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."