Sleep, beauty sleep specifically, is believed to be one of the best things a lady can get. It's better than a relaxing day at an expensive spa and more rewarding than sending an order of auspicious garments to appreciative "upper crusts". It gives one a chance to hunker down after getting a few more pages into a beautiful, albeit passionate, romance novel and sink down into the comforting clouds of dreams. In dreams there is beauty and happiness, goals for a new day, or even a dream of that special prince charming to up and whisk one away into a shimmering sunset.

Right now there was only the smell of bacon.

While it was a treat to men and women everywhere, the scent had a certain way of opening one's senses.

In this case, the invasive scent pulled a resisting fashionista's coherent mind out of the veil of sleep. A pair of slender hands darted forth from the depths of a plush comforter, pulling at a cerise sleep mask that covered a good half of a woman's rather dissatisfied face. Once she had removed the vision obscuring culprit from her visage, the woman let her arms flop to either side of her torso. Skin the color of sweet cream descended beneath rippling waves of soft quilts, covering everything below her collarbone. Disorganized purple curls lay around her head like dripping paint, every last spiral out of place in the normal coif of which it should have been had she had her way. Her brow furrowed over two clenched eyelids as she grumbled something along the lines of, "five more minutes", or, "nigh no mimic."

Without proper consent, the smell of maple bacon wafted itself into her nostrils again, forcing her to let out a low moan in frustration; there was no way the smell of breakfast would let her go back to sleep now that her stomach was incoherently grumbling out its need for sustenance. With another huff, she threw her covers off, exposing her bare curves for a few short moments before flaring a closely kept silk robe across her body as she sat up. Her feet descended into two matching plush slippers bearing their resemblance wholly to cartoon rabbits, one may have asked a doctor what was up just as soon as one could have slain a knight of the round table in cold blood.

She forced her body to stand, letting the sliver of rising sunlight breach her window and use her tired form to cast a shadow that crept up her previously inhabited bed. A quick glance to the mirror brutally informed her that her hair was incredibly messy, but it was nothing a brush and a holding spell couldn't fix, not to her anyway. For a moment she let her eyes wash over her reflection, considering sprucing herself up.

Oh, but there's simply no need; it's probably just Sweetie Belle cooking.

With that thought in mind she departed her room and began to follow the scent of breakfast to her kitchen, stopping midway through her descent at the sound of her mystery chef's voice.

And was it singing?

She crept forward to try and get a better grasp on the melodic notes that hung in the air. A sweet and gentle voice began to hum out, "Great expectations of sun rays and bright days, and great expectations of smiling passes by, and great expectations of fresh air everywhere; I've found myself, and I feel alive."

The voice kept repeating verse after verse, stopping only to hum a fast paced tune in between its singing of the cheerful song. At this point she was sure it was her sister, no one else she knew had a voice quite as melodic as that.

With confidence in who she thought her chef to be, she stepped into the kitchen and sat down at her small dining table. Her chef went on humming after offering a light "morning" as greeting before returning to a newly lowered tune; something about peacocks, it sounded.

"You know, Sweetie, a lady really does need her beauty sleep. I greatly appreciate your increasing culinary skills, but I just wish I hadn't been awaken by bacon." She chuckled a bit at her own little rhyme before continuing, pausing at the occasional "m hm" that came from her chef. "I mean, the sun has just risen, I doubt even Celestia is awake yet!" She let out a quick huff, "And I was having such a wonderful dream too. I was a princess taken captive by a gang of brutish ruffians and a prince came to rescue me. Oh, it was such a fantasy!" She let out a sigh and smiled as she rested her chin in her palms.

The sound of ingredients sizzling in a pan stopped and were immediately replaced by the clinking of silverware and glassware. Her eyes had closed as she tried to recall her royal fantasy, however, she was quickly wrenched from her daydream by a familiar voice, though, somewhat different from Sweetie Belle's. "Did Prince Charming have green hair and spit fire, by any chance?" The cook asked, drawing closer to her.

She let out a thoughtful hum, "I'm not sure, but-", her eyelids shot open, revealing two black pinpricks surrounded by shining sapphire irises. Definitely not Sweetie Belle! She turned quickly in her chair, causing it to rake boisterously against the tile floor, and turned her gaze to discover the identity of her the benevolent intruder.

The first thing she saw was a pink apron with rose colored lace at its borders and a crimson heart in the middle; all in all, it wasn't a bad piece of fashion. Lightly tanned arms came from beneath the culinary garb, muscles tensed slightly as they bore the weight of a meal made for one. Up above it was a smiling young face with emerald eyes that bore small, dark shadows beneath them. At the top there was a disorganized cluster of forest green waves, sticking out this way and that.

And he was just holding out a steaming plate of breakfast like the whole situation was a casual occurrence.

"Because, you know, I might be a little worried if you were dreaming about other men." He chuckled a bit as he set the plate down before her.

"Spike?!" She screamed, the surprise she felt completely annihilating her compulsive need to be prim, proper, and ladylike.

"Yes, Rarity?"

"What in the wide, wide world of Equestria are you doing in my home at this hour; and why are you cooking?" Rarity inquired, albeit rather loudly.

Spike chuckled as he set the plate before her. "Well, technically", he said, turning to face her at eye level, "I'm still here. I did sleep here, after all." He let out another cocky laugh at the sight of Rarity's jaw dropping, "And I guess I'm up so early because I'm just used to it. What with Twilight always waking me up early." He moved to Rarity's side and placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing his face closer to her cheek. "As for breakfast", he pulled a handkerchief out of the apron's pocket with a small flourish, "it was supposed to be breakfast in bed." He smiled directly at her, not breaking eye contact for a second.

For a brief moment coherent thought left Rarity's mind, having Spike this close and this confident did a bit more than shake her up. She jumped at the sensation of fingers just below her neck, a glance revealing Spike holding the handkerchief up to her chest. She froze for a moment, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"But", Spike continued, sliding the piece of cloth lower, "you ruined that by not resting like the princess that you are." He ended his statement by firmly tucking it into what cleavage her robe would show, making Rarity take in a sharp gasp of air.

"Spike!" She shouted, trying to sound admonishing in face of her embarrassment, "You shouldn't touch a lady's chest without her permission!"

Spikes stood back up to his full height and simply chuckled from behind his cocky grin. "I know", he said, placing a gentle hand on her cheek before bending down and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Enjoy breakfast, Rarity. I'm going to wash dishes." With that, Spike turned around and left Rarity to her meal.

Rarity, unsurprisingly, was frozen in her seat. Did Spike just, and he just, did he actually?! Questions fired off one after the other in her head. She looked down at her breakfast, two eggs, sunny side up, and a stack of bacon and toast greeted her. It did look delicious, but now was the time for a lecture. Just what kind of cocky attitude is he sporting? Why I ought to slap him for being so forward with- Rarity snapped her head towards Spike and stopped.

All thought, the prepared lecture, a possible slap or two; all of it was gone.

Hello!

Spike was wearing an apron. That had already registered in her mind, but not this.

Spike was only wearing an apron. Only! Nothing else, not even a pair of boxers. That little fact gave Rarity a perfect view of, well, everything.

She could have looked away, could have screamed, could have closed her eyes; even with all of those alternatives, Rarity just kept staring.

His skin was that same light brown all over, not a single tan line on his body. There were no blemishes, no hairs, not a single imperfection that she could see. Her eyes scanned over every inch they could, barely registering that they were looking at a human body rather than a piece of near androgynous art.

He swayed to the new tune he was humming, making the muscles in his legs and rump twitch with each downbeat. This quickly became Rarity's focus as she found her gaze stamped on his young behind. For a moment she tore her eyes away to glance at her own, shifting her hips a little to get a good view before going back to Spike's. She had worked long and hard to get the curves she desired, natural beauty only got a lady so far, but it was nothing compared to the sight before her.

Spike had just, just achieved perfection! He looked like he was carved out of some kind of liquid marble by a mad artist, and Rarity was the captive audience. She had seen things like this before in museums showcasing ancient legends immortalized in statues as bare as the day they entered the world, but she was never allowed to touch them.

But now? Now there was no red tape separating her from what had entranced her for so long. There was, no, this was perfection and it was literally gyrating in front of her to some stupid rock and roll melody! Without properly thinking, or thinking in any form or fashion, Rarity began to raise a curious hand towards her target. Her hand drew closer and an eager smile drew across Rarity's face. Her fingers began to open before stopping just inches from their destination.

Am I, am I trying to grope Spike?

The smile was gone, but her hand was still outstretched. The crimson that once donned her face disappeared entirely, admiration and lust gone from her mind.

This, this has got to be wr- the color and lust flared again as Spike projected his hips backward on a particularly high note, pressing his butt firmly into Rarity's waiting fingers.

"Hm?"

Rarity gasped and drew her hand back. No going back now! I cannot go without possessing this perfection for at least one moment! Rarity thrust an open hand forward, seeking perfect smoothness and a relaxed muscles.

However, she wasn't exactly met with her specific desire.

What, fabric? I thought he wasn't wearing clothes.

"Uh, Rarity."

She opened her eyes and followed her arm to its end. When she saw where her hand rested the color once again left her face. She knew what she was grabbing and the bulge beneath her palm told her that it was most definitely not Spike's butt, quite the opposite, in fact. When Rarity looked up she let out a whimper that would have better served a close friend of hers.

Spike looked down at Rarity, or rather, Rarity grabbing at his manhood, and smiled. When she let out another whimper Spike closed the distance that her arm created and sat down on Rarity's lap, effectively straddling her. "You know", he whispered, Rarity letting out a gasp at the close proximity, "if you want to cop a feel or something you don't even have to ask." When he pulled back Rarity was able to see him completely as he reached his arms behind his neck, untying the single pink knot that held the only garment he had to his body.

When she heard the fabric flutter Rarity closed her eyes, vainly fighting against the sensory input of Spike pressing his body to hers.

For a moment it felt like Spike had left her frame. Rarity whimpered and peeked open an eye to see Spike had drawn much closer to her face and was holding a-

Is that a thermometer?

"Doctor!" Spike abruptly screamed, pulling back to reveal himself in a pair of nurse's scrubs, "This patient appears to be suffering from severe cowbell deficiency!"

Rarity turned in the direction Spike was looking to see a man in a tan suit with a bright red bow tie, holding what looked like a glowing and humming Hearth's Warming Eve light at the end of a stick towards her. What is thatthing? It's so annoying. Who is this, what happened, where are that man's eyebrows?! Rarity shook her head around, trying to yell, but quickly found herself to be held in place by a series of tubes haphazardly adhered to her head.

"Ah ha, just as I thought!" The Doctor cheerfully screamed, staring at the odd device in his hand, "This woman obviously needs more cowbell!"

Seemingly out of nowhere nurse Spike and the Doctor pulled two large cowbells from pockets Rarity had no previous knowledge of and began ringing them violently at her, all the while screaming, "Geronimo!"

Rarity blindly jumped up and over the edge of her bed towards what she thought were cowbells before crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and bedding. She began struggling to get an arm up to remove the sleep mask that blinded her in her desperation, succeeding only in further entangling herself in her previously organized bed.

For a moment she was still, doing nothing but grumble at her situation. There she was, Rarity, Ponyville's top designer, laying sightless in a pile of fabric. It was truly humiliating, even despite the lack of an audience.

This moment was soon destroyed by Rarity flexing every muscle she knew she had control of and bursting forth from her plush prison, tearing the obtrusive mask from her face in the process. She turned to see herself reflected in her vanity mirror, stark naked and panting like an uncivilized demon, the three diamonds upon her left bicep undulating as the muscles beneath still flexed.

The alarm clock went on ringing.

Rarity sighed, padding over to the source of her terror, with a press upon its ringing head it was silent. The woman that gazed back at her from the mirrors' surface was as far from chique and magnefic as one could get; her hair stuck out in reneging curls, the mask had left crisscrossing lines across her temples, and, above all, she was naked, panting and covered in sweat. A palm pressed itself against her forehead, muffling an all too familiar groan of frustration. She waved out a simple spell to reorganize her bed to its previous pristine placement. As Rarity set towards her chiffonier she let out a complaint to no one but herself.

"A lady sees one friend fresh out of the shower and can't stop fantasizing about him for a week, what a world."

She had excused herself with the classic cover up, "Excuse me, I have to powder my nose." That was simple enough for Rarity, it was a line she had used on a myriad of dates, good and bad. She would return to the table on the good outings, but on the bad she would often make headway for the exit.

Today was a good outing, a simple tea party amongst her friends. Well, most of her friends. Twilight and Fluttershy had wholeheartedly agreed, Twilight even going the extra mile to host their get-together at her library, yet each of her other girlfriends - as she called them - had found a way to abandon the experience. Rainbow Dash complained about "bogus girly stuff" and Applejack opted out to manage apples. Or was it supervising the Cutie Mark Crusaders?

Whatever, it didn't matter. All that had mattered was finding a way to the bathroom without actually having to admit to the girls that she was going to the bathroom, the simple need to reapply makeup served well enough. Sure, Twilight had implied that both genders took trips to the lavatory; but what did that bookworm know? Rarity had always taught herself never to be impolite if she could manage and she planned to stick to her manners.

She opened the door to the bathroom and stopped in her tracks at the sight before her. Spike, dripping wet and completely naked, had his back to her as he sang about great expectations of some sunny day. She willed her legs to move, honestly, but they wouldn't comply. She froze like a deer in the oncoming path of a barreling train and, when Spike turned, thankfully covering himself with a towel at this point, so had he.

They stared at each other blankly before Rarity took the chance to mutter, "I'm sorry", and closed the door. She walked downstairs and returned to her chair, a deep crimson washing over her face with each passing second as the images further burned themselves into her mind.

Twilight and Fluttershy both noticed her flustered demeanor and immediately voiced their concern and, without sugarcoating it in the slightest, Rarity quietly whimpered, "I have just seen Spike naked."

Fluttershy hid her rapidly reddening face behind her flowing pink locks as her wings flared out behind her.

Twilight let out a roar of, "What?!"

Everything descended from there.

Spike ran downstairs clothed in only a towel when he heard Twilight screaming, only making her volume increase and sending Fluttershy into a swoon out of her chair, wings still erected outwards in a display of shock. As the volume increased, the quartets' faces got all the more red. Thankfully enough, the questions eventually died out after their rise into accusations of voyeurism.

The confrontation, however, ended with a strangely complacent Spike attempting to console the three women around him. He had put forth a smile from behind his flushed cheeks and the smoke drifting from the corners of his mouth - some dragon contingency of embarrassment, no doubt - and had claimed that everyone could make mistakes. He had picked Fluttershy up from the ground and dusted her off, held Twilight's hands in his own with a few reassuring "It's okay"s added for good measure, and tossed a weak smile at Rarity; all in one coordinated movement.

Rarity had considered briefly that Spike could have earned himself a crisis management cutie mark had he not been born with dragon blood in his veins before thanking her friends for a lovely, "albeit surprising", as she called it, afternoon.

On the way home Rarity began to replay the experience over in her head; it wasn't her idea to, no, really, it most certainly was not her idea to think about Spike standing before her in all his glistening, youthful glory. It was most definitely not her intention to wonder how long they would have stood there staring at each other and she definitely didn't think about what a young... stud like Spike had beneath that towel; all the part time labor he did for the girls had really started to pay off in the boy department for him. Rarity could plainly tell he was no Big Macintosh, but Spike definitely had the lithe muscles of a strong young man.

It was also not, repeat not, her intention to mutter, "That ass", as she stepped into Carousel Boutique.

The rhythmic thump-thump-thumping of her ages old sewing machine had been taking its familiar effect on her, making her mind swing and swoon into a fog of unfocused thought. Her mind was as unorganized as organized chaos was and she couldn't have it any other way, her current project refused to permit an occupied mind. The needle pressing in and out through the fabric like a frantic lover reminded her of the common roll upon a snare before a spectacular event . She became so entranced in binding bolts of lace and cotton together that she barely registered the off beat knocks on the door.

It was the classic "shave and a haircut" that only Spike used. When it first pierced through Rarity's fog of thread and rapid quarter notes cleared only enough for her to realize that she was indeed still a relatively cognitive piece of reality, she was, however, fully awake and rushing to the door when it came again. She grabbed the doorknob and swung it open, reciting her common greeting, "Come in Spike", with a smile.

He waltzed in with the eager smile that always adorned his youthful lips anytime he would be charged with working at the boutique, glancing up quickly to take Rarity's face into full view. "Thanks, Rarity", he chimed. "How did you know it was me?"

Rarity gave him a playful shove and returning his grin. "You're the only one that knocks, Spike." She grabbed his shoulders, steering them only after she had let her fingers wash over his lax trapezius muscles. "Now, today I'm going to need you to head into the supply closet and grab me a full bolt of wool fabric, a bolt of silk, and a mannequin; set them all in the middle of the workroom for me when you're done." Rarity unconsciously gave his shoulders another stroke and squeeze, enjoying the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath her touch nonetheless. "Okay?" She looked down to see Spike standing stock still and beet red, his eyes taking furtive glances at her, it was then that she realized she's been giving him an impromptu shoulder rub. Rarity quickly brought her hands to her sides and gave Spike a practiced smile, calming him enough to turn and give a mock salute before turning for a closet down the hall.

As Spike walked away, Rarity couldn't help but notice his hips had a swing that she could see even through his faded jeans. The sight brought back images from a weeks worth of dreams, dreams that stemmed from a simple mistake.

Rarity bit her knuckle and stared.

After she had seen enough of Spike sauntering she returned to her desk and glanced at the designs she had been commissioned to bring to perfection; eight identical suits, each for the same customer. It wasn't a fun project, but she couldn't resist the hefty paycheck rich young lads would spend on their heart's desires. Rarity heard a grunt come from across the room and smiled, knowing that Spike was probably trying to grab both bolts at the same time in a subtle attempt to impress her.

"Got 'em."

Rarity jumped in her seat and turned around, staring upwards in disbelief. Spike stood before her, cradling the bolts on his shoulders. However, Rarity's eyes were quickly drawn to the taught muscles displaying themselves on Spike's arms. The bolts could be lifted easily enough with a levitation spell, but she herself could barely lug one around with both arms. "Spike, dear, aren't those heavy?" She asked with a bit of a quiver in her voice.

Spike's stoic ready-for-orders face gave way to a nervous grin. "Yeah, they really, really are. can I put 'em down now?" He sighed with relief upon seeing Rarity's nod of confirmation, letting the bolts slide down the crook of his arms to meet the floor. "Rainbow Dash has been making her exercise with her lately, but I guess that only gets me so far", he said with a nervous laugh.

I'm sure it could get you much further than you think, Spikey-Wikey.

Rarity shook her head in an attempt to clear her head before standing to look down at Spike; he was only half a head shorter than she was, but the difference in height always appealed to her. Having to bend her neck just slightly always made him seem all the more cute. "Alright, darling", she said, ruffling his disheveled hair, "ready for The Boring Part?" Spike gave her another mock salute, clicking his heels together as he brought his hand to his forehead and smiling at the laughter that erupted from the woman before him.

The Boring Part was, well, boring, to say the least. Spike was set to draw out designs upon the fabric and Rarity would cut them out, one by one. Exact measurements had to be observed and mimicked with the smallest margin of error, for Spike's pencil to stray even a sliver the whole design could be absolutely ruined.

At least, that's what Rarity had said the first time they had engaged in this activity together. In all honesty she had just raised her expectations, completely confident that Spike could provide the perfection she asked for. It was a charming aspect of his personality; give the boy a task to accomplish and he'll do it to the best of his ability, come hell or high water.

That didn't make this process any less boring, goodness no, but it did give Rarity a certain opportunity she had never properly taken advantage of. For Spike to get the proper view of his strokes, he had to bring his eye almost to the very fabric he drew upon. If his torso was to bend down, his hips would have to rise up.

Rarity absolutely relished in that. Or rather, forced herself to only relish in it. On more than one occasion her hand would reach out, begging to verify the firmness her nighttime fantasies had claimed. "Spike?" She abruptly called, readily throwing herself into an impulse plan.

"Yes?" He asked without turning around, far too engrossed with a thirty-seven degree angle for some vestigial piece that only a designer would understand.

"How would you like to be my model instead of one of those dreadful mannequins?"

Spike paused, letting his pencil fall as he straightened out his spine. "Won't the measurements be off or something?"

The question was barely out of his mouth before Rarity was upon him, eagerly wrapping measuring tape around his stomach with a grin spreading across her face. Rarity pushed her chest into Spike as she pulled the tape tighter on his abdomen, wrapping her arms as close to his sides as she possibly could. Thank goodness for tight fitting shirts, she thought, brushing the subtle abdominal muscles beneath the cotton. She pulled away, regrettably, and let her hands fall atop Spike's shoulders, giggling when the nervous teen let his arms shoot up into perfect a perfect horizontal line. She pressed a palm into the crook of his neck and extended the tape along his arm by stroking her way down.

At this point Rarity was barely taking even approximate measurements from her ministrations. After all, this was just an excuse and she knew it. However, when she had completed the measurements of his torso, she couldn't help but blush at what was to come. "Um, Spike?"

"Y-Yes?"

"I have to measure your inseam, dear." Spike's body twitched and Rarity began to smell pine needles burning. A quick glance forward revealed two threads of smoke coming from somewhere on Spike's face.

She was about to respond again when Spike turned with a confident and trusting grin. "Okay." His smile was replaced with a nervous laugh and a heated bush when Rarity laughed at his smoldering predicament.

"Is Celestia sending you a letter, or are you just happy to see me?" Rarity asked, tossing Spike a half lidded stare.

Laughter came again and it made her smile; it was genuine, hearty and full of happiness. She knelt down and spread the tape from his wast to his ankle before abruptly stopping. Rarity felt a jolt any artisan would know, the binding strike of inspiration. She looked up at Spike, meeting his curious gaze with her own transfixed stare. "Idea!"

"What? I-" Was all Spike managed to say before Rarity torqued him away from his drawing table. She spun him onto a rose colored pedestal before sprinting away into her aptly named "Insofar Imperfect Wardrobe", a small closet filled with pieces Rarity had created in her spare time that "just didn't have that something special yet." She had grabbed an armful of outfits and tossed them back to her uninformed model before he had the time to stop stumbling from her recent tugging.

"Put those on, dear, and I'll get the camera!" Rarity cheered before running off to her boudoir in frantic delight. Spike's frame was bound to be perfect for the dormant designs she had picked, perhaps enough for her to finally put them on the market.

It would definitely open up multiple opportunities for her to "direct" him in a few poses. Rarity let out a squeal before descending back to the boutique floor where Spike had already dressed himself in a flared suit comprised mostly of lace and pinstripes. The hesitant smile he gave told the world what he thought of the suit and the fire in Rarity's eyes told the world her opinion of the sight before her.

Rarity was in heaven and Spike followed orders, though he did smile at all the attention even despite the situation he was thrust into.

As the options dwindled, Rarity finally looked down to the diminished pile and thought, Dreams really do come true. She picked up the pink cloth and dangled it before Spike. "Care to try something a little risque for fashion, dear?" She asked, putting on her best charm.

Spike plucked the article from her fingers and unfurled it. "An apron?" He asked, unimpressed.

"Only the apron darling."

"How is this risky? I mean, I wear these all the time and the only 'risk' I ever came across was looking a little girly. This even looks like-"

"Only the apron, Spike."

The two stared at each other for a moment. The gears in Spike's head turned for a few short seconds before he responded. "Alright", he said before raising his arms up through the loops the aprons' threads made for his frame. Before it had time to descend Rarity had already snatched it back, staring at Spike with the piercing gaze of a determined woman.

"Only the apron." Spike's blush gave her all the confirmation she needed. Rarity spun on her heels and took a few steps a way from him, cheerfully calling, "There's no need to go behind the curtain, darling, I won't look!"

Spike paused - though it would be more accurate to say he froze - before shrugging his shoulders. He took off his clothes the way any teenage boy would, by simply pulling them off and tossing them rakishly into the surrounding area. He stood bare for only a few moments, more embarrassed than he was cold, and threw the apron over himself in a practiced stroke.

Rarity saw everything reflected in her vanity mirror. She saw everything and it was absolutely glorious. Spike's athletic training with her rather tomboyish friend certainly had payed off. She could barely see any remainder from the chubby youngster she used to see hanging around Twilight once Spike had removed his shirt; the past was in the past and she couldn't care less, the future had a body that she had never expected. I could just play him like a washboard all day l- HELLO!

Her thoughts exploded like the creation of the universe.

She had seen it.

If only for a flash, she had seen it.

When Spike had let the apron flutter about his waist, covering him just enough below the waist, Rarity called out to him. "Are you done yet, Spikey-Wikey?"

"Uh, yeah", came his shaky reply, "ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Great!" Rarity chimed, hopping behind him with the eagerness of a child in a toy store. She grabbed onto his biceps and stared down at his bare backside, trying desperately to keep her voice down into a normal tone and to restrain her hands to the parts she would be directing for whatever pose she could think up. "I was thinking we could put you in a few masculine poses, something like The Thinker or a discus tosser. Maybe we could even have you", Rarity trailed off once she glanced up to look at Spike's more elevated portion. She had scanned her way up from his waist to his back and stopped at his shoulder blades before noticing two long scars that ran down them. The sight made her shudder. She had never seen them before, but she felt something wrench in her chest when she touched the tips of her fingers to the off color tissue. "Spike, what are these from?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh", he sighed, "those are from last year." He said it with a bitter matter-of-fact tone that often rang out in his most cynical moments. Rarity knew what he said the moment the words left his mouth; not because of the remark about the past, but because of his voice. It was the voice he had spoken in for the week following his previous birthday celebration, it was the voice that didn't belong on the sprightly assistant she knew. The way he had been and the way he was now scared Rarity more than a rampaging dragon ever could. He let out a chuckle that sounded more like a dormant sob, "I did something horrible and those are the reminders." He turned, brushing Rarity away from him in the process, and assumed the form of the ancient David. Even his face took on the curious air of the ancient statue before he calmly asked, smile slowly returning, "Is this a good pose, Rarity?"

The smile was too much of a contrast for her to bear. Tears welled up in her eyes and she pulled the boy before her into her arms. She tightened her grip around his back, making sure her palms fell upon the scars, and let her chin rest just above his ear. She smiled when his body jolted and softened. It was nice to know a hug could still cure him of his ailments. When his arms wrapped around her waist Rarity let her hands stroke up and down his back, knowing she had made Spike feel better. "Don't ever say that, darling", she cooed, "I think they're beautiful."

Spike laughed as her nails scraped against the base of his spine. "Rarity, that tickles. Are you trying to feel me up or something?" He meant it as a joke and Rarity knew it was, but that didn't stop her from reaching down and giving his butt a tight squeeze.

"Maybe I am", she whispered before pulling away.

Rarity laughed wholeheartedly at Spike freezing back into his previous stance. "Okay, Spike, work it!"

Rarity snapped pictures of Spike until the sun set in the west before she gave him reprieve. She gave him an encouraging slap on the butt as he left. It was more for her own pleasure, but she still gave him a thankful kiss on the cheek before closing the door and leaving him on her doorstep.

She glanced at the handful of photographs in her hands and started flipping through them. It was a marvel to see that, despite her dreamy state, she had taken so many good shots. Some of them actually had magazine worthy detail to them. She would have to send them in sometime soon' all business is good business, after all.

Rarity bit her knuckle and glanced around the when she came to the apron pile. Seconds turned to minutes as she sat and stared at each individual exposure, when she came to the final shot she would go back to the beginning and scrutinize the collective stack all over again.

With a shaking sigh she turned and walked towards the stairs that led to her boudoir. It wasn't her initial idea to go to bed early, but she knew she would be getting her beauty sleep back.

Just so long as she made sure the pictures looked perfect, that is.

Author's Notes:

Lyrics from Renard's Great Expectations at http://www.lapfoxtrax.com/