Collab Cage Mini-Monthly May (A) -- Fiery Hearts and Sensual Stories

Written by: Merc the Jerk
Contains: Humanized M/F, Underage, Mistaken/Regretful sex
Note on Underage: The collab rules stated no underage sex...however, as with any topic, there can be times when it can be used to tell a good story. This was one such time. It's not about abuse or sickened perversions, but simply a completely possible situation between a teenager and an adult. Please keep that in mind.

Spike knocked at the boutiques' door and sighed. After a beat, he turned up his jacket's collar and shuffled on his feet.

Snow, bitter and thick, had been coming hard for a good three days now and showed no sign of stopping. It blew all across the sleepy hamlet and cleared out the streets even this early in the evening.

The young lad put his hands under his armpits and tried to sink into the scarf he wore. If it was bad for the folk, it was even worse for dragonchilds like himself. It was hell on his warm nature—his teeth had been chattering all the way here from the library and would be all night.

He briefly panicked as he reached into his pocket, thinking with alarm that he might have forgotten the papers Twila had wanted sent over. Why the scholar had to get these papers to Rarity right away was a mystery to Spike, but he had a feeling it was due to Jack's sporadic arrival to the library a few minutes before they were needing to close. Odds are Twila kicked him out so they could—

The boy winced slightly. The thought of Twila doing something like that was icky. No, it was gross. It was icky-gross. What's worse was the fact that no matter how much he wanted to not think of it, he couldn't remove the thought of Twila and Jack nude on the couch, the farmer straddling and pinning Twila under the earth-folk's powerful, muscular thighs. Twila running her pale hands up Jack's rock-hard, sweat shined body, stopping at the the farmer's perky, freckled breasts. Jack biting her lip--

Spike slapped himself, killing the fantasy he was in and trying to ignore the painful tightness in his jeans as blood began circulating down into his groin.

Stop it, he rebuked himself. What would Rarity think if she saw you like this?
“Rarity...” he trailed off wistfully, for a brief moment away from the cloud of hormones that had been working on his mind for what felt like forever and going back to a simpler time, when he could just watch her from afar and soak up every single moment—every single breath with her—like a sponge. Her laugh like the blowing of wind through trees on a spring day, her violet, sleekly styled and curled hair, her skin imported chocolate, her blue eyes Celestia's sun, her hands smooth rivers, her breasts...

Oh man her breasts.

“Stop,” Spike warned himself again, his voice cracking slightly. He pounded his fist against the door once more, then tried the handle.

It opened without a hitch. Spike mentally slapped himself and walked in, stomping his feet on the mat and quickly shutting the door behind him.

“Rarity?” he called out, walking past the storefront and going behind the curtain to the boutique's living quarters. He paused at the double doors leading to the living room.

The smell of champagne.

He hadn't had much of an experience with the drink but he knew the smell. Rarity would indulge on occasion after a rough day at the office.

“I'm coming in, OK?” he asked, grabbing the handle and slowly opening it. The drake looked around the room, noting the cold, unlit fireplace, the posh reading chair with a half-stitched quilt thrown on an arm, and finally settling on the middle of the room, where Rarity lay splayed out on her back, the crook of her elbow covering her eyes, and her other arm towards the floor, a delicate hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle. Judging by the tissue box nearby and the choked gasps she was stifling under her breath, this evening's date didn't turn out so well.

The boy moved to the woman. He reached out, pausing for a moment before extending his hand to her shoulder. “You alright?”

She flinched at his words, uncovering her bleary eyes. “S-Spike...” she trailed off, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. “I didn't hear you.”

“Sorry,” he stammered out. Rarity adjusted herself, sitting up far too quickly. She lost balance and stumbled forward. Spike grabbed her shoulders and carefully set her back against the couch. He paused, feeling her shoulders again. “Rarity, you're freezing.”

“Am I?” she asked, clenching her eyes tight and opening them again. Spike looked over to the fireplace.

“L-let me get a fire started,” he announced, walking over to the cold coals. With a point, a lazy, small green flame sputtered to life from his finger. It slowly came out in a swirling stream, coating the coals in his drakeflame and brightening the room in a flickering green hue.

Rarity took another drink from the bottle, wiping her violet lips daintily with the back of her hand. Spike moved over to a chair and sat, briefly staring at Rarity's lips, and how they formed a perfect O when she took another drink of champagne. She ran a tongue over them as she stared into the flame. Spike let a small whimper out at the sight.

“Something the matter?” she asked, glancing his way.

“N-no. Nothing.” He blushed, crossing his legs and quickly changing the subject. “Why were you crying?”

Rarity bit her lip, clutching the bottle hard in her manicured hands. “Why can't I find a good man, Spikie?”

Bad date. I knew it! Spike thought. He shrugged. “I don't know.”

She gestured out with her hands; her drink sloshed in the bottle. “Am I repugnant? Unattractive? A freak?”

“Of course not!” Spike quickly snapped, enough to give Rarity a pause. “You're perfect, Rarity—anyone who can't see that isn't worth even a second of your time.”

The tailor paused, the usual banter they had when something like this happened completely gone. Normally, he wouldn't say much of anything; he'd simply listen as she droned on and on about her man troubles. But now, the conviction in his eyes all but screamed defiance at her self-deprecating words.

For that brief moment, the boy stood tall, like a man.

“Spike...” the woman trailed off, swallowing. She rose, brushing off the white one-piece dress she wore and taking another drink. “Would you care to escort me to my room? I-I feel I've drank a bit too much to make it myself.”

He wordlessly came to her side. She all but collapsed into him—the dragonchild did his best to sling her arm over his narrow shoulders and have her lean on him—he couldn't do much more than that, due to how short he was in comparison to her.

They left the living room and walked the hallway. Going up the flight of stairs in the back, Rarity tripped, bringing Spike down along with her in the fall. She landed on her back with Spike on top, inches away from the blue pools of her eyes. Bloodshot or not, they were still pretty to the boy.

Spike blushed deeply, scrambling off the woman.

“S-sorry,” he stammered out.

“Why apologize, dear? I was the one that tripped.” She paused briefly before giving a slow smirk, offering her hand out and staring at him through those drunk, half-lidded eyes. He quickly took it and brought her back to her feet.

They reached the second floor; Rarity gestured to her room. Spike nodded, heat coming to his face in waves.

Relax, idiot. You've seen a girl's room before, he thought.

Twila's doesn't count, he promptly replied in his mind. He vigorously shook his head, drowning out the thoughts. “L-let's go ahead and put you to bed.”

“Mmm. I like the idea.”

He guided her to the bed, only to have her stop a few feet shy.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't want to sleep in this dress,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Help me get it off.”

Spike's jaw dropped. “Rarity, how much have you had to drink?”

She laughed, lobbing her head back and nearly stumbling back onto her bed. “Who's counting?” she replied with a giggle, winking before giving a lazy turn, lifting up her violet hair and gesturing at the zipper at her back.

Spike swallowed and took a step forward, reaching up to the zipper with trembling hands.

He slowly undid it, watching as more and more of Rarity's chocolate skin unveiled itself. He paused, sucking in a breath as the back of her cream-colored bra slowly became visible.

“Something the matter?” she asked.

“N-no! Everything's peachy! Just. Fine.” Spike finished the job, finally reaching the zipper's end at the small of her back. Rarity gave a small giggle and threw off the shoulders of the dress, letting them fall to her sides. Now, the only thing keeping the dress on was her shapely backside, a sight that promised Spike everything in the world and more. Her hands took a slow, meandering travel downward; Rarity discarded the dress, letting it fall onto the carpet. She gave the smallest turn of her head to make sure Spike was watching every motion before removing her heels, only tripping slightly as she kicked them off.

“Did you mean what you said? About me being perfect?” she asked, putting a hand on her hip and numbly twirling her hair.

Spike felt like his brain had shorted out. He stared at the woman, doing his best to tilt his head up to meet her eyes, rather than her impressive, perfect breasts, or her wide, sensual hips.

“I...”

“Don't be modest, darling.” She grinned with another off-key laugh. “I know what you think of me. Especially now.” She pointed down to Spike's pants, where a carny crew had pitched a circus tent. He quickly blushed, covering his crotch with his hands and turning away.

Rarity observed him through her haze. “Spikey,” she playfully whispered, a sharp flash of inspiration in her eyes briefly broke through her stupor. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

“I, uh, t-that is...” he trailed off, sweat pouring from his brow as the soul-folk took an awkward, shuffling step close.

Rarity ran her hands along her sides, resting at the diamond mark on her outer thighs. Giving another small laugh, she reached behind her back. “I'll show you,” she decreed, unhitching her bra and letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

Her breasts stood proud in the cold air, like mountains on the horizon. Each was topped by a small, dark ebony kiss at its brown peak, which all but begged to be conquered.

“Rarity! What are you doing?!” Spike exclaimed, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. “You can't--”

She awkwardly lunged for him, cradling his body tight and all but smothering him in her pillows. He briefly struggled, but quickly gave up as he felt his body get lost in a tide of emotion and pleasure. The woman broke the embrace and bent down while tilting Spike's head up. She forced her lips onto the boy's. Spike froze, unable to process what was happening. He groaned as Rarity ran her tongue along his closed lips. Taking this moment of weakness, she split his mouth open with her tongue and explored the roof of his mouth. His newly awakened hormones were in overdrive, the sensation like multiple explosions of pleasure erupting at her intrusion. The boy didn't even care that he could taste the bitter, heady undertones of champagne in her kiss.

Just as quick as it came, she broke the embrace. Spike looked up at Rarity, close to drunk himself, just from the atmosphere. She gave a slow, inviting walk towards the bed, sashaying her hips with every step. She sat at the edge of the bed and gazed with predatory instinct to Spike.

He briefly glanced to the open bedroom door. Rarity was drunk, more drunk than he had ever seen her. It wasn't right to do this.

The woman gave a shake of her head, tossing her violet bangs behind her shoulders and looking at the boy. Without provocation, she squeezed her breasts together with her arms and leaned forward, resting her hands on her crossed legs.

Spike couldn't resist. He took a step forward, taking off his jacket and shirt, soon finding himself stripped down to his boxers. Rarity tapped the bedside next to her. Spike sat close to her, feeling like he was in a whole different world right now.

She trailed one of her manicured fingers along his lanky, pale chest and finally settled on his blue-stripped boxers, and the prize that lay underneath that last piece of cloth. She ran a delicate circle around his jutting member, before finally giving a single scrape across the covered head. Spike literally gasped at the action, leaning forward and clutching hard at the sheets. Rarity smiled, standing off the bed. Without breaking eye contact, the tailor removed her panties, revealing her delicate mound, obscured by only a close-shaven tuft of violet pubic hair cut so precise and square that Spike wondered if she took a mirror down there to get the angle right.

“Stand,” she whispered. Spike did as instructed, his legs trembling like a newborn deer's as he gazed at the dark-skinned goddess before him. With half-lidded eyes and a coy smile, she grabbed his boxers at the waist and yanked down.

His member stood at full attention. While not the largest or widest, it made up for it in enthusiasm, twitching in anticipation of what was to come.

“It's so cute!” She exclaimed. Spike blanched.

“I-I'd rather you not call it--” he gasped as Rarity leaned forward, putting his shaft into her mouth. She gave an experimental twirl of her tongue over the appendage; it was all Spike could do to keep from crossing his eyes in pleasure as Rarity carried his member in his mouth, milking it while cupping his testicles with a hand. She kept her pinkie extended, reminding Spike of the times she drank tea.

She soon pulled back, saliva and pre-cum leaving a small bridge between her violet lips and Spike's tool. Rarity grasped him with a smooth, silky hand and began to stroke him as she lent forward and kissed his chest, then trailed up to his neck, finally on the jaw. Spike took his hands and put them behind Rarity's head, bringing her in for a deep, lip-locking kiss. They remained frozen in that for several moments, Rarity so distracted that she paused from working his rod, instead melting into his heartfelt embrace. The woman felt a small trickle of moisture in her sex; her nipples hardened, each becoming small pebbles jutting out from her flawless skin. When they broke, Rarity took a few steps over and laid on the bed, knees up and presenting herself to Spike. He moved on blind, dumb instinct, doing his best to shut off the mental stimulation that would probably give him a heart attack at this point.

Her an-and me? I'm actually, wow, she's actually—he shook his thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.

“Like what you see?” Rarity questioned with a slurring tease, showcasing her moist womanhood. Spike leaned in close and gave an experimental poke of her walls with a finger. She gasped and her body all but pulled and tugged at his hand, desperately seeking to be filled. Without even thinking or debating on what he was doing, Spike dove in, sticking his face into her cavern. He prodded her inner passage with a lolling tongue, delving in deep. Judging by her animalistic panting and tugging at the back of his unkempt hair, she was enjoying herself despite his non-existent knowledge of the art. He used his thumb to give a small unsure flick of her inflamed button and was rewarded with a hard shiver that came in waves from her head to her toes. She reluctantly pushed his head back and stared hard at him. The mage wiped a small trail of drool off her mouth that had formed during Spike's actions.

“Spike...” she panted. “I...”

He continued to run on instinct, guessing what she needed. He brought his member up, close to her entrance.

The boy pushed in, laying on top of Rarity as he did so. The tailor grasped his face with both hands and stared hard at his eyes as he penetrated. She winced slightly, her grip squeezing on him for a brief, flickering moment before he pulled out and thrust in once more.

She bit her lip, wrapping one hand around his narrow waist, and the other cradling his neck as he began to pick up a rhythm to his actions.

They continued, Spike thrusting and Rarity gasping with every plunge into her. She clutched at the white sheets, wringing her fingers through the silk as her body sang its pleasure to her. Her large breasts bounced and swayed on impact, only making Spike all the more hard. He leaned forward, placing one of her nipples in his mouth and delicately suckling it while massaging the other overfull mound of flesh with his palm, exploring its curves and supple boundaries.

“S-Spike!” she yelped in a high-pitched whine at the sensation, her shudder visible as a climax came. She brought him in even closer and put her hand on top of his as he squeezed her breast. She used her other hand to bring his face closer to hers, leaning up and kissing him deeply.

That did it for Spike. He moaned into her mouth and felt sweet relief as his warm seed erupted from his rock, filling her loins with his love.

After they both caught their breaths, Spike rolled off her and stared at the ceiling.

“Wow,” he said, unblinking.

Rarity nodded in agreement, her hair frazzled and splayed out on the bed. “Quite.”

They remained wordless, neither sure what to say in the situation. Spike made the first move, reaching over and entwining his fingers with Rarity's.

The woman looked over at Spike, who had just closed his eyes with a weary content smile, then down at her hand, and the lanky fingers wrapped protectively around her own.

It was strange that despite the sex, this is what brought the most heat to her face. The tailor moved Spike's hand to her heart and clutched it.

Outside, the cold wind howled. In here, together, they found warmth through the night.

000

Rarity awoke to the worst hangover she had ever experienced. As soon as her eyes opened, she let out a groan as the light all but blinded her. She moved to get out of bed but was stopped by an unfamiliar presence tangled with her limbs.

Spike laid next to her, his pale skin glowing in the small ray of light that peeked through the window to the side of her room. He lay there with his slightly open mouth and curly green hair. His cute little nose and smooth skin. Like a lovely porcelain doll.

She gave a troubled sigh, leaning back onto her pillow and biting hard at her lip.

Rarity knew what she had done last night—what Spike had done to her, and, more importantly, what she had done to him—Rarity was almost without a shadow of a doubt that Spike had never...

The tailor briefly glanced down her bare body in contemplation, Spike's pale arm around her waist, creating a line of stark contrast to her own skin.

Her sobriety had made things take on a more somber tone today. Last night she had been caught up in the heat of the moment, overcame with a longing for something that was far less superficial than the men she had tried to date again and again.

Spike was a kind, humble individual who Rarity knew cared about her. Last night, she had decided on a whim to see how much he cared for her. He had proven himself to her. Still, there was a problem she couldn't escape.

He was a boy.

A boy.

Rarity unwrapped his arms from her body and put a hand to her face, the pain of her hangover briefly forgotten as that simple truth rang like a funeral toll in her mind.

A boy. A boy just now entering the cruel clutches of puberty. A boy still in school, and here she was, playing the role of a harlot.

Don't call yourself that, she mentally rebuked herself. She rose from the bed, electing a small moan of protest from Spike. Without even a pause, she walked to the bathroom and took a few aspirin, then glanced at the mirror, grimly frowning at how tired she looked. She reached for a container of eye-shadow and quickly spruced herself up as Spike entered the bathroom. Rarity gasped, covering her body from his eyes as best she could. Spike seemed frozen, caught in a pair of metaphorical headlights.

“Uh...” he stammered, glancing over Rarity’s nude form. “S-sorry. I just needed to...”

“Get out,” Rarity growled through clenched teeth.

He gave a small raise of his brow. “S-sorry Rarity. I was just seeing if you had--”

“Get the hell out!” Rarity cried, grabbing a hand-towel and throwing it at him.

Spike flinched, cowering with his hands protecting his head and looking at Rarity with a mix of confusion and humiliation. He took a few steps out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Down the hallway, she could hear his steps tromping into her bedroom.

Rarity put a hand to her forehead. She shouldn't have snapped at him like that. Now she was just confusing the boy. After a beat, she opened the door. Spike was hurriedly putting on his pants, gazing across the bedroom to the window outside.

“Spikie?” she called out.

He turned, looking through the doorframe and out into the hall.

“We need to talk.”

000

An almost deafening click of a clock rang through the lounge. Rarity looked deeply into her teacup as she tried to avoid eye-contact with Spike. He sat across a small table and stared directly at the older woman, wringing his hands nervously.

It was Rarity who finally broke the ice. She glanced at the floor, before speaking.

“About last night....” she started, then paused, frowning.

Spike slowly nodded, glancing at the wall briefly before returning his attention to the tailor. “What about it?” he asked, crossing his leg over his lap.

“I...” Rarity fumbled for her words, not sure where to start.
The clock marched on, each tick in-sync with her heartbeat as she stared across the room to the boy.
The boy, the boy, nothing in your pretty little head but the boy, she thought with a frown. Rarity knew it wasn’t right--Twila and the girls would never approve, neither would anyone in the community. She had to make a break--she was starting to get a crazy, desperate feeling about Spike. One completely foreign to her in all her twenty-five years of living. She refused to pay those feelings any mind; rather, she continued to speak as she ran a hand through her combed hair.
“It was a mistake. We both made one.”

Spike winced, looking as if she had just physically slapped him. He stared, open-mouthed at her words. “How can you say that?”

“How can I not, dar—Spike?” she replied, gaining a small morsel of confidence as she took a sip of tea from her shaking hands. “I was intoxicated and you...” She glanced at him over the rim of her cup. “You're going through changes. You simply got... caught up in the moment.”

He scowled. “That's not it!” he shouted back, his voice cracking slightly at the volume. “I don't—I-I didn't do that just because of how you look! Rarity, I know how I feel!”

“You're fourteen!” she shouted back, suddenly furious at his proclamation. “You know nothing about how you feel!” She calmed down after a moment, realizing how tightly she was clenching her hand to the cup. Sucking in a breath, she continued in a more subdued tone. “Besides... it can't work, even if you do feel as you say.”

“Why?” he asked, dumbstruck.

“Spike, darling... a few years older, and I could be your mother.” Rarity chose not to mention how being with him last night was also wrong in a legal sense—that was a completely different can of worms that churned her gut even at the slightest thought; she refused to dwell on it, continuing her line of reasoning, “B-besides, you need someone your own age that can—“

“I don't want someone my own age!” he snapped back, his fingers digging grooves into Rarity's pristine leather seat. He let out a slow, easy breath, willing himself to keep calm. Finally, he looked straight at her. “Rarity... I want you.”

She shook her head slowly, losing all trace of composure at his gaze. “Spike... I don't... w-we can't—“

“Last night,” he began, bringing his feet up to the seat of the chair and gazed down at his hands. “It meant a lot to me. Now you're telling me that what I think—w-what I feel isn't good enough? Why? Am I just another notch on your belt? D-do you not feel the same way about...?”

Rarity sighed and bit at her thumb, mumbling something under her breath. Spike cocked his head, leaning his ear forward.

“What was that Rar--”

“I don't know!” she shouted, making Spike visibly recoil in his chair. She put her hands to her temples. “I don't know why I did what I did, if it was the champagne, or-or what you were saying being so sweet and charming, or if it's because you've always been around to talk to with my problems or—I just don't know!” She covered her eyes with her hands and let out a choked sob. “Spike...”

“Y-yeah?” he asked, instantly on his feet.

“I need you to go.”

He took the words surprisingly well, giving a simple nod to her wish. The boy turned to leave the room.

“Please don't tell anyone about...”

“I know,” he said, disappointment in his words. “I won't say anything.”

With that, he left the boutique without a sound.

She rose, wiping the tears away from her eyes as she traveled upstairs once more. She knew in her head that she couldn't. She shouldn't. He had his own life to live, as did she.

Her heart, however, wouldn't shut up. There was a raw need in there, one the boy filled with every single thing he did for her. She knew, with him, they both could be happy. Maybe. Except for the fact that it just wouldn’t work thanks to their differences. Yet...

Rarity went to her bedroom and grabbed the sheets off her bed, intending to wash them and give herself at least a bit of distraction at the conflicting, painful thoughts that marched with her every step of the way to the sink.

A quick turn of the faucet and she tossed them into the basin. She froze when they came to rest in the rising water.

Rarity stared hard at the three small dime-sized specks of dried blood on the otherwise pristine sheets. They taunted her as they stared out of the quickly rising water. She summoned every ounce of will she had left to turn and look for bleach.

They had both lost something that night. She could only pray that some day, maybe something could be found.

Outside, the snow continued.