Touched for the Very First Time
Sometimes, Spike could scarcely believe it wasn't all just a dream.
After years of pining, years of ambiguous displays of affections and stolen kisses, not only had he and Rarity finally found love with each other, they were already celebrating the night of their three-month anniversary by way of taking that crucial first step of physical intimacy between lovers.
Spike was even of the opinion he had been doing swimmingly—they both even had a few good laughs when he posed amorously across the bed—up until the point they started kissing on said bed and he rubbed Rarity’s horn, which then prompted his mind to jump from “horn” to “magic” to “Twilight Sparkle’s three-hours-long seminar on the anatomy of pony sexual response cycles.”
Staying on task proved difficult after that.
“Spikey, is something wrong?” Rarity asked as Spike pulled away to turn sideways, his eyes goggled and pupils the size of pinpricks.
“Yes—I mean no!” Spike forced a reassuring smile that wavered like shifting sand. “Something’s not wrong, uh, what I meant was... j-just give me a minute.” He twisted back to stare at his knees, or more specifically, the space in between.
From being around Twilight his whole life, Spike knew that going insane was a gradual process, he just didn’t realize it was a contagious one as well. To say he was miffed for not getting proper warning was like saying Applejack was only mildly annoyed by vampire fruit bats. He glanced at his beloved.
Rarity’s mane was mussed and her cheeks were flushed from their recent amorous entanglement. In the dim lighting, her eyes resembled glimmering sapphires, and her kiss-swollen red lips were the most succulent set of rubies he’d ever beheld.
If Spike were to be his usual compulsive romantic self, he would’ve proclaimed the intent of barging into some court of law to decree that Rarity was the most beautiful creature in all of creation by mandate of Celestia herself. Unfortunately, flowery words of adoration banked within his mind were bombarded into sparks of useless neurons by incessant, high-pitched, Twilight-sounding chirps of “Hey, listen!” and he could only think about matching Rarity’s current visage to: Excitement phase; flushed cheeks and elevated respiration suggest increased blood flow for acute arousal. Further stimulation will encourage enlargement and lubrication of the clitoris and labia.
“Oh crud, not now. I can't get it out of my head,” Spike seethed under his breath, claws clutching both sides of his head, wishing he could somehow squeeze out the impurities. Rarity’s previous doe-eyed stare now took on the look she usually reserved for one of the Cutie Mark Graduates’ mischiefs.
“Spike, what is the matter?” Rarity said. “You’re acting very strange.”
Spike gulped and tugged at his invisible shirt collar. “I, um… just remembered a very funny joke!” he blurted and then immediately slapped himself on the face.
Rarity blinked slowly. “You just remembered,” she began, her voice resembling the sizzling of a lit fuse attached to a crate of dynamite, “a very funny joke.”
The look she bore into him made Spike wish he could somehow just shrivel up and disappear. He looked down at himself. In a way, that had already happened.
As Spike continued to stammer and pantomime feebly, the metaphorical fire in Rarity’s eyes fizzled out and she turned away to hide her face. “Are… are you having seconds thoughts?” she said in a small voice.
That spurred Spike into coherent action. “No!” he bellowed, jolting Rarity with his vehemence as he scampered across the bed to clasp her hooves in his claws. “I can have thousands, millions, billions of thoughts, but not a second one.” He stared deeply into her eyes. “Never about you.”
Under normal circumstances Spike would have compared Rarity’s dazzling smile to that of a blooming sunflower of golden beauty, at the moment, however, any such thoughts gave way to scratchy chirps of “Hey, look!” and “Reemerging into Excitement phase; lateral orbitofrontal cortex mechanisms possibly engaged.”
“That is it,” Rarity hollered, stamping both her hooves on a pillow as Spike once again started clawing at his scalp. “I demand to know what is going on with you and I want to know right now!”
There was a pause. “…So a pegasus and a minotaur walk into a bar—”
“Spike.”
“I’m so sorry, Rarity!” Spike wailed, floundering on the bed. “I just don’t know what went wrong! We were having such a wonderful time. Dinner was great, the music was lovely, Pinkie was tolerably crazy… the whole night was going so well. But then… then…” He clenched his claws, glaring into the pillow with ardent venom. “Twilight.” He hissed the name as though uttering an advert to the Root of All Evil.
“Twilight?” Rarity echoed with a bewildered frown. “How is Twilight responsible for”—she made a weak sweeping gesture—“this?”
Spike grimaced as he propped himself up with both claws. “She said she really wanted to help out with tonight—something about wanting to be part of all the key moments of my life—but Applejack and the others already had everything covered, and nothing was complicated enough to warrant her organizational skills. So I kinda-sorta-maybe told her she can help me out with the stuff in the bedroom.”
Rarity gaped. “What!?”
“It was supposed to be a joke!” Spike cried, throwing his arms up in the air. “I just wanted to cheer her up with some risque humor! I didn’t think she’d do actual research about it, let alone compile enough material for a whole lecture!”
“You didn’t,” Rarity gasped, a hoof covering her mouth.
“I… I was scared! I thought it’d be worth suffering through if it meant smooth sailings for our first time. But now all these stupid thoughts… I can’t even look at you without thinking about—” Here his gaze went unfocused and his voice took on a robotic quality. “Cervical contractions in point eight second increments.”
“Oh, my poor Spikey-Wikey!” Rarity cried, holding out her forelegs.
“Rarity,” Spike bawled, throwing himself into the mare's awaiting embrace. “There were flowcharts and diagrams.”
Rarity winced as she cradled Spike’s head and ran her hoof lovingly across his cheek. “There, there.”
“I’m even supposed to,” Spike choked out, “count the number of contractions to make sure you’re properly satisfied.”
Rarity looked remarkably nonplussed. “Pardon?”
Spike once again gained that thousand yard stare and droned out information that could only be achieved through rote memorization. “Plateau phase: orgasm for a mare typically involves three to five strong rhythmic contractions as the fully engaged central nervous system directs messages of escalating enjoyment along the pelvic, pudendal, and hypogastric nerve endings in the genital regions.”
Rarity’s face could give one of Applejack’s prized apples a run for their redness. She tittered as Spike trailed off listing properties of dopamine and oxytocin. “It’s all right, dear. Just… try not to think about it.”
“Easier said than done,” Spike groaned, voice muffled from his face being buried in Rarity’s shoulder. He turned his head to speak more clearly, “I’m sorry all this happened. I wanted so much for this night to be magical for you. For us.”
Rarity kissed his forehead with a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it, Spikey. We have plenty of next times to try again.”
The couple cuddled together in silence, the mattress squeaking rhythmically to their gentle rocking amongst whispers of sweet nothings. Then, Rarity’s eyes flew wide open and she smiled as brightly as the phantom light bulb above her.
“Ideaaaa…” Rarity sang in hushed tones. She gave Spike’s head one more kiss before pulling away. “Wait right here,” she said and bounded out the door.
Spike sat at the edge of the bed and sighed deeply. “This must be how Humdrum felt in the Power Ponies After Dark series.”
The despondent dragon strongly suspected his libido died a grisly, gruesome death, never to return. He was about to resign himself to a sullen life of emasculation when not five minutes later, his libido received resuscitation by way of erotic fabulosity.
“Yoohoo,” Rarity called, sashaying back into the bedroom, dangling a foreleg in front of her. "May I have your opinion?"
Up before that titillatingly fateful moment, Spike had, like many others, regarded “mind-blowing” as merely a phrase, a figure of speech. He knew better now. In the back of his head, a series of deep, rumbling roars came forth like a chorus of drummers riding upon crashing tides.
Spike swallowed dryly, eyes transfixed as he spoke in a trance. “They look... very nice. Where’d you get those?”
Rarity blushed demurely. “A lady has un ensemble for every occasion,” she answered, doing a little twirl to give him a clear view. “Do you like?”
The leg-garbs functioned like some sort of magical mascara for the body, enhancing the shapely allure of Rarity’s flanks ten-fold.
The rational part of Spike's mind and the disembodied voices of Twilight argued that Rarity was just wearing socks, simple dark-and-light-blue striped garments that covered each leg from below the fetlock to just an inch above the knee. These voices of dissent wailed in dismay before being rapidly drowned out as the rumbles gained speed and momentum, rising up as rolling storms of thunder, spreading and exploding and wreaking havoc across his mindscape in a merciless sea of fire. Spike started twitching all over.
Rarity giggled. “I figured the best way to do away with distracting thoughts is to clear the mind entirely.” She fluttered her eyelashes and gave a coquettish shake of her rump. “So, Darling, what are you thinking of now?”
The unicorn mare squealed in laughter as she was scooped up in the dragon’s arms and carried back bridal style. The two them plopped onto the bed, their entangled forms sinking into the mattress.
“I’m thinking,” Spike growled out after several deep, eagerly returned kisses, “Spike wants.”
Rarity pulled him back in. “Rock my socks off, dragon boy.”
Twilight was full of shit; three to five was a complete underestimation.
Author's Note
This is the closest I'll ever get to writing a clop fic.
