Conflict Resolution
"Harder baby!"
It was the poorly stifled cry that woke her up, but the rhythmic squeaking of springs and the whining, creaking groan of the bedframe was loud enough that it ought to have done the job. It had been enough the first dozen or so times this had happened, but as it became a weekly and sometimes daily occurrence, the complaining of the stiff and rigid components became mundane, nothing worth noting or waking from a restful sleep to acknowledge. The vocalisations became far more frequent and common after that, as if the reprobate in the room across the landing knew she'd increased the tolerance of her sleeping sister. Before long, perhaps that would fail to rouse her, and the hedonistic harlot would have to resort to even more perverse means to be a menace.
Rarity dreaded to think what that might entail.
She couldn't fall back to sleep, so she glumly lay in the darkness afforded by her sleeping mask, staring unseeingly at the ceiling in resigned weariness, her awkwardness having long shrivelled and turned to dust by repeated encounters of this exact scenario. She couldn't even muster the motivation to wince in distaste as the squeaking hinges persisted achingly, an unwelcome beat overlayed by distorted groans and gasps and grunts, curses and disgusting slang thrown about carelessly to really hammer home what was happening. When this had first started, Rarity had thought that it had gone on forever, dragging for eons and ages past what was endurable, but as she grew numb to its grime, she realised just how mistaken she had been. They rarely lasted long, and she knew the ones who did; they were repeats, people she could identify by particular mannerisms in the sounds of the way they moved, or idioms they used. One of the lucky few was especially fond of demanding Sweetie cream on this fat dick. Tonight didn't sound like anyone Rarity knew, which would mean, any second-
With a hissing groan, her suspicions were confirmed. The brief acceleration came to a head, and all movement ceased, the male's voice petering out as his wave crashed down and left him beached. There was silence for a moment, and Rarity waited. She knew the game. She didn't need to rush. There would be a bit of awkward pillow talk, some forced cliches about it being really good, and then he'd be shown the door. The stubborn ones weren't hard to pursuade, with a quick dive below the sheets and a swift polishing, they were convinced they'd got everything they could hope to get, and left without much more complaint. The murmurs turned questioning, and then irritated, and a masculine gasp reached Rarity's ears. He was a stubborn one, then. A minute later, the door across the landing opened, clicked shut again, and some heavy, clumsy footsteps crept down the stairs with all the grace of a gorilla trying to tiptoe.
Rarity counted to thirty in her head, calmly ticking the seconds by, before pulling the mask from her face and laying it down on the pillow beside her. Throwing back the duvet and swinging her legs daintily from the bed, she arose and padded soundlessly towards her door, plucking her silk nightgown from its hanger and donning it without any thought, tying the thin chord from muscle memory alone. She was modest before she'd opened her bedroom door, a quick glance to the left confirming that the guest had long since left, and she stepped out into the open space, pirouetting to close the door gently behind her and, in a single movement, stopping in front of the door opposite. She paused, listening for something nondescript, which she knew she wouldn't hear.
"Sweetie?" she called out, keeping her volume low and tapping the wood in a careful bump of her knuckles. "Sweetie Belle, are you awake?" There wasn't any response, as she knew there wouldn't be. "I'm coming in." Silence answered her as she reached for the door handle, slowly pushing down and easing the door inward, following a respectful distance behind its lazy arc.
Streetlight dimly lit the bedroom, resisting the efforts of the secluded space to stamp it out and esnare the room in total obscurity. The bed, as was to be expected, was empty, its duvet tossed and folded carelessly over one side, falling over the edge, the bedsheets tousled and ruffled, and the pillows mishapen from use without adjustment. Everything else about the room, however, was neat and organised, tidy and planned; the desk was devoid of clutter, the stationery and little items of unknown use placed precisely and aesthetically, and the hardwood floor was polished to a sheen. The few posters on the walls were squarely centred, in-line and spaced far enough apart to avoid looking undisciplined or clueless.
Rarity's nose wrinkled instinctively as the sourness of carnality hit her, its lingering odour apparent even with the window open. She had to be thankful for small mercies, she supposed, as she looked at the sole source of light in the room, the blinds drawn back and the slider up to let in the late night city, the sounds of cars and the intermittent pedestrians reaching up to the second floor. Sweetie looked out at the urban landscape as she rested against the sill, her slender, svelte form framed in the vertical slice of luminescence. She didn't so much as glance at Rarity as the latter stepped towards the centre of the room. A pungent bite hit her nostrils, and Rarity frowned.
"Sweetie, are you smoking?"
"Yes," came the faceless reply, thin grey whisps curling around and upwards over the leaning woman, and dissipating into the open air.
"You know how I feel about that."
"Do I?"
"I've told you only last week that I'd rather you stop."
"I can't remember that, but okay." A soft pull from between puckered lips was followed by the crumple of paper as the thin orange band flared minutely and crept down the stick, casting a wider, dimmer glow over its immediate surroundings. There was a slow exhale, and a cloud of white flowed into the night air.
"If you're going to insist on partaking in that disgusting habit, can you not do it indoors?"
"I opened a window," Sweetie retorted in a tone Rarity couldn't identify or define, but was intimately familiar with. It was her sister's default these days.
"The smoke will still stain the curtains and the carpet," Rarity pointed out.
"I clean them every week," her sister answered back in that tone again. It carried the confidence and assuredness of smugness, but without the pride or joy.
"That doesn't mean..." Rarity began, then stopped, giving up on that argument. "At least wear your dressing gown."
"I'm not cold," came that tone. It was as stilted and accusatory as bitterness, carrying that cold and clincal distance, but without the ire or bubbling, precarious emotional volatility. "And it'd get smokey, which is a problem, according to you."
"I rather more care about people looking up and seeing you in a very immodest state," Rarity stated, placing a hand on her hip.
"So?" What was it about that tone? It carried so much weight, but it flowed and travelled easily.
"So you should have some self-respect and not display yourself to the entire city."
Sweetie remained silent, shrugging her shoulders as she took one last drag on her cigarette and flicked the butt out of the window, blowing away the fumes of her vice before turning to face Rarity for the first time that evening.
The elder sister didn't know how she felt about seeing so much of herself in the younger woman. They had the same flawlessly smooth and unblemished skin, pale and alluring, and stunning in natural or artificial light. They had the same soft roundness to their cheeks and faces, the same petite button nose, and even their hair was about as soft and bouncy as each other's. Bright gleaming eyes, slender necks, arms, and legs, trim and flat bellies, narrow waists and wide hips, supple thighs with a eye-catching gap - they'd both inherited a winning combination of genes, like lightning had struck twice. Still, the cold, stoic glare that met Rarity couldn't be more distant, and it only seemed to solidify as the silence stretched on.
"Who was he?" Rarity asked at last, opting for something to end their silent standoff.
"I didn't get his name," Sweetie answered dispassionately, lazily shrugging.
"Did you at least use protection?" The eldest glanced at her sister's thighs, noticing the slick trails creeping down the smooth skin.
"That's my business." Finally, after the still seconds spent rooted in place, the teenager moved, walking towards the door and past the fully clothed woman in her room. "I'm going to shower. Go back to bed, sis. It's late." She paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. "I'd hate for you to get up late and miss out on getting a head start on the summer line." With a flick of her hair, Sweetie stepped out onto the landing and headed in the direction of the bathroom, the shower starting up a minute later.
Letting out a slow sigh, Rarity composed herself, doing her best to ignore the drum of water as she returned to her own room. She thought she understood, now, as much as she hated it. That tone that her sister had adopted, the one that emnated from her stature, her posture, the way she moved and spoke, she'd figured it out, at least partly. It wasn't arrogance or smugness, or bitterness or snide contempt; it was apathy, cold and biting, and sucking away all positivity near it. Sweetie didn't care, and coming from a girl who'd squeaked and bounced and filled any room she'd been in with youthful passion, that absence, that emptiness, was palpable. That loss was so significant, it felt like a baleful, malevolent force radiating outward. It didn't sit right at all, and with how unworkable and insurmountable it was, she wished there was something else in its place. Settling back into bed, no longer comfortable as she pulled the mask over her eyes, Rarity found herself wishing that Sweetie just hated her instead.
"Uh, run that by us one more time?" Applejack requested, the first among the group to speak.
"I said, I would rather Sweetie hated me with a burning passion," Rarity repeated, stirring her tea with an automatic, unthinking precision. "It would be so much easier than this...nothingness."
"You don't mean that," Sunset spoke up, frowning at the tailoress.
"I'm afraid I do," the purple haired woman asserted with a sad sigh. The cafe usually was a place where she and the six of her friends came to laugh and exchange stories, but today, the mood was dour. Even the fragrent tea she always ordered smelled and tasted more muted. "I can't react to nothing. I can't fix nothing. Anger is something, at least. When she was a child, Sweetie would throw the most obnoxious tantrums whenever she didn't get her way, and she would scream and wail and stamp her feet. In hindsight, it was truly adorable, but in the moment, it was agonising. She'd only stop when my parents gave in, or when my father threatened to spank her silly for acting like such a brat. When I grew older, I showed her I could be just as disciplinarian as our father, and she rarely bothered me after that. How I miss her childhood."
"Maybe you could try spanking her again," Rainbow suggested, ignoring the quirked eyebrows and shocked looks the others gave her. "All I'm saying is that if it worked then, it could work now."
"Ah'd do it to Bloom if she started playin' up the way Sweetie Belle is," Applejack agreed thoughtfully, the others turning to face her. "It ain't like this is the first thing that's happened, and Rarity's going in swinging."
"Have you tried talking to her?" Twilight asked, looking perturbed in the wake of the heavy-handed suggestion of her much more athletic friends.
"Many times," the tailoress answered with a sigh. "She's an insurmountable problem. I can't even encourage her with promises of ice cream like I used to."
"I could try asking?" Sunset suggested. "If it comes to it, I can always take hold of her hand, find out what's bothering her."
"I appreciate the help, I really do, but I'd rather not pawn off my responsibility as a sister to my friends." Rarity pursed her lips and picked up her tea, looking into the swirling concoction. "I just wish I knew what I needed to do to get through to her."
"You said she's acting like a kid, so why not treat her like a kid?" Pinkie posited, her joyous nature shining through her oddly thoughtful line of reasoning. "Sit her down, comfort her, tell her everything's gonna be okay, give her candy and promise to take her to see the next Daring Doo movie, so long as she tells you what's making her all frowny."
"It sounds nicer than spanking her," Fluttershy opined. "And if it's difficult for you, I'm happy to help, even if it's just offering moral support, or giving you feedback."
"Girls, I appreciate all of your advice and help," Rarity told them. "I truly do. I know you all have your reasons to tell me, but I don't know if any of it is going to help. I haven't tried spanking her, but I can already tell it will just make her even more rebellious. I've tried sitting her down and talking to her, but she just acts like I'm not there and does this infuriating thing where she talks through or around me. It's obvious she doesn't want me there, but it's worse than that; it feels like she doesn't care if I'm there or not, and that it'd be mildly more convenient for her if I just got out of her way. I can't just treat her like a child, but she's not reacting like an adult, either." She took a deep sip of her tea, the smooth, hot mixture restoring her calm just a little.
"Maybe there's a happy medium?" Twilight suggested. "I know I've acted up when I've been missing my brother, and it sounds like she's just wanting attention."
"She has plenty of attention," the tailoress rebuffed, tempering her tone to a grumble. "And she's made it very clear she doesn't want any attention from me."
"With all respect, Rares, it don't sound like she does," Applejack intervened. As the purple-haired woman quirked an eyebrow and opened her mouth to retort, the farmer continued with her thoughts. "She's doin' all sorts at all times of the day, right? She's out partyin' and goin' wild doin' whatever takes her fancy, right?" She waited for Rarity to nod. "But she always comes home at night. She never stays 'round some random guy's house, or bunks with a friend. She's always right across the hallway from your room, when she could just as easily stay away completely."
"With company."
"With company she brought back home, an' rarely the same one twice, from what you've said. You're the only person in her life that seems to be constant."
"Well, she could do a far-sight better than waking me up at all hours of the night! She has no regard for my sleep, or how that impacts my business! I swear, she deliberately tries to wake me up! It used to be that the bedsprings would wake me, but now I have to put up with all sorts of obscenities!"
"How many hours a day do you spend working?" Twilight cut in, looking at the businesswoman with a curious gaze.
"Roughly ten hours on weekdays," Rarity replied. "And weekends too, except for these rendezvous I manage to slip into my schedule."
"How often do you see Sweetie Belle?"
"Every day, and always at the worst possible times. She makes a point of obnoxiously passing by whenever I'm-"
"How many hours a day, Rarity?"
The question halted the rant, and the table fell silent for a few seconds, which seemed to stretch on for ages. The chatter from the other tables was distant, as if they were stuck in a bubble of their own. Finally, Rarity answered, her voice quiet and cautious.
"Less than an hour."
"Ain't no wonder," Applejack commented with a frown. "She misses you."
"I-I have a lot to do," Rarity objected, fiddling with her cup. "I have orders to take, and fabric to source, and-"
"And a sister that wants more than anything to spend some time with you," Twilight interrupted. "I used to push all my friends away in favour of studying, and after I learned what it meant to have friends by your side, I made sure to stop being so single-minded."
"Sweetie is an adult now. She shouldn't need her older sister to take care of her like a toddler."
"Scoots is an adult too," Rainbow pointed out. "We still hang out whenever we can, even if that's giving each other a hand at work."
"Apple Bloom doesn't need me takin' care of her neither," the blonde of their table added. "Hasn't since she was 'bout ten. Ah still see her every evenin', an' make sure ah know what's goin' on in her day. If we're at home, we have our supper together, no ifs nor buts. Keeps the family together."
"Yes, yes, you've quite made your point," the tailor conceded, urgently stepping in as Twilight went to add her anecdote. "And made me feel rather inadequate."
"We didn't mean to," Fluttershy intoned apologetically, slumping in her seat.
"I think I rather needed it, and deserved it." It was her turn to slump, sipping what remained of her tea.
"If you need help, we can assist you with your business while you spend time with Sweetie?" Sunset probed. "Take in any deliveries, help with advertising, greeting customers...?"
"Thank you, but I don't believe that's necessary. If you have any advice, however, that would be very much appreciated."
"Take her to a theme park," Rainbow jumped in immediately.
"Sit down with her and read a book," Twilight proposed.
"Ooh, ohh, how about a comic book and milkshakes?" Pinkie injected.
"What does she like?" Sunset asked, offering something to focus the plethora of options being hurled at the woman. "Does she like theme parks, comics, or books?"
"I...I'm not sure," Rarity admitted. "I used to know, but since she's changed, it's hard to tell. I know she used to love theatre and ice cream, but I couldn't even begin to hazard what she'd like now. I'm not sure I want to know, either."
"Start with the stuff you know she liked, and work with that," Pinkie told her, the bubbly woman pushing aside the third cup of milkshake she'd ordered since their arrival at the cafe. "Go get ice cream, see how she responds, then figure it out from her reactions. It's a good bonding session. How do you think I became so good at gauging what people liked?"
"Natural intution?"
"Well, maybe a teensy-weensy bit, but it was mostly trial and error."
"As much as that sounds...logical, I'd rather attempt something less chance-oriented."
"It sounds like she needs a little bit of discipline, a little bit of guidance, a lot of attention, and some love," Twilight pointed out, counting the points on her fingers. "Do you know anything that could provide all of that?"
Rarity pondered for a long while, remaining silent as the others commented and suggested, mulling over in her mind the things that emerged from the depths of her life. TImes she's played with Sweetie, the things they used to do together, the ways they annoyed each other, the moments their arguments were broken up by their parents and they'd have to sit in a room together until they learned to get along again. Sweetie would inch towards her, clearly wanting to make up, but being too stubborn to admit it, and Rarity would scoop her into a cuddle after half an hour or so of silence. The young girl would wriggle and offer token resistance before huffing and 'accepting' that they had to get on, but the firmness of their hug always betrayed her supposed reluctance.
The woman's eyes widened, and she smiled.
"Oooh, I recognise that look!" Pinkie declared, grinning at the tailor. "You've got a super special amazing idea, and you know how you're going to do it!"
"Indeed I have," Rarity told the table. "Thank you very much for your contributions, girls. I think you've provided me with an answer."
"So what are you gonna do?" Rainbow querried, leaning in. "The theme park idea, right? We've got two spare tickets for this Friday, and if you wanna bring Sweetie-"
"No thank you, darling. I'll be rather busy this weekend."
"What do you have planned?" Sunset asked, unable to hide her own smile.
"Isn't it obvious? You girls have all handed me pieces, and now..." She eyed the shop across the street. "...I'm going to make an ensemble."
The door rattled for a few seconds before the irritated huff made its way through to the kitchen, followed by the muffled stomp of heels preluding the young woman's arrival. Rarity smiled to herself as Sweetie pushed open the door and stepped inside, looking expectantly at the older woman. She looked every bit as uncouth and ghastly as Rarity had imagined she'd be; a studded leather jacket covering whatever skimpy top she'd deigned to don, jean shorts which rode so high they barely reached the definition of shorts, and some black high-heels that lent her a few inches, which, in combination with the lillac lipstick and heavy mascara and eyeshadow, broadcast her presence to the room. The signals she sent may have been I'm indifferent to my bad decisions, but she was stunning, in a cheap, inexperienced, teenage sort of way.
Perhaps teaching her the finer arts of dress and makeup was a mistake, the fashionista mused.
"Hello, darling," Rarity greeted, beaming at her sister with all the welcoming warmth she could muster. "You look ravishing tonight." The comment was met with an impassive stare, though the flurry of blinking at least showed that it had caught the younger woman off-guard.
"The door's locked," Sweetie stated.
"As it usually is," Rarity commented, reaching for her glass of wine on the table.
"Can you unlock it?"
"Why?"
"I'm going out."
"Where to?"
"A party."
"Whose?"
"Rumble's, I think."
"How nice." She sipped her wine casually, not letting the smile fade from her lips.
"Unlock the door," Sweetie pushed.
"You have a key."
"The key won't fit in the lock."
"Oh dear," Rarity hummed, touching her fingers gently to the faintly glowing geode hanging around her neck. "But while you're here-"
"Rarity, I'm going to be late," her sister interrupted, huffing.
"Don't be so dramatic. Besides, you haven't even had your pre-drinks yet."
"Pre-drinks?" Sweetie repeated, surprise crossing her face as Rarity gestured to the hitherto unnoticed second glass of wine on the table.
"Or 'prinks', if you want to be young and cool."
"Thanks, but I prefer vodka," Sweetie retorted with a roll of her eyes, her dismissiveness reasserting itself for a moment, only for surprise to sweep across her expression again as the purple-haired woman procured a bottle from underneath the table and materialised two shining shot glasses. "How-?"
"Do you really think I don't know my own sister?" Rarity asked, gesturing to the chair next to her. It was her turn to look expectantly as Sweetie stood there, her resistance gradually crumbling until she grumbled and accepted the invitation to sit, watching passively as Rarity filled the first shot glass to the brim with the burning spirit. "Santé."
Sweetie mumbled the unfamiliar word back, squeezing the textureless, temperatureless surface of her container, feeling only the pressure of something resisting her touch while Rarity poured her own shot. The manifestations rang as they were knocked together, a glassy chime emnating from the contact that marked the moment they raised the manifestations to their lips and threw back their heads, downing the contents in a single gulp. Rarity sputtered, coughing as the spirit burned its path down her esophagus, while the younger woman practically inhaled the drink and turned her attention to the shimmering glass replica.
"V-very good," the purple haired woman wheezed, rubbing her chest and wincing. "Very...bracing."
"You can say you don't like it," Sweetie told her, watching as the construct in her hand faded out of existence. "You obviously prefer wine."
"A lady can have a variety of tastes."
"Vodka isn't one of yours."
"Yes, well..." Rarity murmured, trailing off. "You like it, and that's enough."
"Don't try to be me," the younger woman muttered scathingly, with a dash of something Rarity couldn't place. Was that embarassment? Discomfort?
"That would be inappropriate," the dressmaker agreed, summoning her calm, collected demeanour once more. "I'm here to be a model for you, after all. With that in mind, why don't you try the wine? It's a vintage malbec, I think you'll approve of it." She ignored the quiet indignation that started to form on her sister's face, steering the conversation in a direction that was more suited to her own, mature topical strengths, and sure enough, despite the slightest narrowing of the eyes, Sweetie took hold of the wine and tipped it upward, swallowing a great deal more than she should've. Rarity held back the condemnation at that moment.
"It's okay," the teenager commented, swirling the liquid in the glass. After a pause, she added, "Thanks for sharing, I guess."
"You're very welcome." Baby steps, but it was progress nonetheless. "What made you want to go out tonight?"
"Bored."
"And you're going where, exactly?"
"You sound like mom," the teen snorted in amusement. "Or what mom would've sounded like if I'd gone out when we lived with her."
"Mom would've let you got out without nearly as many questions," Rarity retorted, and Sweetie shrugged in acquiescence. "So where, exactly?"
"Are you trying to stop me?"
"If I wanted to stop you, I'd never unblock the lock." The answer seemed to both perturb and disarm Sweetie.
"Five blocks away," she answered. "I don't know who owns the appartment. Probably Rumble, since he invited me."
"Is Rumble one of your friends, or 'friends'?"
"Sometimes." She quirked an eyebrow as Rarity reached down into a handbag beneath the table, rummaging around for a few seconds, before straightening up and sliding over a square foil packet. "Seriously?"
"You refused to answer when I asked if you were using protection, so-"
"Don't react like that," Sweetie scorned, scowling from her chair. "You're not supposed to react like that."
"How am I supposed to react, Sweetie Belle?"
"You're-" The teenager huffed, shaking her head and gulping down the rest of her wine. "I need a lot more to drink before we talk about that, Rarity."
"Then drink," the purple haired woman instructed, pulling a further two bottles from under the table. "We've got more in the cupboard, too. Red, white, rosé - pick your poison." She nearly smiled as Sweetie blinked and tried to form words, her mouth working without producing any sound.
"I'm going for a smoke," the teenager declared at last, standing up and turning to the door.
"What a marvellous idea," Rarity agreed, unable to stop a thrill of amusement run through her at Sweetie's sharp turn of the head and confused frown. It only lasted for a second, but it was the starkest reaction she'd seen from her younger sister for the last several months, and it was refreshing, among other things.
Silently, the two walked from the room and out to the back door, emerging into the fresh air of the evening. Sweetie didn't say anything as she pulled the packet and lighter from her handbag, sporting quick glances at the purple-haired woman as she plucked a slender cigarette from among the half-empty bundle. When Rarity reached in and took one for herself, Sweetie's visage morphed between irritation and shock, flashing between the two, before she shook her head and sparked the lighter, keeping her gaze fixated on the other woman as they ignited their own cigarettes from the shared flame. Pulling back, they took the first puff, exhaling almost silently in the confined alleyway. The silence continued, until the older woman tutted.
"How slovenly," Rarity criticised, plucking the cigarette from between Sweetie's lips. "When you aren't inhaling, take it out of your mouth. You aren't some lowly tramp, Sweetie Belle. Act more like a lady." Holding it out once more, she waited for Sweetie to take it and hold it properly, finally nodding her approval. "That's better. It's more refined. Honestly, who taught you how to smoke?" She took a quiet drag, blowing out a slow puff of smoke while the teenager alternated between looking affronted and embarassed.
"Why are you doing this?" Sweetie asked at last, her cigarette nearly forgotten in her grip. "Why now?"
"I wanted to spend time with you," Rarity answered readily, letting the smoke roll from her lips. "Not just spend time with you waiting for me to leave."
"Like this?" Sweetie pressed. "Smoking? Drinking?"
"You do both of those an awful lot. What else ought I do? You don't respond well to me trying to talk to you otherwise."
"But you're not supposed to-" The teenager cut herself off, looking away and taking a long, hard pull. Rarity waited patiently, maintaining her watchful, expectant gaze. "You hate me doing this. You think it's wrong and that I'm going down the wrong path, and that I need to change. You can't just be giving in and joining me all of a sudden!"
"I'd rather join you than have you hate me," Rarity told her, tapping away the last of the ash and letting the acrid taste lay on her tongue. "Besides, someone needs to teach you proper etiquette, even in this sordid arena."
"I don't hate you," Sweetie muttered. "I wish I did. I wish I could just hate the sight of you and never want to see you again, but I can't. I just can't."
"Why can't you?"
"I just can't!" The outburst was enough to shock the fashionista, and it took her a few seconds to realise it hadn't sounded angry, but pained. Before she could interrupt, Sweetie continued. "I hate that I can't! I can't hate you, and I can't seem to do anything to make you hate me! All I can do is hate...this!" She gestured around herself. "This entire situation!" She slumped against the wall, taking urgent drags on the cigarette until it had burned down to the nub, and then flicked the butt onto the ground. "I need more to drink." She turned and strode back inside, leaving Rarity standing alone in the alley, frowning. Steeling herself for whatever came next, she followed her tempremental sister into their home.
The drinks flowed easily, and Rarity made sure to keep them coming. Sweetie was morose and downbeaten rather than apathetic and obtrusive, but it was hardly an improvement on the state of affairs. The only upside seemed was that Sweetie wasn't a brick wall now, and getting her to open up seemed to be a possibility rather than a pipe dream. After all this time, maybe the teenager would stop with her pretense at stoicism and actually reveal what was on her mind, and not in a passive-aggressive way, either. It was still a long shot, but Rarity had a few tricks up her sleeve, starting with loosening her sister's tongue with a judicious amount of social lubricant.
"I cannot believe you drink that horrid bile," Rarity laughed. "It tastes and smells like nail polish."
"I've never drank nail polish," Sweetie hiccupped, cracking a slight smile that didn't reach her eyes as she slurped the last of the vodka from the wine glass.
"And I'll be surprised if you manage to taste it if you do," the older sister retorted. "Do your taste buds even function at this point?"
"I can tell guys apart by taste, so..." This time, the smile was full, a chuckle slipping past her attempts to stifle her enjoyment at Rarity's wrinkling, disgusted expression. "It's nowhere near as bad as nail polish."
"I'm sure."
"How can you know unless you've tried?"
"I'd rather never know, if I'm being perfectly honest."
"Boring."
"Since you define 'fun' as anything you know I would positively despise, I'm not sure that's the insult you need it to be."
"That's not how I define fun. It's work."
"In a technical sense, I suppose, but-"
"No, not like that," the teen argued, then stopped and visibly reconsidered her words. "Well, not just like that, anyway. I have to do it." She didn't react as Rarity raised an eyebrow, focusing on emptying the last of the vodka into the wine glass.
"You have to do it...why?"
"Because I have to."
"What makes you think that?"
"There's nothing else I can do," Sweetie answered with a shrug, sipping her drink as if it were water. "I can't just tell you outright, and I can't just do nothing, so I have to do...this."
"This?" Rarity questioned. "Drinking? Smoking? Bringing home boys at all times of the night?" She gasped silently. "Were you deliberately waking me up with your vulgarity?"
"You stopped reacting," Sweetie answered. "I had to figure out how to make you realise I was there."
"I see," Rarity muttered, frowning at her sister. "I don't pay enough attention to you."
"You don't pay the right attention to me."
"I'm sorry."
"No." The word was followed by a heavy sigh. "That's the wrong reaction. That's what I don't want!"
"You don't seem to know what you want," Rarity answered back, a scowl crossing her face. "You want to do what you want, you act cold to me, and then you accuse me of not loving you enough."
"And you still don't get the hint!"
"Honestly, you're acting like a child!"
You said she's acting like a kid, so why not treat her like a kid?
The memory bubbled to the surface of her mind, the innocent and honest question from the cafe surfacing with such a suddenness and innevitability it was like like she'd crossed a tripwire. Had it been so obvious that Pinkie had managed to see it from such a distance? Or had her business taken up so much of her life that she was blind to simplicities that everyone else managed to see clearly?
"Do children get any guy they want on a nightly basis?" Sweetie fired back. "Can children do this?" She tipped her glass skyward, downing the rest of the vodka with an effortless gulp and pounding the glass to the table. "I'm not a child, Rarity. I'm a grown woman who isn't afraid to do what she wants. You're the child who's scared of smoking, drinking, and fucking. I'm going out to spend my time with people who get me." The teenager stood up, toppling over her chair carelessly.
"Young lady!" Rarity snarled sternly. "You most certainly will not be going out. You will not be going out for a very long time. You are grounded."
"Whatever you say, mom," the teen scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Come over here, right now!"
"Make me."
The snide comment had barely been uttered before Rarity was out of her chair and striding towards the younger woman, Sweetie's lips still curled into a mocking sneer as Rarity grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards the kitchen table, too startled to remember to yelp until she was already halfway across the floor. Her surprise continued as she began to object, her voice high-pitched and whiny.
"You are supposed to be a lady," Rarity admonished, sitting back down in her chair. "But you are acting like a little girl. You've grown into a spoiled brat, and while that may have been my fault for not guiding you in the right direction, it's my duty to set you right." With a sharp yank, she brought the teenager tumbling onto her lap, laying over the dressmakers' slender legs, and raised her hand. "I should have done this much sooner."
The first strike felt like it should've been shockingly loud, given what she was doing, but the impact sounded like a pat more than anything, though that didn't stop Sweetie squeaking reactively. The second raised less of a reaction, and the third and fourth were met with silence.
"Was that it?" Sweetie scoffed, looking over her shoulder. "Is putting your back into it not ladylike enough for you?"
Rarity didn't care if she was being baited, she brought her hand down again, far harder, sending a crack through the room. If the teenager didn't care about being hurt, there was no reason for her to take such considerations into account. Her sister simply had to be disciplined, and if it took a physical reminder of who was in charge, then that was what had to be done. Judging from the gasp and the subsequent squeaks and yelps, it was far more effective than her first attempt. She switched cheeks, ensuring Sweetie felt her wrath evenly across both buttocks, until the fashionista's hand buzzed numbly and the teen's vocalisations had risen to whining squeals and whimpers.
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
The response was murmured at first, and delayed enough that the dressmaker wondered if she’d need to spank her sister again to demand her compliance, but then Sweetie turned her head.
“Thank you,” the teen muttered, letting out a relieved sigh.
“Thank you?” Rarity repeated, confused. “What you do you mean, ‘thank you’?”
“I was starting to think you didn’t care.” She stirred in Rarity’s lap, rising into a sitting position, and wrapped her arms around the older woman’s torso, pulling herself close into a hug. “Thank you for showing you care.”
“I don’t understand, darling,” Rarity answered tentatively, winding her own arms around her sister to complete the embrace. Her hands tenderly rubbed up and down Sweetie’s back, a small comforting gesture. They hadn’t done this in so long, she realised. “Why did it take this to make you realise I care about you?”
“You kept letting me get away with doing things you obviously didn’t want me to do,” the younger woman explained. “What else is a girl meant to think if people who are meant to love her don’t intervene?”
“All of this was some test? Did you really think I was so neglectful you need to provoke me to get me to show you that I loved you?”
“I wasn’t trying to get you to show me you loved me, I was trying to get you to love me.”
“Sweetie Belle!” Rarity balked, gasping. “I’ve always loved you! I’ve never stopped loving you, even when we’ve fought and argued!”
“I know,” the teen answered, sighing happily. “When we made up, it always felt like something special. I hated fighting with you, but I wanted what I felt when we made up. That was a hundred times, no, a thousand times more powerful. Can I admit something?”
“Anything.”
“I thought I’d stopped loving you, once. I stopped feeling like I was on top of the world whenever we made up, and I thought it was because we’d drifted apart, until I realised how much better my days were when I spent them with you. I hadn’t stopped feeling that amazing high when we made up, I’d just started feeling it all the time.”
“That’s…” Rarity took a deep breath, pulling Sweetie closer. “That’s beautiful, darling.”
“It was,” Sweetie corrected. “I hated being away from you, and I found reasons to stop by and see you, even if it annoyed you. I thought I wanted to be you, and I tried copying everything you did, wanting to be just like you in every way.”
“You’re more than welcome to pay me back for all the makeup and clothes you borrowed,” Rarity commented, and her sister laughed.
“It took me years to figure out I wasn’t quite right. I didn’t want to be you, I wanted to be around you, to be a part of your life. I needed you, like a fire needs oxygen. I still need you.”
"You still have me," Rarity reminded her. "You'll always have me." The purple-haired woman didn't expect a downcast frown from her sister. "What's wrong?"
"I don't have you."
"You...yes, you do. I'm right here. I'm sorry that I've been caught up in work, but I love you and I always will. I promise we'll spend more time-"
"No, you don't get it," Sweetie interrupted, frustration laced in her huff. "I don't have you. I want to have you, but I can't, but I can't get rid of you either. It's agony!" She pulled away, wriggling out of the hug, but Rarity pulled her back in. "Let go!"
"Not until you tell me what's wrong."
"Let go!"
"Sweetie Belle, tell me what's wrong, this instant!"
"I can't! You won't understand!"
"Then make me understand." The tailoress held Sweetie's face tenderly, cupping the young woman's cheek in her hands. "We're not going anywhere until we're on the same page. I promised you that I'm always here, and I mean it." They held the gaze for what felt like minutes, the seconds stretching spitefully into minutes as they stared, unable or unwilling to turn away. "Whatever it is, I need to-"
Rarity saw the movement, but it didn't register as Sweetie's lips pressed to hers, her mind freezing at the split second her before sister had moved. She felt the contact, but the softness was distant, separated from her by a wall, as if her body had grown numb from cold, frozen by the simple action she never could have anticipated from the woman she thought she knew so well. When Sweetie pulled back, Rarity blinked, her ability to move slowly returning to her.
"Do you understand now?"
The older woman opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't even make sound, even if she could find the words to speak. Her lips parted a little, and she tried to say something, but her vocal cords were still paralysed. She tried to read her sister's face, looking past the pessimistic resignation of her visage to see the cold dread swirling in her eyes, specks and sparkles of hope twinkling defiantly, but growing fainter with every passing second. Behind the bravado, the apathy, Sweetie was terrified. Without her voice to communicate what needed to be said, Rarity pulled her sister in for a tight hug, holding her closer than she ever had before, and refusing to let go. Sweetie's arms wrapped around her in kind, iron chains to seal them together.
"It couldn't have been easy," Rarity uttered at last. "All this time, I've been completely unaware, and you've been feeling..." She trailed off, lacking the words she needed.
"It would've been easier to hate you," Sweetie spoke, her voice muffled from where she was snuggled against Rarity's shoulder. "I couldn't tell you how I felt, but being around you without being with you just felt...wrong. It wasn't what I needed. You were always here, just out of my reach. I thought failing a test by a single mark was infuriating, but knowing the one person you've ever loved is the person you've ever been closest with, who you can hug and say 'I love you' every single day without it meaning anything to them, that's just cruel. Love I could reach out and graze with my fingertips, but never clutch. I fucking hated it."
"Language, darling." She stroked Sweetie's hair, comforting her tenderly. "And your behaviour recently? What was that all about?"
"You're my sister," Sweetie explained. "I couldn't tell my sister I had feelings for her. Siblings aren't meant to have feelings for each other, at least not like I do. Siblings are too similar, too closely connected. I figured that if I couldn't be with you because we were too alike, maybe being different would give us a chance. If we already had a relationship because we were family, maybe if I broke that down, I could replace it with what I wanted." She let out a staggered sigh. "Fuck me, I was stupid."
"Darling, language," Rarity reiterated. "All those boys...all the drinking, smoking, and partying...that was to make me hate you?"
"I couldn't make you love me if you already thought of me as your little sister," the teen told her. "If you thought of me as someone who was out of control, someone who wasn't worthy of being your family, then I could be something more to you. But you're you, and you're too stubborn to stop loving me as a sister. You were always too patient, too understanding, too concerned."
"Always," Rarity agreed, squeezing the younger woman softly. "Did you not think that maybe I wouldn't reciprocate your feelings? That you'd destroy our relationship and that we'd have nothing to replace it with?"
"I didn't let myself think about it for long," Sweetie answered, lifting her head to fix Rarity with a stare. Her eyes were watery, but she held herself together, refusing to let a single drop spill. "But when I did, it wasn't hard for me to figure out that it was worth the risk. I couldn't live without you while being so close to you. If I annihilated our relationship and had to move out and never see you again..." She blinked rapidly, tilting her head back slightly. "I always knew it'd be easier to hate you, and you hating me was the closest I could get to that."
"Darling," Rarity murmured, pulling Sweetie close. "I'm...horrified. And I'm so sorry you've had to suffer this alone. I wish you'd told me sooner." She let the hug persist for a little while, allowing the warmth of their cuddle settle like a blanket. "Did you actually like anything you did?"
"The partying?" Sweetie asked. "I've grown to like it, I suppose. Smoking's a norm for me now, the booze is good, and the boys are...eh, well, they're handsome, and nice enough, but they're...well, they're not you. The best part of it was knowing you were listening, and that you'd come and scold me for it. At least, that was the plan. Instead, you tried to get me to be safe and sensible."
"I still want you to be safe and sensible."
"I know." The teenager let out a sigh. "I'm on birth control, by the way. I figure you deserve an answer, now that everything else is on the table. I might've been a stupid slut who let guys have their way with her every night, but I'm not dumb enough to get pregnant just to get you to react."
"That's some small comfort, I suppose. Are they...generous, in the way they treat you?"
"They all tried. I just...I couldn't. It didn't feel right. The only times I've finished are when I've thought about you, imagining it's you on top of me, instead of them. The last time I had someone round, I had to take care of myself. I didn't care about the mess, or how much I stank of cigarette smoke, I just needed time alone to think about you. I hoped you'd join me in the shower, even though I knew you wouldn't. I imagined you coming in, finding me there playing with myself, and that you'd punish me for being such a filthy girl." She shivered in Rarity's lap, then buried her head in Rarity's shoulder again. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do. You mean everything to me. Everything."
Rarity didn't know how to respond as Sweetie began to sob, the vulnerable girl shaking silently as she tried to suppress the spasms taking hold of her. All the purple-haired woman could do was hold her sister, keeping her safe as she rode out the storm raging in her soul, sitting still dutifully as the minutes ticked by. The shaking lessened gradually, an exhausted steadiness falling over Sweetie.
"It's okay, darling," she assured her sister, kissing her cheek. "We'll talk about this in the morning, when we're both sobre. For now, I think it's time you headed to bed." She stood up, lifting the younger woman in her arms, and walked towards the stairs. "I love you, darling. Don't ever, ever forget that."
Sweetie was silent as she was carried, clinging tightly to her older sister all the way up to the landing and into her bedroom. It took a few seconds before she relented and let go when they reached her bed, allowing herself to be laid down. Rarity stroked her hair, offering a chaste kiss to the forehead, and stepped back.
"Goodnight, Sweetie Belle."
"Rarity," Sweetie spoke up, looking up at the ceiling. "If you don't feel the same way...kick me out."
"That's not-"
"I don't want to be here if you don't feel the same way," Sweetie interrupted. "It would kill me. Tell me to fuck off-"
"Language, Sweetie Belle."
"-and shove me out the front door. I'd prefer it. Please. If you love me as your sister, tell me to leave, and remember me as your sister, and not this fuck-up."
"Language!" Rarity snapped, then sucked in a breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. This is just a lot to take in, and I'll decide tomorrow, when we're both in a better headspace. Try to get some sleep." Sweetie said nothing, turning over to face away, and curling into a fetal position on the bedsheets. Rarity grimaced as she exited the room, keeping an eye on the younger woman, until the door closed and her view was blocked. Only then did she allow herself to let out a sigh, and retreated to her own room, where she collapsed on her bed, face-down.
"Fucking dammit," she hissed to herself, the weight of the night's events pressing down on her. "Damn all of it."
It was hard to tell whether her dreams had been more swirling than the waking thoughts in her head, but Rarity felt the dizzying rush she usually got from undertaking too many tasks at once as she prepared breakfast the following morning. It was like she was running on autopilot, a skill she'd honed after years of managing her own indepent affairs and cultivating a business persona, the customers she served acting as a whetstone, and so when her sister came downstairs at midday, trudging blearly into the kitchen, she was able to serve the hearty breakfast, make smalltalk, and continue with her sisyphean internal monologue. She only registered the important parts of their discussion - Sweetie's dour tone, the lackluster conversation, and the absence of eye contact - and kept, for the most part, to the questions dancing about in her head. It was like playing Whack-A-Mole, every problem springing up and disappearing before she could resolve it, only for another problem to rise elsewhere.
Did she feel the same way towards her sister? She didn't know the answer to that one. She'd always imagined she'd know when she'd found mister right, but aside from some fleeting infatuations, she'd never felt strong romantic attraction to anyone. She didn't particularly know exactly what is was supposed to feel like, but she'd assumed that when it came along, it would be obvious. So far, though, she was for more close with her friends and her family than any man. Maybe that was her issue; she'd been too focused on what her partner was supposed to be - strong, handsome, gentle, caring, bold, confident - that she'd never questioned whether her eventual spouse would lack a strong jaw or beard, or even whether it'd be a stranger. All she knew was that she loved Sweetie, and certainly far more than anyone else in her life. Whether she loved Sweetie in the way that Sweetie loved her was another matter entirely.
Was it okay if she did share her sister's feelings? They were sisters, after all, and she'd never heard positive things about siblings who acted like lovers. It'd potentially ruin her career, her friendships, her family, and all for something which may well be a grand mistake. For all she knew, she might be betraying her duty as an older sister, giving in to the vulnerability of someone she was supposed to cherish and steward, all because she lacked that meaning in her own life. Could she ever forgive herself for that? Then again, could she ever forgive herself if she spurned Sweetie because of her own fears and doubts? She didn't even have to question whether that would be wrong of her, and she already knew she cared for Sweetie more than anyone else in the world - would the worst-case scenario from the rest of the world even matter, so long as she had her sister in her life?
The conundra tumbled and intertwined in her mind like clothes in a washing machine, parting and rejoining and twisting together in random, chaotic bundles. She'd have more luck navigating an ocean during a monsoon than sorting out this mess. She didn't even know from what basis she could begin resolving her inner conflict, and it wasn't like she could seek out another source. Who would she ask? Twilight, and whether or not she had feelings for her brother? Applejack, and whether or not she'd ever kissed Apple Bloom as lovers do? No, the only person she could talk to was the very person who was in the same situation as her, and the very reason she was in this crisis in the first place. Of course, if her little sister knew anything about how to fix it, there wouldn't be a problem to fix in the first place.
That was it, she realised with a start. Her sister, the one person she could talk to, the person she ought to talk to, if she wanted to build something meaningful and find a solution. That seemed right - obvious, even - and it was hard to believe she'd taken so long to see it. Whether or not this worked, she needed to leave no stone unturned, no path untrod.
"What's wrong?" Sweetie asked, cutting through the fugue that had insulated her from reality. "You just stopped talking mid-sentence."
"Nothing, darling," Rarity answered, blinking herself into clarity and glancing at the clock; fourteen twenty five. They'd been conversing for over two hours. "I just understood something. We need to talk."
"We've been talking," Sweetie pointed out, frowning. "Have...have you been tuning me out, all this time?"
"No, no," the older woman elucidated hurriedly. "I mean we need to talk properly. We've been dancing around the issues, trying to figure out if we have a future together. We haven't been talking to each other about this. Not really." At Sweetie's continuing frown, the fashionista stood up, stepping around the table to her sister's side, and rested a hand on Sweetie's shoulder. "We're the only two people who know how we feel. We're the only two people who can decide whether this works or not."
"Yes?"
"So...let's do just that. Let's take it slowly, and learn how much we care for each other, one baby step at a time, okay?"
The shadow cleared from Sweetie's face like clouds parting before sunlight, and she lept up to hug Rarity tightly, almost crushing the other woman in her grasp. The room seemed brighter, fuller, and the choking laughter which filled it only added to that invisible glow. However slow they intended to take it, they'd made a huge leap. Sweetie didn't try to hold back her tears this time, and Rarity nearly joined her, instead holding the younger woman in her arms and craddling her, rocking side to side and refusing to let go. Sweetie didn't try to change that.
That didn't change the next day, when Sweetie reached for Rarity's hand and laced their fingers together, beaming as Rarity reciprocated. It felt natural, like two pieces of a jigsaw coming together, and letting go left them feeling incomplete, so they found ways to minimise their time apart. Sometimes it wasn't holding hands, but a hand resting on the shoulder, or around the waist, or a hand on the knee. Whenever they were reading, or sewing, or having dinner, there were ways and means to touch each other, a comforting and fulfilling presence.
The three simple words were harder to say, given their greater significance. Sweetie tried it at dinner, holding onto Rarity's hand and making the statement with a doting, powerful affection written across her expression, and Rarity winced, explaining quickly that it had just been too intense and sudden. They hugged, letting the silence speak the words they couldn't vocalise just yet. When Rarity felt comfortable saying it, she was sewing, looking down at the fabric in her hands while her lips curled into a smile, hearing Sweetie sigh in contentment from the couch. It became easier after that, able to be uttered in conjunction with touches and hand-holding, softly lidded eyes and kisses to the forehead or cheeks.
Their first mutual kiss came when they were watching a movie one night, two weeks after they'd agreed to explore their emotions. Neither of them had drank since that night, tentative about the tenuous relationship they had and wishing to move away from the associations it had had with regard to Sweetie's behaviour. The film was something Sweetie had picked from the DVD collection their father had, containing far too many explosions and fight scenes for Rarity's liking, but the two bottles of wine and the warm presence of her sister made the experience far more enjoyable. It was the first time they'd had something approaching a date night, and maybe that was why when they both happened to look across at one another and smile, it felt right to close the gap and press their lips together, asking in a soft and gentle movement if this was alright. It could've been the wine, too, or maybe it was the natural progression of their unexpectedly compatible relationship, but the passion inside them soon rose to the surface, the movie forgotten as they turned to deepen the kiss, lips dancing over one another sensually and hand gliding up arms and through hair.
They didn't quite cross the line, though. Even with the alcohol inside them, and the sweet taste of one another on their lips, they'd halted before their wandering hands did more than grope experimentally. It was a mutual agreement, a quick glance and a smile to silently convey that they needed more time to reach that level of intimacy. Their touches became more daring, though, reaching over clothes to brush a finger over the swell of a bust or to scythe the curve of their buttocks, as gentle as any of their other shows of affection. Rarity didn't extend that level of contact to their showers, however.
It hadn't been a shock to see Sweetie Belle naked, given the countless times she'd walked in on her sister, but Sweetie utterly failed to hide her own awe and joy the first time Rarity had let her robe drop to the floor and stepped into the shower. They kept it as chaste as they could, helping one another lather and rinse, but whenever the teen lingered for too long or reached without cause, Rarity sternly reminded her that they hadn't agreed to that, and Sweetie withdrew her hand bashfully. They were similar in so many ways, from their body types to the way they brushed their hair, but Rarity still caught Sweetie glancing enviously at the difference in their bust size every now and then, completely ignoring that she herself had a little more tone to her rear and thighs in a way that did nothing to reduce their size or shape.
It only made sense after that that they'd share a bed, especially given the size of Rarity's. Big enough for two, and then some, it was a perfect place to cuddle up after day's end and share worries and concerns, holding onto one another and exchanging soft, sweet kisses whenever the mood took them. Rarity enforced a strict rule about underwear, but otherwise, they were free to grope and explore, the barrier between them only heightening the excitement of what they felt. At weekends, they went out in public, never letting the true extent of their relationship out; as far as everyone else knew, they were an affectionate pair of siblings, and Rarity's friends in particular expressed their happiness in seeing them reconnect so well. Everyone noticed the change to Sweetie's behaviour, the familiar sweet, bubbly girl that they all remembered emerging once more. Through it all, it was comforting to know that they could go back on this any time, put it all behind them and return to being siblings. Nothing had gone beyond the point where their familial relationship couldn't be salvaged.
And then Friday happened.
Sweetie sighed as the door was closed, letting her waving hand fall down and leaning against her sister. Rarity did the same, pulling the younger woman close to her.
"That was delightful," Rarity spoke, turning to the stairs. "We ought to have joined these little soirees with Rainbow and Applejack much sooner. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo certainly seemed glad to see you."
"They're glad to have me back," Sweetie responded, lacing her fingers through her sister's. "I only saw them intermittently while I was going through that phase, and they didn't like what I was doing."
"You've improved wonderfully this last month," Rarity reminded her, squeezing her hand.
"We both know that's all thanks to you."
"Partly thanks to me, darling. I won't take credit for your self-improvement. All I did was give you a helping hand."
"A much-needed helping hand."
"Be that as it may, I'm proud of you." The tailoress stopped at her bedroom door, enjoying the happiness visibly passing through her younger sister, and gestured to the bathroom. "Could you take a shower? I've got some chores to do?"
"Not going to give me another helping hand?" Sweetie asked suggestively, running a hand along Rarity's side. "I'd enjoy that so much more."
"These chores won't do themselves," Rarity hinted, gesturing again.
"Maybe I could help, after you help me?"
"Sweetie Belle," Rarity insisted, looking down expectantly. "Shower. Now."
The smaller woman sighed, but nodded and acquiesced, moving toward the bathroom and stepping inside, only dragging her feet a little, a display that made Rarity smile. Despite the changing nature of their relationship, she was still a guardian to the younger woman, and far more now than ever before, Sweetie seemed to respect that. The teenager appeared to appreciate the gentle authority offered by the older woman, even if the age difference was a mere five years, and she was far more receptive to commands and instructions than she'd ever been. There must've been comfort in being taken care of, Rarity supposed. She knew she felt comfortable being in control of her own affairs, and taking care of someone she cared about so very much definitely put her at ease. Empowered her, even.
She considered locking the door, but decided against it. It would send the wrong message, even if it would establish who was in control. No, that wasn't quite the first impression she was going for tonight. That decision had been made the week earlier, and she refused to second-guess herself at the last minute, a lesson from her work life that transferred easily and naturally to her personal life. There was already enough to do while Sweetie was occupied, and the teenager was impatient enough that she wouldn't be busy for long, and so Rarity got everything ready with a workplace precision, organising the space at a rate that her customers and clients had praised on many occasions.
Rarity smiled as the door opened, hearing the footsteps stop abruptly. The lingering silence painted the picture for her, and she refused to turn around, letting the moment extend itself and seep into her sister's soul, knowing it'd be seared into her memory forever, so long as she gave it time to take hold. Finally, she felt the apex had been reached, the scene ripe and as fully developed as a photograph, and she spoke, keeping her back to the door.
"Did you enjoy your shower, my love?" she asked, her salacious smile hidden from her sister. "Are you feeling refreshed? Invigorated?"
"Y-yes," Sweetie stammered, her voice hushed and dry. "What's all this?"
"You'll have to be more specific."
"You've decorated everything, and you're..."
"I'm?"
"You're teasing me."
"Oh? Am I? How so?"
"Rarity," she whined, and the purple-haired woman imagined the adorable pout on her sister's face.
"It's a very simple question."
"You're wearing lingerie," the teen answered, her grumbling voice warbling with embarassment. "You've got candles lit all over the room. There are rose petals leading to the bed, and...what's with the other lingerie set?"
"Those are yours," the fashionista explained, allowing silence to consume the room once again before finally turning to view the other young woman. She didn't try to hide her smile as she faced her sister, eyes raking over every inch of the teen's body, admiring the unblemished pale skin and the flawless figure, before meeting the wide green eyes. "Get dressed."
"Does this mean...?" Sweetie began, taking a few tentative steps towards the bed and casting glances at the decoratively laid-out garments. She stumbled on her words a few times, shaking in anticipation. "Are we going to be sleeping together?" The last sentence was nearly whispered, but was brimming with hope and excitement.
"We've been sleeping together for a fortnight now," Rarity rebutted. "No, what we'll be doing tonight won't be merely 'sleeping together'. We're going to be making love." As her little sister began to squeal and rush forward to hug her, Rarity sharply added, "No, get dressed first!"
Sweetie's face was stretched into a permanent beaming smile as she sprang over to the bed and pulled the lacey black towards her. As much as the tailoress wanted to help, she knew allowing the teenager to do it herself would be so much more rewarding for both of them, and so resigned herself to watch as the gorgeous girl donned the intricate set with shaking hands. It didn't take long, but the wobbling put Sweetie behind several seconds at least as she tried to rush the process, far too eager to jump straight into the action.
"Okay, I'm dressed," Sweetie announced, turning to face Rarity fully, giddiness sculpting her expression. "How does it look?"
"Marvellous," Rarity answered, honestly, taking slow steps around the woman to observe it from different angles. She'd gone through many choices when deciding on what to gift her sister, and after much consideration, a teddie had seemed appropriate; it was significant, visually stunning, and with the way it hugged the younger woman's svelte body, it would've been a crime to go for less. The coverage-to-access ratio was another benefit, naturally.
"You too," Sweetie breathed, biting her bottom lip and gazing hungrily at the scarlet leggings, garter belt, panties, and bra chosen by the other woman. She bounced from foot to foot subtly, but obvious enough to the purple haired woman. "This is it, then? We're going all the way?"
"All the way," Rarity confirmed, approaching her sister slowly and watching carefully for the reaction. "If that's what you want?" She received an emphatic nod, but no words. "Are you nervous, darling?"
"I'm fine," the younger woman lied, swallowing apprehensively as Rarity cupped her face tenderly. It took only a few seconds before the facade broke. "Okay, maybe a bit nervous. Q-Quite a bit. A l-lot, r-really."
"Is it your first time with a woman?"
"I've tried some things with Apple Bloom and Scoots. We've experimented a bit."
"Then why so nervous? You've never been coy about intimacy before."
"That wasn't intimacy," Sweetie mumbled, leaning against Rarity's hand. "I never cared about anyone I've slept with. I didn't have feelings for them. It was just something fun to do, or a way to get you to notice me. I've never loved anyone who I've been with. It was just sex. This is something else. It'll be the first time I've ever made love."
"In that case-"
"How about you?" the teen interrupted. "Do you have any tips on going down on someone, because I was drunk most of the time and I'm pretty sure my friends liked it rougher than you do so I need so much guidance on this and-"
"Sweetie, breathe," Rarity instructed, placing a finger over the teenager's lips. "We'll take it one step at a time, and we'll take it slowly. I'll lead to begin with, okay?"
"Okay," Sweetie agreed, nodding. "But what about-?"
She was cut off as Rarity's lips pressed against hers, the gesture soft and tender but insistent, her concern silenced in a second and replaced by the quiet joining and parting of lips. Thumbs massaged either side of her head, working in gentle, repetitive circles, soothing her worries and easing her into a more comfortable presence of mind, their bodies seperated only by the thinness of the teddie. The kiss persisted far longer than any of their previous embraces, their quick breaths taken intermittently and irregularly in small pulls, and it was only when Rarity had lowered Sweetie to the bed that they broke apart, the teenager gasping.
Rarity's weight settled gently onto the younger woman, skin meeting lace and lace meeting skin where their unmatched lingerie crossed, the presence of their bodies fueling their need for more. Sweetie's leg curled around Rarity's, unable to glide over the smoothness of her older sister's skin with the nylon ensconcing the slender appendage. Rarity's belly slid against the surface of the teddie, its moderatley frictious fabric starting a quiet purr deep in her throat. Their arms, the only sections of their bodies that were uncovered, traced the softness of their partner's skin, slowly and carefully exploring the areas that were open to them, intertwining fingers and clasping hands before moving on again, returning to a five-fingered embrace shortly thereafter.
Sweetie was far more impatient than her sister; their hands mirrored one another's paths, carressing and scything along the hourglass figure and curves of their lover, echoing and replying as one moved on and the other lingered, forcing them to catch up, but Rarity's motions were smoother and precise. Sweetie grasped more insistently at exposed skin, fingers digging into the flesh as if trying to claim her sister, and her hands were far more eager to wander from the flat belly to the proud pillows pressing against her own, her fingers moving from trailing over skin to seeking out the hardening buds trapped against the inside of the provocative bra.
Redness painted their faces, radiating from their cheeks as the slow writhing continued, passion tingling within and between them, tongues exchanged in flashes and flexible dances, and lips grazed over their faces and necks, over collarbones and throats. Sweetie's toes curled against Rarity's calves, clenching and unclenching in turn, and her hips gyrated with increasing ferocity, pulling the older woman in with demanding arms.
"Fuck me," Sweetie whispered, breathing hotly into Rarity's ear. "I need you to fuck me."
"Language, darling," Rarity reminded her, nipping at Sweetie's earlobe. "If you keep that up, I'll need to wash your mouth out. No more swearing. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes."
"Good girl."
The tailoress smooched lower, the pliant skin giving way to the aritificial fabric, the added roughness grazing her lips as she passed the twin peaks and voyaged lower, over the flatness of her sister's trim tummy and ever downward, until she felt skin again. She ignored Sweetie's intakes of breath and the implaccable movements of the thighs around her, focusing on kissing and biting softly against the plushness on one and then the other. Sweetie's breathing grew faster and more noticeable, occasionnally drifting into whines and whimpers as the dressmaker's breath rolled over her crotch, followed by the feather-light brush of lips. It was never quite enough, leaving the teenager trembling in anticipation and want.
The button popped cleanly after a deft tug and the flap was easily opened, exposing Sweetie's crotch to the elements. Rarity was given a second to admire the smooth, hairless mons before her before the scent of arousal rolled over her senses, filling her nose with the pungent odour she'd long anticipated, urging her to breathe in deeper. Letting out a sigh she didn't know she had waiting, the fashionista gazed as Sweetie shivered in response, her womanhood winking and a droplet dripping down her inner thigh to the curve of her buttocks, leaving a thin trail across her pale skin. It was so inviting, tempting beyond anything she'd ever seen before, and so it was without any forethought that leaned in and kissed the glistening lips before her.
Sweetie's voice rose as Rarity's tongue drifted over the smoothness and followed the shape of her vulva, reacting to the lightest touch and whining shamlessly. It wasn't fast or vicious, just a simple consistent presence that explored and wandered without asking or requesting, confident in the paths it took. The muscle swept and swiped, dragging up and down and flicking against the pearl crowning the young woman's clam, and it didn't rest at any point, even as it slowed to enjoy a particularly receptive spot.
Rarity basked in the taste of the other woman, delighting in the simple flavour that couldn't be matched or outdone by the finest cuisine anyone could conjure. It was animalistic and base, but it was divine, too, and she thirsted for it, unable to quench her need for more. She revelled in the reactive movements of the younger woman, her head held between soft thighs and squeezed urgently, the pressure as insistent as her own movements and as comforting as the finest silk sheets, but not enough to drown out the sounds Sweetie was making; squeaks and squeals, hums and what were obviously attempts to stifle louder moans.
She knew her sister would break at some point, and she wasn't disappointed. Rarity had already delved into Sweetie's canal and sought out the rough patch that signalled the teenager's sweet spot, and with a thumb brushing at the bundle of nerves above, it wasn't a surprise that she was met with a squeal and a thrust of the hips. The wetness adorning her face, however, was a surprise, as was the second gush which joined it a second later, leaving the fashionista drenched to the shoulders admist a flurry of curses and groans.
"Sweetie Belle," Rarity spoke, lifting her head up once the teenager had stopped thrashing. She must've looked a mess, dripping with the result of the young woman's climax, because her sister looked shocked when she raised her head to answer, still panting.
"I'm sorry, th-that's never happened before!"
"This?" Rarity asked, licking her lips. "I'm not upset with you for squirting for the first time, Sweetie Belle. I delight in it. What I'm not at all happy about is your vocabulary. What did I say?"
"You said not to swear," Sweetie recounted. "Or you'd...wash my mouth out?"
Saying nothing, Rarity smirked and sat back as she unhooked the leggings from the garter belt, watching Sweetie's awed face while she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. It was an easy motion to disrobe herself, pulling the panties down her legs and letting them dangle from her foot as she spread her legs, exposing herself to her sister. Satisfied with her message, she kicked the panties away and rose into a kneeling position, shuffled over to the younger woman's head, and swung her leg over so she could straddle the teen, and before Sweetie could utter a word, she lowered her groin, stopping only when she felt the girl's face pressing against her gate.
It was amateur work, at first, inexperienced sweeps over her labia and vulva, and the pace was all over the place, but as she sat patiently, Sweetie's tongue became more accustomed, and she fell into a simple, effective rhythm. It reminded Rarity of her brief but passionate bout with Miss Pommel, the first time either women had shared their bodies, and the resultant growth they'd enjoyed because of it. Their lives had taken them in different directions, and they'd agreed they couldn't be more than friends, but the memories of their frequent rendezvous had stayed with Rarity. There was a familiarity in the way the tongue explored her now, the way it grazed and slithered and found the best pattern to adopt.
The moan from beneath her was loud enough that she heard it, but the vibrations against her quim were all the more prominent as her fingers meandered down between Sweetie's legs and curled towards her sister's groin. There was no resistance as she slipped inside, the satin walls welcoming her incursion and leaving her slick with a single plunge. Resting her hand on Sweetie's mons, she rotated her wrist, stroking the same patch inside her lover with her fingertips and pressing against the teen's nub with her palm, encouraging the younger woman with a tender, focused touch. Sweetie trembled and whined, her hands grasping at Rarity's rear and squeezing hard, her tongue driving deep into the purple-haired woman in an effort to satisfy both of them.
The teen came twice more, her legs tensing and her passage clamping against the intruding digits, before she managed to push Rarity over the precipice. The release was slow, building gradually and rising gently within the woman, and when it rolled over her, it wasn't a crash or a drop, but an expansion, leaving her groaning and grinding against her sister's face. She didn't wait until she'd stopped panting to lower herself and begin lapping lovingly at Sweetie's mound, eager to return to the carnal feast.
They rolled over, giving the teen time on top, and then back again, mouth hard at work kissing and slurping and lapping at the glistening, soaked flesh, a treasure that captivated both of them. Sweetie's hands fell to Rarity's breasts, clutching at them desperately and fiercely, and Rarity swatted her sister's ass, toying with the bountiful assets they had. While Sweetie was on all fours, head down and booty raised, Rarity dug in ravenously, spreading the rounded cheeks and making Sweetie with a focused, hungry toungue, suckling her sister's hood and grazing the tip of her tongue against the bud peeking out. The addition of a couple of fingers and a few well-timed spanks had Sweetie squiriting again, shouting into the bedsheets in abject ecstasy, before she was twisted onto her back, her legs spread, and Rarity's own hairless crotch mashed against hers, their eyes locked as they writhed and ground and panted.
Rarity lost count after that.
"I didn't know what they meant."
Rarity's curls were splayed out on the pillow, her usually refined coiffure left bedraggled by her activities. She didn't care about that, nor the exhaustion that demanded she sleep, nor the sweat being soaked up by the bedsheets and the duvet. Some of it was sweat, anyway. The candles had started to dim, burning low in their wicks.
"What do you mean?" she asked, stroking the shoulder of the woman cuddled against her side. "Didn't know what who meant?"
"I've heard people talk about an afterglow," Sweetie explained, stroking her leg against Rarity's. "People talk about basking in an afterglow when they've had sex, and I've never had that before. I thought it was just a saying."
"You understand now?"
"I do," Sweetie answered with a dreamy sigh. "I'm so relaxed! I feel like I could float away." She pulled Rarity in closer, trying to hug her tighter. "Thank you for everything. It feels like a dream."
"Dreams fade," Rarity responded. "This isn't going away when you wake up."
"The bedsheets-"
"Can wait until the morning. Do they bother you?"
"No, I just wondered...can you teach me to make you squirt? I've never done that before, or made anyone do that before. I'd really like to learn how to make you feel as good as you made me feel."
"We can try."
"That's good enough for me." She blinked as Rarity chuckled. "What's funny?"
"A month ago, you wouldn't be caught dead asking me to teach you anything," the dressmaker answered. "You were adament that you didn't want me to instruct you on sexual matters or personal health. Now, you want to learn all sorts of things from me involving sensual arts."
"Well, you did give me a lot of firsts tonight," Sweetie responded, smiling. "I should've listened earlier, but the best I can do is start listening now. Any more advice?"
"Hm," Rarity pondered, tapping her chin. "Traditionally, sexual intercourse would be followed by smoking a cigarette..."
"Rarity!"
The two of them laughed, jostling for a moment before falling into a kiss, soft and sweet, and hugging long after the kiss had stopped.
"I love you," Sweetie murmured. "So much. You mean everything to me."
"I love you too," Rarity replied, kissing her sister's forehead. "Never forget that."
"I never will."
Words were redundant after that, and the silence which fell across the room was as comfortable and warm as a blanket, settling thickly around them without being at all intrusive. Wrapped in her love's embrace, Rarity let the drowsiness overtake her, feeling Sweetie's chest rise and fall slowly as the teen drifted into sleep first, the night having taken a greater toll on her. Rarity's eyelids grew heavier and the room grew darker, the candles burning down to a fading glow.
The night was quiet, and their sleep uninterrupted, the two of them content in their solitude.