What's Left Unspoken

by McCandless_63

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Featherweight, Romance, Spike, Slice of Life, Sex
Length: 8258

As Spike and Featherweight's romance progresses, a teenaged Spike soon finds himself wanting something more from his coltfriend. On the eve of their anniversary, Spike vows to make his feelings known. Featherweight couldn't have any idea... could he?

Spike finds an unlikely friend in Featherweight—a colt who would rather take pictures than go adventuring. Despite their differing interests, Featherweight proves to be one of the most important ponies in the young dragon's life. As their friendship grows through the years, Spike finds an even more unlikely first love in the same colt.

Along with their love, Spike finally starts to grow as he enters his teenage years. With a bounty of awkward dates and fumbling kisses under his belt, Spike soon finds himself wanting something more from his coltfriend. Too bad he doesn't have the guts to say it.

One night, on the eve of their anniversary, Spike vows to make his feelings known. After all, Featherweight couldn't have any idea of what's been bothering him... could he?

Commission for Anonymous

Trigger Warnings: Consensual M/M sex between two horny teenagers. You have been warned!

Published 2015-06-20 02:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-20 02:40:01 UTC

What's Left Unspoken

“Are you sure they’re straight?”

Twilight giggled. Spike groaned and ran his claws through his forehead scales. “I swear they aren’t…”

“Spike, they look fine.” Twilight levitated a mirror up to him, grinning. “See? As straight as can be. Considering… well…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Feigning offense, Spike crossed his lanky arms over his chest and huffed.

Twilight giggled again. “I’m sorry, Spike. You know I can’t help myself.”

Spike smiled back at her. “Yeah. I guess I kinda walked into that one, didn’t I?”

Twilight nodded, setting the mirror back down. “Alright, now let’s just make sure everything else looks good…”

As she took a step back, Spike raised his arms and spread his legs apart. Though Rarity had tailored the suit to better fit his unique form, it was still somewhat big on him. Excess fabric dangled from his arms. However, as Rarity had pointed out, Spike’s next growth spurt could be tomorrow for all anypony knew. ”Better to trim a little than to have to make a bigger one,” she had said, and Spike couldn’t help but agree.

Twilight looked up at the teenaged drake, a forehoof on her chin. She leaned in closer, examining every seam on his outfit as if it were a mystery hidden within her mountain of books.

“What?” Spike twisted to look over his shoulders and down his back. “Are my spine scales sticking out too much?” His tail thumped the floor. “Maybe Rarity should have made the jacket longer. My tail’s just hanging there.” He sighed at his talons. “Do you think maybe I should polish my talons? They might be—”

Standing up on her hindhooves, Twilight laid a forehoof on his shoulder. “Spike, calm down. You look great!”

“Are you sure?” Unconvinced, Spike ran a claw up and down the suit’s emerald-green tie. “Maybe I should go with a darker color? Or blue, something to match my eyes, or—”

Spike was interrupted again, this time by Twilight’s gentle aura as she leaned him down to face her. “Spike, I promise, it’s going to be fine.” After giving him a small nuzzle, she added, “I’m sure Featherweight will love it.”

Heat bolted to Spike’s cheeks at the mention of his coltfriend’s name. For a moment, he couldn’t spare a word, only sputtering as Twilight failed to silence a giggle behind a forehoof.

“Come on, Spike. Let’s be rational about this. You two have been together for how long, now?”

“Uh…” Still red as a fire ruby, Spike started to count on his talons. “Well, if you mean how long I’ve known him… Five years? But if you mean how long we’ve been together, it’ll be three tomorrow.”

“If he didn’t think you were cute before, he wouldn’t be dating you now. You’re trying too hard.” Twilight straightened his askew tie with a frown. “Besides, what’s got you so nervous? You two have gone on many dates before this. I know it’s the eve of your anniversary, but what makes tonight so different?”

Spike crossed his claws behind his back. The temperature in the foyer of Twilight’s castle was too damned high for a crystal castle in the midst of winter. “W-well…”

In his mind’s eye, Spike saw the answer quite clearly. Featherweight, small and delicate and graceful, laughing, smiling, lowering his eyelids and leaning in to kiss him. Featherweight, his ubiquitous camera around his neck, looking down his glasses as he smoked a rebellious cigarette between his perfect teeth. Even that goofy black beret he loved to wear brought forth the answer.

The answer was in Spike’s dreams, hidden from all but Luna, and his even more private daydreams. The answer was in the testosterone flowing through his eager blood, and in the sheets he washed before Twilight woke with the revealing dawn.

As much as he felt for Featherweight, there was one bridge Spike had yet to cross with him. That bridge loomed, long and daunting, even as his body had screamed at him. It started once he had grown as tall as Big Macintosh and had yet to stop.

As the silence threatened to suffocate him, Spike opened his claws and forced a chuckle. “Eh… heh… W-well, our anniversary is cl-close to Hearth’s Warming too, y’know, and… I-I just want it to be… special?”

Twilight tapped her chin. “But your anniversaries’ always been close to Hearth’s Warming and you’ve never dressed up like this! And I’m pretty sure you’ve never made a reservation at Horte’s either! Don’t you two just usually go to Sugarcube Corner for dinner?”

“W-well—”

“... Wait.” Twilight’s eyes widened. “Wait. Wait a minute. You’re not telling me you’re—”

Spike raised both his claws. “L-l-listen, Twi, it’s not—”

Bringing her forehoof to her forehead, Twilight gasped. “How could I have not seen this coming?! It… It just makes so much sense! Now that you’re older, and you’ve been together for a while, well…”

As she trailed off and the silence grew stifling, Spike tugged on the collar of his undershirt. With a hard swallow, he said quietly, “Twilight, I promise that I’m… That we’re…”

“You can’t be thinking of this, Spike!” Twilight almost shouted, stomping a forehoof.

As if he had been struck, Spike nearly stumbled over his feet. He raised his claws, palms outward, towards Twilight as she advanced on him.

Twilight pointed at him. “You… you’re not ready for this! You’re not old enough!”

Spike paled, the treacherous blood that had started all of this draining from his face. “I-I… I-I, Twi, I’m—”

“Spike, I love you, but you’re just not ready for marriage!”

“I’m sure you think that I’m inn—wait.” Spike blinked. “D-did you say… marriage?”

Twilight nodded, her rage shifting to concern as she laid a forehoof on his chest. “I know you love Featherweight, but you two aren’t adults yet. I know the law says that minors can marry with explicit permission from both of their guardians, but I’m pretty sure that Bulk Biceps won’t be too happy with his son marrying while he’s still in school—”

Spike envisioned his coltfriend’s father sitting him down, a newspaper in his forehooves, as Spike told him he and Featherweight were engaged. Ghost-Bulk reacted as anypony would if they heard their sixteen-year-old son was getting married.

Ghost-Spike did not fare well.

“—And while I am happy you feel so strongly about somepony, I can’t condone it! No matter your size, you’re still a minor, Spike!” Twilight finished, pacing back and forth. A clear divet was already visible in the floorboards.

“Um…” Spike raised a claw. “I’m… I’m not asking Featherweight to marry me, Twilight.”

Twilight froze. “You’re—you’re not?”

Spike shook his head. “No. I mean… I love him, but I’m just not ready for that. Heh.” He scratched his nape, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“Oh.” A sigh of relief followed, along with a sheepish grin. “Sorry for blowing up on you.”

Spike sighed in turn. “It’s alright, Twilight.” He looked up at a clock on the wall. “I’d better get going. Featherweight’ll be kept waiting if I don’t head out now.”

“Alright.” Twilight stood up to hug him. “Have fun. Be safe, okay?”

Wrapping his claws around her, Spike nodded. “I promise, Twilight.”

They shared a tight hug before Spike gave himself one last once-over in Twilight’s mirror, then headed out of the castle and towards the darkening Ponyville streets.

~

As Spike had feared, Featherweight had been waiting for him. The gangly teenage colt, his wings still too small for his body, stood beside the entrance to Horte Cuisine. He leaned against the doorway, his beret resting by some magic against his recently cropped mane. To Spike’s surprise, his camera was absent tonight, as were his glasses.

Once Featherweight’s hazel eyes found Spike, they brightened, along with his smile.

“There you are!” Featherweight trotted over to him, enveloping him in a hug. “What took you so long, huh?”

“S-sorry, Feather.” Spike flushed at the contact and held him close, his claws softly stroking his fur before Featherweight pulled away. “I was just getting ready.”

Featherweight whistled as he looked him up and down. “Heh, this is more than what I call getting ready. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were going to propose to me tonight!”

Fiddling with his tie, Spike managed a half-hearted chuckle. “Y-you’re silly.”

“And you’re handsome.” Featherweight’s cheeks tinged with pink before he turned towards the door. “And I’m hungry. Ready to eat?”

Quickly nodding, Spike followed after his coltfriend, sweat continuing to drip down his forehead.

“Good evening, gentlecolts,” the maître d' said with a slight bow as they approached. “Welcome to Horte Cuisine.” The stallion grabbed two menus. “Table for two, yes?”

“Oui,” Featherweight answered.

The maître d' beamed. “Vous savez prançais?”

Featherweight grinned. “Oui, un peu.”

“Très bien!” With a laugh, the maître d' gestured for them to follow.

Spike tagged along, looking around the bustling restaurant. Many other couples were here enjoying a meal—not too hard to fathom, considering that Horte Cuisine was Ponyville’s sole formal dining establishment. Soft music radiated from a stage at the far wall, where a cellist and a saxophonist played a soothing tune. Candlelight lit the interior, a jar containing a flickering, rose-shaped candle sitting on every table.

Outside, only the moon and stars provided a refuge from the dark. It was here that Spike and Featherweight were seated. The two took their seats as the maître d' laid the menus down on the table.

“Your waiter will be here in a few minutes. Enjoy ze evening… Amoureux.” With a wink, the stallion bowed again and headed back inside.

“Um… What did he say?” Spike folded his claws on the table and gave a nervous cough.

Beside him, Featherweight blushed crimson. “He… he called us… Well… In Prench, it’s ‘sweethearts’—”

“Sweethearts?” Spike blanched. “That old stallion was flirting with us?”

Featherweight shook his head. “No, it means more like ‘lovers’. As in, he knows we’re on a date.”

“Oh… oh.” Spike scratched at his nape. “Uh…” He coughed. “W-well, we’re not that obvious, are we?”

“I don’t know.” Featherweight removed his beret and pulled out the pack of cigarettes and box of matches hidden within. He shook a cigarette out and offered one to Spike, who, as always, refused. A spark later, Featherweight puffed deeply on his cigarette. “Does it really matter, though?” He put the pack and box away, then adjusted his beret atop his mane. “I think mostly everypony knows by now.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not that. It’s just…” Spike opened the menu and pretended to study it. “Do you ever wonder if we’re… you know… just like any other gay couple?”

Featherweight blew a series of smoke rings. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Spike narrowed his eyes at the menu. All Prench. Useless, he put it back down, then looked up at Featherweight. “You’re into photography and art, and I’m—”

“Into baking and aprons?” Featherweight flicked his ash with a smirk.

“H-hey! I’m a damn good baker, and you know it!” Spike scoffed. “And you like that apron!”

“Oh, but of course.” Featherweight rustled his wings. “It looks adorable on you.”

Spike raised a claw to object, then mumbled with burning cheeks, “It’s… not… adorable…”

“It is. But I think I know what you’re getting at.” With one final drag, Featherweight finished his cigarette and ground it out on the table’s ashtray. “You’re wondering if we’re a stereotype, since I’m the ‘delicate one,’” Featherweight said in a high-pitched whine, “and you’re the ‘big strong one’—” his voice shifted to a deep bass—”and I’m supposed to be the artsy one and you’re supposed to be the one who builds houses or something. Right?”

Spike wrung his claws. “Well, I guess…”

“But you’re not.” Featherweight scooted closer to Spike. “And I’m glad you’re not.” He kissed his cheek softly, then rested his head against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re you.”

Warmth spread through Spike’s veins as he held Featherweight close. He closed his eyes for a moment and laughed. “Heh, you’re right. I’m just being silly. I’m glad you’re you, too, Feather.”

“Mmm.” Featherweight broke the embrace to look at the menu. “You think too much sometimes, Spike. Just relax, okay? After all…” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It is almost our third anniversary.”

“You’re right. We should at least order before we start making out, right?” Spike laughed, half his nerves behind it, and scanned the meaningless menu.

Featherweight snorted. “Who said anything about making out?”

Spike flinched. “I… I didn’t mean—”

“I was just—” Featherweight began, then stopped when his eyes met Spike’s. A frown crossed his muzzle as he laid a forehoof atop Spike’s claw. “Hey, what’s wrong? Something seems off about you tonight.”

“N-nothing!” Spike pulled his claw away and sat up straight. “Nothing! Just…” Picking up the menu again, he said, “I don’t know what in Tartarus I’m going to order, since this is all in Prench!”

Slowly, Featherweight replied, “You knew it was a Prench restaurant when you made the reservation…”

Spike avoided his gaze. “W-well, yeah! But I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be able to read the menu!”

Featherweight hummed, then set his and Spike’s menus down. “Um, tell you what. When the waiter gets here, I’ll just order something for the both of us, okay? I promise you’ll like it.”

“Uh, yeah. S-sure.” Spike crossed his arms, giving Featherweight a weak smile before avoiding his eyes again.

Featherweight opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short as the waiter arrived with a mustachioed smile, two large glasses of water, and a basket of rolls with garlic butter.

“Bonsoir, gentlecolts! My name is Silver Platter, and I shall be your garçon for zis evening.” The stallion withdrew a quill and notepad from one of the pockets of his fine silk suit. “Can I interest you in any apéritifs, or our promos for ze evening?”

After another unsuccessful attempt to catch Spike’s eye, Featherweight sighed. “Yes, sir. We would like two orders of ratatouille along with the salade du chef, along with two orders of crème brûlée for dessert. And water will be fine for the table, please.”

The stallion scribbled down their order. “Fameux! And anything else for you, sir?” he asked, turning to Spike. “Perhaps ze pierres précieuses?”

“Huh?” Spike shook his head to find Featherweight casting an annoyed glance towards him. He swallowed and looked away from his coltfriend to the waiter. “Uh, no thanks. What he said is fine. I really don’t speak Prench, heh.”

“Pas de problème!” The waiter scooped up the menus. “Your food will be ready in a half hour or less.”

“Merci beaucoup!” Featherweight called after the stallion, who, like his co-worker, winked at them before hurrying off.

Spike reached for one of the rolls and flicked some of the garlic butter on his opposite talon. As he sliced open the roll and spread it across the bread with his makeshift knife, he said, “Heh, good thing y-you’re studying that Prench, too, huh? Not just… photography…” His words trailed off as Featherweight narrowed his eyes on him.

“Spike, what’s wrong? Please, tell me what’s on your mind. Is this because I’ve been busy with my photography?” Featherweight sighed. “I know that we really should be spending more time together, but I really want to try to get into film school when I graduate. That means I have to build up a portfolio—and the Foal Free Press isn’t going to cut it.”

Spike chewed his roll as fast as he could, little crumbs spewing everywhere. Featherweight dodged the spray, laughing as his drakefriend finished three rolls in quick succession. Once he finished, Spike swallowed, then shook his head.

“Feather, this isn’t about that. I completely understand what you mean. Hay, we both know there were times when I was too busy to see you as much as we both wanted.” Spike twiddled his talons in guilt, a thousand mental images of disorganized libraries and frantic Twilights galloping through his mind. “But no, it’s nothing to do with me. Well, that’s half-true,” he corrected, averting his eyes again.

Featherweight stroked Spike’s side with a wing until he looked at him. “Then tell me… What’s going on?”

Spike bit his lip. “It’s… Can we talk about it later? It’s really not the… best conversation for public.” Scarlet flushed his cheeks.

Featherweight paused for a moment before nodding. “Alright. It’ll be better if we discuss it at my house anyway.”

Spike slathered the circumference of a roll with garlic butter. “Yeah, that sounds like—hwha??” The roll fell to the grass beneath his feet with a plop. “Y-y-your house?”

Featherweight shrugged, then opened his forehooves. “Well, yeah! My dad is out of town for the weekend competing in a bodybuilding show. Don’t you remember me telling you?”

“Umm… Yes?” Spike smiled sheepishly.

Wrong answer. Featherweight chuckled. “Well, he is, so I thought you could come over after dinner to see what I’ve been working on. I-if you want to, of course,” he added, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a long drink.

Spike watched Featherweight drink, his soft, pink tongue flicking inside the glass around his pert lips. “Um… Yeah. S-sounds great, yeah.”

One by one, Spike began to devour the rolls after that, burying his anxieties in a healthy helping of garlic butter. Featherweight said nothing more on the subject, and the two chatted under the stars as the waiter refilled their breadbasket and, later, brought them a scrumptious dinner.

~

Unable to suppress it, Spike let out a long belch as he walked with Featherweight through the empty, moonlit streets. As soon as he did, he rubbed his belly and muttered against his burning blush, “Excuse me.”

“No excuses for that!” Featherweight declared.

Spike looked up. “O-oh?”

Featherweight raised a forehoof. Then, with a rumble to rival a dragon’s roar, he let loose a belch of his own, echoing through the night and bouncing off innocent rooftops. “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWP!”

Spike just stared at him.

Featherweight stared back.

And then they lost it.

Spike fell to the ground, dragging his coltfriend down with him, as they erupted in laughter. Deep, aching belly laughs rocked his abdomen, until his muscles tore and burned from the mirth. He rolled on the unpaved ground with Featherweight, dirt and grime marring the suit Rarity had made him. No guilt or shame passed through his thoughts until their laughter came to a stop.

Spike looked up at Featherweight, hazel eyes boring into his own green, and realized the colt was on top of him.

Scrambling to his feet, Spike pulled himself out from under Featherweight. The colt hit the ground and groaned. “Sorry!” Spike exclaimed, his voice near a squeak, before quickly pulling him up with a claw.

“Thanks,” Featherweight muttered, adjusting his beret. He cleared his throat. “Well, we’d better get going. It’s going to get even darker soon.”

Spike slammed his claws into the pockets of his jacket. “R-right. Good idea.”

The two walked the rest of the way in silence. Spike let his thoughts wander back to the dinner. The meal had been excellent—veggies, cheese, marinara sauce, an enormous salad, and a sweet, creamy dessert to top it all off. More rolls than he could count joined this feast. Even so, it had not been enough to quell his nerves; every sentence of their dinner conversation had been stilted, tainted with anxiety.

“Hey, Spike?”

Yanked from his thoughts, Spike asked, “Yeah, Feather?”

“We’re here.”

Before them was the small home Featherweight and Bulk Biceps shared. While they were both pegasi, Bulk was a stallion of rather modest means. Money spent dwelling in a luxurious cloud home would be better spent on his son. Featherweight had lived on the ground his entire life, but he had never been without the sky or anything else. Spike always admired the large stallion for that—giving his son the best he could.

“Oh, right,” Spike said, looking upon the house as if it were his first time seeing it.

A lump rose in his throat as Featherweight trotted up the steps towards the door. His short, cropped tail swung in time with his flanks. His cutiemark—a simple, white feather—bobbed up and down as he reached up to the doorknob, unlocking it with a key hidden beneath his beret.

Featherweight stood beside the door. His cream coat glowed in the moonlight as he stiffly ruffled his wings. “Well? You coming in, Spike?”

Spike jumped back at his words, unaware he had been staring. “O-oh yeah. Um, coming! Er, coming in!”

Featherweight eyed him quizzically as Spike scampered up the steps, his tail smacking against each one. The colt said nothing, only holding the door open for his drakefriend as he entered.

Once inside, Spike busied himself with looking around, although he had the home’s layout and interior memorized by now. The furniture, wallpaper, photos on the wall—all were the same. The only thing that was different was the colt below him, whose hips continued to sway as he started towards his bedroom.

“C’mon! I have a lot of photos to show you.”

Distrusting his voice, Spike only nodded.

The two walked in a short silence to Featherweight’s room. This door, too, was locked. Featherweight fetched a second key from within his beret, then unlocked and opened it. Spike slowly walked inside, his feet bracing against the floorboards, shivers running up and down his spine.

Featherweight took off his beret and set it on his desk, then moved towards the closet. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll get the pictures.”

Spike noted how quiet his voice was, as if he were afraid to startle him. Or wake up Bulk, Spike thought to himself. Even if Featherweight hadn’t told me he was gone, I would have heard him snoring by now if he were here. That stallion saws a forest in his sleep…

The bed creaked as Spike sat down. While Featherweight rustled through his closet, Spike stared at the mirror across from the bed. In it was the face of a young drake, sweat dotting his forehead and grime on his cheeks from rolling in the streets. His undershirt dirtied, his jacket torn on the collar, and his emerald-green tie halfway unknotted, he looked an absolute mess.

Spike snorted. A slight trail of smoke escaped his nostrils. Getting too nervous… He wrung his claws together, inwardly willing himself to calm. One breath… Then two… Inhale… Exhale…

“Alright, got ‘em!” Featherweight buzzed over to Spike’s side of the bed, a folder in his forehooves. He sat down beside his drakefriend. “Want to see my latest project?”

Inhale… Exhale… Spike glanced at the mirror. Though he still looked a mess, the deep breathing seemed to be working: no more smoke billowed from his nostrils. The only smoker in the room was Featherweight. He turned to him. “Sure, Feather. What is it?”

Featherweight opened the folder. A plethora of photos stared back at both of them. Photos of ponies Spike recognized from all around town—young, old, mare, stallion, foal. Mister and Misses Cake with Pound and Pumpkin, now almost six years old, at the park. Bon-Bon and Lyra sitting on a park bench, chatting together in the spring sun. Mister Waddle talking with Davenport in the market. And many more.

“I call it, ’What’s Left Unspoken.’ Just pictures of everyday life in Ponyville. Parents playing with their foals, lovers enjoying a beautiful day, old friends catching up. The things that nopony really finds important enough to talk about, but are just as important in their own right.

“Most professional photographers I’ve talked to are all about the scoop. And, I guess, for a while, I was, too.” Featherweight rubbed his nape and forced a chuckle before continuing, “But I don’t want to be like that. I want to capture all the important things, not just the one everypony worries about. I could move to Canterlot and follow the nobles around, getting famous by snapping candid photos, but I would rather stay here in Ponyville.

“With you.”

Spike looked up from the photographs to see Featherweight leaning in close to him, his forehoof resting atop his left claw. Fire flooded his senses, rising up from his chest and spreading through his cheeks, as Featherweight leaned in closer.

It was a scenario he had faced time and time again, ever since that terrible, botched first kiss in the park almost three years ago. The texture, contour, and taste of his lips were as familiar as his own name. There should have been no surprises when Spike met him and kissed him.

Spike let out a sound between a gasp and a moan as Featherweight’s tongue knocked at the door of his lips. Spike wasted no time in accepting him, opening his lips for Featherweight’s tongue to enter his mouth. His claws wrapped around the colt’s waist and pulled him closer. The portfolio fell to the floor, photos spilling from its maw, but neither stopped.

Spike felt his breath grow shallow as Featherweight explored his mouth, massaging his tongue with his own. Taking care not to scratch him, Spike gently pulled the colt on his lap. Featherweight’s forehooves found his neck as he deepened their kiss. Now they were at eye level—a useless advantage, their eyes both closed as they savored the taste of the other.

The room was silent for a few moments, broken only by ragged breath and the smacking of hungry tongues.

Feeling himself leaning back, Spike’s eyes shot open. Featherweight’s eyes were still closed as his tongue stroked Spike’s. His wings were open at full mast, spread proud and defiant… along with something else.

Radiant electricity spread through Spike’s nerves as he realized that Featherweight’s crotch was grinding into his. Looking down, he saw that the colt was half-erect, his mottled, black-and-pink cock emerging from his sheath. Beneath it was a pair of black testicles—each the perfect size to fit in Spike’s palm.

Breathing hard, Spike pulled away from the kiss. Sweat poured down his forehead and neck. Drool threatened to drown their tongues as he broke their caress. “F-F-Feather…”

“Huh?” Featherweight opened his eyes. Then, his pupils dilated in slow realization as they trailed down between them, where his cock pressed against Spike’s sheath.

To Spike’s horror, he felt himself start to harden as Featherweight looked down at him. His pink, tapered cock emerged, matching Featherweight’s in length. Pink pressed against pink-and-black, the smooth, warm sensation making Spike shiver.

“O-oh wow.” Featherweight shook his head, then met Spike’s eyes. “Heh. O-oh, my. Um…” His ears flattened as he struggled to push his wings down. “I-I—I’m sorry, Spike. I-I didn’t mean to, um… Uh…”

Heartbeat blaring in his ears, Spike struggled to meet Featherweight’s eyes. He didn’t have to look in the mirror to know he was a fire ruby now. Somehow, his body managed to divide his blood between two equal sources of embarrassment: above and below. His throat was dry as the Badlands, arid without hope of reprieve.

Featherweight untangled his forehooves from Spike’s neck and started to move from his lap. “I-I don’t know wh-what came over me, I just—”

Featherweight let out a squeak as Spike grabbed him by the flanks, pulling him back to his lap. A crimson muzzle met a crimson face, burning brightly in the silence, before Spike finally spoke up.

“F-Feather… Um… You know… Earlier… tonight?”

“Uh… yeah?” Featherweight said. “About what was b-bothering you?”

“I…” Spike looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s now or never. If you don’t now, who knows when you’ll get this chance again?

Sucking in one more breath, Spike continued, “I… It’s j-just… Well… We’ve been together for a while, F-Feather. And I… Um… I’ve been kind of wanting…”

His words faded away as he let out a slight moan. His cock grew further, surpassing Featherweight’s and rubbing up against his.

Engulfed in humiliation, Spike could only sputter in response. “Y-y-y-you know, um, uh, I-I think we sh-sh-should—”

“Have sex?”

Dumbfounded, Spike looked up at Featherweight. How could you say it just like… that? “Well… yeah.”

Featherweight laughed. “That’s what’s been bothering you?” His words were clear now, unashamed.

“Well… yeah,” Spike said again, feeling dumb.

With a shake of his head, Featherweight kissed Spike’s forehead. “Spike, do you know how happy I am to hear that?”

“You… you are?” Spike blinked. “But… We’ve never really… You know… gone that far.”

“I was just Prenching and frotting you,” Featherweight said with a smirk, his eyelids narrowed. “Don’t you think that means I want more than just a kiss goodnight?”

Spike resisted the urge to facepalm. “Well, duh!” escaped his lips anyway, along with a roll of his eyes. “But… why now? Why not earlier?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

Spike sighed. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there…”

Spike looked down between them, at both their growing cocks, and shivered. His hips yearned to buck, but he needed to make one thing clear first.

Looking back up at Featherweight, Spike said, “I guess I just… Ever since I started going through this… growth spurt, I guess, I just… I’ve been thinking of you. That way. But since you never said anything like that… I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.”

Spike smiled. “I’m glad you want to. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine!” he added quickly, raising both claws. “You can always change your mind. Heh, heh.”

Chuckling, Featherweight shook his head. “What a gentledrake. But no, Spike, I’ve been wanting this for a while. You aren’t the only one getting wet dreams… heh, heh…”

They both blushed.

After a moment, Spike moved his claws to Featherweight’s flanks. His talons dug in, kneading his flesh like dough, rough and delicate in the same touch. A low moan escaped the colt’s lips as his hips bucked, pressing his smooth cock against the even smoother one below it.

“S-so I’m guessing… We should… continue?” Spike managed between gasps.

Featherweight continued bucking his hips. “If you… want to…”

Spike answered with his lips, pressing them hard against Featherweight’s. The colt groaned and wrapped his forehooves around him, this time around his waist.

As they broke the kiss, Featherweight grinned and lowered his eyelids. “Alright… Allons, mon amant…”

With words as smooth as his smoke, Featherweight crashed his lips into Spike’s again. The drake let out a contented moan as his anxiety began to melt away, extinguished by his lover’s eager consent.

As Featherweight’s tongue flicked against his, Spike continued to squeeze at his flanks, enjoying how the supple flesh grew warmer beneath his touch. Featherweight’s forehooves wandered as he deepened the kiss, pulling first the tie free, then sliding off the jacket, and then sliding under Spike’s undershirt. Spike ceased his worship of Featherweight’s rump for a moment to help with his own undressing.

Once Spike was as nude as his coltfriend, he reached for him again. Featherweight responded in kind, his forehooves snaking around Spike’s neck. Talons captured flanks, and one tongue overcame the other, stroking it, sucking on it, drawing it into its captors mouth.

Spike hummed in pleasure as Featherweight suckled on his tongue. He closed his eyes, remembering how Featherweight’s tongue flicked around the waterglass, and groaned further. His cock stiffened at the thought of that soft, smooth, pink tongue...

His talons moved downwards until they were clenching at Featherweight’s buttocks. His smooth, palm scales traveled closer towards the colt’s puckered rectum, displayed proudly below his flagging tail. Opening his eyes, he looked down at their cocks, both at full mast—his dragonhood a few inches longer than Featherweight’s colthood, but both smooth and warm and ready.

Featherweight gave a strong buck, stroking Spike’s cock with a hard thrust of his own. Spike repaid the favor by moving one claw towards Featherweight’s tail. He grinned in the kiss as he earned a little gasp from Featherweight when he tugged on it.

“You like having your tail pulled?” Spike whispered, more inquisitive than coy.

Featherweight opened his eyes and pulled away from their kiss. His breath was warm and sweet in Spike’s nostrils and upon his flushed face. “Uhhhh huhhh…”

Spike gave it another tug, eliciting another moan from Featherweight. “Huh… Do you… Do you like spankings, too?”

Featherweight turned scarlet. “W-well, I don’t know…”

“... Can I try?”

“... S-sure.” Featherweight gave a shaky nod.

“Okay… Tell me if it hurts… okay?”

At Featherweight’s second shaky nod, Spike brought his free claw back behind Featherweight’s exposed rump. Spreading his talons, he pulled his claw back, then pushed it forward.

Fwump.

“Um…” Featherweight blinked. “I-I didn’t… I didn’t feel anything?”

“S-sorry. Um, let me try a little… h-harder…”

This time, when Spike pushed forward, he made no motion to slow his claw’s descent.

SMACK!

“Aaaah!” Featherweight shouted, a moan following his cry. “Uhnnnnnnn…” His eyes glassed over in a smile. “Mmm… do that again…”

Spike’s cock throbbed at his colt’s cute little moan. A part of him wanted to ask Featherweight to beg, but he felt that would be pushing his luck. Instead, he muttered in further arousal, “A-a-alright,” and spanked him again.

“Haaaaaaaaah!” Featherweight half-laughed, half moaned, then ground his hips harder into Spike’s. “A-again, Spike!”

Spike didn’t need to be told twice. Keeping one claw firmly on his tail, raising it high, he used the other to smack Featherweight’s round little rump, over and over again. Each spank earned him more cries of pain and pleasure and sent more twitches through his cock.

Featherweight practically thrashed on his lap, his colthood grinding into Spike’s cock with all his might. “Haaaah! Unnnnnnh! D-d-don’t stop!”

As Spike continued, he heard himself groaning just as loudly. Featherweight’s frottage had built up a slick sheen of precum between both of their cocks, hard as diamonds, grinding into his lap. The pressure behind his cock was familiar and growing.

The room became hotter, tighter, whiter. Climax loomed above him like the moon, the only witness to their coupling.

“F-Feather…” Spike gritted his teeth. “I-I’m close…”

“M-me too!” Featherweight panted between words. “Do you… hah… wanna… s-stop?”

Spike shook his head. “D-do you have any lube?”

“Mmhm!” Featherweight halted his grinding. Then, with stiff wings and a stiffer cock hanging beneath him, he dismounted from Spike’s lap.

Spike drooled as he trotted back towards the closet. Featherweight’s rump was red all over, Spike’s palm leaving impressions upon his flesh. Good thing Bulk’s gone all weekend… Even more intriguing than his abused rump was the soft flesh beneath his tail, looking warm and inviting.

Spike’s cock stood tall and proud as he waited, dripping with need.

Featherweight trotted back, a small glass bottle with a cork stopper in his forehoof. “H-here.”

“Al-alright.” Spike took it in his claws.

“Um, so how do you want to do it… Maybe, um, cowmare style?”

“Cowmare?”

“Uh, you know… Me on your lap, facing you, while you…” Featherweight trailed off, only to add in a sheepish voice, “Fuck me.”

If he had been only a tad harder, Spike would have came at his words.

Instead, set the bottle down on the nightstand. “N-no, I was thinking we… Um… Do something before that. Something… t-together.”

“Oh. So, sixty-nine?”

Spike blinked. “H-how did you—”

“There’s Playfilly magazines under my bed,” Featherweight said as he climbed up next to Spike. “I know all the positions.”

“Kinda cocky for somepony who asked me to fuck him, don’t you think?” Spike teased before smacking Featherweight on the rump.

“Aaaaah!” Featherweight leaned down on his forehooves, his rump raised high in the air. “N-n-no fair!”

Spike chuckled through his moan, the sight of Featherweight prostrating like that making his cock throb. “J-just come down here.”

Spike laid down and stretched out, spreading his legs for easier access. With a faux-grumble and a coy smile, Featherweight trotted over and positioned himself above Spike. His colthood swung between his hindhooves, those two hefty balls like pendulums behind his cock.

“R-ready?” Featherweight asked, his mouth hovering just above Spike’s skyward dragonhood.

“Y-yeah.” Spike swallowed hard, and, then, moved his mouth up.

What took him by surprise was not so much the texture or the hardness, but the taste of Featherweight’s colthood. His mottled cock was thick with his musk, the scent filling Spike’s nostrils and evoking cravings for more. As he opened his jaws and welcomed him in—slow at first, inch by inch, until he felt the tip of Featherweight’s head hit his throat—that musk became overpowering, slathering his senses.

All Spike could taste and smell was Featherweight. The scent of his feathers in the rain, the scent of his sweat on a hot summer’s day, the taste of his fur and his kiss—all of it combined to make ambrosia in Spike’s mouth. He hummed and moaned at the taste.

And then, as his coltfriend swallowed him, just as much, Spike moaned yet even louder.

Spike had only been in lava once in his life. Now, with Featherweight’s tight, hot, wet mouth creating a perfect seal around his twitching, throbbing cock, he could safely say he had been in lava twice.

Reaching up, Spike cupped Featherweight’s balls, rolling them in their scrotum between his talons. Featherweight bucked his hips down, forcing his cock into Spike’s throat.

Spike held back his gag reflex and used one talon to stabilize Featherweight’s cock, the other to stroke his testicles. He moved his lips up and down his lover’s member, coating it in slick, warm saliva. With each motion, he moaned in pleasure—both at the act of pleasing the colt he loved and at the pleasure that colt was providing him.

Between his legs, Featherweight’s head bobbed up and down. Slow at first, and then faster and faster, he sucked, his tongue sloppily lapping at Spike’s dragonhood. Loud squelching and smacking sounds filled Spike’s ears.

When he could tear away from staring at the treat in his mouth, Spike looked down to see Featherweight pumping him faster and faster, the colt’s fetlocks brushing against his swollen balls with every motion.

“Mmmm… Mmmmmfffff…” Spike closed his eyes and moaned. The lava was swirling around him now, bathing him in warmth and ecstasy. His cock was so hard his pleasure was shifting into pain; he wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

Determined to finish his lover off, Spike redoubled his efforts. His long, snakelike tongue massaged up and down the stiff colthood with each motion. Spike dared further, pulling Featherweight’s cock into his mouth as deep as he could without triggering his gag reflex. His talons softly stroked both Featherweight’s testicles in slow circles.

Suddenly, Featherweight’s forehooves buckled, his hips slamming his cock into Spike’s mouth.

“Hmmmmmf!” Spike cried out in union with Featherweight as the latter came, exploding past the edge.

Torrents of white-hot, sticky, ropey seed erupted into Spike’s mouth. Spike tried to pull his mouth off Featherweight’s cock, entrapped by the colt’s bucking hips. Wad after wad of thick semen released into his mouth.

The flavor was a mix of sour and salty, but not altogether unpleasant. With no other option, Spike gulped down as much as he could, mouthful after mouthful, until, panting, he managed to free his lips from Featherweight’s spasming cock.

Between his legs, Spike found no similar relief. As soon as he cried out, Featherweight had removed his mouth from Spike’s cock with an audible pop.

The colt heaved deep, shaky breaths, his wings slowly flattening against his sides until they closed. “Haaaah… Aaaaah… Unnnh, oh, wow... Spike…”

Featherweight panted until he caught his breath. Then, carefully, he stepped off Spike, his deflating cock tucking up into his sheath.

“Wow…” Spike sat up, wiping thick, still-warm cum from his lips and cheeks. He looked meekly at Featherweight, blushing as he swished his coltfriend’s taste in his mouth. “That was… not bad. Not at all, really.”

Featherweight blushed in turn. “G-glad to hear it. But…” He looked down at Spike’s still-erect member. “Um, sorry I didn’t—”

“No, that’s okay. It’s actually better that you didn’t.” Spike reached over for the bottle of lube.

“Why do you say—oh.” All the blood that had flowed between Featherweight’s hindhooves made its way back to his muzzle.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Spike said, uncorking the bottle. “I-I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to, Feather.”

With a sly smile on his lips and a wiggle of his rump, Featherweight shook his head. “Well, lucky for you, I do want to…”

His mouth clear, Spike nonetheless swallowed. “Oh. Alright, then let me… uh, get ready…”

Trying to recall those “mare’s” romance novels he had read before—Featherweight wasn’t the only one with a secret smut collection—Spike poured about half of the lube out and began to lather up his cock with it. Just like soap… just more slippery.

Featherweight watched him with fascination, his tongue flicking across his lips more than once.

“Al-alright.” Spike sat upright on the bed, his aching cock at full attention. “N-now what was that position you mentioned? Cowmare?”

“You want to do it that way?”

“S-sure, why not?”

Featherweight hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Al-alright. Let me just g-get into position then.”

Despite his coltfriend’s often cocky attitude, Featherweight was just as nervous as Spike was. If his voice hadn’t betrayed him, his movements would have. He nearly stumbled as he scooted onto Spike’s lap, then sat down, facing him.

It took a minute or so until Featherweight got in a comfortable position, his hindlegs hanging off Spike’s lap. “R-ready.”

Spike nodded, his breath hitching in his throat. Using the last of the lube, he coated two of his talons thick, then moved them back towards Featherweight’s rump. The colt flagged his tail as Spike approached, then clenched his jaw as the talons moved towards his rectum.

“Breathe, F-Feather.”

“Heh, r-right.”

Spike waited until Featherweight took a few deep breaths and nodded before making his next move. Using his large middle talon, he slowly penetrated Featherweight’s rectum, movement by movement, taking care not to flick his talon inside him.

“Uuuurgh… Haaah…” Featherweight’s tongue flopped out of his mouth. “Mmmf… S-so warm…”

Spike agreed. All around him was a furnace of heat and tightness, muscles embracing his talon as it probed and trying to pull him in deeper. He gradually added his second talon, spreading him wider, while Featherweight cooed in pleasure.

Increasing his speed, Spike continued to penetrate him, thrusting his talons back and forth, until he felt Featherweight relax completely around him. “Ready, Feather?” he asked with the last of his confidence.

“Mhmmm…” Featherweight nodded, glassy eyed and nearly drooling, as he smiled up at Spike.

“Alright… Here we go…”

Once he carefully withdrew his talons from inside Featherweight, Spike moved next to position his cock against the colt’s rectum. After adjusting both Featherweight’s position and his own, he lined them up, both lubed and ready.

And then, holding his breath, Spike eased himself inside Featherweight.

Spike saw stars as the head of his throbbing cock disappeared inside Featherweight, movement by movement. Welcomed into a heavenly embrace of hellish heat, it was all Spike could do not to blow right then and there, coating Featherweight’s inside with his hot seed.

Spike and Featherweight let out twin gasps and moans, Featherweight’s short and high, Spike’s long and low.

“Ohhh… Oh, Celestia, Spike...”

“Fe… Feel good?”

“Y-yes. Oh, k-keep going!”

Spike obliged, pushing in motion by motion, until his head was fully inside Featherweight. Then, with more gasps and moans as his encouragement, he pushed further, further, further still, until the head tapped up a particularly sturdy little bump.

Featherweight gasped, his erect cock twitching against his belly. Wings spread, he let out a cry. “Haaah, Sp-Spike! Yes! R-right there!”

Guess that’s your… prostate… Ohhhh… wow…

For a moment, Spike didn’t move, holding himself inside Featherweight with ragged breaths. Then, he moved his claws to the colt’s rump, grabbed his flanks, and began to pull out. Featherweight responded by wrapping his forehooves tightly around his neck, hanging on for dear life.

Out, out, out…

And then, once only the head remained, Spike pushed back in. Slowly.

“Aaaaah…” Featherweight’s wings trembled. Eyes closed, tongue hanging, he pleaded through his moans, “F-faster, Spike… F-faster… H-harder!”

Digging his talons into his coltfriend’s rump, Spike obliged again, pulling out once more.

This time, he pushed hard against Featherweight’s squeezing muscles, his thrust ending with a loud smack of his testicles against his welcoming rump.

”Aaaah-haaah! Oh, yes!” Panting like a mare in heat, Featherweight squirmed and rocked against Spike’s cock. “H-harder! F-fuck me, Spike! Rut me!”

A low growl issued from Spike’s throat. That was the last command he needed.

Burying his talons in Featherweight’s rump, Spike pulled out, then thrust back in again. And again. And again. The room filled with the smacks of the drake’s heavy balls against the colt’s cute little ass, over and over again, moans and growls and coos flowing fast between them.

Spike leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he growled, lost for coherent thought. Featherweight’s ass was a vice made of lava tongues kissing and lapping up and down his rock-hard cock, which throbbed and twitched with every motion. How he hadn’t blown yet was a miracle, but the mountain couldn’t hold back from becoming a volcano forever.

On top of him, Featherweight squirmed, bucked, and rocked his hips, his flushed cheeks wet with sweat. Below him, his mottled cock swung in time with Spike’s thrusts, nearing a second orgasm. Precum leaked from his head, rolling down the shaft in rivers, along with the drool pooling from his mouth.

In the moonlight, drake and colt moved together, Featherweight pushing against Spike with every thrust. A chorus of cries filled both their ears, some Equestrian, some Prench, some garbled in a primitive language not known but understood by both.

Smack! Smack! SMACK! Spike’s cock slammed against Featherweight’s prostate with every motion. Featherweight cried out in supreme ecstasy, rocking against his growling lover, until his insides embraced him with all his might.

“Sp-Spike! I! I’m gonna—”

Spike roared.

White light dotted his vision. Spike’s world became nothing but sheer pleasure. Featherweight’s ass squeezed him as he rode out his orgasm, shot after shot of hot, sticky love erupting inside his lover. His heartbeat drowned out all other sound, deafening him to his own vocalizations.

Spike groaned and growled as he painted Featherweight’s insides white. Eyes squeezed shut, he ceased to think, ceased to be, as the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced wrapped him in waves of heat and pleasure.

Just as Spike began to soften, pulling slowly out of Featherweight, the colt was pushed over his own edge for a second time.

Featherweight threw back his head and cried to the ceiling as he climaxed, bright-white seed shooting from his cock and splattering all over both Spike’s chest and his own stomach. His wings shook like leaves in the wind as he rode out his zenith, his whole body trembling from the aftershock.

Finally, Spike withdrew, his claws hanging tightly to Featherweight’s rump. His dragonhood retreated back into its sheath, satisfied at last. On top of him, Featherweight’s colthood gave one last spurt, then shrank away, drawing back into its sheath.

For a while, there was nothing but their own fumbling breaths and the intoxicating scent of their afterglow.

Then, with a shaky, shaky laugh, Featherweight leaned down and kissed him. Spike moved his talons up to his waist and held him as he returned the kiss, drowning his own shaky laugh within it.

“... Wow,” Featherweight said at last as they pulled away. “That was… wow.”

“... Yeah…”

Spike leaned his forehead against Featherweight’s. The colt nuzzled him, wrapping his small wings around the drake the best he could. Both closed their eyes, enjoying their shared warmth and shared breath.

“... Hey, Featherweight?”

“... Yeah, Spike?”

“... You know that I love you, right?”

Featherweight opened his eyes and smiled. “Of course I do.”

Spike opened his eyes and, returning the smile, kissed his forehead. “Good. Because I did, even before this, and I would had still even if we hadn’t.”

Featherweight chuckled. “I know. And I love you, too.” He nuzzled his cheek, resting his head on his shoulder. “Have for a while.”

Spike held him close. “I still can’t believe you were the one to say it first.”

“Mhmm. But being first doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Well… This does,” Featherweight corrected. He sighed as he slumped against Spike’s chest, closing his eyes. Gentle talons stroked his feathers, lulling him closer to sleep. “Though… There is one other thing…”

“What’s that?”

“... Since you’re upset I was the first to say ‘I love you,’” Featherweight said with a yawn, nuzzling Spike’s chest, “just be the first to pop the question…”

Spike closed his eyes and nuzzled him back. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s a good way to—”

Spike’s eyes shot open. “Wait, what?”

Featherweight, however, was already asleep. His soft snores filled Spike’s ears, offering no answer.

... Huh. Well, he’s just tired. And lovey. I guess that’s what happens after sex. Doesn’t it? Ah well. We’ll clean up in the morning… I’ll ask him about that later.

Resolving to discuss it with him tomorrow, Spike gently laid down, holding Featherweight beside him. Once they were down on the bed, he pulled a nearby blanket over them and sighed.

“Well… I guess this is goodnight…” Spike leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “As you said… Mon amour…”