#fapruary

He fumbles for words. What do you say to your wife when she’s so beautiful and perfect? He’s been afraid to say too much today in case he messed it up with her. 

“Are you happy?” he ends up saying, dumbly, even though he does really want to know. “With today, I mean?”

She smiles. “Of course. It went really well.”

Mariano nods. “Yeah.” It went exactly the way Abuela and doña Alma wanted it to. Their families were so excited.

“And we’re almost done.”

That’s exactly it! The night is almost over and they can finally relax. With the wedding complete, there isn’t much needed on their part to keep the party going. 

“Good thing you don’t have to wear the trail anymore,” he says. It’s hard to imagine Isabela tripping over anything, but at least he didn’t have to watch out for it while dancing with her. He’d been worried about that before Abuela laughed it off.

She hums as if he’s made an astute observation instead of a joke. It makes him both feel less and even more awkward. Actually, it makes him feel a little dumb, but that’s probably not how she meant it.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” Isabela says. 

“I don’t think I can dance any more,” he agrees. Parties in the Encanto, especially the Madrigals’, can last for days. “Do you uh… wanna end the night?”

It’s exactly what she wants to do. 

Isabela reaches for his hand. She’s soft, and the unexpected touch sends shivers up his arm. He always likes it when she touches him. Flirty, making him curious, sighing and yearning after her. They used to be fleeting, but now that they’re married she’s allowed to touch him as much as she wants.

Gently, they move through the crowd, saying pleasant goodbyes and thankyous and avoiding jokes about flower picking, as Isabela takes Mariano up to her room. 

The party instantly quiets as the door closes behind them. So this is her room. Their room, technically, though it is dauntingly Isabela. On some level he knows his clothes have moved into her wardrobe — all pink and lavender now, even though he likes white and red more — but from floor to bottom it’s all flowers and gardens with not a lot of furniture. If the house can spare it, he hopes Casita has a writing desk for him.

Starstruck, he takes in the tower, and (“Woah!”) as they step further into the room, a bed is lowered by vines from the ceiling hidden by a flower curtain.

That’s now their bed, where he will wake up as her husband and she as his wife every single day for the rest of time.

“Oh,” he sighs when it dawns on him. They aren’t that kind of done.

“Mariano.” Isabela’s voice is soft, shaky. Her hands are clasped in front of her. For the first time he’s known her, it sounds as if she’s not sure what to say. 

His hand slips up her arm above her glove where his palm rests on her warm, naked skin. “Isabela…”

“Do you want to have sex?” 

Mariano’s groin stirs at the proposition. It’s not like he’s never fantasized about it before. 

A strand of black silky hair, beautifully curling over her bare neckline, enticing. “Of course I want to,” he says, his knuckles grazing over her skin, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

She flashes a smile. 

“Isabela…” Mariano cups her cheek, round and soft in his broad hand, and kisses her deeply. 

They kissed before at the altar and once during the party when their photo got taken. Lips firm against lips to seal the deal, the next one a little lighter. Sparks contained, knowing that he couldn’t push too hard at the time for fear of ruining the moment for her, for the family watching them. The perfect kiss. 

It’s so much more than he expected. More than anything he could have written up for her in a love poem. Her lips are so soft and so easy to get lost in. When he angles his head to deepen the kiss, she yields easily, even opening her mouth for him! Feeling much braver than a moment before, he slips his tongue in, parting her mouth even further until he moans wantongly into her. His body runs warm. His cock stirs, hardening against her dress. And Isabela–

--

If he goes too rough, she knows she can ask him to slow down. She’s thankfully not as tense as she was a few months back, when Dolores made that joke about the five babies and she was once again pulled into a future she knew she had to prepare for. 

“Will it hurt?” she had asked Mami. When she grew up, the Abuelitas (if they dared to speak of sex at all) always said it would hurt the first time, and a few of her girlfriends were already married and had said the same. “Guys are so rough.” They were of no help, of course. 

But Mami and tía Pepa had softened the blow a little. “If he does it right, you’ll want to dive back onto him as soon as he’s done,” Pepa told her shamelessly, at which her mother had blushed, but nodded. “Ask him to slow down if he goes too fast,” her mother added. “And that goes for kissing too. I don’t know, mija, he seems so dreamy. But all boys get excited and you’re allowed to set boundaries.”

So far so good, kissing wise. The real boundary she wants to set is for him to sleep on the floor (or another room where she won’t have to spend time with him) and never touch her again. She hadn’t been able to get that out of her mind. Mariano on top of her, under her, near her. His lips. His face. His hands. His penis. She wanted to shake the thought out of her head any time she thought of it. How to make those five babies happen. Him on top of her. Him inside of her. 

So, as she does with any new challenge, she had practiced what she would do. Touched herself, not out of curiosity like when she was a teen, but with purpose. Her hands roaming her breasts, firm. Her curves, smooth, probably easy to grab. The hair between her legs. The heat. That nub that send a shock through her the first time she found it. 

Mariano spreads her like a tossed bouquet of flowers on the bed. Pulls his hand through her bodice, popping open the pearl-like buttons on her back. She knows what she looks like to him. Mirrors help her to see how others perceive her. Her wedding dress, slightly bunched up. Her full breasts poking out of the corset, engulfed by Mariano’s warm mouth. 

It feels like an insect crawling on top of her. She had hoped she wouldn’t be as dry as she imagined. Rarely did she think of Mariano fucking her when she spread her legs under the covers and rubbed herself. Sometimes she thought of herself, writhing, a little scared. Sometimes she — traitorously — thought of her friends who already had sex. Who knew how to move to make it pleasurable, to please their husbands. Sometimes she thought of them teaching her. 

Their fingers on her clit, instead of Mariano’s. Their higher, but still husky voices moaning against her earlobe, kissing her neck, instead of Mariano’s. Their slim fingers curling inside of her, like Isabela liked to do to herself, instead of Mariano’s. 

Unable to find her entrance, he rubbed his cock against her. “Is this good?”

At least he’s nice. But no. Nothing about this feels good. It’s like grinding against uncooked ham. 

“Yes,” she says with a moan, moving in tandem with him. 

It’s like dancing! Tío Félix had quipped before breaking into a waltz with tía Pepa. On another, separate occasion, Papi had said the same. It was good advice. Dancing she could do.

She took his hand and moved it down her belly, guiding him towards her clit. At least with his eyes closed he’s not looking at her grimace. 

She does let out a genuine cry when their fingers circle her clit and his cock breaches her cunt right after. 

Better not to think of Mariano. Maybe if it was one of the younger aunties guiding something inside her instead, to teach her how to take something big. The most fingers she’s been able to get inside of herself is three, and Mariano feels much bigger than anything she’s taken before. That should make it more believable that this is her first time. Still, there’s no way he has the experience to know she isn’t technically a virgin anymore. Not all women bleed, her mother had said. Isabela is certainly not going to bleed for Mariano. (Although she had, briefly, thought about secretly pricking herself so the sheets would stain red.) 

And it’s not so bad once he thrusts inside of her. She doesn’t ask him to slow down, maybe even kind of likes the way he rams into her. The sooner he’s done, the sooner she’s done. The thrusts shove her mind away from Mariano. From his noises. From his hairy arms locked around her and his equally hairy chest rubbing against her bare breasts. She can pretend his hardness is her own. That somehow, the mirror is still in front of her.