Underneath the Mistletoe

Princess Luna silently crept down the stairs of the small house, peering into the living room below. Hidden from view in the darkness, she could see all, while remaining undetected herself.

There he sat in his comfortable armchair, aglow in the flickering light of his computer screen, and the light of the fireplace nearby. On the screen, the latest paragraph of the story he was typing remained unfinished, the cursor blinking mid-sentence. His muscular arms hung limp by his sides and his head hung, fast asleep.

What fantastical tales he wove, of fictional characters in all manners erotic. This most recent he was the most excited about. But the night grew long, and his head grew weary, sleep overtaking him before he could publish. And the last of the embers of the fireplace died out, leaving him in the eerie light of a white document screen.

But with the fireplace vacant, it made possible a small Christmas wish to be granted. And then down through the chimney, a pony did shimmy, and then scurry beneath the Christmas tree in the room's corner. But as barren as the floor was beneath that tree, it was still a rather small tree, with little room beneath. And the rather tall pony did find that there was little room under to be had, hiding then, instead, mostly behind it.

The pony then did pluck from the tree an ornament, flinging it across the room at the dozing human. Her distance was good and her aim was true. But the flimsy Royal Pine air freshener that barely passed for an ornament bounced effortlessly off of his tired head, leaving nary a mark. She instead took the glass from his desk, with a bit of water in the bottom from the leftover ice cube, and levitated it over his lap, pouring it into his crotch.

He jerked awake, startling the pony who dropped the glass from her magical grasp. He looked down at his pants, and the glass in his lap, thinking that he must have spilled it in his sleep. He got up from his chair and picked up the glass, setting it back on the coaster on his desk. He saved his work and turned off the computer, shrouding the room in darkness. He knelt down and rekindled the fire, adding some more wood and getting it going again.

He looked down at his pants, still wet, and peeled them off, stepping out of them one leg at a time and holding them out in front of him toward the fire as he sat back down in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement. He looked over toward the tree, squinting into the darkness. His eyes took a moment to adjust after looking into the fire. But he could swear he saw something. Or someone.

"Who's there!?" he called out. In a flash, something snatched his pants from his hands, tossing them into the fire.

"You shan't be needing those," came a sultry, feminine voice from the tree. He took a step back, dropping into a defensive stance. His biceps flexed, splitting the seams of his shirt sleeves. He'd prayed for this moment, for a home-invader he could snap in half like a skinny twig. So what if it was a woman burglar? He could still fight while sporting a boner. He clapped his hands twice. The ceiling light turned on. That's right. He has the Clapper. What of it?

He blinked in the new brightness, but focused his vision under the tree. He could see legs with stockings. Four legs, with red and green stripes. Were there two intruders in here? It didn't matter. He brought up his fists. Neither would be leaving aliv-... Behind the tree, he could see something shimmer. Blue, and green, and pink, waving in an unseen wind.

"No..." he whispered in disbelief. He looked to his desk. His Christmas bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label sat unopened. This vision was not the work of his 'liquid inspiration'. He looked back at the tree, "It can't be..."

The pony beneath the tree rose to her hooves, stepping out from behind. Her ethereal mane flowed around her, as did her tail. Her alabaster fur was unmarred by the chimney. Her red and green stockings ran all the way up her shapely legs. And her body had a decorative red ribbon tied around it, with a tag addressed to him. She was beauty incarnate. He fell, compelled to his knees. Tears streamed from his eyes, neither of pain or sadness. It was the kind you get from riding into the wind for too long, or from looking directly into the sun. Yes, that was what it was like. It was like looking at the sun, and unable to look away.

"Is this not what you wished for?" Princess Celestia said at last, "Did you not wish for me to appear beneath your tree tonight?"

He felt that he'd fallen from a great height, and had the wind knocked out of him. But her question demanded an answer. He summoned the strength within himself to yet draw breath.

"I did wish it," he confessed. She smiled, reaching out to him with her hoof, beckoning him to rise.

"Then I am here to grant your wish," she said with her warm, soothing voice. His hand reached out to her socked hoof, almost afraid to touch it, as though if he did, it would break, she would break like glass, and all of this would be gone. His hand grazed the silken material of the stocking, its texture giving it reality in his grasp, taking her hoof. She helped him to his feet, bringing his face level with hers.

He looked at her, standing there in his living room, still awestruck. Never in his wildest dreams- well perhaps there, but never had he ever seriously thought that he would meet Princess Celestia herself. But here she was, dressed up in a ribbon, herself, a gift for him for Christmas.

"Now that I'm here? Whatever shall we do?" she asked in a coy tone. He was still dumbfounded. The wordsmith extraordinaire himself, at a loss. Celestia took a half-step backwards, underneath the archway of the room, and a very specific decoration. "Oh my, it seems I'm standing underneath the mistletoe," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

"You know, a mistletoe can be deadly, if you eat it," he said.

"A kiss can be even deadlier..." she whispered, "if you mean it." Certainly he heard the words. Her voice caressed his ears with their melody. But his mind struggled to comprehend what it was that she was implying. She was standing beneath the mistletoe. That meant that she- she- Her horn glowed. He felt a pressure at his back, pushing him across the floor toward her. She looked at him and licked her lips seductively. He wanted to. By the stars, he wanted to! But she was Princess Celestia! Who was he to her? How could he possibly kiss her? It would be like kissing a perfect statue made of chocolate, his profane lips smearing and marring its beauty.

"I- I shouldn't-" he stuttered. She pouted, her eyes turning sad.

"Do you not want to? Am I not pretty enough?" she asked.

"No no! Of course I want to! You- You are BEAUTIFUL! You are the most beautiful pony I've ever known!" he professed. On the stairs, Luna's fur bristled. "But me, I'm- I am not worthy."

"Hmm," Celestia purred, "Indeed. You have been very naughty this year." Her magic flickered his computer on, bringing his screen to life. "I've been reading what you've been writing about me. Tsk Tsk, such a dirty mind." He felt his face go pale, expecting to become the thirteenth person to be on the moon.

"I- I can explain!" he said.

"I was hoping you would say that to me," she said, "or rather, show me." She turned in a small circle in front of him, flicking his face with her tail, affording him the briefest of glimpses beneath. Her modesty hidden then only by a bit of ribbon. She turned back to face him, looking him in the eyes. "Now, I am still standing beneath the mistletoe. So I will tell you, in no uncertain terms; I want you to kiss me," she said. He nodded his head ever so slightly at her command.

"As you wish." He closed his eyes and leaned in toward her.

"Uh, uh, ah!" She put her hoof up, stopping him. "No. I've seen the Princess Bridle too. Don't play that game with me. If you really mean it, if I really mean that much to you, then say the words," she said. He took her hoof in his hands, bringing it to his cheek, leaning into it. He put his hand, in turn, on her cheek, and the other, running his fingers through her lush mane.

"Celestia," he leaned in closer, looking deeply into her eyes, "I love you." They closed their eyes and their lips met. He kissed her beneath the mistletoe. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue with hers, dancing over one another across their teeth. Her lips were a unique flavor. A mix of sunshine and weddings and birthdays and holidays. She tasted like pure, distilled happiness. She transported him to a magical place that he thought was long gone in his soul, and he never wanted to leave. He felt her warm breath from her nose on his cheek. She was breathing just as hard from excitement as he was. But like all good things, this too must end. She was first to pull away from the kiss, slowly, taking his lower lip in hers, sucking on it before letting it go.

A prelude of things to come...