apparent confusion, cocking her head. "I don't follow."

Twilight opened her mouth to elaborate, but Dash beat her to it. "He thought that you were coming on to him because you liked him."

"Wh—I do like him!" Pinkie sputtered.

Dash shook her head. "As in, 'capital L' like, Pinkie," she said, emphasizing her point with air quotes. She placed her head in her hand as she gazed patronizingly at the younger woman. "So when he found out that you were only there cause you had some mad beer goggles on," she shrugged. "Well, let's put it like this: you probably made him feel shitty, in the same way a fat chick feels getting hit on by a drunk guy at a bar."

Rarity sucked on her teeth. "Damn."

"So, in short," Twilight said with an air of finality, "you blew it."

"Pretty much," Rainbow Dash added.

"I almost wish I was there to film it," Rarity said, frowning as she rubbed her shoulders.

"Wow, thanks guys." Pinkie grumbled, falling onto her back and staring pointedly at the ceiling. "I doubt he'll want to house-sit with me now, too."

Rarity placed a hand on Pinkie's knee in sympathy. "Everyone has their off days, dear, but cheer up." She smiled gently at her friend. "Spike is a fine catch, to be sure, but he's not the only fish in the sea."

The baker only groaned and rubbed her eyes until they turned red. "I don't want another fish. I want him."

Rarity and Rainbow Dash shared a mutual grimace. So much for that, they managed to communicate silently.

"Pardon me for asking," Rarity said slowly, "and no offense to you or Spike," she said, directing her speech to Twilight, "but what makes him so special?"

Pinkie opened her mouth to answer, only to realize that she didn't exactly know how to say what she felt. For crying out loud, where would she even begin? She could practically teach a class on why she felt...whatever it was she felt about him, on how a word like 'like' was only a fraction of the thing in her head that reared itself whenever Spike came to mind.

She knew from past experiences that trying to convey to her friends what she felt would just end up leaving everyone confused and frustrated. Doubtless Twilight knew some obscure term or phrase for it, and not for the first time Pinkie felt a small pang of jealousy for not being as smart as her.

Pinkie sighed to herself. She hated it when she didn't feel smart.

"I don't know," she finally said, turning away from her friends and crossing her arms.

The three older women shared a look amongst themselves. All of them were used to the random, excitable, standard-issue Pinkie that they'd spent the better part of the last decade with; none of them quite knew how to handle her when she was so...low-maintenance.

Twilight looked to Rarity, who looked to Rainbow, who looked to Twilight. They silently screamed at the others to stop being stupid and take control of the situation, She Needs Some Help.

You're the leader, Rarity and Rainbow contended speechlessly.

Screw that, you're the social butterfly, Twilight seethed at the irate dressmaker, and you're her best friend, she communicated to Dash.

They argued among themselves in this manner for several more moments. Pinkie rose to a sitting position, looking uncomfortably mousy as she brushed her hair behind her ear.

Rainbow Dash fixed the taller violet-haired women with death glares—Bunch of pussies, I swear to God—before rising from her seat and slinking her way to the young woman now looking up at her with so much uncertainty.

Dash resisted the urge to sigh and rub the bridge of her nose. These fucking girls made her life so much harder than it had to be.

"You still want him?" she asked Pinkie, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her sweatpants.

The young woman nodded, somehow managing to look both earnest and terrified at the same time.

"But you're scared you're gonna fuck up again," Dash guessed.

Pinkie nodded again.

Rainbow Dash exhaled, reaching up and removing her sunglasses from her face. "You won't," she said with her trademark conviction, "because we've got your back." She tilted her head slightly towards Twilight and Rarity, prompting the two women to stand up and reaffirm their loyalties to their friend. "And friends don't let friends fuck up."

"Not twice in a row, anyway," Twilight added with a smirk.

Pinkie half-smiled at her friends' small show of solidarity—for all their joking, they were always there when she really needed them. "But, I mean, I really upset him—"

"Pinkie," Rainbow sighed, sitting down next to her friend, "you wanna know your problem?"

The baker slowly closed her mouth, and she deflated ever so slightly.

Without waiting for an answer, Dash pressed on. "Perspective," she emphasized, gently pressing her finger into Pinkie's shoulder.

The three of them collectively blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?" Twilight asked uncertainly. Rarity silently looked on, her lips pursed in tempered anticipation: she knew enough of Rainbow Dash's habits to realize when the young woman was about to make a fairly insightful observation.

"I mean that you're looking at this in a negative way, when it really isn't even all that bad." Dash wrapped an arm around Pinkie's shoulders and leaned gently against her. "He's a little embarrassed, yeah, but now he knows that you're interested in him, right?"

"I guess," Pinkie admitted, still uncertain.

"And he's already seen you at your worst," Dash added, "so chances are you're not gonna be able to scare him off."

The girls nodded slowly, seeing what the athlete was getting at. Twilight snapped her fingers. "I get it. 'There's opportunity in every failure?'" she asked, guessing at Rainbow's meaning.

"She didn't fail," Rainbow stressed.

Pinkie looked up at her, face blank.

Rainbow, to her credit, never broke eye contact with her. "She just found out what doesn't work."

As they sat on the opposite side of the square from their target, Pinkie bumped her shoulder against Dash's.

"Hey."

The shorter girl glanced sideways at her friend, removing her lips from the straw of her milkshake. "Yeah?" Rainbow asked, looking over her shades at Pinkie.

Pinkie had lain her head over her crossed arms while they waited at the cafe table for Twilight and Rarity to return. A red and white-striped umbrella shielded them from the harsh midday sun. "I'm sorry I made fun of your boobs the other night," she said quietly.

Dash waved off the girl's comment in her usual detached manner. "Water under the bridge, P." She bumped her shoulder against Pinkie's in return. "We wouldn't be friends if we didn't talk trash about each other every now and then."

"Really?"

"Yeah really, ya fatass."

Pinkie could only snort and giggle as she ran her palms over the thick black wire of the cafe table. "Better a fatass than no ass," she retorted playfully.

Dash chuckled in reply, but didn't contest her point. Instead she shifted her body to angle towards Pinkie's, and allowed her eyes to roam over her friend's body in speculation. Pinkie seemed to tense, as if the woman knew she was being scrutinized—hell, Dash reasoned, she of all people would be used to it—but she remained silent and kept her eyes fixed on the young man currently running errands across the way.

"See something you like?" Pinkie finally asked, allowing a bit of good humor to seep into her tone. Her eyes remained riveted on Spike's far off figure.

Rainbow Dash sat backwards in her chair, aligning her back with the table and resting her bare elbows on the edges. Allowing her body to calm, she dipped her sunglasses past her nostrils to look her friend in the eyes. "Are you okay, Pinkie?"

The girl finally broke her silent survey of Spike and refocused her attention on the athlete next to her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her bright blue eyes narrowing.

Rainbow shrugged, looking up at the umbrella as she tried to summon up the words that had been running at the back of her mind for the past few weeks. "You've been really mellow—like, for you—for a while now. You haven't been, y'know, your usual 'totally random' self." She thumbed the edge of the table and glanced away before meeting Pinkie's eyes again. "Me and the girls, we just wanna know if maybe...maybe there was something going on that you weren't telling us about?"

Pinkie turned on her side and placed her head in her hand in a thinking position, glaring in a very un-Pinkie fashion. "I don't need you guys checking up on me. I'm not stupid."

Dash held up her hands in self-defense. "No one's saying you are, P. But that doesn't mean we don't worry about you."

"Did Twilight put you up to this?"

"No one put me up to it, Pinkie." Dash said, looking exasperated, insulted, and perhaps a little bit hurt. She brushed her hair back and sighed away the indignant retorts that would have once sprung so readily to her tongue. "I know I don't always show it, but you should know by now that I'm always gonna have your back." Rainbow's hand met Pinkie's halfway, and rested there on it. She looked her firmly in the eyes. "You should know how much we love you."

Pinkie, for the life of her, wanted to continue being mad at her, at them, for this unspoken act of infantilization. It wasn't the first time that the girls had singled her out as the least mature—not that they weren't absolutely right about it, but it didn't give them the right to treat her like the little sister. It didn't give them the right to question her faith in them.

Groaning, Pinkie bumped her head into the table. "I know," she ceded petulantly, returning Dash's grasp and thumbing the woman's small, coarse fingers. She could never stay mad at her girls for long, especially not when Rainbow opened up to her like this.

"So what's wrong?" Dash insisted quietly, her voice low and, strangely enough, almost...matronly.

Pinkie lifted her head from the shelter of her arms and met Dash's unusually consoling eyes. "You can't tell Twilight," she pleaded, her face set in a crestfallen droop.

"I'll take it to my grave," Dash swore. Not quite as good as a Pinkie Promise, Pinkie resolved, but there were few things she trusted more than Rainbow Dash's word anyway.

The baker sighed, rubbing her temples as she gathered her thoughts together. "Lately...well, for a while now, actually," she amended, "I've been feeling tired. Like I'm slowing down, or something." She stared out across the market, unseeing and unfocused. "And I was kind of worried at first, when I noticed it happening, because it was like...I would go down for a nap, but when I would get back up, I'd still be tired. Like, I didn't get that energy back, and I don't think it's gonna come back."

Rainbow Dash's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. Instead, she let her hand twitch against her friend's to assure her that she was listening.

"And, I mean, on one hand," she said with a nervous shrug and hand gesture, "it's kind of easier for me to focus, and," her eyes briefly touched on the green-haired young man haggling with a stall vendor a stone's throw away, "I've started to, uh, notice different things. So it's not all bad."

She felt a strange urge to turn to her right, and found the all-too-telling smirk on Dash's face to be giggle-worthy.

"But at the same time, it kind of has trade-offs," Pinkie soberingly admitted, crossing one ankle over the other. "Like, I'll be surrounded by a crowd of people, but instead of talking with everyone and having fun, I just don't feel up to it anymore. My head starts to hurt, I can't stand the noise, and I start to feel..." she shrugged awkwardly, "...alone."

"You must hate that," Dash murmured.

"I hate it!" Pinkie said, almost seething as she shuddered from the memory of not being herself. "It feels like I'm a fake, because not loving being around my friends is probably the least Pinkie thing you could ever do!"

"So let me get this straight," Dash said, sitting up. "You hate being alone, like more than anyone I know."

"Definitely," Pinkie confirmed.

"But for some reason, being around tons of people now just makes you feel even lonelier."

"Yeah," Pinkie said, frowning and nodding. "I dunno, it's like...whenever I'm at a party or whatever, it's kind of like I'm stuck on—"

"On an island?" Dash finished.

Pinkie's breath hitched and her eyes widened, before she closed her mouth and nodded rapidly at Dash as if the girl had read her mind.

"Yeah," the athlete had said, frowning and rubbing her neck, "I get that sometimes too. All of it."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said, leaning against the table and absently stroking Pinkie's palm with her thumb. "Mostly. I know I'm not as hotheaded as I used to be, for one."

Pinkie snorted gently. "Could've fooled me."

Dash rolled her eyes at her best friend but continued. "It's just, one day, it's like I looked at myself and saw all this shit that I'm wasting. Like how I'll waste all this energy spazzing out over the little stuff, or how I've slept like half my life away, or how I've never been on a date—"

Pinkie gasped, and the sound was enough to break Dash out of her rant.

Scowling, Rainbow turned to Pinkie and eyed her critically. "You didn't hear anything."

"Hear what?" the baker asked, feigning ignorance. "What are we talking about?"

Frowning, Rainbow Dash crossed her arms and grunted. "Whatever. The point is, I get where you're coming from. What I don't get, though, is how he," she said, gesturing with her head to the young green-haired man with basket in hand, "plays into all of this."

Pinkie hunched her shoulders in a telltale clueless shrug. "I dunno, it's like...I dunno. If you're feeling sad, then all you have to do to fix it is to be happy, right?"

Dash snorted. "It's not that simple, Pinkie."

Pinkie blinked, then looked at Dash as if the girl was playing a practical joke on her. "Yes it is," she said slowly, as if her reasoning was obvious.

"Alright, alright," Rainbow said, crossing her arms and flipping her hair over her shoulders, "I'll humor you." She fixed the younger girl with a flat stare. "How do you just up and make yourself happy whenever you want?"

It was plain to see on Pinkie's face that the girl desperately wanted to believe that Dash was playing her: how else could she not grasp something so simple?

Speaking carefully, so that her friend wouldn't get lost in the translation, she answered, "The same reason I throw parties...?" She squinted at Dash, scrutinizing the girl for any sign of misunderstanding or unaccounted-for retardation. "By making other people happy first."

Rainbow Dash blinked. Then she blinked again.

"Right, of course," she said, rubbing her face as she sat up in her chair. Of course that would be how Pinkie saw things, it was so obvious now that she thought about it. Hell, the girl had devoted an entire song to proclaiming just how much she thrived on making others smile. "So, how would you go about making him happy?"

Pinkie opened her mouth to answer.

"Aside from being his slam piece," Dash added quickly.

Pinkie closed her mouth.

After a lengthy silence, Pinkie gradually resumed her resting position on the table, once again peering at the young man who was nearly finished with his grocery shopping. Rainbow silently followed her gaze, head in hand as she inhaled audibly and adopted a forlorn look of longing.

And somehow, even in the noise and bustle of Ponyville's mid-morning market, Spike felt their stares, and turned to face them, curious.

"He's lonely too," Pinkie said softly, sighing to herself and feeling sympathy leak out of her chest and move in his general direction. "I can fix that."

Dash was the first to break the three-way eye contact, as she pivoted to put her back to the table once more. "Someone ought to," she said, voice equally soft as she donned her sunglasses and pretended to be less jealous than she felt.

Path Three: The Art of Knowing Yourself Part 2

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The rasp of glass on hardwood shook Spike from his ill-humored trance.

Lifting his head from the fold of his arms, he glanced up at the man behind the bar, who was in the middle of eyeballing Spike over his glasses rather openly. A glass filled with some mixture of cream and chocolate lay before him.

He was grinning. His arms were crossed over his black t-shirt and his mouth was hidden behind a tangled salt and pepper forest of a beard, but he was definitely grinning.

The bar, if indeed it could be labeled as such in spite of its admittance of patrons of all ages, was currently stocked with no more than its usual number of consumers. That would soon be subject to change, however, as surely as the oncoming tide of nine-to-fivers must needs leave their day jobs for a brief respite, before starting their daily cycle anew.

Spike had frequented The Brass Trouble ever since he had discovered it roughly two years ago. The owner, Nightjar, had bought out the property some years before and had conducted the gastropub’s business by himself to this day.

The enigmatic name of his small enterprise was a tongue-in-cheek tribute to his much loved daughter, a young brunette woman about Spike's age. Despite the origins of the bar's title, however, the stonemason-like approach to the construction of the building, as seen in the build of the brusque slate walls and warm amber woodwork, lent the bar the unmistakable air of maleness, making the Brass a rarely-enough seen haven for the town’s rougher sex.

The food was satisfactory, and the drinks, as Spike had pleasantly discovered after his recent birthday, were hearty, delightful bargains. The overall ambiance of the Brass was one that was universally agreed upon to be conducive to one’s well-being. For Spike, it was a good place to retire to when he needed to withdraw from Twilight and the burdens that came with his life.

Groggy and more than a little suspicious, Spike narrowed his eyes at the bartender, then at the drink. "What the heck is this, Nightjar?"

The older man gestured to the mug currently resting inches from Spike's hands. "Milkshake. Bourbon and chocolate, with a cherry on top," he explained, unable to keep his chuckling in. He stepped back to watch Spike's expression, biting the inside of his cheek.

Spike frowned even as he clutched the drink closer to his chest. "I didn't order this," he said cautiously, ever conscious of his recently-thinned wallet pressing against the warm wood of his stool.

"Yeah, well," Nightjar said, his rumbling laughter starting anew at some private joke, "she did." He pointed down the bar, and Spike followed the direction of his finger.

Far on the opposite end of the bar, resting near the corner of the dark lacquered long bar, was Pinkie Pie. Noticing the attention of the two men, she sat up in excitement and wiggled her fingers at them energetically. Nightjar laughed and waved back.

Spike grumbled and rested his head on his hands once more. "I don't want to talk to her."

Nightjar shrugged, uncrossing his arms and leaning back against the patch of bare wall behind him. "If you don't want to, don't. I already got paid."

Unseen by Spike, Pinkie rose to her feet on the stool, balancing herself on the thick wooden rungs, and stared openly at him, smiling and waiting to see how he reacted. If she cared for the attention she brought to herself, and by extension Spike, she didn't show it.

There was a warm, itching sensation reaching Spike's ears and forehead, and by its presence he somehow knew that Nightjar had laid his gaze upon him. "I didn't know you were already looking to date," the older man said with professional casualness. The statement seemed more like an inquiry than a confession, a probe into unexplored territories.

Spike shrugged, his eyes level with the milkshake in front of him. "Neither did I."

Despite the small, budding notion of anger he currently felt at Pinkie for their 'encounter' the other night, Spike couldn't help but appreciate free food. He noted that even someone like Pinkie—or, perhaps, especially someone like Pinkie—would have known to appeal to his stomach to win his favor back.

The glass was frosted with cold, with whispers of frost curling from the top and chilling Spike's face. The deep, sweet smell of sugar and whiskey rolled against his nostrils, followed by a rich undertone of chocolate and cream. A glance verified it: the drink was beige, with shavings of cocoa deposited on the top and throughout the body of the drink. Chocolate chips and a lone maraschino cherry decorated the crown of the drink, while a heaping of deceptively warm fudge rested at the bottom. A delicate brushing of what seemed to be salted caramel flirted with the edges of the curved glass, leaned on by a dark brown cookie straw.

The young man resisted the urge to receive the drink. While he would have loved nothing more than to spend the next hour or two savoring the treasure in front of him, Spike knew enough of social cues to understand that to accept the treat was to accept Pinkie's apology, and possibly signal to her that he was prepared to allow conversation.

And it didn't matter how good of a kisser she was, he wasn't sure if he was ready to forgive her just yet.

Pinkie seemed to reach the same conclusion. When Spike made no move to acknowledge her gesture, her smile lessened, and Pinkie lowered herself in her seat. Some part of her remained eager, however, and she continued to monitor Spike from across the room with an uncommonly keen eye.

"Say...Spike," Nightjar started to say, and Spike noted that he held the air of a man trying to pitch an idea. He was cleaning a dirty glass with a dishtowel—a habit known by Spike by virtue of association with the older man as a method of keeping one's hands busy and hiding one's thoughts.

"Yeah?" Spike asked, absently sliding the creamed treat from side to side with one lazy palm.

"Well...y'know," he said, his voice sounding more than a tad pained and awkward while also trying to maintain an semblance of nonchalance, "you're a good kid and all." Spike blinked at the unexpected praise. "And since you're already looking, y'see..." Nightjar shrugged, staring down at the dish rack while his hands worked, "Well, Zipporwhill's getting to be that age—"

Spike leaned back in his seat, eyes wide. "Oh my God."

"Now hold on just a minute," Nightjar said, holding up his hands. "I know she can be a bit of a handful—"

"You're actually pitching your daughter to me."

Nightjar leaned over on the bar. "Look, I know she's not exactly the greatest catch in the sea, but she's a good girl." The older man tapped the edge of the wood as he slowly got more comfortable talking on the topic of his daughter. "And, I mean, it's not exactly like there's a huge market for her in the first place."

That much, Spike had to agree with. Their country had always been one plagued by population disparity when it came to the genders, and Ponyville had been no exception. As men tended to be outnumbered by the fairer sex by a wide margin, it was little wonder Nightjar had steered their conversation that way, despite the inherent awkwardness of the subject. It wasn't uncommon for many women to go their entire lives without ever finding a partner.

In Nightjar's case, especially with him being a single father, the thought of seeing his only child grow up to be a spinster would undoubtedly cause him no small amount of discomfort.

Spike placed the straw to his lips as he considered Zipporwhill's merits. He didn't know much about the girl outside of her looks, to be honest: pale and petite, with big sea-green eyes hidden behind that dijon brown hair and those strangely thick glasses. She had made a habit of wearing sundresses as of late, if Spike remembered correctly; she was just at that age where she had fully come to terms with her femininity.

"I mean," Spike said, cringing awkwardly and taking up the milkshake in his distracted state, "I guess she's kind of...cute."

"And smart," Nightjar added.

Spike nodded slowly, shrugging. I bet she's got a small tongue, he thought to himself, and it was a matter of seconds before the fact of his observation struck him. He nearly recoiled in his seat at the realization. Where the hell did that come from?

A stream of guests suddenly entered the eatery, prompting Nightjar to step away and welcome them. "Think about it!" he said to Spike, smiling cautiously, before addressing those newcomers who had so quickly flooded the restaurant.

The mass of bodies obscured Spike's vision, until he glanced toward where Pinkie had been and found her seat empty.

"Looking for someone?"

Spike pivoted to face the familiar voice, only to meet Pinkie's smiling expression. "Hmph," he grunted, turning away from her before being stopped by hands on his waist. "Don't touch me," he growled.

"Only if you hear me out," Pinkie said, gentle but firm. Spike's face softened at her frowning, apologetic look.

"I'm listening," Spike said lowly, and the timbre of his voice brokered the fact that he would only be so patient with her. When his body relaxed in her presence, Pinkie released her grip on him, albeit with slow, visible reluctance.

"I'm sorry," Pinkie said immediately, and her spine went straight as she felt the gaze of nearby strangers pin to her back. A swath of listeners halted their conversations to hear her, a fact that ate away at Pinkie's nerves and suddenly made her feel much more agitated than usual.

Lowering her voice, she moved closer to Spike so that only he could hear her, and his legs parted slightly—unconsciously—to welcome her proximity. "I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable, and that I made you feel embarrassed. That's the last thing I ever wanted, believe me." She reached for his shoulder, only to hesitate at the last moment, a gesture that went unnoticed by Spike, who refused still to look at her. "So...even if you're still mad at me," Pinkie said slowly, swallowing hard and wanting this embarrassing but necessary exchange to be over, "you should at least know that."

Spike remained quiet, not looking at her but neither forcing her away. He ground his teeth silently, and imagined his anger to be a tearable thing that rolled between his jaws, capable of being gnawed at with visceral gratification.

But even as he tried to nurse his displeasure of Pinkie, Spike knew it was a futile effort; already he felt his resentment fading, and with it his resolve to keep blocking her out.

He sighed and glanced just below Pinkie's neckline, rubbing his own neck complacently. "You weren't yourself, so...it'd be pretty messed up of me to hold a grudge, right?"

Pinkie beamed gratefully, and squeezed his shoulder gently to show it. "Thank you for saying that," she said with a genuine smile.

Spike tried for a smile in return, only to have it marred by a slight grimace.

"What is it?" the baker asked, frowning and leaning in closer. "What's wrong?"

Spike exhaled heavily, causing Pinkie to flinch imperceptibly and strain her nostrils at the sweetness of his breath. "It's just..." Spike said, fidgeting with the neglected milkshake in hand, "this whole thing only happened because of that stupid wager match." He looked up at the pink-haired woman. "You wouldn't have even looked at me twice otherwise."

Pinkie grinned at him cockily, eyes half-closed but not lacking for intensity. She leaned closer to him, her arms crossed over her chest, and again she stared at him in that piercing way, pinning Spike in place without touching him. "What makes you say that?"

Spike shuffled in place, suddenly antsy at her closeness. "Because," he said, voice lowered in case of eavesdroppers, "you only...came on to me because of that game."

Right? his expression seemed to ask.

Instead of answering immediately, Pinkie continued to stare at him, into him, until it became clear that she would offer up no response of her own accord. Spike returned her gaze in kind, though the beads of sweat trailing down his temple ruined the illusion of concentration that he had striven to replicate.

She took in his scent, inhaled the salt of his maleness which contrasted so strangely with the chilled sweetness that drifted gently from his mouth. Pinkie suppressed a shudder; while she would have loved nothing more than to spend the next hour or two savoring the treasure in front of her, this wasn't the time or place for it. She needed him alone, where their interactions wouldn't be influenced by onlookers.

"Are you going to be busy tomorrow night at five?" Pinkie asked, blinking slowly. Her hands lay just under her belt line, clasped together.

Spike's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Why?"

"I just think we should talk," she said honestly, shrugging and smiling mildly. "So we can figure out whatever...this is," she said, gesturing to the two of them.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Why would I agree to that?"

"I'd make you dinner?"

A pause. "You mean...kind of like a date?"

Pinkie shrugged again, her mouth set in a half grin. "Kind of definitely like a date." Her arms squeezed together, prompting her chest to bulge out slightly, an action that wasn't lost on Spike. "Is that okay with you?"

Spike shifted in his seat, grunting as he felt a headache coming on. His milkshake lay off to the side, melting. "Why are you doing this to me all of a sudden," he groaned to himself, massaging his temples.

"I'll tell you!" Pinkie said energetically, brushing her hair over her shoulder and beaming brilliantly. "But only if you show up."

Frowning, Spike looked exasperatedly at her stupid, annoying full lips and felt an exciting conflict at her proposal. "You're putting me in a really awkward position, Pinkie."

Her lips quirked, quirked in the way that they always did when she was about to something witty or smart-assed. "What position should I put you in, then?"

And when Spike looked back up at her, face flushed red, angry, and incredulous, Pinkie matched it—and then some. Her unflinching blue eyes called his bluff, daring him to challenge her despite the friendliness of her smile.

Just let it happen, her face seemed to convey, her eyes conveying the hypocrisy and pointlessness of Spike's offense. We both know what you want me to do to you.

Spike's face scrunched in protest of her silent accusations, and with a grimace, he said under his breath, "What makes you think you know what I want?"

"I'll tell you in private," Pinkie said sweetly, speaking through her teeth as she jerked her head at the audience of eavesdroppers still behind her. At her gesture, some dozen watchers turned their heads sharply back to their own table, restoring a buzzing din of chatter and conversations made in underlying tones. Even Nightjar turned his back, whistling innocently as he returned to cleaning dishware behind the counter.

Newly conscious of the other patrons of the restaurant, Spike lowered his voice. "I'm not sure I should be 'in private' with you," he said, clutching his drink to his chest as if it were some barrier to hold between the two of them.

But Pinkie pressed forward, pulling up the drink and taking a slow draught from it, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Swallowing, she leaned back and grinned in a disarming fashion. "You will soon."

And as she withdrew from the restaurant and out of Spike's line of sight, a trio of eavesdropping women keeled over in a dead faint.

"Did you see her proposition the young man like that?" one whispered frantically.

"The horror! The horror!"

As Twilight sat hunched over the bench, with Rarity and Rainbow Dash sitting some feet away from her, she eyed Pinkie skipping her way from The Trouble Brass, after some fifteen minutes of waiting.

Finally.

Forgetting her friend for the moment, Twilight scrunched her nose in distaste at the thought of the gastropub: Spike swore by the establishment and had frequented it ever since he was sixteen, and while Twilight could see its merits, she could never stand to go in. The Brass was a male-dominated area, a kind of place that Twilight rarely had cause or occasion to deal with. She'd always felt on edge in such high-energy places, and while the men coming to and fro from the restaurant never failed to smell excellent, the oppressive musk on the inside might as well have been a hotbox to her.

I don't see how she can stand it, Twilight thought to herself as her eyes found Pinkie again. Maybe the younger woman was simply used to the sweat and the heat and the heavy air of so many men in such a small place—maybe she even liked it. It was always a guess with Pinkie, and Twilight had long stopped trying to rationalize the girl's decisions, and had instead continued to attribute Pinkie's actions to the inexplicable.

Across from Twilight, Rainbow Dash snorted in amusement as Pinkie bounced her way to their table, the girl's thick magenta curls jostling with every crunch of rubber-soled feet on loose cobblestone. "Twenty bucks says Pinkie was a band geek back in high school."

"Thirty says she was a thespian," Rarity countered, crossing one leg over the other in boredom as she lay face-down.

Rainbow Dash shrugged, before turning to Twilight. "What's your money on, Twi?"

"Magic school," the Princess reminded her, never looking away from Pinkie.

"Oh, right," Dash said, grunting. "Guess you guys didn't have cliques, then," conceding the point and making Twilight somewhat glad that she hadn't been expected to fully answer the question.

And truth be told, of Pinkie herself, well...Twilight was muddled in the usual emotions concerning that girl; love, compassion, that high-octane excitement of never knowing what was around the corner, as well as the need to protect her from as much harm as possible, whether it be physical or emotional. But at the top of that long list of conflicting and complimentary feelings for Pinkie was confusion.

Acceptance, tolerance, but always confusion.

Unlike anything that Twilight had ever seen in life, whether it be magic, love, duty, or friendship, Pinkie was still as unexplainable as the day that the two women had met. She was a person who defied understanding, and no amount of research in regards to Pinkie's background or past actions gave any insight into why Pinkie worked the way she worked. And while that always had made her entertaining and refreshing to be around for many people, to Twilight it was a reminder to always stay on her toes.

It didn't mean that Twilight didn't trust Pinkie, the Princess reflected to herself as she noted the sweetening of the air as the pink-haired woman approached, but rather that Twilight didn't trust whether or not her friend would ever do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Pinkie wasn't the sort of person to do anything out of ill-will to others; in fact, nearly everything she did was out of her benevolent nature.

But Pinkie didn't work like a normal person; she didn't think along the same lines, didn't come to the same conclusions, and was apt to veer to extremes that the average person wouldn't even think to entertain. And while in the midst of her good intentions, she could potentially cause terrible things to happen.

It hadn't happened yet, and there was a chance it would never would. But then, all it really took was one mistake.

And those kinds of thoughts made Twilight nervous.

We're opposites, Twilight concluded as Pinkie reached their meeting place, her face all smiles.

"How'd it go?" Rainbow Dash asked, raising herself up in her seat and removing her shades.

"I," Pinkie said proudly, her fists pressed to her waist in a pose of triumph, "am a master of seduction."

Rarity yawned, her face in her palm as she looked up in boredom. "That badly, huh?"

"Ha ha," Pinkie said dryly, rolling her eyes as she sat on top of the table, her back to Rarity and Rainbow Dash. She looped a hand under her wide expanse of thick pink curls and brushed them from her shoulders. "We'll see who's laughing tomorrow night, girly."

Rainbow Dash whistled, and Twilight rose up in her seat. "What's happening tomorrow night?" she asked, eyes bright and piercing.

"I invited him over for dinner," Pinkie said, her face jolly as it peered down at Twilight.

"Not bad," Dash said, smiling and wincing at the same time. "How'd you get him to agree to it?"

"I'd like to know that as well," Rarity added, looking skeptical and, oddly enough, somewhat proud.

Giggling, Pinkie grabbed Twilight by the arms and drew the girl up into her waist, until her head rested just beneath Pinkie's bosom. "President Princess Egghead," Pinkie sang sweetly, brushing her fingers through Twilight's hair with one hand and holding her by the midriff with the other, "what's the first rule of war?"

Rolling her eyes but not bothering to fight Pinkie's grasp, Twilight recited automatically, "'Know your enemy.'" Her arms rested on Pinkie's bare knees.

"Right-o!" the baker agreed, smiling and looking over her shoulder at the other two women, eyes radiant. "Once I apologized to Spike, all it took was some good ol' made-to-order flirting!" A deep rumble of a laugh made its presence known in her chest, which Twilight felt but didn't hear. "If you know what a boy wants to hear, all you have to do is say it. You just have to play a little dumb, so that he doesn't know he's being baited."

Dash's face was one of amazement, and even Rarity blinked in surprise. "That's...actually rather insightful," the dressmaker admitted.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't think it by looking at him," Pinkie said, twirling Twilight's hair on a finger unconcernedly, "but Spike's actually really passive. I dunno, maybe it's a dragon guy thing, but if he doesn't respect you from the get-go, it's like you gotta prove yourself or something."

"Yeah," Dash said, frowning as she supported her chin with her hand, "I got that from him too. He digs powerful women."

"That's probably why he listens to Twilight and Rarity so well," Pinkie said offhandedly.

At this, Rarity blinked. "Twilight, I can understand, but me, powerful? Is it because I can use magic?"

Pinkie snorted as she continued playing with Twilight's hair. "Hardly. He strikes me as the kind of guy who associates beauty with power."

Even Twilight, despite her increasing discomfort with Pinkie's eerily thorough understanding of Spike, had to admit that Pinkie had been uncommonly precise in her interactions. Pinkie, Twilight realized, was a natural-born people person, the same way that Twilight herself was a prodigy in concern to both magic and education. Some things, like flirting, came so naturally to her that Pinkie could wade through conversations as easily as an ankle-deep stream.

Looking at Rarity and seeing the older woman's gaze of admiration, Twilight knew it to be true: while Rarity was known for her discerning eye and aptitude for dealing with others, even she didn't subject herself to the insane levels of social contact that Pinkie Pie willingly embraced. Now that she thought about it, it only made sense that Pinkie would have an unparalleled understanding of people, and how to press their buttons to get them to do what she wanted—years of being around Rarity would've been instruction enough. And Pinkie herself was just so absurd by nature, that no one would reason that her actions were anything more than random acts of impulse.

Pinkie stood up on the table, dropping Twilight gently back into her seat. The party girl strode forward, grasped the thin branch of a nearby overhanging tree and broke it off, holding it clenched behind her back like an imitation riding crop. "Yes, it's all quite simple," she barked, patrolling back and forth on the picnic bench in parody of a drill sergeant. "Growing up, dear old mom and dad would have you believe that all it takes to get your man is a smile and a come-hither stare, the bastards." Pinkie shook her head. "But war, my friends...war has changed."

Rainbow Dash sat back in her seat and snapped her fingers, nodding her head in agreement. "Preach it, sister!"

"We live in a day and age where 'sitting pretty' doesn't guarantee you anything but a cold bed and a dry streak!" Pinkie marched back and forth dutifully, her face laughably serious and uncaring of any who saw her. Even Twilight couldn't resist a chuckle. "We're losing the war, ladies! It's a seller's market, and we're hard up!"

"Hear hear!" Rarity cried out, clapping and smiling.

"It's a mad world out there, my sisters," Pinkie claimed with dogmatic zeal, "and there's no room for namby-pamby cookie cutter pillow princesses!" She spun to face Rarity, leaning closer until their eyes nearly touched. "If you want some ass, then by Jove, you've gotta grind for it! We need to get aggressive! Because you can believe me when I say there's no such thing as a free train ticket to Pound Town!"

"Oh my," gasped Cheerilee, hand to her mouth as she looked over her grocery bags at Pinkie as she walked by.

Unperturbed, Pinkie continued her rant. "Love is war, ladies, and war. Is. Hell." She reached into her purse and yanked out a film reel projector and screen.

"Not even touching that one," Twilight muttered under her breath.

"Exhibit A!"

Twilight, Rainbow and Rarity blinked as the projector sputtered to life and shone its images onto the screen. The very first slide was of Spike and another person, whose figure was painted over by an impatient editor. The green-haired teenager was smiling and resting on a stool, listening with visible interest to the unseen speaker. His elbows rested on a table, his hands supporting his head.

Pinkie thrust the tip of her branch at Spike's face. "Observe! The target's vibrant, colorful green hair! Delightfully soft but unyielding to the touch!" She clasped a hand to her heart as she continued. "His lips! Firm, tasty, and sinfully innocent!" Pinkie shook her head as a dog would shake off water. "Pure as a schoolboy's and twice as sweet!"

"How do you know that," Twilight asked.

"Exhibit B!" Pinkie barked, this time pointing to an image of Spike laughing and running towards a beach. He wore a pair of swim trunks and held a surf board with both hands. "His back muscles," Pinkie groaned, "his leg muscles! Not too big, not too small, but just right." She ran a hand over the projector's screen, distorting the picture. "Goldilocks would have a field day with this boy."

"Oh dear." Fanning herself with her hand, Rarity turned to Rainbow Dash with a raised eyebrow. "Thespian," she said through her teeth while Pinkie wasn't looking.

Rainbow Dash shrugged, made the universal 'not bad' face, and leaned in closer.

"His biceps, his triceps, his ass, dear sweet God above, his ass. You could bounce a roll of quarters off of that nonsense!" Pinkie knelt down to kiss Twilight's hand. "Thank you, from women everywhere, for making him climb ladders every day of his life."

Twilight crossed her arms and looked guiltily to the side. "...wasn't every day..."

Stopping in place, Pinkie chucked the branch over her shoulder, striking the projector screen and—oddly enough—causing it to collapse in the same small package as before. Unbidden, the projector next to Pinkie ceased its sputtering, and was still.

"Yet, despite the aforementioned majesty that is the target's body," Pinkie said, returning to her pacing and looking contemplative, "the target himself is unaware of his merits." Pinkie turned to her friends, and looked them each in the eye with comical solemnity. "Spike doesn't know he's hot."

Rainbow Dash and Rarity gasped. Twilight rolled her eyes.

"Ladies," Pinkie continued, "this is an unacceptable mistake, one that I intend to fix." She bent to her knees to face them. "But I can't do it alone."

Dash snorted and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "We already promised to help you, Pinkie. We're not going to back out now."

"For better or worse," Twilight said dryly.

Pinkie shifted her eyes to accost Twilight with a speed that was disturbing, if not familiar. "I'll need more than a week," she said in a warning voice.

Twilight shrugged with feigned carelessness, unable to see a way around granting Pinkie more time without going back on her promise. "Eh, I'd rather you have more time than do something reckless out of desperation."

Satisfied, Pinkie rolled to her feet and made her way to the head of the table, prompting the others to look at her. "That, we can agree on!" she exclaimed, plopping down from the tabletop and pivoting to face her girls. "Rainbow Dash, I need you to take this list," she said, pulling a rolled-up piece of paper from her purse, "fly by the vendors, and pick up everything before the market closes. Can you do that?"

Dash nodded shortly, taking the list and unraveling it. When it unfurled, level with her chest, only to hit the ground and keep moving, she had to bite back a curse. "I'll be running through town all day with this! How the heck am I supposed to even pay for any of this crap, Pinkie?"

The party planner waved off Dash's concerns as easily as if they were flies. "I've got tabs at each place listed on there, so don't you worry your feisty lil' head." Turning to Rarity next, Pinkie reached into her purse again and drew out a small rectangular card, the back of which was besmirched with a bright pink lipstick stain. "In Manehattan, there's a woman at this address with a package waiting for me. Make sure you're not followed when you arrive."

Eyes wide, Rarity received the card and gazed down at it in wonder, then back up at Pinkie. "What should I do when I get there?"

"I need you to pick up the package, then lay low for a couple of days," Pinkie said seriously, holding Rarity by the shoulders and looking into her eyes with startling conviction. "After you arrive at the apartment, knock on the door exactly thirteen times. When you hear a voice ask what you want, tell them 'the tiger needs glasses.'"

Mystified and unsure of what to say, Rarity saluted energetically at the prospect of danger and espionage. "Consider it done!" she cried.

"Dude, what?" Rainbow Dash said, looking extremely put out. "Rarity gets to go on some cloak-and-dagger mission halfway across the country, and I get sacked with some bogus grocery run?"

"Not all heroes wear capes, Dashie," Pinkie said, hugging the shorter girl by the shoulder and smooching her on the cheek. Dash groaned and crossed her arms petulantly. Rarity stuck her tongue out at the athlete and winked.

"And what about me?" Twilight asked, genuinely curious as she sat on the bench. Both of her hands rested on her lap as she awaited her assignment. Despite herself, she looked forward to whatever it was Pinkie had singled out for her to do.

Pinkie turned to match Twilight's gaze, her visage uncharacteristically blank, until her face slowly split into a cheek-wide grin. Holding out her arm for Twilight to latch on to, Pinkie winked at her friend, almost as if she knew of the conflict bubbling down in Twilight's gut and found it amusing.

"Let's walk, shall we?" she asked, and as Twilight's adrenaline was exchanged for a migraine, she swore she could hear the gears in Pinkie's head whirring.

For all she knew, though, they were spinning in reverse...

Twilight didn't know why she had expected Pinkie to take their private conversation seriously. By all means, the last eight years would logically have been indication enough that the woman simply couldn't straighten out her goofy attitude unless people were about to die.

Still, that did nothing to improve Twilight's mood, especially after Pinkie had insisted on doing the running man for the better part of the last two miles through town, to the beat of her own improvised scat music.

"Skee-da do-de-be-da-dee-dop duh da doo-da duh doo-da-doooo," she sang, "they're calling again!"

"What are you talking about?" Twilight finally asked, exasperated. She knew by now that letting Pinkie's antics get to her wouldn't solve anything, but something about the girl's recent behavior had rattled Twilight. Her fraying hairs were sufficient proof of that.

Pinkie looked back at Twilight and smiled sweetly. "Just an old showtune from way back when." She jumped with practiced ease to the edge of a bridge, which overlooked a calm, unobtrusive stream. She kicked her feet to and fro as she rested on the aged railing, nodding her head back and forth at some unheard music.

Taking a deep breath, Twilight smoothed her frazzled bangs back into shape before taking her place at Pinkie's side. Resting both arms on the bridge, she turned her head ever so slightly to the enigma of a woman sitting next to her. Twilight's brow narrowed as she tried for what must have been the millionth time to divine what Pinkie was thinking.

"Go ahead," Pinkie said calmly, still looking off into the distance and smiling. "Ask away."

Twilight's lips flattened into a line, but she kept her innermost thoughts to herself. "What's in Manehattan?" she finally asked.

Snorting, Pinkie leaned back and swung her feet even harder. "Nothing," she said, chuckling feverishly. "I just needed to get Rarity out of town for a couple of days."

Twilight's eyes widened. "You're sending her on a wild goose chase?"

"Well, duh," Pinkie said, smiling and poking Twilight on the point of her nose. "Rarity's the second-most important woman in Spike's life. If I'm gonna have a chance with him, I can't let them be around each other or it'll weaken my position."

"That's awfully...methodical of you," Twilight said, allowing a shred of disdain to color her speech. A queasy feeling sprung up in the very bottom of her gut.

Pinkie looked over her shoulder at Twilight. "There's nothing wrong with knowing how romance works." She flipped her hair over a shoulder. "And as it so happens, I'm just a precise romantic," she said, accenting her statement with a playful hmph.

"It still sounds wrong," Twilight stressed, her arms growing tighter around each other as she clenched them to her chest.

"You're only saying that because it's Spike," Pinkie countered lightly. She returned her gaze downstream. "Applejack and Fluttershy would've done the same thing."

"What makes you say that?" the Princess asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pinkie suddenly stopped her leg-swinging, and turned to accost Twilight. A look of surprise was on her face. "You don't know?" At Twilight's stare of incomprehension, Pinkie frowned. "I thought you'd know."

"Know what, exactly?" Twilight pressed. Despite her best efforts, Pinkie's intentional vagueness was doing a darned good job of eating away at Twilight's patience.

Pinkie swung down from her seat, eyeing Twilight the entire time. That marked the second time today that one of her friends didn't know something they ought to have known, she thought to herself as she clasped her hands behind her back and began to circle Twilight slowly.

"You remember what Rainbow Dash said earlier?" Pinkie asked, cocking her head to the side as she walked. Her shoulder brushed lightly against Twilight's, causing the taller girl to tense in wary anticipation. "About Spike?"

Twilight nodded as she felt Pinkie's eyes on her back. "Something about him and powerful women?"

Pinkie nodded, once again in Twilight's line of sight. "I got a theory about it."

The Princess raised an eyebrow, and at once she was both skeptical and curious of Pinkie. "I'm all ears."

She was silent for a time, but as Pinkie circled back to Twilight's front, the latter noticed that Pinkie had donned a deerstalker cap and pipe that definitely hadn't been there five seconds ago.

"It seems to me," Pinkie said, rubbing her chin as she continued down the path, Twilight following her with a sigh of weary resignation, "that our 'mutual friend' tends to favor women who demand his utmost respect." They were in the park now, heading towards a grassy downward-sloping plain. "Now, Rarity, I can get. She's beautiful, generous, and pretty much everything that a dragon-person would want in a woman."

Twilight scrunched her nose in distaste. "You say that like they're made for each other."

"He's part dragon, and she literally has a pattern of gems on her ass."

The Princess rolled her eyes, but didn't challenge Pinkie's point. "Alright then, fine. Who else?"

"Dash, probably," Pinkie said, still hunched over as she skipped down the slope from one standing stone to another. As if she had predicted the shocked look on Twilight's face, she elaborated. "I mean, when she's not busy being obsessed with herself, and she's doing her whole 'iron woman' schtick, she's actually really cool." She held out her hand to help Twilight navigate her way down, which the taller girl gratefully accepted.

Twilight stared straight ahead as she hit the bottom of the hill, before nodding slowly. "I guess you're right. Spike's always been impressed by alpha women."

Pinkie snorted, shoving her cap and pipe into her hair that seemingly doubled as a purse. "He's kind of impressed by alpha-anything."

The Princess giggled. "No arguments there."

"What's that?" Pinkie said in mock-surprise. She raised a hand to her ear. "Mayhap I heard a titter?"

Rolling her eyes and smiling, Twilight pushed her friend gently on the shoulder. "You didn't hear anything."

Pinkie said nothing, but hummed softly as she continued walking forward. "You should do that more often, you know."

Twilight blinked. "Laugh?"

"Yeah." She looked over her shoulder back at her purple-haired friend. "You know me, I love to make people laugh, but..." She shrugged and scratched her cheek, her mouth set in a quirky half-smile. "When it's you, it's...I dunno. It just makes me feel like everything's going to be alright."

Twilight’s mouth loosened ever so slightly, and immediately clamped shut. A feeling of dry heat at the base of her eyeballs nearly consumed her, until she felt a guilt-ridden irritation that threatened to spill over as warm tears on her face. “You can’t...you can't mean that,” she said through her choked throat and halting tongue.

“You know when I’m lying,” Pinkie said with a smile, both hands on her hips. “Dash isn’t the only alpha woman, you know.”

Blinking, Twilight rubbed the wetness from her eyes, before freezing as the implications of Pinkie’s words hit home. She looked up, her eyes rimmed with redness. “Never. Not with him.” Her lips flattened to a line, her arms crossed on her chest as she stared at Pinkie with big eyes, as if trying to convince the other girl of her innocence.

Pinkie shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong about it, Twilight.” She moved to sit at the base of a nearby tree. “If the bottle had landed on you…” she chuckled, “oh man, that would’ve been a mess.”

In the back of her mind, Twilight considered what might have happened if things had turned out that way. Part of her believed that things would’ve gone back to normal, and nothing would be said of the would-be wager.

But then they had to go downstairs. They had to talk, and argue, and embrace, and so suddenly was that disquieting indifference thrust upon her that Twilight wasn’t so sure that life would have returned to the way it was. It should have disturbed her, Spike’s indifference, because that had meant that he was okay with it, which would mean that she could be okay with it, and after all it did seem like an awfully natural progression from their lifelong companionship—

“But it didn’t,” Twilight asserted, squelching that line of thought before it could grow on her.

“But it didn’t,” Pinkie agreed. “It’d be different if it was with you three. I just know it.”

“But how?” Twilight pressed, her voice uncomfortably thick and her tongue unusually sticky. “What makes you so sure?”

“Well,” Pinkie said, shrugging her shoulders, “look at it from Spike’s perspective. You’ve got a farmer, an animal caretaker, and a baker. They may be the greatest, hottest, funnest girls in the world, but at the end of the day, that’s all they are. That’s all they’re gonna be, cause that’s all they wanna be.”

Twilight’s eyes widened at her logic, and she felt an inkling of understanding begin to spread throughout her thoughts.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Pinkie said. “Not everybody wants to be the best at everything," she said. "But on the flip side,” motioning with her hands in a spinning fashion, “you’d have to work that much harder to get with someone who does.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Twilight said, her guilt forgotten in the excitement in light of her newfound comprehension. “If you're right, it really must be a dragon thing. I know Spike, and he'd never think that consciously.”

Pinkie nodded. “You three are more impressive to him, I think. You’ve got ambition, which I sure as heck don’t have.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope! I like my life as it is. Wouldn’t change it for the world.” Pinkie said with a smile. “The world does enough changing for me anyway.”

Twilight chuckled, rubbing her arm as she sat down next to Pinkie to rest her feet. Her back aligned with the rough bark of the tree, which tugged on her shirt and rubbed against her skin somewhat pleasantly. “That’s very wise of you.”

“It’s been known to happen.” Pinkie hugged her knees to her chest, her face a show of soporific contentment. “Rarity and Rainbow Dash are always trying to move up in the world, and you’re always trying to save it. He thinks that's really cool.”

“That’s true,” Twilight breathed, raising her shoulders and lowering them. Her eyes caught the rim of the Smoky Mountains off in the distance, and how the sunlight painted the snowcapped peaks in a nearly blinding whiteness. “I hope Applejack’s having fun.”

“Yeah.”

Seized by a sudden feeling of closeness, Twilight grabbed Pinkie about the shoulders and hugged her closer. The younger woman complied easily, as if the gesture was a kind of ritual that was common between the two of them.

They remained like that for a time, merely residing in the other’s presence. Slowly, the ball of apprehension and frustration lessened, until it was but a knot of warm tension in Twilight's chest. "You never told me what you needed me to do for you," Twilight mentioned offhandedly.

"Oh, it's easy," Pinkie said, leaning her head against the taller girl's shoulder. "I just need you to trust me."

Twilight blinked slowly. "Oh."

Of all the things Pinkie could've asked for, trust was the hardest to give. Not that she hadn't earned it—she'd earned it time and time again, in spades—but trusting someone like Pinkie with something as delicate as intimacy was perilous. It was, Twilight thought, like plummeting backwards and trusting her friend to catch her: reason said that Pinkie wouldn't let her down, but that didn't make the fall any less terrifying.

"Pinkie?"

A shuffle of hair and skin, and then there were blue eyes tracing her face. "Yeah?"

"It may not count for much," Twilight said quietly, sifting through the labyrinth of pink hair with her fingers, "but I always thought you were pretty cool."

Pinkie leaned back, mouth ajar, and for the second time that afternoon she found herself caught off guard by Twilight. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked weakly, shrinking away.

"No, I'm not," Twilight reassured her, half-smiling as she continued to comb her friend's hair. "I've never met anyone like you, and...I'm glad for that."

Pinkie held her stance of suspicion for a moment longer, before relaxing and returned to her place next to Twilight. She adopted her friend's somber half-smile. "You're really weird sometimes, Twilight."

Blinking, Twilight balked at the hypocrisy of the statement, before bursting out into a mad fit of chortling.

How odd it was, she thought to herself, that everything seemed to be turned on its head. How she should be the one bending over laughing until her gut hurt, and Pinkie of all people should sit next to her, face sobered but Twilight's own knowing smirk on it. How very strange that Pinkie knew so much more than she should have about her friends, so much more than Twilight herself could've known.

It was as if Pinkie had stood in the blind spots of Twilight's reasoning and had flipped the world upside down, until Twilight would be the one watching an empty house while her own assistant spent the night away from the woman he knew most, in the company of the one he knew least. And with each passing moment, it became more and more likely that, despite all odds, things would turn out in her favor.

It was all quite funny.

Path Three: The Art of Knowing Yourself Part 3

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It was sometime after the chilled bite of evening air had pierced his skin that Spike realized he had never before seen Sugar Cube Corner under the cover of night.

He'd rarely had cause to be out so late, anyway—Twilight never invited him to the girls' sleepovers, and he never would've accepted even if she had.

But the bakery's door, overly embellished with pseudo-sugar and candy cane as it was, held a soft kind of ambient light that belied its stark daytime presence. It seemed alien in appearance—unsettling, even. It felt similar to seeing one's teacher outside of the classroom: a thing that was a plain truth, but queer nonetheless.

It was this strangeness, this bizarre, gut-bubbling otherness that had riveted Spike to the lavender steps just outside of the Corner, and caused him to remark to himself how incredibly unreal the world had become.

Whatever happened tonight was in his own power, and it was a responsibility he realized, quite too late, that he wanted no ownership of. There was only one other person inside; no routine to follow, no third parties to salvage what may be.

He was deviating from his life's planned course, and could only hope that he'd be able to handle it. There were no more safe paths.

He had to question himself, to know if he really wanted to be here, to do this. It wasn't smart, that was for sure: no one was there to give him orders, to tell him what to do. His failures would be his own from here on out.

Spike thought of running, of calling off the whole thing and bolting back to his room in the tower. There would be questions, sure, followed by awkward silences and hurt, accusing pink glares. But it would pass, in time.

He shook his head and squared his shoulders. I barely have any say over anything in my life as it is, he thought to himself, feeling his nails scrape against the sweaty skin of his palms. I refuse to let myself become a coward.

And before he could bring himself to stop, he raised his hand up to the door and rapped his knuckles on the dark pink wood.

My destiny is on the other side of that door, Spike thought, his heart ramming into his rib cage at a breakneck pace. He didn't care if he was being over-dramatic, because he knew that if nothing else, his life wouldn't be the same after tonight.

Before he could think any further on the matter, however, he heard a soft, almost indistinct padding of feet on hardwood.

I can do this.

There were hands on the handle, turning it and sounding out a creaking, metallic noise that raised Spike's hackles.

I can do this.

The door swung open on brass hinges, releasing a tidal wave of warm air and the scents of so many wonderful foods. An unobtrusive light flowed out in dusky silence, forming an eclipse around the woman in the doorway. The shadows made it hard for her to be be seen from the front, and the young man had to wait some seconds to make her out properly.

Eventually, his eyes adjusted, and he could see. Spike felt his legs nearly buckle beneath him.

I can't do this.

This wasn't the same girl he'd known since that first day in Ponyville all those years ago, of that he was sure. Pinkie had somehow always entertained an aesthetic of youthfulness and energy in the past, an image that caused her to seem ageless throughout the years.

Now it seemed as though that image had been dismantled overnight, and Pinkie herself had made up for lost time in the interim. She had donned a magenta garden dress; less colorful than what she usually wore, but the brilliance of her famous pink mane only seemed the brighter for it. She wore nothing else, not even shoes.

Pinkie stared intently into him, as before. Her discerning light blue eyes held Spike in place, uncharacteristically calm as they took some note of his mental state before moving on to assess the rest of him.

"You came," she said simply, ending the pregnant silence as she continued to look him over. Her eyes roamed over the broadness of his shoulders, clothed as they were in a simple white dress shirt, top button undone, and purple suspenders, before moving to the deep black slacks and shoes he wore.

"I came," Spike said, grinning painfully. As he continued to feel Pinkie's gaze on him, through his nervousness and apprehension he felt extremely grateful to Twilight for convincing him to dress as he did. He'd had every intention of leaving the house in his usual t-shirt and jeans, but thankfully his roommate had put her foot down.

Beaming, Pinkie took Spike by the arm and led him into the house. "Well, don't just stand there!" she chided with a laugh, "you'll let the bugs in!" Her fingers brushed against his wrist, and she looked down ever so briefly at the veins of his hand.

As they moved further into the house, Spike's eyes landed on several small changes that Pinkie had made to the bakery. The tables and chairs were all stacked neatly in a far-off corner, unneeded as they were while the Cakes were away. The lights were all off as well; pink paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, glowing softly enough to see the interior of the building but leaving its edges in balanced darkness.

Upon making their way to the center of the room, Spike noted a medium sized dining table. Two chargers each rested on either side, accompanied by silverware and ornately shaped cloth napkins. A single red candle sat in the middle, burning.

Spike's jaw fell open slightly, and almost instantly he felt his earlier fears dissipate. "This is really nice, Pinkie."

Pinkie smiled and rolled her eyes as they came to the table. "You don't have to sound so surprised."

He shook his head. "No, really. I didn't expect you to go to so much trouble...for me." He didn't know how to voice his appreciation to her, so he settled for a meaningful look and hoped she would understand.

Pinkie led Spike to his seat, before pulling out his chair and gesturing for him to sit in it. As he took his place, Pinkie knelt down next to him and lowered her voice, almost as if she were telling him a secret. "It never feels like trouble. Not when you care about someone."

Pinkie blew a raspberry into the side of Spike's face, causing him to chuckle as she sauntered away into the kitchen.

As he was left for the moment with his thoughts, Spike's mind turned to one thing: How does this end?

Can I say no to her again? The sound of wood creaking and glass shifting came from the kitchen, and Spike's eyes darted forward. Do I want to say no again?

Pinkie's shapely legs became visible under the saloon doors, small bare feet padding almost noiselessly on hardwood, and Spike remembered how Pinkie's clothes never seemed to do a good job at hiding the curves of her body.

Is she going to kiss me again?

Almost as if she had heard the thoughts scurrying about in Spike's head, Pinkie came strolling out of the kitchen, balancing several platters on both arms. She stared straight ahead with a smile, as though the act was second nature to her.

Spike moved to help her, pushing back his seat and rising to a standing position.

"Bup bup bup!" Pinkie chided, shaking her head. "Get back down there, buster! You're not lifting a finger tonight."

The teenager paused in uncertainty. "Are you sure?" It felt strange, having someone deny his help for the sake of his own comfort.

"Sure I'm sure," the hostess said, deftly placing each plate in its place without so much as a second glance. Her arms free, she rested both hands on her hips and smiled cockily. "How am I supposed to seduce you if I don't do all the work myself?"

Spike raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You seem awfully confident in your abilities," he said, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, ankle over knee. "What makes you think you can 'seduce' me at all?"

Pinkie resisted the instinctual urge to snort, instead folding both arms behind her head as she rested in her chair and propped her feet against the table's legs. "Oh, come on, Spike. I'm a baker!"

Spike's eyebrow raised further as a touch of confusion colored his voice. "Meaning?"

The hostess continued to stare at him, laughter hidden in her eyes as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I can always tell when a man's hungry." She crossed her arms meaningfully, causing her chest to pinch.

He stared blankly for a while, his mouth parted, before Spike burst into a fit of laughter. Heat colored his face red as he held his stomach to keep it from splitting. "You-" he started to say, wheezing, "you got me there."

Her smile grew ever more catlike, as if it had murmured Yes I do. Pinkie leaned forward in her chair and motioned for Spike to eat. He complied as he sobered himself, smoothing out the napkin on his lap and taking hold of the silverware on either side of his plate.

His date certainly hadn't held herself back on the meal: the centerpiece of the dinner was a sizzling porterhouse steak, branded with grill marks and still simmering with heat. The meat was just shy of being charred—just the way he liked it—while still retaining its moisture. Small rivulets of clear, yellow juice ran from the well-marbled steak, and along its edges sat the crisp, succulent fat that was best saved for last.

Alongside it was a miniature pie tin, the top roasted to a flaky golden-brown crust. The edges were fluted, while the middle had seen holes poked through it to allow steam to escape. At first glance, Spike had assumed it to be a sweet of some kind, given the nature of his host. But as the trail of steam wafted closer to his nose, he found that it was some manner of stew: chicken and beef, along with what smelled like potatoes, peas, and carrots. The golden crust was buttered throughout, meaning that hours of layering and folding and forming it had gone into its creation, a fact he knew from his own baking experiences. A broth ran throughout, bathing the mixture in a creamy, salted soup.

He inhaled deeply, and shuddered. The skin beneath Pinkie's eyes crinkled as she beamed at the unspoken compliment. Her spheres still trained on Spike, Pinkie inclined her head towards him. She waited, peering into his distracted eyes so that she could watch him come to the realization of her efforts. "Go on," she coaxed, almost shyly. "Eat."

There was a steady rasp of steel on glass as Spike slowly cut through his steak. He dabbed the portion of meat into a pool of its juices, before bringing it to his mouth and biting down carefully.

The look on his face must of told Pinkie of his love for her cooking better than any words could've done. Pinkie's eyes shone a bright electric blue as the woman herself leaned forward in her seat. "How is it?" she asked.

She knew it was amazing, of course. She knew, but she wanted to hear him speak the words himself. Was it narcissistic? Maybe, but telling her was the least Spike could do after all the work she put into their date.

Date.

Spike rolled the word about his mouth as surely as he did the rich, oily steak he had bitten off. Biting into both had released a burst of steam that had superheated his mouth and mind, and through it he couldn't decide which was more delicious to him.

They were on a date. Wasn't that weird? Pinkie, Pinkie of all people, had pursued him, had sought him out and made him dinner in a very deliberate show of interest. Spike tried to remember a time when anyone had ever devoted so much time and effort to impress him, but so far he was drawing blanks.

Spike realized that, while in the midst of his thoughts, he had forgotten to actually taste the food and give Pinkie a proper reply. Leaning forward, he cut off another sliver of meat and, never breaking eye contact with his hostess, bit down.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such great homemade food that he himself hadn't cooked. He hadn't actually meant to hunch over and moan, but it really was just that good.

At the sound of his voice, Pinkie's back had gone ramrod straight. Her pupils were wide, flat discs, and a smattering of red was on her cheeks; Spike realized that he had actually managed to flatter her.

The baker tugged on the ends of her hair as she smiled nervously and tucked her chin into her collarbone. She decided to take advantage of the moment to say something daring. "You never made that sound when I kissed you," she said, her voice filled with repressed excitement.

"Maybe you just weren't trying hard enough," Spike retorted, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin and leaning back in his chair.

Pinkie didn't make to reply, but the brightening of her eyes and the quirking of her curious smile spoke measures: at the first chance she got, she would make him eat those words. The remembrance of her uncharacteristic aggression touched Spike's mind, and despite himself, he felt his excitement grow.

His ego hadn't allowed him to admit it at first, but it was becoming an unstated truth between the two of them: Spike liked the feeling of being sought after. After so many years of standing on the sidelines, he had almost forgotten his pride.

By proving that she found him desirable, it felt as though Pinkie had given Spike room to stand on. He wasn't alone in his attraction, he knew that now.

"Well," Pinkie finally said, breaking into Spike's thoughts, "I'm glad you enjoyed it." She smiled genuinely at him. "You look really handsome tonight."

"You're one to talk," he replied, sitting forward and continuing to eat. "I never even knew you could look like that."

"Like what?" Pinkie asked semi-innocently, again sitting straight and folding her hands in her lap.

"Like that," Spike said, nodding toward her figure and trusting Pinkie to understand somehow.

Again, she didn't answer, but only smiled and started to eat. Spike hadn't thought that it would be possible to spend more than ten seconds of silence together with Pinkie, but it seemed she was content to keep surprising him.

"Why me?" he finally asked, after Pinkie had finished swallowing and patting her lips clean with a napkin.

The silence continued for a time. "You may not like the answer," she finally replied, leaning forward again and cutting off a section of steak.

Spike found himself disconcerted, but his interest in his partner's thoughts only increased. "Why wouldn't I like it?"

Pinkie Pie shrugged. "It's not exactly mature."

He resisted the urge to snort. "I can handle immaturity."

Pinkie lowered the steak, giving Spike her full attention. She stared at him intently, before laying her fork down and crossing her arms. "I'll make you a promise, Spike. If you ever want to know something that I know," she shrugged, "then I'll tell you. But only if it's my right to tell you."

The young man hesitated, if only because of Pinkie's sudden seriousness. "Sounds fair to me," he said, feeling as if he wasn't sure whether hearing the absolute truth from Pinkie was a good idea.

"Shake my hand," she said, holding out her fingers for Spike to latch on to.

After a moment of careful consideration, Spike complied. They shook, and were done with it.

Pinkie leaned back in her chair, one arm crossed over her stomach while the other grasped a glass of pink lemonade.

"So?" Spike asked.

"There are two reasons, mostly." Pinkie said, swirling her drink slightly as her eyes rested at Spike's neck. "The first is something that I noticed when I first met you."

Spike blinked. "You mean, when I was a kid?"

"Yeah."

The teenager scrunched his eyebrows. "And what would that be, exactly?"

Pinkie's eyes rose to accost Spike's. "I've met a lot of people in my life, Spike. More than I thought were alive, when I was little." She kicked her feet against the legs of the table so that her chair leaned backward onto two legs. "And when you meet that many people, patterns start to come up, and it helps you understand them. Everyone's got a different flavor to them, maybe, but rocky road and chocolate don't really taste all that different when you think about it."

"I...guess?" Spike said, trying to follow her train of thought and failing.

The baker sighed. "It's like...as I get older, I'm finding out that I want different things in life. And, I used to be really proud of how special I thought I was." Pinkie scoffed. "I never said anything about it, but it was like, a big deal for me. And now that I think about it...I've just been running in circles my whole life, and it's like I've been throwing the same party since I was a kid. Nothing I've done feels different from the rest, and now...now I'm even getting older like everyone else." She sank slightly in her chair. "And I hate redoing things."

Spike's mouth fell slightly open. Never would he have imagined that Pinkie's explanation would feel so...heavy. He felt immobilized by what he was unable to say, by how lacking he was when he thought of ways to comfort her. "Pinkie, I..."

"But then you come in!" Pinkie said, leaning up in her chair and suddenly looming over half of the table. "You wanna know why it's you I'm after?"

"I think?" Spike said, less sure than ever of his original question.

"Because there's no one like you!" Pinkie said, placing her elbows on the table and looking at Spike as if he were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. "You're the exact same person you were when I met you eight years ago, only you're bigger, and smarter, and more," she gestured to his upper body erratically and grinned girlishly, "this."

"Well, yeah," Spike said, frowning and crossing his arms. "I'm part dragon, remember? We don't change our minds as easily as you do."

"But I've met other dragon people, too!" Pinkie added. "And some were just plain rotten, no offense—"

"None taken."

"—but you've just always been a really good guy. And now," Pinkie shrugged, "you're a good man."

Spike froze, and he felt a rush of gratitude in the form of heat rise to his face. He pulled at his thumbs, embarrassed, as he looked downward at the table.

"You've got your faults, yeah, and I know all about that—" and Spike had a suspicion that she knew more than she let on, "—but really, c'mon!" Pinkie pulled back from the table and grinned. "There's no way that the good doesn't outweigh the bad." She blinked rapidly as she calmed herself down. "How could I not want to be a part of that?"

Spike found that following such a tribute with words was difficult, and neither did he find it easy to look Pinkie in the eyes afterwards. "Thank you," he quietly said, his hands crossed over his too-thin dress shirt. "For telling me, I mean." Pinkie nodded, the lines of her smile understandably full. "But," he said, unsure of what he would hear next, "that doesn't sound very immature."

"Oh, well," Pinkie said, straightening up, "that wasn't it." She leaned back in her chair and started eating again. "You're really cute, and I've kind of wanted you since you were fifteen."

For the third time that night, Rainbow Dash found herself needing to redirect her flight path.

She had been out for a late night pass, the kind that she took whenever the mood struck her. Living in such a big house by herself often made her restless and cagey.

Not to mention how her mind had taken to wandering after her errands had been run, and Dash had to wonder: to what use was Pinkie putting all of her hard work? If there was one thing she hated about Pinkie—

No, not hate, Dash corrected to herself, eyes narrowed. Never hate for any of her girls.

If there was every any one thing that Dash really, really, really disliked, which also happened to be something that Pinkie was fond of, it was surprises.

She always had bad nerves, Dash admitted to herself, which was one of many reasons why she loved being able to soar the open skies so freely: from a bird's eye view, it was nigh-on impossible to be caught off-guard.

Pinkie...Pinkie didn't really respect the impossible. Something about the girl always enabled her to get under Dash's skin in the most jarring of ways.

It was this discomfort that kept messing with Dash's head, and more than once had caused her to angle towards Sugar Cube Corner unconsciously. The athlete grunted and adjusted her course, squinting as the smooth night air rippled and curved around her frame. She reoriented herself, pointing towards the main road heading into Ponyville, and putting the Corner completely out of her sight.

Not for the first time, Dash reflected on the fact that Pinkie knew more than she let on. And neither for the first time did Rainbow Dash wish she was capable of Pinkie's magnetism with people. She knew people, like Dash knew flying. She knew how to talk to them, how to befriend them, and—speaking from personal experience on Dash's part—how to end up with her tongue in their mouths.

Dash didn't even remember how the hell Pinkie had convinced her in the first place—she had always tried to made sure people knew that she wasn't into girls, prideful hair or no, but dammit if the Pink Menace wasn't convincing.

And, well, it was hard, not knowing if she was doing the same with Spike—convincing him. The writing was on the fucking wall, after all, that was just how Pinkie acted around guys she liked. She would swoop in, a grinning woman possessed, and rack up dates like a con man could rack up money. It was a beautiful hustle, if one could call it that.

But it was Spike, she thought to herself, and Dash resisted the urge to clench her hands around an invisible neck. He was practically one of the girls—Dash snorted, unintentionally—and it was all too easy to imagine Pinkie not taking the fact seriously. She knew it was on everyone's mind—why didn't any of them say something? Why were they just letting it go on?

Dash shook herself—there went her pride again. Soon she'd say to herself for the umpteenth time that she should have been the one the bottle landed on, that she was the best possible choice.

Part of her would try to justify her secret thoughts: she knew that Spike should be—was savored the wrong word? It sounded predatory in Dash's mind.

Treasured, Rainbow resolved. She would've treasured him, if it had been her. Someone like Pinkie might forget to do that.

Rainbow Dash blinked through the oncoming air, trying to keep her eyes from drying: she'd rushed out of her house without grabbing her goggles again. It was then that she noticed a solitary figure trudging across the bridge into town, weighed down by a heavy bundle laid across his or her broad shoulders. A drooping stetson concealed a mop of bright blonde strands.

Dash's stomach exploded with warmth as Applejack trudged silently into town. Here was someone she could talk to.

The athlete turned into a shallow dive, coming off the wind to drop onto the pavement and squarely in the farmer's path. The impact jolted her legs, sending a familiar throb to the tendons in her soled feet, but it was nothing she hadn't felt a thousand times already.

The sudden landing alarmed the woman in front of her, and Applejack's head jerked up, her green eyes wide with shock.

Grinning, Dash rolled her shoulders and strolled up to her friend. "What's a pretty young thing like you doing out so late?" she asked, hands in the pockets of her baggy blue track pants.

Applejack's body relaxed as she recognized her friend. "It ain't even seven," she said, in a voice that would've been petulant if Applejack could've mustered the effort.

When her friend wasn't forthcoming with any explanation for her unexpected arrival, Dash pushed for one. "What're you doing back so soon?"

Applejack's shoulders seemed to sag, once again reminded of the great weight on their shoulders. "I called it after the first night," she sighed, rubbing a sore arm. "Didn't feel right just being out there by m'self."

Rainbow raised an eyebrow. "You go out there by yourself all the time, though."

The farmer shrugged. "Things change, I reckon."

Rainbow Dash scrunched her nose slightly, but decided not to press the topic any further. "You headed back to your place?"

Another shrug. "Where else would I go?" she asked sarcastically. Her voice was coated like wax by a thin veneer of bitterness.

A pause. "Do you want to head back to your place?"

Applejack's lips slowly settled into a flat line. She crossed her arms and looked off to the side. After a time, she answered, in the huffy voice she used when she was being stubborn, "Not particularly."

A catlike grin spread across Dash's face. "Awesome. Wait right here." She expected Applejack to protest and struggle when Dash reached for the camping bag, but the opposite was true. If anything, Dash was sure she heard a small sigh of relief at the burden being lifted from her aching muscles.

To her credit, Dash was only gone for several moments, so as to keep Applejack from stewing over dark thoughts for too long. Taking the heavy load on her shoulders was an easy feat—after all, while she was no Applejack, neither was she a slouch. A hard back and rough hands could attest to that. A quiet flight to the Acres was all that it took, followed by an undone latch at Applejack's window and a hefty shove of burlap.

When she got back, the farmer was in the same place as when Dash had left—the same position, even.

God, she needs to get laid, Dash thought to herself. Applejack very rarely ever suffered bad moods, but when she did, it could take days before she would find a way out of her funk.

Touching down next to her friend, Rainbow laced her hands behind her head and started walking. Without saying a word, she began walking towards the western side of town, where the most fun was to be had. Applejack followed closely behind, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her worn cargo coat.

"Fluttershy hasn't left her cottage since the twins showed up," Dash mentioned offhandedly. Applejack said nothing, though the athlete had known her friend long enough to sense when she was listening. "Rarity's in Manehattan for the week."

Though Dash couldn't see it, Applejack raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

Rainbow rolled her eyes. "Hell if I know. Probably on a secret mission or some shit." That got a chuckle out of the surly farmer, and Dash allowed a small smile to mark her face.

"Twilight holed up again?"

"You know it."

They were silent for a while, and even someone with as little social awareness as Rainbow Dash could feel the unspoken question burning at the tip of Applejack's tongue. She refrained from answering, though, for fear of Applejack not responding well.

She looked over her shoulder at the farmer, who herself was looking down at the hard ground, her tongue barely visible through her clenched teeth and taut lips. Dash knew for certain then that the same thoughts that had driven her to fly the night skies had haunted Applejack's mind in the lonely wilds.

Dash chewed the inside of her lip in frustration: all this worried thinking wasn't going to do them any favors. They needed something to distract them.

"You're don't have anywhere to be, right?"

Applejack looked up. "What?"

Whut, Dash silently replayed the word in her mind. Something about AJ's accent always tickled her. "You heard me."

The farmer wrinkled her nose. "Not really, I'd say."

Rainbow Dash rolled her shoulders, eager to let her mind wander. "So let's fucking do something."

"So, what's next?"

Pinkie wiped her hands off on a nearby hand towel after loading the last of the china into the dishwasher. "Well, honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far this quick." She looked at Spike, her hands on her hips. "I spent this morning prepping myself in the mirror with pick-up lines cause I thought you wouldn't be interested."

Spike smiled at her dedication. He found the idea of Pinkie being nervous enough to revert to cheesy one-liners hilarious and, secretly, endearing. "I wouldn't object to hearing some of those lines, actually."

Pinkie beamed. "Sure thing!" She skipped ahead of him towards the hallway, moving towards her loft at the top of the stairs. She signaled for Spike to follow, which he did at his own leisurely pace.

It's just her room, Spike thought to himself. Nothing's going to happen.

Upon arriving, Pinkie stood in the middle of the room and gestured outwards. "Here's the place!" she sang, spinning in a circle and causing her dress to flare up at her thighs.

"Looks great," Spike said, finally tearing his eyes away from her legs to glance at the room.

"Make yourself at home," Pinkie offered, moving to her dresser. "I know I left this list around here somewhere..."

Spike made his way to a cream-colored loveseat, outlined with a brown trim and tassels. Soon after, Pinkie joined him.

"May I?" she asked, and Spike nodded his head. Pinkie sat on the arm of the furniture, so that her legs were directly in her partner's view. Feeling daring, Spike laid one arm over her legs, and a small quiver rippled through her limbs, though Pinkie made no move to stop the contact.

"Let's see," she said, grasping at her list. "Where should I start?"

"Whatever sounds the most convincing," Spike said, tweaking at her kneecaps with two slim fingers.

"Will do!" Her finger landed on one. "'If you were a fruit, you'd be a fine-apple.'"

Spike snorted. "Try again, killer."

She cleared her throat. "'Let's flip a coin! Tails, I get some head; heads, I get some tail.'"

Spike laughed and rubbed comfortably on his date's thigh. "Almost."

Pinkie snapped her finger. "Rats!"

"Keep going."

"'I love jokes! If you tell me a gutbuster, you can be my gut buster.'"

A deeper laugh this time. "Nice!"

"Ooh, ooh! Say 'I feel like I'm losing my head.'"

The teenager smiled and rolled his eyes, but complied. "I feel like I'm losing my head."

Pinkie grinned and waggled her eyebrows at Spike. "How about I give you mine?"

Spike bent over Pinkie's legs as he glanced at her sideways. One eyebrow was raised, as if he were impressed. "Careful. Too much positive reinforcement and I might get the wrong idea."

Pinkie snorted and rubbed the back of Spike's neck tenderly. "Now that's funny."

Spike's eyes narrowed playfully as he leaned into his partner's soft, steady petting. Pinkie gave no reaction other than a slight twitch and a hurried cough.

"So," Spike said, sinking into the couch and eyeing his date.

"So?" Pinkie asked, forcing a smile and continuing to massage his neck.

"What did you wager?"

The baker blinked, caught off guard by the question. "For, uh...for you?"

"Yeah."

"A...um...a party," she responded hesitantly. Even as the words left her mouth she could feel Spike frowning without seeing his face, and she realized just how lame it sounded saying those words. "It was a special kind of party, though," she added hurriedly.

Spike nodded slowly, though his body language still betrayed some disappointment. "How special?" His ego was wounded, that much was clear.

Pinkie rubbed her hands together, troubled. She had wanted to keep it a secret for as long as possible, but he was bound to find out anyway. Besides, it was imperative that he didn't feel insulted. "It's a housewarming party."

This got Spike's attention. "Is there someone new moving into town?"

The hostess shook her head. "It's for me."

Spike's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Wringing her hands, Pinkie grinned skittishly. "I haven't told everyone else yet—I only talked about it with the Cakes last month. But...I'm gonna be moving out soon." She kicked her legs back and forth. "Getting my own place, y'know?"

"Are you sure?" Spike asked, looking concerned. "This all seems really sudden."

"Oh, I've been planning for it for a while now. If anything, it should've happened sooner," Pinkie said, shrugging. "Their kids are getting older, and..." she looked at Spike before jerking her head away. "I dunno, things are just different now."

"Huh," Spike said, leaning back and frowning. "I guess it's for the best, then." He turned to Pinkie. "But still. Me, for a party?"

"Well," Pinkie said, frowning and twirling a curl of pink hair around a finger, "it's not like we were wagering you." Spike looked up at her. "It was more like we were wagering so that Twilight would let us have a shot at you."

He raised an eyebrow. "You couldn't just talk to me yourselves? You had to get Twilight's 'permission?'"

The baker sighed as she realized where the conversation was headed. "It's not that simple, Spike." She scooted off the arm of the sofa, plopping herself down on Spike's lap and powering through the butterflies in her stomach as she did so. "What do you think happens when you start dating someone?"

Spike stared. What was the point of asking such an obvious question? "Well, you just start seeing more of them, and...I dunno," he shrugged, conscious of the woman sitting inches from his manhood, "you get more intimate than you would with other people."

Pinkie cocked her head to the side. "That's not untrue, but there's more to it than that."

"Such as?"

"Such as relationships," Pinkie said simply. "When you're dating someone, it's never just a two-way connection. It's more like...a net, I guess." She nearly left it at that, but a remembrance of past confusions touched her mind—Dash, and then Twilight just yesterday, both lost in translation.

So, she gathered her thoughts, and tried.

"Dating someone isn't just being intimate with them," she said, "it's..." she whirled her hands in a circle of wandering thought, "it's ownership. All relationships are like a big, jumbled...web."

Spike blinked. "I don't follow."

Pinkie worked her mouth for a bit, wondering how she could translate what was so clearly understood in her own mind to Spike's. An idea occurred to her. "Well, how do you think of the five of us?"

"Twilight's friends," Spike said immediately, still lost.

"A-ha!" Pinkie said, sitting up on Spike's thighs—and coaxing a nearly-silent groan from him in the process. "We still would've been your friends even if we never met Twilight, silly!"

"But you did meet her," Spike reminded her.

"Yeah, and that's just it," Pinkie said. "No one would get all fussy about dating if it weren't for third parties." She gestured into space, both hands outstretched. "We can't get at you because you were Twilight's 'ward'—" air quotes employed, "—before you were our friend. She doesn't want us getting close to you."

"Why not?" he asked, frowning.

Pinkie adjusted her seating and cleared her throat pointedly.

"Oh, right."

"On top of that, the person you're dating is supposed to be your top priority." The baker grinned as she crawled slowly forward. "And Twilight, well, she isn't ready for that to happen yet."

Spike leaned back into the couch, his breath quickening. It was happening again—her hips pressed against his, not as insistently as before, but with a perseverance that heralded the end of some longstanding forbearance. Pinkie wouldn't force him, but neither would she censor her intentions. Spike found her lack of subtlety exhilarating in the extreme.

Her legs coiled beneath her as if she were preparing to jump. Her hair lay over her shoulder, nearly within tickling distance of Spike's cheeks. Her breath was brined with salt from the earlier meal, a fact that Spike found unusually enticing given his partner's love of sugar.

His senses seemed to curl in on themselves, as if he were stretching after a long rest. Everything about Pinkie demanded entanglement—her warm, delicious breath on his neck and in his nose, her petite, never-sitting-still frame on his own robust, her piercing cyan eyes, smiling and watching as the girl herself was preparing to touch and be touched—

We could do it, Spike realized, his brain growing hot as hands which were not his own were dragged by some alien force—no, instinctual force—to rest on Pinkie's waist, massaging at the dimples of her back and the base of her spine. That bought a thankful grind and a heated gust of breath. We could do it right here, I could be— was it possible to choke in one's thoughts? —I could be inside her in seconds.

Spike knew it was what Pinkie had wanted—it was the foregone conclusion of her desires, and by her staring at him, nearly into him, he knew that it was him she had been after, not just something hard and pretty to lay down and fornicate with.

He even knew how they would do it, too—one hand on the base of her neck, followed by another hard grinding of her hips. One hand stroking the thick strands of her hair, cradling her scalp and pulling her forward, the other gliding down her spine and brushing aside her skirt, she wrapping her arms around his torso and latching on for a long, long, long overdue kiss. A hammer and a nail, that was as simple as it got. He, the nail, she the hammer, hammering home some hard biology between them until he was even deeper in her than her own spit...

And yet...

Part of him knew that pleasure was entirely within his grasp, but...but it wouldn't be as rewarding if they waited. It could be great, fantastic even, and Spike knew without asking that Pinkie would give as good as she got. It was just...

There was so little buildup.

If she made him feel this tense only after a couple of days—he only found out about her feelings that Friday past, and here was Sunday night, come so soon—Spike knew he could steer them towards something great. Rushing into things would do them no favors in the long run; putting love and lust on the back burner would make it better. It was no different than eating up all the dough instead of waiting for the cookies to come out of the oven.

All he needed was patience.

His mind cleared, Spike breathed slowly, feeling his body lose its tension and control seep back into his limbs. His eyes were closed, but the lessening of Pinkie's weight on his waist and chest told Spike that the girl had realized his unspoken decision. Their window had passed, and now, opening his eyes, Spike saw how her face had morphed into one of confused acceptance. He smiled and grasped lightly at her hips, to let her know that he wasn't rejecting, but postponing.

Pinkie deflated slightly, smiling defeatedly as the adrenaline left her body and her efforts caught up with her. "We calling it a night?"

Spike thought about saying how moving so quickly didn't appeal to him, but he eventually realized that doing so might make the implication that Pinkie was fast. Even worse, that she might call off her approaches to him altogether. Instead, he decided to skirt his reasoning and head straight to complimenting her.

"I had the most amazing night tonight," Spike said, smiling genuinely and holding Pinkie's wrists. "And I really appreciate everything that you did for me."

Pinkie blinked, her eyes unusually bright. After a time, she said in a hoarse voice that seemed opposite her face, "But?"

"And," Spike corrected, sitting up and gently setting her down next to him on the couch, "I'd love to do this again."

Pinkie's eyes brightened, and she sat up. Her face was flat but mottled with energy, the kind of face she made when she wasn't sure whether she should be elated or upset.

"But next time," he said tentatively, "I think we should go out."

The baker nodded wordlessly, her mouth slightly open. He was right. The Cakes would be back next week, and they'd never allow her to close the Corner as long as they were in town.

"What should I wear?" she asked, leaning back slowly and smoothing the wrinkles on her dress.

Spike smiled, leaning up and hugging her around the waist. "Anything."

Applejack stretched her sore muscles against the chilled grass of the hill she rested on. The protruding root of an overhanging apple tree nested under her back, scratching her body and providing a sense of dull comfort. The sound and smell of the local nightlife, the rustling of her trees set her wearied mind at ease.

"I needed this," she sighed, rolling her shoulders and tightening her grip on the bottle of hard cider in her right hand. "Thanks, Rainbow."

Rainbow Dash lay somewhere off to her friend's side, arms crossed behind her head as she rested against the trunk of the tree. "Yeah, well," she said, scratching the side of her nose, "it's a good thing you left when you did. Missed some good drama yesterday."

The farmer turned her head, looking up at her friend. "How do ya mean?"

"We volunteered to help Pinkie out after she won the wager, and man, she put us to work."

Applejack looked back down, straightening her head. "Oh."

"Yeah man," Dash continued, determined to power through her friend's depression, "she gave this whole spiel about how 'the odds are against us' and how 'we need to band together' so we can get dates, or whatever."

"An' y'all fell for it?" Applejack asked, smiling slightly in amusement. She brushed her hair behind an ear.

"Hey, we had already agreed to help," Dash said, holding up her hands in a gesture of defense. "Pinkie's just always been the zealous type, y'know."

"Heh. Yeah, I know," Applejack said, taking a sip of her cider and laying back to look at the night sky.

"Rarity must've been right," Dash said, crossing one leg over the other. "Pinkie's totally an actress."

Applejack raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"Nothing," Dash said, waving a hand at her curious friend. "Rarity and I just had this bet going about Pinkie in high school. I said she was a band geek, and Rare's said that she was a 'thespian', s'all."

The farmer now turned on her side, one hand on her hip as she gave Dash her full attention. "Well in that case, I'll be happy t' tell ya that you're both wrong. Pinkie weren't in no band, and she sure weren't no actress, neither."

Rainbow Dash looked skeptical. "But Rarity—"

"Did not go to high school in Ponyville. She wouldn't have it. She had her parents send her to some finishing school out east, since they wouldn't send her to Canterlot."

The athlete blinked. "Huh. Did you go to school with Pinkie then?"

"I sure did."

"Well then stop holding out on me," Dash said, irritated. "What was she?"

"Have you ever met the girl?" Applejack snorted. "That much should be obvious."

"Yo."

Pinkie looked up from the assortment of paper sacks she had been carrying into the castle. A crest of green hair poked above a blurry mountain range of brown.

Smiling eagerly, if not tiredly, she set her bags down just inside the side door before turning to greet him. "Hey, boyfriend!" she squealed, leaping dead at his chest, only for him to catch her out of midair. She was glad he was the one to answer the door, and was immediately grateful that Twilight couldn't read minds. Not from so far away, at least, Pinkie was sure.

"How was your day?" he asked, holding her closer with one arm, light as she was, as he carried them into the side entrance and closed the door behind them. With his free hand he snagged several of the bags before they were forgotten completely.

"Looooong!" Pinkie groaned, wrapping her arms around her partner's neck—his strong neck, she confirmed with loving fingers—and allowing herself to be a passenger on his body. His strength was a turn-on, which had surprised Pinkie when she'd discovered it's appeal. "I've been getting everything ready for the party next week..."

It's already been two months, Spike marveled to himself.

As Pinkie went into her usual regurgitation of the day's events, Spike listened attentively as he maneuvered them through the castle, making sure to ask questions every now and then to make it clear he was listening. Upon reaching the kitchen, he set her groceries down before fully embracing her in a bridal-carry.

"...and now I'm out forty bits cause of the hush money, Rarity still won't talk to me, and now I'm all sore and gross."

She was partially right, Spike thought to himself. The smell of sweat had collected under her white hoodie and baseball cap, and her black leggings and tennis shoes, speckled with dirt, were in need of washing.

The hoodie was his, he had realized; it even still had some of his smell on it. The sight of Pinkie wearing it delighted him, as if it was a manifestation of their relationship, a real-world fact of their togetherness. It was also really hot, but Spike would never mention it to her, as Pinkie would've just capitalized on it to break his resolve. He liked her dogged attempts to wear down his defenses as well, to an extent.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Spike said with a commiserating frown. "Are you done for the day?"

Pinkie shrugged, resting her head against her boyfriend's bicep. "I guess I am, yeah." She suddenly looked up, her face alight with excitement. "Why, do you have something planned? A lil' Spike Time?" she suggested, waggling her eyebrows.

"Something like that," Spike laughed, his voice carrying just a trill of nervousness.

Pinkie continued to look up at him in silence, before blinking and looking around. "Where are we going?"

They were headed up the stairs now, going by the gentle nudges of Spike's thighs against Pinkie's back. She recognized that door with the starburst—Twilight's room, which meant—

Pinkie gasped, pulling herself up by Spike's shoulders and grinning. "Where are you taking me?"

Before answering, Spike stopped before a door, pushing it in gently with his foot. "I saw you coming towards the castle," he said softly, his voice sounding shy. "And I figured, y'know, since Twilight isn't home..."

"Uh huh?" Pinkie asked, turning her head this way and that to survey her new surroundings. She recognized it now: it was definitely Spike's bedroom. Beyond that, she couldn't see much.

Spike set her down on a bench just outside the room, Pinkie crawling backwards by her elbows shortly after. He reached towards her legs and Pinkie's heart nearly skipped a beat or two, only for her to realize that he was taking off her shoes. "I figured you've been busy lately, since we haven't really seen much of each, y'know?"

"Uh huh," Pinkie repeated, feeling slightly guilty as she tried to remember the last time they'd spent a day together. It was nearly two weeks ago, she recalled; they'd gone on a picnic at the highest hill of Whitetail Woods. It was Spike's idea, saying that he wanted to go before the Running of the Leaves brought about the end of autumn.

There were so many times when she had just wanted to grab him by the arm and go mouth-spelunking, but even now their relationship was new, and Pinkie had been terrified at the thought of driving him away. He had looked so handsome that day, Pinkie recalled. She must have brushed her hair so nervously, criss-crossed her legs so many times that anyone who had seen her would've thought she was neurotic.

At the remembrance of how self-satisfied she had felt, just being able to get out and breathe, to have Spike all to herself for a day, Pinkie wished not for the first time that she wasn't always in high demand by other people.

But that was the cost of having friends, she would remind herself. Someone who loved you would always feel entitled to a bit of your time, and if you wanted to keep them, you would have to honor that entitlement. It was, Pinkie thought, one of the few drawbacks of being close with nearly everyone in town.

"So," Spike said, rubbing his hands together nervously, only able to look Pinkie in the eye every few seconds before sheepishly glancing away, "I, uh, I thought...now that you have some free time, that is..."

The only thing keeping Pinkie from gushing about how cute her boyfriend was being, was the certain knowledge that doing so would turn him off and ruin any chances of boinkage that she had going for her.

Boinkage, she thought to herself, that's a good word.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked coyly, batting her eyes slowly. Her hand rose to meet his, and he intertwined his fingers with hers almost instantly.

"I...wanted to surprise you," Spike said, smiling weakly as he got up from the bench and went to the far end of the room. He leaned against the wall, his arms clasped behind his back.

Pinkie had been upset when he hadn't joined her in sitting down, but now her interest was piqued. "What is it?"

"Come here and find out," he taunted, grinning through his skittishness. "But close the door first."

She obliged, getting up and following him into the room, and hearing the door click as she closed it with her hips. Her lips curved into a curious smirk, her head cocked as she approached him.

Pinkie reached out to touch his chest, only for Spike to catch her by the wrist. She blinked at him, unable to see anything but the outline of his body, by way of the dimmed light of the blinds. Beyond that glow, the room was enveloped in consummate darkness.

"I'm sorry," Spike said in a mock-apologetic voice, "did you want something?"

"Some thing," Pinkie said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. Her leg pressed forward, nudging against her partner's arousal. Her breathing quickened.

Is this really happening?

There were hands on her hips, pushing Pinkie backwards, backwards, until the backs of her thighs touched a soft edge. It was a mattress, she realized with a thrill.

Yes, Pinkie thought to herself, yes God yes fuck yes oh yes, we are cleared for take off. Without a word, she scooted backwards on the bed to make room. To her delight, Spike joined her shortly afterwards. His hand landed on her thigh, and her clothing was so thin that Pinkie could practically feel the ridges of his thumb in her flesh. Oh wow that feels nice.

Her boyfriend closed in on her now, Spike's arms brushing against both of her knees, his stomach unbearably close to her groin. His mouth was over her shoulder now, and Pinkie deftly whipped off her—his—hoodie, throwing it off so she could feel his breath on her skin, until only a bright pink tank top remained. He exhaled just in time—Fuck yes, I can feel that, come on—his breath bidding a valley of goosebumps to rise. Pinkie shivered, feeling her muscles flush cold and electric with anticipation.

As he grew more confident, Spike's mouth grazed Pinkie's neck, traveling with tortuous lethargy over her clavicle and clear to her shoulder. Pinkie groaned, barely able to contain herself.

That's fine, it's fine, we've got all night, we can take it slow, it's fine

"Did you say something?" Spike asked lowly. His left hand drifted dangerously close to Pinkie's inner thigh.

Gotta go FAST

"Mmm mmm," she said, shaking her head with lips tucked in.

"Pinkie?"

She opened her eyes—she had closed them to heighten the impact, it seemed. "Yeah?"

Spike's eyes penetrated the darkness, brilliant green orbs both mercurial and resolute in purpose. They did that thing where they turned eerily pale and slitted—though Pinkie preferred him to look predatory, it was such a welcome change of pace.

"You don't have to hold back, you know." He rested his head on her chest, maintaining his gaze while doing so. "It's just you and me."

Spike kissed her neck once, twice, feeling the tendons shift and the sour salt of dried sweat press against his lips. Pinkie shuddered, but her face remained stubbornly patient, betrayed only by her frazzled hair and flushed skin.

"How long do we have?" she asked, her voice unnaturally composed.

"Tomorrow morning," he said, his face just south of her jaw. "Why?"

Pinkie swallowed, hoping she wouldn't stumble over her own words. "I want to stay like this for as long as possible," she said carefully. Her hands, which had laid off to the side, unused, now roamed up her lover's back and rested at the base of his neck.

Spike sat up, his torso hovering over his partner's and casting shadows over her face. "You're acting awfully shy."

The baker said nothing, but her hands retreated to his sides. Her mouth a flat line, she looked off in the distance at nothing.

Frowning, Spike leaned closer. "Hey, come on. Tell me what's up." His hand brushed the hair from her face. When she was still silent, Spike pinched her cheeks. "You told me you'd be honest with me. We Pinkie Promised, remember?"

"No, we didn't," Pinkie said, her face hardening. "I don't do that anymore."

This caught Spike off-guard, though he supposed she was right. "Why not?"

"I'm not a little girl," she said, in a tone that seemed to scream 'This-conversation-is-over.' "I shake hands now."

To this, Spike said nothing, instead choosing to let the moment pass. After a time, he descended again, planting a kiss onto her lips.

Pinkie remained firm, her face still angled away from her boyfriend's.

Spike wasn't discouraged, however; she was still pinned beneath him, and he knew that as a partner, Pinkie could only go so long before she cracked. Besides, he thought to himself, I've got time on my side.

"You still promised," he finally said, punctuating his statement with another kiss. He continued to pepper her face, until her lips started to soften and a giggle escaped her mouth.

"I'm not telling," she protested, pushing halfheartedly against her lover's chest. She continued to speak, but Spike's lips caught hers in the middle of forming a word, and Pinkie decided that talking wasn't that important anyway.

He tugged and massaged both of her lips with his, twisting his head to enter her mouth as deeply as possible. Spike had gotten better with practice; he still had a ways to go, sure, but Pinkie was glad she didn't have to lead him when kissing anymore. He was the type who you had to keep an eye on, Pinkie had learned early on: as part-dragon, Spike's tongue was thinner than normal, but longer and more flexible as well. He would dance about her mouth in a playful manner, batting her tongue with his, before distracting her with his hands so that he could gain control.

True to form, Spike was keeping busy. While he was still deep in their kiss, he ground his crotch against hers, the heat and shape of his erection hitting a particularly weak spot through Pinkie's leggings. She made a high-pitched sound in the confines of their mouths, and not for the first time was Pinkie glad that she was smaller than her boyfriend. She returned his thrust, hooking her feet around his calves as she did so.

Breaking the kiss, Spike lifted himself above his partner. He took several moments to gather his breath, before smiling crookedly. "Ready to talk yet?"

Breathing heavily, Pinkie slammed her head back into the pillows. Her chest heaved, her hands still clasped around Spike's torso. "It's just..." she stopped, still recovering, "it's really, really embarrassing to say out loud."

"Really?" Spike asked, head cocked. "I figured you'd be all over dirty talk."

Pinkie raised an eyebrow, chest still heaving and face still flushed. "You think about bedding me often?" she teased.

"More than you know," he admitted, hands roaming the sides of her stomach and tugging up her tank top. "You weren't like this last time."

"I wasn't sober last time," she reminded him.

"True," he said. His hand rested on her bare stomach, just inside her shirt. "So tell me how to bed you."

Fuck, Pinkie cursed inside of her mind, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. She knew Spike was stubborn enough to wait on an answer, and he had the advantage of being able to go much longer without giving in than her. Resisting would only waste the time they had together.

This is going to suck.

"I want you to kiss my neck, uh...ne-near the back," she said, her voice shaking. She felt stupid, but it was better to just get the awkward part over with. "And on my collarbone, too."

Spike blinked slowly, his face unchanging. "And?"

"Spike, come on—"

"And?"

She exhaled, frustrated and embarrassed, glancing off to the side. "And...and I want you to run your fingers in my hair, and, y'know...grab me, like, really rough."

He blinked, confused. "Grab you?"

"Grab," Pinkie confirmed, her face a firestorm of red. She moved her hands in front of Spike's face and made a clamping motion. "Grope."

The confusion washed from Spike's face as amusement took it's place. "Okay, then," he said, moving closer. "Anything else?"

"If your dick comes within a foot of my mouth," she breathed, "I can't promise that it'll stay dry."

Spike snorted, smiling. "I'll try not to do any handstands."

Pinkie's eyes flashed bright blue, and she sat up in bed, looking daring. "What do you know about handstands?"

"Huh?"

Twilight Sparkle looked up from her lounge chair, her book lowered to her navel.

"You heard me," Spike said, laying upside down on his favorite love seat, his face buried in one of his vintage graphic novels.

On that chilled Sunday morning, they were in one of the castle's many living rooms—this one was their favorite, as it was only a short distance from the kitchen and had a cozy, closed off design that served to sequester its inhabitants from most of the outside world.

Each wall was set with tiger's eye, as opposed to the traditional blue and purple crystal of the rest of the tower, lending the room a sense of innate warmth and safety. Bookshelves lined the perimeter, broken up only by the odd window or furniture.

Spike had fond memories of this room. The chair Twilight sat in? Three years ago—or was it four?—he had sat in that very chair with Rarity, one of the few times he'd taken part in one of Twilight's sleepovers. That had been the first time that their legs had touched and she hadn't pulled away from him. She had fallen asleep some time after, and had laid her head on his shoulder.

He hadn't moved a hair for the rest of that night.

The memory had been one of his favorites, a treasure that he had locked away in his mind and had paddled back to when his life seemed sour. At times he would loathe himself for fawning over a meaningless gesture from a woman like Rarity, but there would come moments, begrudging and huffy, where he marveled at the simple fact that being in love, reciprocated or not, could make you feel so good.

The young man sighed the thoughts away, the push of the air through his nostrils helping to clear his head before those old thoughts could get that damned fire in his stomach going again.

Things were different now. More so than he could ever have imagined, were they different.

"She used to be a cheerleader," Spike said, taking a moment to wipe the moisture of his breath from his novel. "Brought out the old uniform and everything."

He couldn't see Twilight's face, but he could imagine the scrunch in it just from the inflection of her voice. "Did it still fit?"

His grin was every bit in his voice as he lowered his book and crossed his arms. "You don't want me to answer that question."

A pause, followed by a rustling of sheaves. "You're right, I don't," Twilight said. "I still can't believe you two are together."

Spike said nothing at first, but moved his arms over his stomach and peered up at the ceiling. "It's strange, isn't it?"

Twilight made a sound of affirmation and went back to reading.

For a time, the two remained in contented silence, save for the turning of pages and clearing of throats. Eventually, however, Twilight broke the quiet. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Better than anyone I know," Spike droned. He waved his hand at Twilight to continue.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she wondered how to phrase her question. "I don't mean this in a negative way—"

Spike rolled his eyes under the cover of his book, knowing that now he could only take it in a negative way.

"—but...what do you see in her?"

He knew the answer immediately, but not how to word it. Spike laid his book off to the side and crossed his arms. "It's like...with everything she does, I feel...bigger."

Twilight looked closely at Spike, studying him. "How do you mean?"

Spike shrugged, looking at the ceiling as he pieced together his thoughts. "I guess, normally, people say that they love each other, or get each other gifts, or whatever." He scoffed. "But it's like none of that matters, because it's so obvious. In everything that she does. The little stuff." He looked at Twilight. "Like, I'll just have a crappy day, y'know, and she knows to hold off at first, and when I'm ready to talk or whatever, she'll just know and be right there. Or, she'll send me a note in an envelope with hearts and glitter and crap on it, and list off all the things she likes about me, that I don't like about me."

Twilight shrugged. That sounded like Pinkie. "Like what?"

Spike chuckled. "She said that I have a sexy laugh."

Scrunching her nose, Twilight decided to let the comment slide. It was weird enough thinking of any of her friends as sexual, and it was certainly confusing in a bad way to consider Spike as the same. But the two, together? Twilight could only rationalize on a purely objective level that the whole thing was a big, uncomfortable jumble of jealousy, disgust, uncertainty, and reluctance, and not for the first time did she wish that that damned sleepover had never happened.

At least she's doing right by him, Twilight grudgingly thought to herself.

"And, I dunno," Spike said, tightening his arms over his chest in a sort of self-embrace, "whenever we kiss it feels like she's gonna make me pregnant or something."

Eyes clenched shut, Twilight stretched a strained hand out, breathed carefully, and slowly brought it back to herself. It isn't worth it, it isn't worth it, it isn't worth it...

After that first dinner so many Sundays ago, the two hadn't seen each much of other except in the sporadic bursts that some called 'dates'. Their schedules served only to keep them out of sync, and Spike realized for the first time how little he saw of Pinkie—his girlfriend, he thought in a daze—except for when the odd crisis came along.

But when there was time, it was as if sometimes their dialogue was a clever performance, and the script was laid out before him. To reach the foregone conclusion, each word was an obvious step, a checkpoint where his tongue was the steward of his fate. He would make a comment, something lame a teenager would say about how orgasms were shown to reduce headaches, and Pinkie, at once the more experienced adult, would catch his drift and take them the rest of the way. It was an interesting dynamic to him.

Of course, he had restrained himself that night, and many others like it, but it was a lesson that he seemed to keep having to learn: freedom could at once be terrifying and fantastic, and Pinkamena Diane Pie was as free an agent as Spike believed he would ever encounter.

A thought came to Spike's mind, causing him to sit up in his seat—as much as he could do while upside down. "When's the party?" He hadn't specified which party, of course, but he knew Twilight would understand.

"At the end of the month," Twilight clarified, shifting a leg. The motion drew Spike's eyes lower than he would have preferred, but then, such thoughts were bothering him less and less all the time.

Twilight had followed his gaze, the movement of her eyes obscured by her hair, and felt a conflict brewing in her chest. A stubborn it-wouldn't-have-worked-anyway kind of feeling tried to emerge, but she quashed it before it could gain traction.

"Who's the guest of honor?" Spike asked.

She was surprised that he knew about that part of the agreement, but reasoned that there was no reason for Pinkie not to tell him. She scratched the itch immediately above her chest, but remembered where she was and stopped.

"You don't want me to answer that question," she concluded, sighing heavily and resisting the urge to draw any more attention to her body by brushing her tangled hair.

To her credit, though, she hadn't been lying.

Pinkie blinked, and it was as if she had suddenly lost a week of time.

She glanced down at herself. On her chest was a bright purple mini dress, while her legs were clothed in striped neon green leggings. It was a hideous outfit, of course, but that had been the joke, she remembered. Only a person like her could make ugly work, and it helped that her zany ensemble resembled her boyfriend's.

Looking up, Pinkie caught a flash of the man himself; Spike laughed as he leaned against a stairwell, her stairwell.

They were at the party, she reminded herself, her housewarming party. A good portion of Ponyville had turned out, as evidenced by the flood of people spilling out of her small home.

To complete their little joke, Spike had worn a bright pink shirt with three balloons as the emblem. Someone with his hair and eye color should never have been able to look good in her shade of pink, but he could pull it off. Could he pull it off, Pinkie thought to herself, glad that the shirt was a size too small.

We should pull it off, she mused, leaning against the doorway and jumping headfirst into her tunnel vision for him. Their outfits were a visual clue, Pinkie remembered, the realization creeping up on her from who-knows-where. The ones who didn't know she was with Spike would piece things together by their clothing. For the denser ones, she'd have to kiss him to get the point across.

She would be very glad to be kissing him again, Pinkie thought warmly, her arms in a mock-hug around her waist. Only, he was on the far side of the room, and here she was in the kitchen, having retreated to 'recharge her batteries.' Just saying aloud that had raised more than a few eyebrows, and Pinkie had felt so many eyes on her back that she could've sworn there should've been a smoldering hole in her clothes.

The questions would start as soon as she left the kitchen, she knew. And as much as Pinkie loved just about everyone in town—which was a lot—she was a hop, skip, and a jump from saying Fuck It All and sending everyone home early. She wouldn't, of course—she couldn't. There were rules to these sorts of things that even she had to obey: Twilights were smart, Rarities were pretty, and dammit, Pinkie Pies were social.

She never would have planned a party of this size if she could've helped it, but the whole matter had come about because of the special guest Twilight had requested. Her visitor was just too important for Pinkie to not let her party muscle twitch, and it wouldn't have been acceptable for her to move to a new house after so many years of living with the Cakes and not celebrate.

And then there was the matter of the guest themselves...

Pinkie was a hard person to surprise most days, but Twilight had thrown her for a loop with the request. It hadn't been hard requesting their presence—calling in favors had a wonderful way of getting people to make good on old promises. But Pinkie could only guess at what Twilight hoped to gain by meeting such a person.

I should go check on them, just in case, Pinkie thought to herself.

She set her feet into the ground and focused on breathing to stabilize herself. I can do this, it's just for the night, I can do this, I'm me. It was easier to move, now that she could assign purpose to her actions. Darting back into the kitchen, she grabbed a cupcake from a glass case and bit into it, making sure to leave a smidge of icing on her cheek. That would keep people from looking too closely at her—sneaking off to stuff her face with sweets, just Pinkie being Pinkie, after all.

Pinkie made her way across the living room floor, trading Hiya's and Hope You're Having a Blast's with every person that she came across. There was Cheerilee on the couch with Apple Bloom and her brother, Fluttershy and the Cakes off to the side, Zipporwhill looking somewhat sour with a party drink in her hand, her father's arm around her shoulders like an oblivious Anti-Boy Repellent...

"Hey," Spike said, smiling with contained excitement as Pinkie reached him. He had been talking to another boy, Rumble. "You've got something on your face," he noted as she sidled up to him.

"Can you get it for me?" she asked sweetly, hands crossed behind her back as she stood on her toes to reach him. Spike tugged on her shoulder, pressing his lips against her cheek. Her skin tingled where his tongue brushed against it, and Pinkie suppressed a giggle as she felt her toes wriggle in her sneakers at the sensation. Someone made a cheering noise in the background din of the festivities.

"Oh!" Rumble said, eyes widening at the sight. "You two are dating?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Nah, I just needed a partner to start my career in competitive fisting."

"You know, you can be really hurtful sometimes."

Laughing, Pinkie returned the kiss on her partner's jaw, before lowering herself. She made to retreat, but Spike took her firmly by the shoulder and pulled her closer, until his lips hovered just above her ear. "What time does the party end?"

Pinkie blinked in confusion, having been led to believe that her partner had been enjoying himself. "Probably around midnight. Why?"

Spike smiled crookedly into her hair. "You still haven't shown me your room yet."

Pinkie cocked her head. "Well, I mean there's not much in there besides boxes and stuff."

He winced. "No, I mean that, y'know, you haven't given me a tour yet." Spike shifted on his legs, becoming nervous. "In private."

"There's only two floors, Spike," Pinkie said, laughing and rolling her eyes. "Just turn in a circle and you've seen most of it."

Spike didn't respond, his cheeks blaring red as he stared at Pinkie with incredulity. Pinkie, face all but a blank smile, returned his gaze happily, until she felt a buzzing sensation at her side. Pulling up her phone, she squinted at the scrawl of text that appeared on her screen. "'He's trying to give you the D, you moron'..." she read to herself.

Pinkie looked up to the midway landing of her staircase, and sure enough, there was Rainbow Dash, phone in hand, staring at her angrily.

Huffing, Pinkie turned back to her phone, muttering to herself as she typed out her response. "'What...is...a...D?" A pause. "'Love...you...too...kissy face..." She rocked back and forth on her feet, humming to herself as she waited. "Having a good time?" she asked Rumble.

"Oh yeah, it's a, uh, great party." Rumble said, awkwardly holding his drink to his chest. Spike stood next to him, still quiet.

Another buzz. "'D stands for dick, he's trying to'—'" Pinkie gasped in realization, holding a hand up to her mouth. Spike groaned audibly as he rammed his head into the counter behind him. "Ooohh, I get it now." She turned to wave at Dash in gratitude, before focusing on a new message. "'Stop reading my texts out loud you dumb bitch, he can hear y—', whoops!"

Pinkie wheeled around, rubbing her shoulder as she laughed. "Sorry about that!" She turned to Spike. "So—"

"I'm going out for some air," he said, face still red as he shuffled towards the screen door at the back of the room.

"Don't wander off too far, now!" she called, waving beatifically at her boyfriend. She jumped towards the stairs, feeling more refreshed than she had in hours, and made to go check on her two friends in the bedroom, as she had originally intended.

"What the fuck was that?" Rainbow Dash asked when her friend approached. "He was practically handing you the dick on a silver platter!"

"Okay, first," Pinkie said, counting out on a finger, "that's yucky. And two, I was distracted. There's kind of a lot going on, Dashie," she said, rolling her eyes.

Dash groaned, running both hands through her hair. "That was a clear-for-take-off kind of hint, Pinkie. What, does he usually not come on to you or something?"

Pinkie shook her head. "Nope. He likes it when I convince him."

Dash felt herself grow both disgusted and interested at the same time. "So, what, he's the bottom?"

Her nose scrunched. "How should I know? We haven't had sex yet."

A blink. "Really?"

"Yeah really."

Dash looked genuinely stumped. "Did you forget how?"

Twilight eased into her seat, smoothing the skirt of her short black dress as she did so. A spread of blank sheets lay atop the table she sat at, while her guest took up the edge of Pinkie's mattress. "Are you comfortable?" Twilight asked, crossing one leg over the other.

"Bed's too soft," she said, frowning as she felt the fabric under her thighs. She blew her hair out of her face as she settled in. "Whatever, it's fine. Let's just get this started already."

"Sure thing," Twilight said, clearing her throat as she took hold of a clipboard and pen. "Now, what can you tell me about your sister?"

Limestone Pie scrunched her nose. "What's there to tell? You've been her friend pretty much half her life now." She leaned back on the bed. "'sides, me and Pinkie don't really talk."

Twilight frowned. The question hadn't been answered, though she made sure to note her guest's comments all the same. "But as part of her family, you have to have some insight that others don't?"

A snort. "Why does it matter?"

"I just want to know more about her."

The oldest and most aggressive of Pinkie's sisters, Limestone Pie hadn't been easy to convince to visit Ponyville—at least, that's what Twilight had been told. The gray-haired woman had never been keen on being away from the family farm for long, but somehow, Pinkie had managed it.

She wore a Gothic Lolita dress—or the remains of one, anyway. The skirt and sleeves had been hacked away, until only the black bodice and ruffles remained. Black songstress shorts adorned her narrow hips, while plain grey boots covered her feet.

Twilight had been surprised when she had met Limestone earlier that night. She looked good for a woman who rarely left the house—her body was hard and toned where Pinkie's was soft and curved—but if it hadn't been for the facial similarities, Twilight might never have guessed that the two women were related.

That's an interesting point, Twilight thought to herself as she marked a new section on her sheet, "OPPOSITES". "Would you say that you and Pinkie are opposites of each other?"

"Nope," Limestone replied, falling back on the bed and crossing her arms behind her reclining head. "I can see why you'd think that, but it's no different than thinking the rest of us are opposites."

She's got amazing tits, the Princess noted, looking over the form of the resting woman. "How do you mean?"

Limestone's leg bobbed. "Like, Pinkie and I are both passionate, right? Maud and Marb aren't." She looked at Twilight. "Course, that's not saying much. If you look close enough, Pinkie looks like the opposite to everyone." Limestone shrugged. "She's just different that way."

Twilight pondered that. Was it true?

She's the Type A to my Type B, and double that for Fluttershy, she rationalized. Carefree to Applejack's hardworking...immature to Rarity's adult nature...and girly to Dash's tomboyishness...

But then, could I say that about all of us? It was an interesting way of seeing the world, Limestone's thoughts, but how could it help her to foster a deeper understanding of Pinkie?

"Do you like Pinkie?" she asked. Maybe she would stumble onto a good question eventually.

"Not really," Limestone replied bluntly. "I'm probably the only person alive who doesn't get along with her."

"Why do you think that is?" Twilight inquired, her voice soft. Coming from the background that she did, she couldn't imagine having a poor relationship with a sibling, even if it was with a person like Limestone.

"I don't hate the woman," the rock farmer said. "Matter of fact, I love her something fierce. Can't stand being around her, 's'all."

"But why?" Twilight pressed. "Did you used to fight when you were kids?"

Limestone laughed as if she had been reminded of an old joke. "Oh yeah. She was always being too damn happy, and she'd get on my case about yelling at everyone too much." She chuckled fondly. "We'd get into it alright, but it usually didn't get past screaming at each other. When it got physical, Maud would have to break us up."

"Your parents wouldn't intervene?"

"Nope. Mom and Dad didn't care much, since they knew we wouldn't go too far. 'Sides, they knew that you need to know what a good ass-kicking is like, so you don't get too cocky."

Amused, Twilight grinned at the thought of a young Pinkie Pie in a fight. "I take it you usually won?"

Limestone sat up, smirking. "You bet your ass I did, Your Majesty. Pinkie's never been strong like the rest of us. She had to make do with being clever."

Twilight's eyes gleamed as a spark of understanding raced through her mind. "Would you say that you two handled stress differently?"

A pause. "Yeah, you could say that. I buried myself in my work, she buried herself in other people."

"But how did that work?" she pressed, brow furrowed. "From what I understand, your family life wasn't exactly conducive to healthy social growth. No offense," she added hastily.

"None taken," Limestone replied. "None of us really cared about talking to each other, cause we didn't need to. Everything was understood."

"Except Pinkie didn't understand."

"Oh, she understood alright," Limestone corrected her. "She just liked talking for the sake of talking. Got to be that Maud and Marb would just ignore her when she got on their nerves. Mom and Dad weren't exactly talkative, either." She shrugged. "She'd rather fight with me than be alone."

Terrible. "Interesting," Twilight murmured, making notes on her board and feeling the pieces fall in place. "How would you say that affected the two of you?"

"I'm not really good with other people, but I've mastered the art of knowing myself." She shrugged. "I'd say the opposite is true for Pinkie. Hates being all lonesome with her thoughts and whatnot."

"She doesn't seem like the introspective sort," Twilight hesitantly agreed.

"You have no idea. You should've seen how long it took her to get a boyfriend."

This threw Twilight off-guard. "What do you mean?"

Smirking, Limestone sat up fully, her hands resting between her legs. "Me and Maud had already gotten ours a few years before. But Pinkamena Diane Pie, cheerleader and socialite extraordinaire, didn't start dating until her last year of high school."

"Why?"

"No self-confidence."

Twilight was shocked, her eyes as wide as golf balls. "Color me surprised." She chuckled. "Well, better late than never, right?"

Limestone whistled. "Right, I saw her guy earlier tonight."

The Princess couldn't help herself. "What did you think?"

The older woman chuckled. "He's a little young, but I go for asses, so, y'know," she gave a thumbs up, "kudos to her."

Spike sneezed.

"Bless you, delicious!" Pinkie chirped, still holding her boyfriend by the hand as she led him along.

"Thanks," Spike said, wiping his mouth. "Where are you taking me?"

The baker giggled. "Well, the bedroom's taken, so we're just moseying over somewhere else. Somewhere cozy." She led him up the stairs, kicked the door open, and stormed in. Twilight looked up, along with a woman whose face looked familiar and yet alien to Spike.

"Can we help you?" Twilight asked, an eyebrow raised at the sudden intrusion. The woman on the bed looked irritated at Pinkie, but said nothing. She brushed her hair out of her face and shifted her legs.

"So kind of you to ask!" Pinkie said, smiling. Her eyes landed on the woman. "Oh yeah, Spike, meet my sister, Limey."

"Limestone."

"Limey—"

"Limestone!"

"—meet Spike. "

"Pleasure to meet you," Spike said, smiling honestly.

"Likewise," she said, looking away from his face.

"Well now, that was pleasant," Pinkie said, turning back to Twilight. "How are you two doing?"

Twilight beamed. "Well, since you asked, I'm learning a lot—"

"Well now, that was pleasant," Pinkie said, smiling. "Can you soundproof the bathroom?"

The others stared at her in confusion. "Why?" Twilight asked. "You can just turn the fan on if you need to use it."

Limestone's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh dude, gross." She got up from her seat and easily pulled Twilight from hers. "Come on, let's just do this in the kitchen."

"Thanks so much!" Pinkie said, joining Limestone in pushing a still-confused Twilight from the room. She slapped her sister on the rear as soon as she crossed the threshold.

"Hey!"

Pinkie slammed the door shut and yelled, "I love you your favorite beer is in the fridge!"

"Thank you!" came the muffled voice. Soon after, two sets of footsteps could be heard padding down the stairs.

Pinkie sighed in relief as she leaned against the door. "I thought they'd never leave."

"You were going to do it in the bathroom?" Spike asked incredulously.

"Of course not," the hostess said, sashaying away from the door and towards her boyfriend. "I just said that to get them moving." Standing on the tips of her toes, Pinkie still only came up to Spike's collarbone—not that she minded in the least. "Are you sure that you want this?" she asked softly, her hands meshing with his. She blinked up at him, her face the personification of patience.

"I'm sure," Spike answered. He kissed her on the forehead, a gesture which he knew would be the last innocent thing he did for the rest of the night.

Pinkie said nothing, but closed the space between them and went for the jugular. Chest to stomach, she pushed him backwards insistently, her tongue and mouth caressing his neck, her hands holding his off to either side.

Spike's legs buckled when Pinkie firmly pushed him against the edge of the mattress. Sitting down, he came level to her chest.

"Lose the shirt," Pinkie said, sounding pained.

"Lose yours," Spike countered, breathing heavily.

Grinning, Pinkie retreated momentarily, before hooking her fingers around the hem of her mini dress and lifted it upwards. Spike inhaled sharply; she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Happy?" she asked flirtatiously, looping one hand behind her head and placing the other on her waist. She wore only her striped neon green leggings now, which Spike found to look far more enticing than if she had been naked. Her breasts were a decent size—wide and full, if not overly large. Her endowments suited her narrow frame perfectly.

As beautiful as Pinkie was above the waist, though, everything from her hips down always managed to drive Spike wild. The leggings fit her like a second skin, and she was barefoot to boot—

"Happy," Spike breathed. This was it. This was worth the wait.

He seized her by the waist—Pinkie had tried to dance out of his grasp, as he hadn't undressed yet, but Spike was having none of it. He hauled her into his lap, followed by her legs encircling his waist, as was her muscles's memory.

Growling cutely, Pinkie kissed her partner's earlobe. "It's your turn." She tore his shirt off so that they were similarly disrobed, and ground her chest against his. Their sighs shook out in waves of body-wracking shivers. Spike pinched at Pinkie's rear through her clothing, spreading her and holding as much of it as possible in both hands. There wasn't a part of her body that wasn't pliable, a fact he had come to love about her.

Sweat like dew pooled on their skin, freezing their backs and melting their chests where they met each other. A feeling of awful steam gathered in Spike's pants, the sort of clammy heat that gathered when he was aroused—the sort of heat that was becoming more familiar all the time.

As if she were psychic, Pinkie dismounted from Spike's waist, shuffling off of the bed and coming to a kneeling stop in front of a friendly little zipper. Wetting her lips, she bit down on the sliver of metal, dragging it down, down, until it could go no further. Pinkie brushed her nose against the fabric of Spike's black boxer briefs; he smelled like a dash of cologne and soap, but the closer she got, the virility of his scent increased.

Pinkie shuddered. Getting a place of her own would be worth it just for this. With how much she planned to spoil Spike, he'd have to pay her rent for how long he'd spend with his dick next to her tonsils.

The din of the party thrummed below them like ripples through water, and Pinkie couldn't help but love the thrill of other people being so close to their lovemaking. The bodies nearest to their sweating, half-naked affair were nearly within earshot. A perverse streak galloped through her mind, and she wondered where Twilight would be when Pinkie took her assistant's virginity.

She smiled up at Spike as she caressed him through the cloth. "Make me a promise," she said, slipping a finger in through the opening of his briefs.

"What?" Spike asked, his voice becoming unstable. They'd never made contact in that regard before, but even that pressure he could weather, if Pinkie wouldn't keep looking at him like that while she did it. He never felt more vulnerable than when she looked into him, and as exciting as it was to be on the receiving end of her stare, he couldn't help but feel like he was at a disadvantage.

It had to be because no one knew people like Pinkie did, that she could shove her tongue down his throat with a smile, or so it felt. The understanding itself was uncanny, but coupled with her focus?

Well, she wasn't a telepath, Spike was reasonably sure...

"Promise me you'll put your hands on the bed, and that you won't stop me."

His eyes widened in surprise and conflict, his chest heaving. Pinkie's face remained the same, but her own gaze was telling. She could feel his uncertainty, his fear, his abject arousal and the hard-as-iron fact of his reluctance to trust her. "Okay," he acquiesced, laying on his back and allowing Pinkie to remove the remainder of his clothing. "Just don't hurt me."

Rising, she held his gaze, both her hands on his thighs as she straightened herself, unflinching. "I'll never hurt you."

The only sound from Spike was a chain of heavy breaths, so Pinkie squared her shoulders and prepared herself.

He was semi-erect when she grabbed him through the cloth—due to nervousness, Pinkie was sure—but his manhood pulsed almost violently as soon as she took hold of him. Pinkie let out the breath she had been holding.

It's so warm, she thought, gazing at his member as it swelled before her eyes. It was big—a decent girth, and slightly larger than average. It was wide near the bottom, but thinned slightly near the top, to a head that was more arrowheaded than curved. It was much softer than the rest of his body as well, though it was stubbornly firm in its current state.

Still, it was flexible, a fact for which she was grateful. He'd be easier to deepthroat, a realization that filled her chest with delightful fire.

Pinkie was too distracted by the appearance of her partner's member to pay much attention to his increasing distress. Is it too weird? he worried when she still hadn't said or done anything. Is it too small? It would be a terrible kind of irony, for Pinkie to make such an effort to get him in bed, only for her to end up disappointed by what she found. In a morbid way, Spike thought it was the only way things could go.

He made to sit up, before Pinkie's hand on his abdomen stopped him. "What's wrong?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Nothing's wrong," she reassured him, grabbing him by the base of his erection. "You have a beautiful body," Pinkie confessed, the beginnings of a joyful laugh at the back of her throat. She planted a full-lipped kiss on the tip of his penis to drive the message home.

"Oh," Spike said, vastly relieved. Sweat collected in his palms as he felt Pinkie moving between his legs, and itches like pin needles raced under his skin. Suddenly, something warm and wet caressed the underside of his dick, trailing a path upwards until it passed over the slit.

"Mmm."

Her lips passed over his tip, sealing him in the wet warmth of her mouth. Pinkie continued downwards, her tongue coaxing each vein of his manhood as she neared the base of his cock.

Spike writhed on the bed, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists on the bedsheets at the sensation. It felt so good, this intense, one-sided kissing, but there was no denying that it was indescribably strange as well. He gasped when he bottomed out inside of Pinkie's mouth—he could feel her breath near his bellybutton, her bottom row of teeth nearly grazing his scrotum.

She's really doing it, Spike thought to himself, staring at the ceiling and feeling incredibly stuck in the present. The seconds ticked on, and even as the sounds of the party below continued to thrum, he realized that he could hear Pinkie as she went down on him. Pinkie, he thought, and he felt how very strange it was that he had gone so long in the same room with her without hearing her voice. As strange as it was to him, he almost wanted to stop her so that she would start talking again.

"How long," he murmured to himself, placing both hands on his stomach and wanting to know just how long she had wanted to do this to him. Just then she pulled back, lifting her mouth and sliding back down with a low schlp. Spike winced at the jolt of pleasure, and almost thrust upwards out of instinct, but he had no leverage in his legs.

He wasn't sure what manner of instruments she had choked on to attain her skill, but he could tell that Pinkie was good—she hadn't used her hands once after she had taken all of him in her mouth, save for tugging at his sack to drain the last dregs of his control. You're putty, Spike could imagine her saying.

Pinkie took that moment to speed up, apparently, pulling her head up again in a gyrating motion, before plummeting back downwards. She repeated the motion, retreating with aching lethargy, before diving onto his cock with alarming gusto.

Spike gasped loudly, the sound sending a jolt of satisfaction through Pinkie's mind. Her hands hooked around his hips, gripping at his pelvis when Spike tried to pull himself backwards. Breathing heavily, she bottomed out again, tilting her head to lick at his balls with the tip of her tongue. She pinched the skin with her lips and drew it slightly inward.

"Pinkie!"

The baker stood up on both knees, shooting her partner a questioning, worried look while his member slid out of her mouth. "What?"

Spike's chest heaved, his face red and sweaty as he drew himself backwards. "I need to see you," he panted.

"Roger," Pinkie said, smiling happily and brushing her fraying hair behind her ear as she climbed up on the bed. "Are you enjoying it?" she asked eagerly.

He responded by grabbing her head and forcing her back down on his cock, which was probably the best compliment he could have given her.

Spike rested against the headboard of the bed, his hands deeply entwined in the deep tangled forest of her hair. He couldn't see her head as she worked on his, but the curls of her magnificent pink mane splashed against the bare skin of her back. Pinkie's legs, still adorned by her form-fitting leggings, pointed up, her bare feet skyward as she rested on her stomach. She was enjoying herself, Spike could tell, and that made him enjoy himself that much more.

His eyes fell on her perfect ass, still out of his reach, and Spike was filled with genuine excitement. He wanted to give back to her in the same way that she was giving to him. She deserved that and so much more, she'd been so good to him.

Pinkie's lips kissed his groin for the umpteenth time, and a slow, powerful feeling welled up in the bottom of Spike's stomach. His hands tightened around her head and he unintentionally held her there for longer than usual. He released her immediately when he realized his lapse, making to apologize when Pinkie came up coughing.

"You close?" she asked, her voice rough as she squinted up at him and wiped the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah," Spike said, his voice tinged with apology.

Pinkie leaned in and kissed him deeply. Spike returned the gesture eagerly, only recoiling when he realized how abnormally warm her mouth was and where it had just been.

"Now we're even," she snickered, before busting out laughing when Spike pushed her backwards in disgust. "I said we're even!" she screeched, holding her stomach as she rolled away from him, giggling.

"I'm gonna fuck you in the butt," Spike growled, grabbing her by the ankles and pulling her closer.

Pinkie's laughter deepened, shaking her chest as she allowed herself to be dragged on the bed. "That's not a threat if I'd like it," she replied. She hadn't actually tried it yet, but there was no point in ruining her mystique.

Spike dropped Pinkie's legs in surprise, eyes wide and heart hopeful. "I was kidding."

"I wasn't." Pinkie backed herself up until she was practically in her partner's lap. "You'll never be able to out-nasty me, Spike," she purred. "Maybe next time, though."

"Next time," he breathed. He genuinely didn't think he'd have much more to look forward to after sex with Pinkie other than more sex with Pinkie, but it seemed she was content to keep surprising him.

Pinkie lay on the bed, her hands on the bed as she stared back at him. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, now. We've still got a mountain to climb, buddy boy." Her hips gyrated slowly back and forth in invitation.

"Right...you are," Spike replied, feeling his nervousness give way to excitement. He forced his hands to stop shaking, reaching for Pinkie's pants and dragging them down to her knees.

He swallowed. She wasn't wearing underwear, of course. Spike's fingers sank into the globes of her rear, savoring the skin-to-skin contact for the first time as he spread her. His thumb ghosted over the small pink ring of her anus, before moving to prod at the bottom of her labia. Pinkie let out a held breath as she patiently let him explore her body in full, her arms stubbornly refusing to allow so much as a tremble to betray her excitement.

"Oh wow," Spike breathed, brushing his girlfriend's womanhood with the utmost curiosity. He gently pushed a finger into her—was that her vagina? It was lower down that he thought it would be, and so much smaller too. Pinkie writhed beneath him as his digits sank into her, so Spike supposed that he was right. "You're so...soggy."

He grunted as Pinkie planted her foot in his abdomen, which wasn't easy with a finger still inside her. "You suck at dirty talk."

"I can't help it," Spike protested, prodding her more insistently now and pinching at the bump that apparently drove women wild—she flinched and made a harsh noise. "It's like a big, comfy wrinkle."

Before Pinkie could smack him in the chest like he so rightly deserved, Spike removed his moistened finger, sliding his erection up and down the folds before him. Twin shivers ran down both spines at the sensation—Pinkie backed up almost without hesitation, head bowed and jaw ajar. "Is this how you wanna do it?" she asked in a shaky voice.

Spike increased his hold on his partner's hips, pulling her closer so that his dick rested an inch or so below her folds. "Kneeling fox," he panted, getting into a kneeling position.

Pinkie looked back at him, impressed by his knowledge. "Did you do your homework?"

"I did."

She smiled and brushed her hair forward, over her shoulder. "Alrighty then, cowboy." She allowed herself to be hoisted fully into his lap, supporting herself with her arms. "Are you sure you don't want something more romantic, first?"

"We've got all night for romance," he replied, aligning himself with her entrance.

"Hopefully longer than that," Pinkie snorted. She closed her eyes as she felt the the pointed head of his shaft part her, her muscles shifting to accommodate the new, scorching hot intruder. "Heh...say hi to my guts for me."

Pinkie grit her teeth as she waited for the rush of good feelings to kick in. It had been so long, it might as well have been her first time again. She forgot how much it could hurt.

Spike paused halfway in, eyes bugging. Well, he thought to himself, this is different. He'd been expecting to feel a smooth entrance like the inside of his cheek, but he was surprised to find that Pinkie's insides seemed to have ridges.

It wasn't bad, he realized, feeling the warm, moist heat cling to him as he pushed further into Pinkie. His partner writhed silently beneath him, wiping her forehead and trying to keep her hips from quivering.

"Are you alright?" Spike asked, slowing his movements as he placed a sympathetic hand on Pinkie's back. He made the mistake of looking down, only to find he had completely disappeared inside of Pinkie.

"I'm okay," she promised, still gritting her teeth.

Curiously, Spike drew back his hips, then quickly thrust back.

"Less okay!" she yelped, prompting Spike to apologize.

His movement was slow, as if through water, but there was something immensely satisfying about finding himself so deep in another person. Warm, comfortable pressure surrounded him on all sides, pushing him back as well as welcoming him in further.

I like this, Spike decided, a small smile coming to his face as he continued to drive his hips forward, even as he maneuvered Pinkie's downwards. I like this a lot.

If this was even half as good for Pinkie as it was for him, Spike was surprised she hadn't come after him sooner.

"Wait," Pinkie groaned, placing a hand on her partner's stomach and pushing him backwards. She edged forward, gasping when Spike slid out of her completely, and fell soundly on the mattress.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she grunted. The pain had all but disappeared, but something was still missing, something she needed.

Pinkie fell on her back, hands outstretched and legs pointing upwards. "But I need you to fuck me like you hate me." She wasn't quite sure if that was the answer, but it couldn't hurt to start with an old favorite.

"Are you sure?" Spike asked, frowning as he climbed towards her. "I don't want to hurt you."

Pinkie reached backwards and looped an arm around her partner's neck. "I need you to hurt me." With both hands nestled deeply in the roots of Spike's hair, she pulled him close. "If you've ever been angry, or upset with me, now's the time to let it out."

Spike stared at her for several moments, blinking slowly, before he nodded. "Promise me something, then."

Pinkie was caught by surprise, but nodded in return. "Name it," she said, pulling herself to the edge of the bed so that her head nearly draped over.

The young man swallowed, shoulders slackening and frowning the frown he would make whenever he was afraid to seem a coward. "Promise you'll talk to me," Spike said. His hands rubbed the sides of Pinkie's neck tenderly, as if he were trying to memorize the contours of her flesh. "I need to hear your voice."

A lump caught in Pinkie's throat—no wait, that was his hand clamping down, but the sentiment was there. "You got it," she promised, her voice low.

Her bare ankles somehow found their way over Spike's shoulders, removing nearly all of her leverage against him. Spike's hands gripped the edge of the mattress, nails digging hard into the fabric inches away from Pinkie's face. The shadow of his bulk ran over Pinkie's head, nearly blocking her view of his face entirely, save for two piercing green slits.

Spike pushed, and this time he wasn't gentle.

There was no mistaking it—this was no tenderhearted consummation, but bone-rattling, gut-busting fucking. Spike's full weight hammered into Pinkie, his body jostling her smaller frame as she struggled to absorb the shock.

She was convulsing, Pinkie realized, feeling the erratic throbbing of her pussy as it clenched and unclenched on the voracious intruder. She was having trouble seeing him fuck her now, what with her knees nearly touching her chest; yes, this was the kind of fucking that separated the girls from the aces...

Spike awoke to the sound of muffled laughter.

He sat up, groggy-eyed, as he turned his head and tried to make sense of where he was. He was on a bed, check.

This isn't my room, he thought to himself, which was odd considering he wore nothing above the waist. He checked under covers that weren't his. Boxers, check. A smell of dried sweat and the sourness of recent sex, check.

He was still in Pinkie's room, Spike realized. He'd fallen asleep, but for how long?

Pulling himself out of bed, he trudged his way to the door, where he found his discarded pair of pants.

He dragged them on and made his way downstairs.

"What about this one?"

Limestone Pie chuckled, tracing the album photo fondly with a finger. "This was right after Maud found out Marble was getting picked on at school." She gazed down fondly of the stoic young girl frozen in time, grey school dress torn and smeared with dirt, her legs bloodied with small scrapes. "They almost expelled her."

Pinkie snorted, her nose upturned for her absent sister. "Someone had to do something. Those teachers back then had selective hearing."

Her sister looked sideways at her. "Not like you were gonna do anything, runt. You woulda been picking your teeth out of the grass for the rest of the day if you tried."

"At least I would've been helping, instead of skipping class in the girls bathroom and smoking cigarettes!"

Limestone scoffed as the rest of the listeners chuckled. "Aw, you're just mad we never let you join us."

Pinkie rolled her eyes. "It's not like I was missing much. After school, I could've just asked Lyra when she was done washing your spit out of her mouth."

"You know what?!"

Rainbow Dash spat her beer out, wide-eyed and amazed. "Holy shit."

Twilight looked highly interested in the sisters' little feud, while Applejack simply grinned, her face resting on one hand. Fluttershy peered over Pinkie's shoulder to get a better look at the photo album.

Only the six of them remained; it was sometime after midnight, and the majority of guests had wandered off.

Pinkie winced; it had been roughly two or three hours since Spike had fallen asleep, and still she was sore. So far as she knew, only Dash and Limey had pieced together how she'd spent her night so far.

"Whatever," Limestone muttered, realizing that she'd lost that round. She flipped to another picture, this one a younger version of herself standing next to Pinkie, who was excitedly riding in a tire swing. The younger version of Pinkie wore bright pink overalls and a striped blue and yellow shirt. She was much scrawnier than her older sister, who wore ripped jeans and a polka dot black and white t-shirt.

"Ooh," Pinkie said, leaning over her sister, "I remember this."

Limestone observed her sister silently, a small smile marking her face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, brushing her hair back. "This was right before Granny Pie's husband passed." She looked back at her sister. "I remember because you were wearing that shirt when she gave you his pipe."

"Your grandpappy let you have a pipe as an inheritance?" Applejack asked, chuckling. "That's an interestin' present, I reckon."

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes as she sipped from her bottle. "We get it, Applejack, you're country. No need to punish us."

"Fuck you."

The upstairs door creaked.

"Oh," Twilight said, looking upwards at the room, "is that Spike?"

Pinkie chuckled, sweating nervously. "Y-yeah, probably."

FUCK.

She'd been dismayed when he passed out so soon, but it had probably been for the best, or so she rationalized to herself. Spike would rest upstairs—hopefully for the night—and the rest of the girls wouldn't look at her funny.

Sweat started to collected on the back of her neck. This...this might be a problem.

She shook her head. There was no reason to lose hope. Spike was a rational, responsible person, more so than most, so there was every chance that he—

"Why is he shirtless?" Twilight asked, frowning. More than a few heads turned at her statement.

"Ooohh no," Pinkie groaned, holding her head in her hands.

"He's got eyes, Applejack."

The farmer gritted her teeth. "Fuck. You."

Twilight cut her eyes at her friends, her eyes slits, before turning back to the still half-asleep young man coming down the steps. "Where have you been all this time? And where are your clothes?"

"Shh shh shh," Spike whispered, placing a finger on his lips as he made his way to Twilight. He leaned on the arm of the couch next to his housemate. "From now on, she's the only one who can demand to know where I've been," he said, nodding his head at Pinkie.

Rainbow Dash couldn't contain her laughter, nearly spitting up as she tried to cover her mouth.

"You should still put something on," Twilight insisted, crossing her arms.

"Shut up, you know you love it." he retorted. "Right, Fluttershy?"

"Oh yes, definitely," the young woman said, nodding her head and giving a shaky thumbs up. "You should model."

"Thank you," Spike said, giving a mock-curtsy, before sticking his tongue out at Twilight.

Fluttershy giggled, and Pinkie, seeing the unamused look on Twilight's face, laughed nervously as she monitored the exits.

Spike cleared his throat, sobering himself as he crossed his arms. "And speaking of thank you's," he said, turning to Applejack, "I wanted to thank you in particular."

The farmer blinked once, then twice. "What for, sugar?"

Spike rubbed his arm warmly, smiling at the ground. "It's just...way back at that sleepover, y'know, I know it was your idea."

Limestone looked from one person to another, but going by their serious faces, they were too attentive to Spike to bother telling her what it was.

"And while I didn't like it at the time," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, conscious of the many pairs of eyes on him, "it was good for me in the end. So thank you."

"You're, uh, more than welcome, Spike," Applejack answered. She seemed resigned, but content. "As long as you're happy."

At the farmer's words, Twilight's eyes softened; the fight had gone out of her, Pinkie could tell. Her shoulders slackened in relief.

"Applejack's right," Fluttershy said, beaming as she brought a still-warm mug of tea to her mouth. "That's all that matters in the end." In the recesses of her mind, she could only wonder what would've happened if things had turned out differently, but she stopped those thoughts before they evolved; thinking of what might've been wouldn't yield her any favors.

It probably wouldn't have worked out anyway, she thought to herself.

They rested in content silence for several moments, before Twilight lifted her head, meeting Spike's eyes. "Are you coming home?"

"Not just yet," Spike said, shaking his head. "I'm going back to bed soon."

Twilight's face warped, and she made to insist, but Pinkie decided it was time to break her silence.

"Twilight," she spoke up, and all heads swung towards her. Spike especially stared at her, into her, curious yet patient to hear her speak. "Twilight, you promised."

The Princess held her tongue, as if she'd been caught doing something distasteful. Both her hands clenched at the bunched up fabric of dress on her thighs, the tendons flexing harshly through her skin.

Then, it was as if a storm cloud departed from her face, and Twilight breathed calmly. "Yes, you're right." She got up from her seat and smoothed out her dress. "Well, I think it's best that I retire for the night." She turned to Limestone. "It was a pleasure meeting you," she said, bowing.

"Likewise, Your Majesty," the elder sister said, her voice uncommonly soft as she inclined her head.

The smile froze nearly imperceptibly on Twilight's face for a fraction of a second, but she recovered just as quickly. "Do you have a place to stay for the night?"

Limestone's face soured as she realized her situation. She looked towards Pinkie, who would be busy...accommodating another guest for the night. "If it's not too much hassle, I think I'll crash at Applejack's place."

The farmer brightened. "I think that's a splendid idea, cousin."

Twilight smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "Guess I've got the place for the night, then. I'll see you all around." With a flash of purple light, she vanished.

"Well," Rainbow breathed, standing up to stretch, "I think she took it well."

Rainbow Dash was the last to leave, which gave Pinkie ample time to wrestle the girl to the ground in a bear hug.

"I never could've done any of this without you," Pinkie said, sighing into the shorter girl's neck.

"I know," Rainbow wheezed, twisting out of Pinkie's embrace to stand up. She dusted her shirt off, before checking to see if her hair was alright. "What are friends for?"

"I mean it," Pinkie said, grabbing Dash's right hand with both of hers and holding it to her chest. "I just wish I could return the favor."

"Well, don't," the athlete said, furrowing her brow. "I'll be just fine, Pinkie. Applejack and Twilight too."

"I know, but," Pinkie bit her lip, "I know you wanted that bottle to land on you instead of me."

"So what?" Rainbow Dash asked, hands outstretched. "Yeah, maybe it would've been nice, but that's not how it went down." Her eyes softened as she rubbed Pinkie's palms with her thumb. "I don't resent you for having better luck than me."

Before Pinkie could reply, her best friend spun on her heel and caught the door handle. With a swing and a bang, the portal opened and closed, leaving the baker nearly alone in her new home.

"Are you coming to bed?" a groggy voice asked from the top of the stairs. Spike stood there, Pinkie's comforters covering him like a cloak.

Pinkie blinked tiredly. Those were the blankets she had inherited from Granny Pie after her husband passed. They look good on him, Pinkie thought to herself, before shaking her head. No.

They belong on him.

She grabbed a small unwrapped box from within her pocket and held it between sweating hands. "I was the last one of us to get her own place," she said as she started to climb the stairs. "Did you know that?"

Spike eyed her and the box as both approached. "I guess I never gave it much thought."

"I did," Pinkie replied, drumming her fingers on the container. "Truth is, I compare myself to them all the time." She looked him in the eyes, the same way she always did. "And I'm not really smart, or strong, or confident." Pinkie shrugged as she tossed the box from one hand to another. "I'm not all that pretty or compassionate, either." She reached the top of the stairs, now standing almost directly under the gaze of her partner. "So much has changed now, that I'm not even all that sure I know who I am half the time."

Spike swallowed as he took her hand in his, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "What's in the box, Pinkie?"

"It's a promise," she said, pulling back and tightening her hold on his hand. She nodded at him to open it, which he did slowly.

The young man let out the breath he had been holding. The small, simple box held within it a single pink key, upon which the words 'HOME' were etched into the metal.

"Promise me," Pinkie said, stepping into the blanket and crushing herself against him. "Promise you'll help me find out."

Spike's eyes steeled, and he pocketed the gift. He took Pinkie by the waist in a bridal carry, and brought her inside.

"I promise."

Path Four: The Art of Growing Older Part 1

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At the apex of the darkened castle, on its final flight of barely-lit stairs, a surge of some ill intuition persuaded Spike to halt.

Blinking slowly, the young man pondered his involuntary action as he withdrew hesitantly from Twilight's bedroom, making sure to control his breathing so as not to betray his apprehension to any who might be listening.

Though he steadied himself on the guardrail, and gripped the base of the serving tray which held six lovingly prepared mugs of hot chocolate, it seemed as though all sense of purpose had deserted him. The sudden wave of detachment, though disconcerting in the extreme, seemed to grant him unnatural clarity.

He noted with discomfort the brightness of the hallway's many lamps, the formerly soft lighting now uncomfortably bright and obtrusive. The dull buzzing of his phone in his modest lavender pinstripe pajama pants became unsettlingly warm, the vibrations sounding out the hollow interior of the all but deserted vestibule.

And. perhaps worst of all, Spike could feel the tension on the other side of the door.

Long though the climb up the stairs had been due to the delicate burden of the tray he had carried, eavesdropping on his housemate and her guests was far from his intent. Rather, it was impossible to ignore the sounds of their raucous, increasingly drunken laughter...

Despite himself, Spike felt a flash of aimless irritation at his own forgetfulness. He knew he should've brought chips and pretzels, if only to stave off their debauchery long enough for him to get some sleep.

However, as he turned back to face the now worryingly quiet bedroom, its humble wooden frame eclipsed in soft light like a sunset in miniature, Spike reflected on his choices.

Whatever was happening on the other side of that door, it felt...heavy. Upsetting. A perfect storm of anxiety and stress that Spike now realized he had no wish to invite himself into. He bit the inside of his cheek, the pain stirring his body back into motion. He'd just been planning on dropping off the drinks and heading to bed, but now it seemed better to keep from intruding altogether.

I'll just pour them out in my room, Spike reasoned to himself, taking slow, deliberate steps so as not to reveal himself, or otherwise jostle the fragile ceramic mugs with a misplaced step.

A voice surged forth, angry yet patient. It had sounded deep, even deeper than Spike's own mellow pitch, and he attributed it with vague certainty to Applejack. Whatever had been said was soon followed by other, more delicate and feverishly spoken voices, until the sleepover fervor seemed to return in full force.

Cursing his ever-invasive conscience, Spike swallowed his fears and charged into the fray, determined to pretend nothing was wrong.

Spike had taken all of two breaths after sitting down before his door was practically kicked in.

He knew from the impact that it hadn't been Applejack, since the door was still on its hinges as opposed to being reduced to splinters. Any other guesses as to the culprit were put to rest when a "Fuck, my goddamn knee" came hissing from behind the wood.

Sighing, Spike rose to open the door, smoothing his shirt and hair as he did so. Knowing Dash, she'd either pound on his door until he answered her, or fly around to the windows if she was determined enough.

She stared blearily up at Spike when he finally came to let her in. "Why would you lock your door at night?"

Leaning against the door to allow her entry, Spike glanced down at the top of the girl's head as she sidled past him, favoring her uninjured leg. "So troll dolls with technicolor hairdos won't sneak in and break my shit."

Hearing the athlete snort at the crack about her appearance, Spike took one last look down the hall to confirm there was no one else coming. He closed the door behind him as he flicked the lights on. Through the stupor that often came over him when ready for sleep, he was only somewhat surprised to find his unexpected guest, yawning and eyes unfocused, sprawled out on his bed.

"So what gives?" Spike finally asked, resigning himself to an armchair near the corner of the room. He flicked on a lamp near the rear of the room, hoping that the ensuing warm light would keep the athlete from passing out at the foot of his bed. "What was going on in there? Why'd you ditch your little sleepover?"

Rainbow groaned, running her hands over her grimacing face. "It got ugly, is why I ditched it." She laid in the center of the mattress, short legs dangling over the edge. Her rumpled, black tank top hung low over her waist, the sides of her torso exposed by means of a long, man-made tear. "Right before you came in, Applejack was bitching Twilight out for wanting to fuck her brother, or some shit."

Spike's face morphed into a visage of horror as he leaned forward in his seat. "Twilight wants to sleep with Shining?!"

The Wonderbolt turned to face the young man, a look of incredulity on her face. "No! That doesn't even—"

Rainbow paused. "Well...," she started to say, before shaking her head. "No. Hell no."

"What?"

The athlete rubbed her chin, contemplating something in silence. "I mean, Twilight wouldn't, but shit, if he were my brother—"

"Dash." Spike's voice had dropped all surprise, but none of the disgust, forming into something hard and resolute.

"That's beside the point," she reconciled, hurrying to change the course of the conversation. "No, we were just talking about guys we'd bang, and Applejack, y'know, she's super protective of her folks."

"But don't all of you want to fuck Mac anyway?"

"Yeah, man. But AJ wouldn't be happy if she wasn't sucking the fun out of everything, so now she and Twi are busy having a screaming match." She sighed, rubbing an itch out of her eye. "Fucking hell."

Despite his irritation at having his sleep interrupted, Spike sympathized with Dash. Applejack was by and far the most reasonable of their mutual friends, as well as the most accountable; it was only natural that her sour moods, rare as they were, would be all-encompassing and dour.

Even so, as Spike reflected to himself, it seemed...odd, to say the least. Applejack had always been protective of her siblings, to be sure, but rarely if ever to the point of confrontation. She was no less rational than Twilight, which became increasingly more impressive over time in keeping with the latter's continual emotional growth.

When voicing this opinion to Dash, however, the woman shrugged noncommittally. "I dunno, man. Maybe there's something else bothering her, but just because you've got a stick up your ass, that doesn't give you the right to just blow up at your friends over a fucking party game." Dash scoffed. "You should've seen how pissed she got when I won the wager."

From her tone, as well as her body language, Spike was beginning to understand that whatever stress Dash was currently under was something that had been eating at the girl for a long time...and likely might not have been related to Applejack at all.

To say that she was agitated was to trivialize her mood; she was unsettled now, sighing heavily and curling inwards on the bed, her arms crossed tightly over her torso.

"Dash..." he started to ask hesitantly, moving to the edge of his chair, "are you doing okay?"

He could tell by the harsh intake of air she made that Rainbow would like nothing more than to tell him off for prying. When he waited for the sharp retort to come, however, Spike was instead surprised to hear a slow, measured exhalation, before Dash's body loosened and she spoke, sounding much more gathered. "Yeah, I am. Or at least, I should be, I think." She sighed again, before pulling herself into a sitting position. "It's a mixed bag."

Spike rubbed his arm, looking off to the side somewhat awkwardly. He was all for 'real talk', but saying that Rainbow Dash of all people was the person he least expected to have it with was an understatement. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Though he wasn't looking at Dash, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I appreciate it, but don't...y'know, feel obligated.

"I don't," Spike replied honestly, speaking with renewed conviction. He glanced back at Dash, eyes resting at her neckline before shooting off to the side. "That doesn't mean I can't worry about you, though."

Rainbow blinked in modest surprise, her head falling ever so slightly backwards even as her hands planted themselves on the bed to support her weight. "Alright, whatever, green man." She willed herself not to allow any smile a presence on her face, instead clearing her throat and forming a playful smirk. "Am I the first girl you've had in your room?"

Her host shrugged, shifting in his seat to make himself more comfortable. "I don't think so. But if you don't count Twilight, yeah, this is the first time I've been alone with a girl in here." He still had yet to meet her eyes, at least since the tone of their conversation had become more personal.

Dash looked as though she wanted to comment on this new fact; instead, she restrained herself, crossing her legs in a sitting position and smiling over her raised shoulder through a curtain of prismatic hair. "Well, between you and me, when a guy has a lady over at his place—especially at night—he usually offers her a drink."

Spike looked up, now adopting Dash's same smirk. "Would you like something to drink?"

A patronizing "Yes, please," and Spike rose from his seat, feeling the sluggishness fade from his joints as he moved across the room.

To Dash's surprise, however, Spike didn't leave the room for the kitchen as she expected, but rather to an unassuming bookshelf, occupied only by old comics and adventure novels. Moving a stack of Daring Do novels to the side, a false panel was revealed when pushed on.

Behind the wood was a small alcove containing a number of oddities: a roll of bills next to a stack of golden coins; an assortment of strange, malformed rocks, some of which appeared to have indentations resembling bite marks; an aged binder, just small and wide enough to be a photo album; what seemed to be a stack of basic composition journals, some at least a decade old by how worn they looked; and several packs of alcoholic beverages and junk food.

As Dash watched, Spike grabbed a bag of beef jerky and two tall aluminum cans. He pondered the album, before stepping back and sealing the alcove back behind the stack of novels.

Feeling a warm glow of satisfaction rising gradually in his stomach from Dash's gaze of newfound respect, Spike returned to the bed, handing a can to his guest as he relaxed on the corner of the mattress.

"That's a neat little hidey hole," Dash admitted, accepting the beverage—a canned tequila, by the looks of it. "What, you needed a place to hide your contraband?"

"Pretty much," Spike said.

"You just found a hole in the wall one day and started putting shit in it?"

"No, I made that one myself." At her incredulous stare, Spike elaborated. "I breathed fire on the crystal until it was easy enough to scoop it out. That's why the walls on the inside are so smooth."

Tearing open the packet of dried meat, Spike winced briefly at the hiss of air that came when Dash opened her can.

"Twilight doesn't know about it?"

"Not at first," he conceded, "but she found out anyway."

A look of befuddlement. "Then why do you still use it?"

Spike shrugged. "Well, it's still pretty convenient. And I didn't really put it there because it was stuff Twilight doesn't let me have. It's just that she tends to eat my stuff without asking."

"She still do it?"

"Yeah, but I guess the point got through to her." He shrugged. "She still comes in here sometimes to grab something in the middle of the night, but now she makes up for it. Most of the cash in there is from her."

Rainbow stared blankly in the direction of the alcove. "Huh." The quirk of Twilight's struck her as...off, in that she wouldn't have expected the woman to be so juvenile with her companion. A small throb of jealousy momentarily sprang up in her chest at the reminder that, as one of Twilight's oldest friends, as well as her perpetual roommate, Spike simply knew her better than anyone else—with a ten-year head-start on any one else in their group, no less.

Spike, to Dash's slight amusement—and somewhat greater irritation—had visibly cheered up at the mention of his and Twilight's odd relationship. "I dunno, it's weird. After you live together for so long, it's like, you just mesh together better with wordless signals. It's kinda fun, too."

"Why are you sitting so far away?" Rainbow asked abruptly, eyeing her host. She gave her drink a cautionary sip before making a noncommittal shrug.

Startled, Spike knocked his knees, shrugging as he bit into a strip of jerky. "Dunno," he grunted, feeling nowhere near as stoic as he made himself out to be. The diversion in their conversation hadn't lasted nearly as long as he would've liked it to, as he was still faced with several uncomfortable truths.

It was one thing, he now knew, to be alone with Dash in his room at night, speaking to her from several feet away. It was another to be within arm's reach of her, where it was impossible to escape the sound of her breathing and the smell of her shiver-inducing dried sweat. Even her voice, usually brash and full of more cracks than a teenage boy's, had become uncommonly smooth and soft.

Whether or not she was conscious of her affect on him, Spike was unsure. He could only hear her chuckle as he glimpsed the shifting of her bare legs from the corner of his eye, the sound of her small, rough hands running through her vibrant hair.

"Well, I'm not sure I feel like opening up to you when you're all closed off, dude," Rainbow teased. She tugged on his leg—somewhere between his knee and inner thigh, giving him a bit of a shock. "Don't worry, I only bite on the second date."

Despite himself, Spike snorted, grinning into his drink as he finally eyed the woman next to him. "What, so we're on a date right now?"

Seeing as how her host had yet to move closer, Rainbow took it upon herself to close the distance. Pivoting her hips outward—and observing with ardent female pride how his eyes traced the movement of her legs coming behind his back—Dash's smile increased in intensity as well as infectiousness. "You see this?" she said semi-sarcastically, gesturing with one hand, back and forth between the two of them. "You don't get this kind of chemistry between two people who just want to be friends."

Chuckling again, Spike took another sip from his drink, rubbing his other hand against the side of his face, which was becoming increasingly warmer with each flirtation. "I don't think Twilight would like it if she heard you saying that," he mentioned offhand. He finished his can, flinging it into a nearby wastebasket soon afterwards.

"I won, remember?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and staring in amusement up at Spike as she supported her head in one hand. "And besides, you think I'm scared of the big bad bookworm?" Her foot brushed teasingly against the back of his waist, as if to confirm her boldness.

A dumb smile threatened to spread across his face, which Spike quickly smothered with a hurried cough—and which Dash resisted laughing at by biting her cheeks and looking nonchalantly off to the side. The brightness of her amusement remained, however, keeping her cool maroon eyes suffused with silent energy.

This feels nice, he thought to himself, glad to feel the excitement of something as simple as flirting with a friend, however unexpected it was. Even the thought of their conversation being a secret kept from the others made Spike's stomach jump with enthusiasm. This feels really nice.

"Anyway..." he started.

"Anyway," she conceded.

"How are you doing, Dash?" Spike asked earnestly, pulling himself closer towards his friend. "Anything bugging you?"

As Dash moved closer to the center to allow him more space, Spike snatched a throw pillow from the rear of the bed and, lying down, hugged it to his chest. She had to resist laughing at the sight, as though Spike was preparing himself for a gossip session as prepubescent schoolgirls were known to do.

"Well, like I said, I'm doing pretty well for myself," she confessed, finally sobering herself. "I'm in a pretty good place, lately. I've gotten back to talking to both of my parents again, I'm finally balancing my work life and my personal life, and, y'know, things are really just settling into place for me," Dash said with a shrug. "Everything's solid at the moment."

Spike could sense the but in her voice, but ignored it for the moment in favor of the part of her statement that confused him. "'Both of your parents'? Did you only talk to one before?"

Dash coughed, her eyes half closed as she stared at the ceiling. "I went through this period of not talking to either of them," she confessed, now lying back on her back, the side of her arm brushing against Spike's own. "They kind of went through a divorce a couple months ago."

Spike's eyes widened in shock. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Dash grunted, rubbing her chin as she closed her eyes in contemplation. "Would've been pretty weird if you did, since I didn't tell anyone. It's...not the kind of thing I want to publicize, y'know?"

Nodding in understanding, Spike considered Dash's position. It would have been bad enough for anyone to have the unpleasantry of a divorce to become common knowledge; but for such an affair to surface for someone as prominent as Rainbow Dash, a Wonderbolt...the issue would be inseparable from the athlete's own name, a blot on her personal and professional lives that would likely trail the woman herself for years.

Unbeknownst to Spike, the uneasy silence somewhat rankled the woman next to him, until she felt compelled to fill the judgmental silence with talk. "It was a while ago, but...I dunno, I just felt really frustrated with them for it."

Her hands rose, clenching, to the sides of her head, as if she wanted nothing more than to mash her thumbs through her skull and pray they met in the middle. "I know it doesn't make sense, and it isn't fair, but...in my head, I was just like, 'Really? You were already together for twenty-nine years, you couldn't have just stuck it out?' Ooh," she fumed, surprising Spike, "I was so pissed, you have no idea, dude."

Spike turned on his side, his head now resting on the crook of his outstretched arm. As guilty as it made him feel, he found it next to impossible to tear his eyes away from her; agitated as she was, Dash's body heaved with short, angry rasps and the beating of a heart so audible that Spike could hear it even from where he sat.

He noted with detached awe how the young woman's every breath coaxed animation into her limbs; her bicep, which flexed unconsciously with every inhalation, was now only inches from his face, seeming far more toned and developed than Spike remembered.

"Why'd they split?" he finally asked. Spike's gaze darted upward at her face, and seeing how her eyes remained fixed and unseeing towards the ceiling, resumed its guilty tour of her physique.

Dash sighed heavily, too consumed in the memories to feel the eyes chasing the movements of her chest. "Looking back on it," she murmured, voice softening, "I guess it was kind of obvious. My dad was...kind of a big deal back in high school. Cloudsdale is a huge sports city, and he made a name for himself on the team as a wide receiver. Dude was fast."

"As fast as you?" Spike couldn't help but ask.

"Hell no," she answered instantly, not even smiling, as if refusing to indicate the claim was anything less than fact. "If you go to the school gym, my records are still on the wall. I'm a freak of nature."

"You're telling me," the young man jibed lightly, smile widening as he saw the mock-offended pout that stretched over the athlete's face.

"Anyway, he was always making the news for one reason or another, and my mom, she worked at the paper as a photographer. She had already graduated by the time Dad made the team, but they had the alumni connect." She shrugged. "They never said they were a thing, since he was still in school—and a fucking minor to boot—but it's Cloudsdale. He's an athlete, she's got a great rack, everything's cash money."

"But, like, everyone knew they liked each other. They didn't really know how deep things went, but there was this...expectation for them to get hitched right after he graduated. Happens all the time." She turned to Spike, eyes half-closed as if in a wince. "Only, the whole time, Mom was having doubts, y'know? Cloudsdale men, jocks especially, they tend to have...reputations, and shit. Dad was a star, so he was no exception."

As upset as he felt on her behalf, Spike knew that to continue to argue the issue would close her off to him. Swallowing his emotions, he asked, "So what happened?"

"What always happens," she remarked, voice bitter as well as resigned. "He was handsome, she was lonely. Lonely enough to be desperate, and hope that she could change him." Dash held out her hands, counting off each finger sarcastically. "Sex didn't work, so she tried marrying him. That didn't work, so they had me." She scoffed. "As soon as I came kicking and screaming into the world, they finally had something in common that wasn't an orgasm."

Her companion winced at the statement, but said nothing to interrupt.

"And so, it's just," Rainbow said, her frustration getting the better of her as she started to stumble over her words, "my entire childhood, they just focused all of their energy on me. Everything was about what I excelled at, or how I was placing first in track and field, and so on and so on."

"It sounds nice to have people who always have your back," Spike tried earnestly.

"It was suffocating, and it was bullshit," she countered. "It's so obvious now that I'm older, looking back on it. They never fixed the problem, they just pushed it off to the side and pretended like they could just make it—make it not exist anymore, if they just fixated on me, like I was some fucking solution." She barked with laughter. "I can't even fix my own problems, dude."

She sat up on the bed now, scowling. "They couldn't even look me in the eyes when they told me they were calling it quits. They didn't say he cheated, but man, you've never seen a grown man look so bashful—"

"Did you hate him?" Spike asked suddenly, intensely curious.

The question visibly shocked Dash, enough for her to pause mid-rant. "What? No, I..." She sighed. "I wanted to. I really wanted to. But he was still my dad, and my mom, she even asked me not to cut him out of my life." Rainbow Dash clutched her elbows as a shiver visibly ran through her body.

"But then I thought to myself, 'Who the fuck are you to talk? You knew what he was like when you met him, you knew what you were getting into! Who in their right mind would do that to themselves?'" She laughed humorlessly to herself.

As Dash gathered her breath, her body shuddering with emotion, Spike drew himself up next to her. He hugged his knees to his chest as he glanced sideways at her. "That couldn't have been easy."

"It's all bullshit, dude. Don't ever get married."

Spike frowned. "You don't mean that."

Panting, Dash turned slowly to face him. Her small but corded chest heaved from the effort of her vengeful diatribe; her fierce stare bore into Spike's mind, a blunt maroon ray of rage, disillusionment, and the deepest of betrayals. "The worst thing, Spike, the worst thing you can do to a person is stab them in the back."

"You know I'd never do that, Dash."

"I know you won't," she said, without losing any steam. Rainbow prodded him with a pointed finger at the center of his chest. "You got any love for me, or what I stand for, you won't."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only noise between them her angry breathing and the dreary humming of an aging lightbulb. Never looking away from Dash, Spike wordlessly leaned against her side, looping one of his arms securely about her shoulders. To his muted surprise, Dash didn't reject his embrace, but instead looped her arms about his neck, his inclined forehead pressing gently into her hair.

The mad dash that was her heartbeat slowed as Rainbow caught her breath, reassured in part by the steadiness of her friend's wide, sturdy chest. She grunted almost wordlessly at the pleasantness of his warmth, until the aimless command of her thoughts drove her to face him fully, sliding into his lap and wrapping her legs firmly around his waist. She neither heard nor felt any protest from Spike; rather, the hard thump of his heart seemed to radiate his acceptance.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't really think it was beating me up like that."

"Dash," he said, and the woman couldn't help but notice at this proximity how his voice, now deep and commiseratory, vibrated throughout his body. She realized with an odd satisfaction just how much larger than her he had grown. "Why didn't you—"

By the tone of his voice, Rainbow already knew what he would say. "You don't understand," she groaned, inwardly surprised at the downright pitiful nature of her voice. "I can't, I can't talk with the others about this." The warmth of his chest suffused her now, until Dash could have sworn she felt her sweat drying from pure heat. "They're too close," she murmured, clutching his shoulders tightly.

"What do you mean?" Spike asked. More than hear, she could feel the words reverberating through his throat, almost directly into her own.

He felt her swallow, felt her trepidation, and Spike felt a sudden lurch in his stomach, as if his questions would lead him to unwanted information. In an instant he realized with grim assurance that, if there was a problem between Twilight and her friends, one that had existed before tonight and would endure into the future, the coward in him wanted to remain blissfully unaware of it.

Unknowing of his thoughts, Dash continued, albeit in a lower voice. "Things are different between us," she confessed, burrowing deeper into Spike's embrace. "It feels like...our...places in the group are changing. But no one wants to talk about it. We know it's happening, but we don't know what to do, and no one wants to talk about it."

Spike's confusion was implicit in his silence, and Dash continued, the words spewing out in another nervous, rambling stream of consciousness. The heat of her panting seeped past his shirt, coming quickly now with every unsteady breath.

"AJ and Twilight used to be really close, dude. Like, they used to rely on each other and trust them when it came to making smart decisions, cause they're both leaders. Only now, it's like, they're fighting, but it's not like this argument they have out in the open, it's something that's going on behind the scenes, and no one knows what the fuck happened."

She rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. "And it's like whatever happened tonight is that, it's them blowing up at each other, only before, it was like Twilight was pissed at Applejack for something, and now because of the whole deal with Mac, Applejack is acting like it's her turn to be mad at Twilight. But even I can tell that it's bullshit, because we make jokes about fucking Mac literally all the time, so it's obvious that that's not what she's really mad about. And I'm pissed off because it feels like everyone thinks I'm supposed to be taking Applejack's place in the middle of all this, because now Applejack is all unstable and someone needs to be our rock if she isn't, and I'm the only one with a goddamn backbone anymore."

What the fuck is she saying, Spike wondered to himself.

"And this has to have been going on for weeks, because before this you could just tell that Applejack felt guilty about whatever the fuck she did, because Twilight's been all passive-aggressive towards her since July, only Applejack's acting like she can't help whatever she did, so at the same time she's acting guilty but she's mad at Twilight for making her feel that way."

Spike's brain felt flooded with information he couldn't make sense of, and, the moment of closeness having all but passed, he pulled back from Dash. Going by the look on Rainbow's face, Spike's confusion was evident.

Speaking carefully now, Dash clarified. "Twilight and Applejack are fighting. Twilight feels like Applejack betrayed her, Applejack is upset she betrayed her but also pissed at how she's being treated, so she's a fucking wreck. I have to be the responsible one, no one's communicating in a healthy way, and it is fucking up the group chemistry."

Nodding, Spike felt himself gain control again as he patiently decided to grasp each concept in the sequence presented to him. "Well, what about the others?"

"Well," Dash sighed, standing up on the bed and pacing, "that's a whole other deal. I think Fluttershy is mostly alright. Better than alright, actually; she's finally starting to be more aggressive with going after what she wants. She's got," Rainbow scrunched her face, hands clenching as if twisting some unseen object, "she's got more of a presence to her now, if that makes sense. Rarity...I don't think she's changed much either, but I could be wrong. Lately she plays the serious stuff close to the chest, but I'm pretty sure she and Shy are closer than the rest of us."

"Maybe they're rubbing off on each other," Spike joked, turning onto his back.

Rainbow Dash paused in her pacing. "That...would make a lot of sense, actually." She plopped down near the headboard, crossing her arms over her chest. "It would explain why Rarity hasn't been so flamboyant recently."

"And Pinkie?"

A deep sigh escaped Dash's lips. "I think Pinkie's depressed, dude," the athlete confessed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

This prompted Spike to sit up in place, eyes widened in shock. "What?" He scooted over to Dash's side, looking down at her in disbelief.

Dash leaned against the headboard, arms looped behind her head. Speaking in a low voice, she spoke slowly, saying, "Don't tell her I told you this—matter of fact, don't even act different. She'll know just from feeling you out." She shrugged erratically. "I don't even know why, or what's even up with her. Guessing's the most anyone can do until she comes out and tells us."

"She's your best friend, Dash," Spike commented, a note of chastisement entering his voice. "And you don't have the slightest clue what's eating her?"

Dash glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "Like I said, guessing is the best I can do. But if you ask me? She's probably upset about getting older or some shit." Her gaze returned to some far off point in the distance, her eyes becoming unfocused. "I mean, I can't speak for anyone else, but after a certain point, shit starts to wear on you. Parents are getting older, family members start dying off—you know the deal."

"I don't, actually," Spike reminded her, but Dash's only response was a shrug.

"Well, it makes sense to me, her folks are almost in their seventies after all. Maybe I'm wrong, or maybe I'm right. Who knows? It's not like Pinkie's ever been easy to read." She took another sip from her tequila. "But I know for a fact Applejack is going through it."

"What makes you so sure?"

"She wants kids, dude. Said so herself."

Spike had to stop himself from collapsing. The sudden thought of Applejack having children—or any of his friends, really—terrified him beyond reason.

Though he could rationalize the desire as being consistent with the woman's lifestyle and goals, the thought of their lives being so different now that being a parent was even an option...how could anyone speak so plainly about it? They all still had so much growing to do, didn't they?

"Applejack's mom was nineteen when she was married, and she was on her second kid by the time she was AJ's age," Dash mentioned. "When my mom was my age, she was already married and pregnant too." She rubbed her chin, frowning. "So I understand the pressure."

Somehow, Spike could understand their plight; while he grew in experience and successes by leaps and bounds over time, those first years of being a newcomer to Ponyville were long behind him. The thought that his youth would never return to him once lost was a disturbing reality; the realization that he would eventually be expected to serve as caretaker of both his own children as well as his aging mentors was another.

An uneasy feeling welled up in Spike's stomach, churning in his bowels with uncomfortable heat. "I didn't think you'd want kids, Dash," he answered honestly, hoping to distract his emotions. "You don't seem like the type."

"I'm actually pretty open to kids," she replied, still leaning back into the pillows, unaware of her listener's widened gaze. "People assume I'm not, and I can see why, but nah, that's not me, man. I could go either way, depending on the guy." Dash looked over at Spike briefly. "It's gonna hurt like hell if I go through with it, though; my hips are all wrong for kids."

Spike blinked in surprise at the news. "Huh." He was shocked, but...pleasantly so.

Immediately, he stomped the unwanted satisfaction out of his mind, before his subconscious could find its root. Those were dangerous thoughts.

"I think Fluttershy and AJ are the only ones who actually actively want kids. Right now at least. I think Rarity just wants to be an aunt, but she hasn't really settled yet. Career woman and all."

"Twilight doesn't want kids," Spike said automatically, still wandering in his thoughts.

"Tell me something I don't know," Dash muttered. "Still, though," she continued, frown widening, "it sucks. It's like, I'm not in a hurry to get married or anything, but at the same time it's like there's this pressure bearing down on me. Like, there's a feeling that gets me sometimes, telling me that I'm running out of time, that I'm as young as I'm ever going to get. And I have to force myself to stop thinking about it, or I'll just be in this endless mindset that I have to play catch-up to everyone."

Despite his partner's evident stress, Spike couldn't help but feel as though his entire understanding of Rainbow had shifted with each small revelation. He realized now that his assumptions of her personal life—limited as they were—reflected nothing of the woman herself, only what his understanding of her brash exterior had led him to believe.

And if the thought of her youth running out was so draining on someone like Rainbow Dash, who rarely if ever concerned herself with thoughts of the future beyond her career, Spike could only imagine how it would eat away at someone like Pinkie...or Applejack.

"Do you know what you want in a guy?" he asked suddenly, without thinking.

As soon as the words left his mouth, before Dash could even blink in surprise and reevaluate the young man whose bed she was sprawled across, Spike wanted more than anything to slam his head face-first into the wall for asking such a thick-headed, tactless question.

What the fuck is wrong with me, he groaned internally.

Eyeing him, Dash sat up in place—and to Spike's regret, retracted her legs into a chest-hugging embrace. "I have an idea," she said, brushing her hair back behind her ear and swallowing. "I mean, usually I would, from talking about it with the girls, but, y'know. Iffy subject as of late."

Spike made to speak, before deciding not to trust his mouth. Instead, he settled for clamping his lips shut and nodding lamely.

"Listen, Spike," she said, rubbing her neck and looking away, "this is getting kind of personal."

Frowning, he cleared his throat. "Right, I get it. Let's change the subject."

Rainbow turned back to face him. "No," she held up her hands, "that's not what I meant." She bit the inside of her cheek, obviously wrestling with some inner thought, before coming to some silent resolution. "Look, I don't mind talking to you about this stuff. Hell, I'm enjoying it, like, a lot." She sat up in her seat, unfolding her legs and holding up two fingers. "Two things, though."

"Sure," Spike said, a little too quickly, and perhaps too hopeful at her openness.

"One," she said, pulling on her index finger. "Outside of the seven of us, you don't tell anyone about this." Dash held his gaze pointedly here, watching for any hint of disloyalty.

"Dragon's honor," he pledged, hand over heart.

Seemingly satisfied, Dash continued, tugging on the second finger. "Two. In the interest of fairness, you answer the same questions I do."

At this, Spike blinked. "Oh."

Dash's confidence wavered, and a note of hesitance that hadn't been there before was now present. "What is it?" The fear of having gone too far was implicit in her voice.

"Nothing," Spike said, crossing his legs. "It's just, no one ever asks anything about me. I'm flattered."

"Dude. Your love life must suck."

"You think?"

Shaking her head to clear her mind of thoughts, Dash placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward. "Alright. So." She cleared her throat. "My type."

"Are you the type to wear the pants in a relationship?"

Rainbow snorted. "Hell no, dude. I may be a hardass, but when I'm a girlfriend, it's a 50/50 split." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I don't want a guy who won't pull his own weight."

Spike nodded in understanding. "But, I mean..." He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "You're a dom, right?"

Smiling down at her lap, as though she expected this question, Rainbow shook her head. "Nah, dude."

"Dash," came the unbelieving gasp.

"Total sub."

"Bullshit," Spike exclaimed, rolling up to his knees even as Rainbow chuckled. "There's no way. You're way too prideful."

"Too prideful to do what?" Dash asked, still smiling. "To let my boyfriend climb on top of me? I don't think so."

"I don't believe you. At best you'd be putting up with it."

"Let's say you and me were dating," Dash challenged, leaning forward with a smug grin that bled even into her speech. "If there was one way to get me in the mood, it would be you climbing on top of me and pinning me to the bed. I love that shit."

At her explanation, Spike paused, face scrunched in disbelief. "Wait, why?"

"Look, dude. I'm small. No one knows that better than me." Dash held her hands out to the side. "I like my men tall, I like them strong, and I like feeling secure when I'm around them. Can I handle myself?" She shrugged, rolling her eyes. "Of course I can. But just because I'm a badass, that doesn't mean I want to be on all the time. You feel me?"

Spike shrugged in return. "I guess." He couldn't resist the next jibe that came to mind: "So you get off on cuddling?"

Rainbow raised an eyebrow. "If 'get off' is what you took from that, then either you're a dumbass, or I explained it wrong. I like security, Spike. And for me, that's coming home after a long day, passing the fuck out on my bed, and having a big, meaty security blanket with a nice dick draped over me."

Face coloring at the statement, Spike nodded sheepishly. "Why do you think that is?"

She groaned. "I don't know, Spike. I try not to think about this stuff unless I have to. Maybe...I dunno, growing up the way I did, I didn't really get physical affection the way I should've. Aside from my parents, at least, I kind of kept pushing people away." She rubbed her knee, looking past Spike almost shamefully.

"When I became friends with Twilight and everyone else, it was like this need I never knew I had was finally being met, and I didn't know how starved I felt until I had someone holding me. Only, my pride wouldn't let me admit it, and I had to grow out of this mindset that said 'tough girls don't need it, we can get by without.'"

Dash huffed, the air blowing her hair out from over her eyes. "Yeah fucking right. Acting tough is fine and all, but if you have to isolate yourself for the sake of your pride, it isn't worth it." She rubbed her jaw. "Win all the awards you want, have your face plastered on posters in every city. Put your name in the history books. But even if you put all the hours in, if you take off at the end of the night, and you come home to no one for years...sooner or later you might just hate the life you've made for yourself."

At the end of her soft tirade, Rainbow turned to her companion, surprised to find the young man cowed into silence.

"Sorry," she grumbled, rubbing her hand against a temple. "I know that wasn't what you asked about, it's just...when you don't talk about this sort of stuff, and you only ever get to rehearse what you'd say if someone gave enough of a shit to ask, it just sort of tumbles out, I guess."

"I get it, Dash," Spike said, rubbing her knee empathetically. "Believe me, I get it."

Dash spared him a grateful, vulnerable smile, free of arrogance or malice. In that same instant, Spike felt a wave of heat and want flush throughout his body, and he had the strangest compulsion to tell her that she'd make an amazing mother if she so chose. He knew without thinking that anyone as vibrant and courageous as she would bear that same smile even when her brilliant hair would have long since faded into a flaxy thinning silver.

I want that, he thought to himself dazedly, chest heaving as he lamented how rare a delight Dash's smile of mere positivity was. I want to live in that feeling.

"All my life, I had this goal, this...dream, pushing me to be the best I could be. And when I got it, when I actually became a Wonderbolt, oh, believe me, I had never been so happy. It—it was like I just knew that was where I was meant to be, and I hit that goal, I made my dream come true." Her smile was just shy of beaming, and was so infectious that Spike had to bury his own dopey grin under his arms. "But...that's the thing," she said softly, falling back against the headboard. "People change, and you get new dreams."

"What do you want now?" Spike asked, voice equally soft.

"What don't I want?" she asked, half-sarcastically. "I want to fix my parents, I want to fix my friends, I want to leave this dump better than I found it when I die. But mostly?" She sighed. "I think I just want to come home to noise in my house."

With her explanation, Spike felt his connection to Dash widen, moreso than he ever recalled it being in recent memory. Given his upbringing, and his closeness to Twilight—emotionally as well as physically—he realized with gratitude that that particular deficit was one he never had to deal with. Rarely was the day where the two didn't exchange at least the touch on an arm, or a loose but sincere embrace about the shoulder, or even a hello.

It wasn't the same, he realized, not for what Dash intended, but for him—for the moment—it was enough.

"Other than that," Dash continued, snapping Spike out of his trance, "I really don't have much of a type. Just loyal and dominant, I guess. Everything else, I have to look at on a case-by-case basis." She nudged Spike with her foot. "What about you?"

Spike rubbed his neck, grimacing as he tried to gather his thoughts to follow Dash's impromptu speech. "Honestly, I'm not too sure, since I never really talk about it." He sighed. "Confidence is a big deal for me, and I guess assertiveness too."

Out of his line of sight, Dash smirked. "Now why does that sound familiar?"

Spike rolled his eyes but didn't contest her self-aggrandizing point. "I grew up surrounded by authority figures, most of which were women. I'm guessing that maybe it kind of had an affect on what I like."

Dash's smile lessened. "So, what? You're a sub too?"

"I guess?" Spike confirmed, rolling his shoulders. "I don't know. I feel like I could be more assertive if it felt right, but...I just really like the thought of someone telling me what to do sometimes."

"I get that," Dash affirmed. "Power can be sexy."

"It's...not just power, not really," Spike confessed, rolling his thumbs together in a thoughtful cycle.

Rainbow's interest was piqued by the confession. "What do you mean?" she said with an enthusiastic whisper, leaning closer.

Spike's mouth was nearly a flat line, his face flushed cherry red with embarrassment. His voice became quieter, as if he feared eavesdroppers. "Look," he said hurriedly, his voice almost frantic with nervousness, "I don't know if it's because of how I was raised, or if it's instinctual, I don't know what it is. And it's never happened before, but I just know that if it did happen..."

He took a moment to catch his breath, Dash's laser-focused gaze on his face a distracting intruder in the forefront of his mind. The shift in weight on the mattress was the only indication that she had slid ever so closely to him.

"It's like a...compulsion, I guess," he spoke, voice low and composed. "But, sometimes, if it's a woman in charge who I admire, I feel like...I dunno, she deserves me. I just know she could be like, 'Hey, you belong to me now. Go clean my kitchen, make my dinner, and screw me before 8 tonight.' And I'd just be like, 'Well, I had plans, but she said so, so I gotta', or whatever. I wouldn't even question it."

Rainbow Dash held a throw pillow to her chest, mouth ajar in delighted surprise. "Oh, wow. I never would've guessed that about you." She continued to ponder his words for several moments, conscious of Spike's wary eyes on her face. "Wait, so what if it was someone you knew?"

"Someone like who?"

Dash shrugged. "I dunno." She snapped her fingers. "The mayor."

Spike rolled his eyes. "As if. She's an authority figure, sure, but it's not the same. Just because you hold power, it isn't the same as taking power. You have to be assertive, maybe even arrogant."

Rainbow's confusion was evident. "She ran for office, dude. That's 'taking power' for me."

"She was elected. Not the same thing."

"Well, what about Twilight? She wasn't elected; she wasn't even royalty."

Spike paused, considering the question. As he did so, Rainbow studied his face, noting with interest how the question hadn't disgusted him in the slightest; at most, it only stymied him.

"Twilight wouldn't do something like that," he finally decided. "Even if she could get over how weird that would make things between us, it wouldn't be in her character. She's not the aggressive type when it comes to guys."

Dash was becoming visibly irritated with each deflection; it was obvious that she had expected him to answer the question regardless, rather than avoiding the heart of the issue with his rationalizations.

"But even if she was," he started, cutting off her annoyed retort, "I don't think it would work. I can't really see myself with someone who doesn't want to start a family." Spike shrugged. "Knowing Twilight, she'd be fine with just the two of us in this big, empty castle."

The frustration was slow in passing from Rainbow's face, but her silence was evidence enough that she could understand where he was coming from. "You want kids that badly?"

"Have you met me?"

Dash frowned. "But even if you do find—when you do find someone, I mean, it's not like Twilight would want to play babysitter, or have toddlers screaming down the hall in the middle of the night."

"This castle...it's beautiful, but it's lonely, too. It isn't right for raising children," Spike agreed, leaning further against his arms, which lay crossed against his upraised knees. "I know that. Sooner or later I'm going to have to leave here and find my own place."

The athlete's stomach dropped for her friend's sake. After all these years, the thought of one day coming to the Castle of Friendship and finding Spike's room empty was bad enough; the thought of Twilight living without her most constant companion was very nearly unthinkable to her.

"Are you mad at me?"

Rainbow flinched at the question, her arms and pillow falling into her lap from shock. "No, dude. Why would you think that?"

Spike looked guiltily over his knees at his guest, eyes unfocused. "You had this intense look on your face. You're going to tell me that I should stick by her, no matter what. That that's what a real friend would do."

Though she was late in replying, Dash's continued silence wasn't a result of surprise, but of remorse. She had to wonder what she had done, what Spike had seen in her to think that she was capable of such blind loyalty.

Maybe in the past, what Spike had said wouldn't have been outside the realm of possibility...but then again, who was he to know? Her individual growth was rarely the kind that could be externalized.

"I think," she said steadily, shuffling heels first to the edge of the bed, "I need another drink." Spike grunted in the affirmative as she reached the floor.

After being stationary for so long, as well as having the previous drink still seep through her system, Dash braced herself for awkward movement. Thankfully, her legs were still capable of supporting her weight; the coldness of the hard crystal floor even helped to sober her muscles, which had suffered the familiar feeling of hot, hard-packed sand from falling asleep as well as the jerky, unreliable sluggishness born from drinking alcohol on a mostly empty stomach.

Regardless, she made her way to the bookshelf well enough for anyone in her condition. Squinting through the increasingly pervasive darkness—Spike's lamp formed only a modest yellow circle to the center of the bed, leaving the man himself lit only to his stomach—Rainbow found the stack of books concealing the hidden nook and brushed them aside.

Struggling to see over the lip of the cove due to her height, Dash had to resort to searching for the pack of tequila by hand, hoping that her stubby digits would brush against the cool aluminum by chance. She was sorely tempted to hover, so she might increase her field of vision, but she didn't trust her sense of balance, and was sure she'd give herself a concussion if she wasn't careful.

"Do you want some—"

"No," Dash grunted sharply, still struggling to find her target. Part of her thought to apologize to Spike for being so irritated with him for only offering to help; then she remembered that she was wearing track shorts and bending forty-five degrees directly in his line of sight, and reasoned that the view was apology enough.

Her hand passed over what felt like a box made of thin cardboard covered in plastic and dust. Curious, Dash pulled the box to the front of the cove, during which her arm touched a sliver of metal. She groaned to herself, her search now seeming meaningless; the cans, though out of her sight, had been the closest to the edge.

Pulling both the drinks and box to the edge, Dash breathed a sigh of relief. Navigating herself down from the shelf carefully, she reached back for the retrieved items when she was safely on the floor. As she popped open the thin aluminum can, she squinted down at the mysterious box while trudging back to the bed, trying in vain to read the text through the veil of darkness blanketing the room. It was only when she entered the circle of light emanating from the lamp that she could make out anything on the packaging.

Several things happened at once.

Rainbow hadn't given much thought to what the box might contain, but a twenty-four count of lubricated condoms definitely hadn't been one of her expectations. Her mouth gaped in open-mouthed shock, and Dash staggered backwards, stunned.

An angry voice cried out towards the end of the hall, followed by a slamming door and the heavy pounding of feet down the staircase. The sound further startled Dash, whose head snapped in the direction of the sound, her face heavy with worry. In her confusion, both hands unclenched, after which the open can fell to the floor, dousing the girl in pungent alcohol in short order.

"Fuck," Dash cursed, alternating indecisively between patting down the moisture on her legs and struggling not to trip over the puddle of liquor at her feet. Eventually she decided to solve both problems at the same time, by means of whipping off her tank top and mopping up both messes. If Dash had any misgivings about being half-naked in front of her friend, she betrayed none of them, instead scowling at the wasted alcohol lying at her feet.

And between the bruises, old and new, the sculpted muscles of her abdomen, chest, and biceps, and the taut but modest dark blue sports bra spanning her pectorals, Spike found it quite impossible to turn away from the sight.

Rainbow's fingers closed hesitantly around both the ruined can and the box, which she held at arm's length. "Just when I thought tonight couldn't get any worse," she muttered to herself, tossing her dirtied shirt off to an unlit corner of the room.

As she sat down near the middle of the bed, Dash only just started to process the stunned look on her companion's face. Spike's eyes flicked erratically from her bare skin to the box of contraceptives in her hand, and Dash realized too late how things must have looked.

And even as they heard voices gathering outside the door, hands pulling on the worn crystal doorknob, Rainbow had only started to understand just how soon she had spoken.

Zen and the Art of Suasion

by Mr Unsmiley

The Wager

Path One: The Art of Camping

Path Two: The Art of Playing House Part 1

Path Two: The Art of Playing House Part 2

Path Three: The Art of Knowing Yourself Part 1

Path Three: The Art of Knowing Yourself Part 2

Path Three: The Art of Knowing Yourself Part 3

Path Four: The Art of Growing Older Part 1