Epilogue #5
“Eso muneco,” I whisper, and his eyes flutter closed. “Vente para tu esposo.”
“Fabián.”
“Come for me, mi amor,” I groan, pounding into him, letting the door frame rattle. “Show me how pretty you look when you come wrapped around me.”
His whole body locks, and he comes in my hand, shaking hard against the door, legs tightening around my waist, mouth open against mine. I swallow every sound he gives me and hold him through all of it, and the feeling of him coming around me drags me to the edge.
“Elías—”
His eyes shoot open. “Come inside me,” he whispers. “Lléname todo.”
My control tears, and I thrust deep once, twice, and come with his name in my mouth, spilling into him while he holds my face and watches me fall apart. When the high is gone, I stay there, forehead to his, both of us breathing too hard, the door solid behind him, the apartment quiet around us.
His yellow shorts are still around one ankle.
“I’m throwing those away.”
Elías laughs weakly. “You just asked me to marry you and start a family with you, and now you’re threatening my shorts?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me softly, so softly it nearly hurts. Then he whispers, “Take me to bed, future husband.”
My knees almost give out. “Don’t call me that unless you want me to get hard again.”
He glances down between us.
“Again?”
I huff a laugh and carefully pull back.
We both hiss.
“You good?”
“I’m good,” he says, then kisses my cheek. “Very good.”
I adjust and carry him to the bedroom, but we don’t make it back to bed right away.
First, there is the very slow, very careful process of getting out of the rest of our clothes without either of us falling over.
Then there’s the shower we both desperately need, which is supposed to be practical and turns into Elías pressed against the tile, laughing into my shoulder while I wash his hair and he accuses me of using too much shampoo.
“You’re scrubbing like I committed a crime,” he says.
“You wore the shorts.” I bite his shoulder.
He laughs again, and the sound echoes off the tile, settling somewhere deep inside me.
After the shower, we end up in the kitchen, damp and tired, both of us wearing clean boxers and nothing else. The leftovers from my tía are reheated on the stove, and we eat standing because neither of us has the energy to pretend we’re civilized.
Elías steals a bite from my fork.
I let him, and he watches me notice and smiles like he got away with something.
I love him.
By the time we finally make it to bed, the apartment is quiet again. The fan is on the highest setting in the corner, and the window’s cracked open, letting in the warm night air and the distant sound of traffic.
Elías crawls in first, now wearing one of my shirts because he knows exactly what that does to me. The yellow shorts are lying in a tragic heap near the bedroom door.
I point at them. “Trash.”
He gasps like I slapped him. “Those shorts are part of our love story.”
“They’re a fucking problem, nene.”
“They got me proposed to.”
“They almost got you fucked in public.” I stare at him.
All he does is smile.
I climb into bed beside him and pull him into me before he can keep talking. Elías comes easy, soft, and warm from the shower, smelling like our soap and his skin. His leg hooks over mine, and his hand settles on my chest, right over my heart, like he’s checking that I’m still here.
For a while, neither of us says anything, but because he’s always going to need some kind of reassurance, Elías lifts his head.
“You meant it?”
I look down at him, and he tries to make his face casual.
“The marriage thing?” I ask.
His fingers curl against my chest. “And the kid thing.”
I take a breath. “Yeah,” I say. “I meant it.”
His eyes search mine.
“I know it’s not simple,” I sigh. “I know it’s not like you can just…” I wave one hand, then stop because I sound stupid. “I know you’re not having my baby.”
His mouth twitches. “Glad we got that out of the way, because as much as I’d want to have your baby… my uterus is currently unavailable.”
“Elías—”
“What? I’m clarifying.”
I pinch his side; that makes him laugh and squirm closer.
“I mean us,” I say. “A kid with us. However that happens. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever we decide. Obviously it’s gonna take time because we have to figure out money, space, and all the real stuff.” My throat tightens. “But someday, yeah. I want that with you.”
His face goes quiet. “And marriage?” he asks.
I touch his cheek.
“Especially marriage. Even if the idea scares the shit outta me.”
His breath catches, and I choose to say it right. Not against the door and not while inside him.
Here.
In our bed, with the night soft around us and his hand over my heart.
“Cásate conmigo algún día, muneco,” I whisper. “Ten una familia conmigo. Un hijo, una vida, todo. Quiero todo contigo.”
His eyes get all misty, and he shoves my side. “You’re really doing this again?”
“I started it against the front door; now I’m trying to make it sound less insane.”
“It’s still insane.” He chuckles, looking at me for a long time.
Then he touches my face with the kind of softness that makes me want to close my eyes and stay awake at the same time.
“It’s still yes,” he whispers.
My chest stops. “Yes?”
“Yes to someday. Yes to marriage. Yes to a kid. Yes to whatever stupid, loud, food-covered life we end up building.” He leans closer, mouth brushing mine. “Yes to all of it, Fabián.”
I kiss him, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Let’s go to sleep, future husband.” He laughs into my chest, bright and soft and mine.
I’m too tired to scold him right now. I just let my semi-hard dick twitch as a response. Elías settles against me again, one leg thrown over mine, his hand sliding back to my chest, and I hold him tighter and look around the room.
Our room.
Our bed.
Our life.
Last summer, I thought wanting him would ruin me, and in a way, I was right. It ruined the version of me that thought love had to hide. It ruined the lonely parts, the scared one, and the parts that thought wanting a man meant regret would come knocking eventually.
Raspados and regret—that was how this all started. With sticky fingers, hot tempers, and terrible ideas. A summer full of bad decisions I thought would catch up to me. But as Elías kisses my chest and sighs my name in his sleep before he is even fully asleep, I know the truth.
There is no regret here, and there never will be.