Twilight Sparkle watched Rarity. The unicorn was resting before the hearth of their shared room in the Castle of Friendship, doodling and erasing new designs in a mauve sketchbook Twilight had bought for her a few weeks earlier. She was beautiful, which was a delight to Twilight and a source of both joy and confusion. That Rarity had chosen to spend her life with Twilight was as unbelievable as it was wonderful, and it was even more wonderful because she knew that Rarity’s love for her had little to do with her status as a princess or her transformation into an alicorn.
To hide her wide and goofy grin, Twilight inhaled deeply from the gilded hose of a star-patterned hookah set up on a marble coffee table next to their bed. Rarity was a creature of aesthetics, and though Twilight tried to make claims to a more ordered and logical mind, it was one of the things they shared, one of the things that made them click.
The way Rarity’s mane was just slightly out of place after her evening shower, her night robe, the tasseled satin cushions the unicorn was lying on, the intricate rug before the fireplace, their four post bed, the bookshelves filled with books chosen for the design on their spines, and even the smoke of the hookah, all of it served to paint a picture, and the picture soothed the neurotic beast in Twilight’s chest.
The bubbling sound from the water bowl when she inhaled, the crackle from the fire, and Rarity’s breathing–as well as the cute noises of frustration and satisfaction she made as she worked–all aided in making this room one of Twilight’s favorite places in Equestria. A space safe from obligation and conflict. It was theirs and only theirs.
“I love you,” Twilight said, unable to help herself.
Rarity looked up from her sketching and smiled that sly self-assured smile she’d mastered so well. “Of course you do, I’m irresistible,” she said, then blew Twilight a kiss after which her expression softened. “I love you too, dearest.”
Rarity looked back down at her sketches and released a deep and frustrated sigh. “I should probably put this away for the night. I don’t seem to be making any headway.” The unicorn levitated the sketchbook into a drawer in her, at least according to Twilight, unnecessarily large and opulent dresser. Still, the piece of furniture matched well with the rococo bohemian hodgepodge décor–a term inspired by Capper and coined by Rarity–of the rest of the room, so Twilight didn’t mind.
Considering that the thing–for all its size–only contained a fraction of Rarity’s sleepwear, this was a compromise she was more than willing to live with. All of Rarity’s evening gowns, dresses, hats, and more casual wear–in other words, all the rest of her tremendous collection of clothing–was housed in a separate room. Rarity called it a walk in closet. It was not a walk in closet, but rather a very sizeable room which it had taken Strawberry Patch and the castle’s numerous maids a full week to retrofit.
Miss Patch had been none too pleased with the project and had muttered the whole time that such indignations, such frivolous labors, would never have been foisted upon her predecessor, Starlight Glimmer. The memory made Twilight chuckle, not the least because Starlight had often complained in similar ways when put in charge of Twilight’s frequently expanding libraries and laboratories.
“Hmm?” Rarity said, while levitating a record over towards their admittedly ancient but still very functional gramophone. “I didn’t realize my failing efforts warranted laughter. Or were you perhaps thinking about something else?”
Twilight rolled her eyes as their room slowly filled with the soft sound of cellos and the rhythmic plunking of a piano. The music wasn’t loud, instead it played perfectly in concert with the crackling logs in the fireplace, a relaxing and gentle background comfort to send them off to sleep.
“I was thinking about how silly you can be,” Twilight said, mischievously, “and how lucky I am. Still, I’m sorry this project’s been so difficult for you.”
“Yes, well, I suppose that’s just how it goes sometimes.” Rarity lay her head down on the pillows and rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I think it’s getting harder and harder to think of new designs. I see what Coco’s children are doing, or the designs Pistachio puts out, and I start to wonder…”
There was a real concern in Rarity’s voice that tugged at Twilight’s heart, so she scooted a little to her left–though she hardly needed to, considering the size of their bed–and patted the top covers with her right wing. Rarity looked at her and grinned.
“Oh, did you want something from me?” she asked, false innocence and curiosity dripping from her words.
“Ha ha,” Twilight deadpanned. “Just get up here so I can hug my wife.”
“Fine,” Rarity said, making a huge show of getting up from her little pile of pillows on the floor. As she stood, the gossamer sheen of her nightrobe slid across her pale coat and across her hips in a way that caused Twilight to blush fiercely, and she indulged in the fact that now that they’d been married for almost a year–and had been dating even longer–she could stare openly and without shame.
“Ahem,” Rarity said, clearing her throat and raising an eyebrow at a practically drooling Twilight. Ok, maybe a little shame.
“Are you sure hugging me is all you want to do?” Rarity said, giggling, before lowering her eyelids and adding in her sultriest voice, “why Princess, a mare might think you were trying to take advantage of her distress.”
“Oh, be quiet you,” Twilight answered, trying to appear much less flustered than she really was, which was hard, since her face felt like it was on fire.
They’d been together for long enough now that Twilight shouldn’t have to feel like a filly experiencing her first schoolyard crush every time Rarity batted her eyelids, or smiled, or kissed her, or whispered Twilight’s name in her ears, or… She inhaled deeply from the hose levitating by her mouth and exhaled, hiding her beat-red face behind a large cloud of hookah smoke, desperate for a brief respite from Rarity’s piercing eyes. It was entirely unfair.
“Twilight, sweetheart, you’re adorable.”
“Thanks,” Twilight groaned, voice muffled as she’d decided to press her face down against the bed and their sheets. The mattress shifted as Rarity climbed up and she soon felt the warm and very welcome weight of her beloved settling by her side. She looked up, grinning sheepishly at Rarity who used her magic to drape Twilight’s wing over her like a blanket, before snuggling in even closer.
Twilight had to remind herself that Rarity was, in fact, not shrinking. Twilight was simply growing at an alarming rate. She remembered vividly a conversation from the previous year’s masquerade, where Miss Nightbloom had asked Rarity why Twilight, who was a princess now married to a dressmaker, wore so few dresses.
"I mean, you only ever see her in capes and regalia,” Rarity had said, “or worse, nothing at all, because she's too much of an awkward beanpole to climb into a dress unassisted."
The response had been somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but it was certainly true, though Twilight would argue she was a bit too… curvy? Was that the right word? That she was a bit too curvy to be considered a beanpole. Aside from monster fighting, which burned surprisingly few calories, the life of a princess, librarian, and scientist was a remarkably sedentary one. She was fit enough, just not as skinny as the word beanpole might imply.
“You’re getting smaller again,” she said in an attempt to recover some ground and dignity.
“Twilight, you know very well I’m doing nothing of the sort. Don’t try to blame me for your frankly indecent height. Besides, I know you’re only trying to redirect the conversation, and I won’t let you. I believe you intended to comfort me and help me forget my troubles?”
Twilight laughed and nuzzled Rarity’s neck while the latter grabbed the hookah hose with her magic and inhaled deeply.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Twilight asked, mouth just below Rarity’s ear. Rarity smelled wonderful, like bergamot, lavender, and–of course–herself. For many years, Twilight had thought the scent was a unique quality of the Carousel Boutique–something about the fabrics and dyes maybe–and perhaps it still was, but if that was the case, Rarity had been so long a part of it that it followed her home after work and lingered through even the most thorough showers. Twilight didn’t mind. In her opinion, there was no greater scent in the world.
Rarity exhaled her cloud of smoke and made a non-committal grunt. “I’ll hardly forget about it if we talk about it, will I?”
That worried Twilight a little. If Rarity wanted to avoid the topic, it was probably something serious. Her wife didn’t usually dismiss or ignore things that weighed on her. The opposite, in fact. Rarity tended to complain loudly and lengthily about things Twilight often found trivial, usually while draped over a magically appearing fainting couch. It was less endearing than Rarity believed it to be, but not so trying that Twilight couldn’t take it in stride.
“Are you sure?” Twilight asked, infusing her voice with all the care, love, and concern she could muster, which was to say, quite a lot.
Rarity took another long hit from the hookah before she answered. She didn’t look at Twilight when she spoke but leaned her head against Twilight’s shoulder.
“I think I’ve been doing this for too long. Coco, Sassy, all the rest of them, they all retired years ago or... well, you know, and I think I’m maybe getting too... You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why we’re talking about this in the first place. Like you said, I’m just being silly.”
“Rarity,” Twilight said, as softly and gently as she could, “you’re not getting too old.” Rarity winced at the word and looked away, but Twilight grabbed the hose from her and turned her face so she could look into Rarity’s stunning summer-sky eyes. “You’re brilliant and so creative, and just last year they literally threw a gala in Manehattan honoring your contributions to the world of fashion.”
Rarity closed her eyes and leaned into Twilight’s hoof. “Hmm, you say the nicest things. It’s probably why I keep you around.”
Twilight laughed and felt her heart soar when Rarity smiled as well.
“If you want to retire,” Twilight continued, “of course you can. You know you don’t need to work, but don’t you think you’d be miserable without it? You’re an artist, Rarity, and you make the most beautiful things.”
“Well,” Rarity said, lifting her head and looking into Twilight’s eyes, “they’re hardly the most beautiful things. The most beautiful thing is lying right here beside me.”
Twilight fought the blush. She would not let it win. “I see,” she said instead, trying to sound unaffected, “I’m just a thing then?”
“Pish posh,” Rarity said, clearly gaining her stride. “You’re not just any thing, Twilight, dearest, you’re my thing.” And when she said it, there was hunger in her voice and in her eyes that made Twilight’s wings quiver with excitement.
Rarity grabbed the hose back from Twilight and inhaled slowly, never breaking eye contact, then, instead of breathing out, she kissed Twilight. It was a strong deep kiss, and Twilight drank it in, breathing in the smoke as it passed from Rarity to her. Her head buzzed and her brain gave out as every ounce of her body tingled with desire for the little seamstress who’d given herself to the most awkward librarian in all of Equestria.
When Rarity pulled away, Twilight was in such a state of dazed arousal that instead of blowing the smoke out slowly through her mouth, as she should have, she exhaled sharply through her nose, looking more like a flustered dragon than the ruler of Equestria. A surprised and delighted Rarity began to laugh, and though Twilight was more than a little embarrassed, she found the unguarded joy ringing from her lover’s lips infectious.
For some minutes they lay there, laughing in each other’s forelegs, and Twilight marveled at her fortune. Once she was finally able to regain a bit of composure, she sighed contentedly, staring longingly at Rarity’s flushed and happy face. She was a vision of comfort and joy, and though Twilight had studied the philosophies of romance at length and knew well that relationships were at their best when two whole and complete individuals supported each other in kind, it was hard not to think of Rarity as her other half, as some intrinsic part of what made Twilight the pony she was.
“Do you remember when I first came to Ponyville?” she asked.
Rarity nodded. “As I recall, you weren’t particularly thrilled about being here.”
“I wasn’t.”
They lay there in silence for a moment, reveling in each other’s presence.
“What changed?” Rarity asked. “I mean, other than that whole Nightmare Moon debacle.”
“Pinkie Pie,” Twilight said, thinking back to those first few weeks. “I mean, yes, obviously, the Nightmare Moon incident brought us together, but it was Pinkie’s insistence that we be the best of friends that made me, I don’t know, change?”
“Oh,” Rarity said, and the disappointment was clear in both her eyes and her voice, though she was still smiling. “I’d hoped maybe it was me.”
Twilight leaned in and planted a small kiss on Rarity’s nose while running her hoof along her cheek and moving a few strands of purple mane back into place. “Jealousy isn’t a good look, Rarity. In any case, you terrified me.”
Rarity laughed at that but wiggled a little closer to Twilight. “Yes, I’m sure the protegee of the ruler of all Equestria was mortified to be in the magnificent presence of a small town dress-maker and aspiring fashionista. Please.”
“I was.” Twilight insisted, schooling her face to appear serious. It was important that Rarity understand. “You were just so full of life and intensity. The first time we met, it felt like running headfirst into a hurricane of color and fabric.”
“Ah yes, sorry about that. I might have been just a tad bit excited about meeting you.”
“Don’t be,” Twilight said, laughing. “It was obviously a good thing, or we wouldn’t be here now. I used to sneak glances of you when I thought you couldn’t see. There was something radiant about you and I was… well, me.”
“No, absolutely none of that,” Rarity said, placing her hoof over Twilight’s mouth. “I’ll not have this turn into another ‘Twilight self-deprecation session’.” She snuggled even closer so that their bodies pressed tightly together, making it difficult to look each other in the eyes. Instead, Rarity buried her face against Twilight’s breast, and Twilight felt a mixture of total relaxation and a slight electrical tingle wash through her muscles.
“I love you so much Twilight,” Rarity continued, slight hitch in her voice, “and long before you got those incredibly sexy wings and that garish crown, I knew you were the one. I love the way your eyes light up when you discover something new. I love your wit and your sarcasm. I love the way you’ll chew on literally anything while you’re reading and won’t even notice. I loved the old colors in your mane, and I love the new ones just as much. I love the complexity and enormity of your mind. And I love that you decided to be here… with me.”
Rarity craned her neck upwards, and Twilight saw the tears beading in her eyes and felt her body tremble. “I love you so much, Twilight Sparkle. I always have.”
Twilight felt her own tears form but couldn’t stop herself from laughing. It wasn’t a mocking laughter, but rather the involuntary escape of a bliss so great she could no longer contain it within herself.
She kissed Rarity, deeply, thoroughly. She let herself get lost in the softness of her lips, her tongue seeking Rarity’s and glorying in the taste of her wife. The hookah hose fell to the side, forgotten by both of them. Deep into the night, their gasps of pleasure and their urgently whispered names accompanied the music from the old gramophone.
Whatever else they might be, princesses and heroes and all of that, here, they were simply two mares in love, intoxicated by the incredible fact that they’d found each other, safe in the knowledge that neither of them would ever let go.
This was their place, a place of peace, a place of love.
