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Mirabel inhales deeply, letting the fresh mountain air fill her lungs to bursting.
"See tío Bruno, isn't this so much better than staying cooped up inside on a day as wonderful as this!" she exclaims, spreading her arms wide to encompass the jungle which surrounds them. The sky above is a gorgeous azure blue, dotted with huge fluffy clouds that remind Mirabel of the spun sugar candy that's sold in the town square during festivals.
From behind her, she hears the rustle of sandals slipping through the grass.
Her tío comes around the bend in the trail, customary green ruana and dark hair easy to spot even amongst the green of the jungle foliage. Or, well, easy for Mirabel to spot at least. She's developed a good knack for pinpointing where her tío is at any given moment, despite his tendency to disappear when he's had enough of socializing. Their family even teases her for it, saying she's developed a Bruno detector.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Bruno answers her. "But," he continues, "this would have been much easier if they'd had uchuvas at the market stalls like we'd originally thought."
Right, the reason why they were miles away from town and hiking through the jungle.
A year after Mirabel had saved the miracle and a year of courtship, Dolores had finally accepted Mariano's marriage proposal. And now, a year later, after the wedding and several months of happily married bliss, the couple were expecting their first child together. Her cousin's pregnancy had been gentle so far, but something that had become more frequent with the passing weeks was Dolores's cravings.
Mirabel still does her best to help her family and the townspeople in any way she can, despite her lack of powers. So when Dolores had bemoaned her craving for the tart, golden berries that were popular during this time of year, Mirabel had volunteered to go into town to buy some for her. The day had dawned bright and warm, so it hadn't even seemed like a chore to fetch uchuvas for her cousin. Bruno had been half-asleep at the breakfast table, but he'd nodded along readily enough when she'd volunteered him too.
Ok, so the market had been a bust with finding the fruits. But Mirabel is nothing if not persistent, and when she's got a goal in mind, she won't let a minor setback keep her from it. She knows the fruits can be found growing wild in the jungle surrounding the town; their tall, rangy stalks and orange husks easy to spot. It had seemed an easy enough task, especially with two pairs of eyes to help forage instead of one. That had been about two hours ago though, and she has to admit they hadn't found a single berry yet.
Jungle one, Mirabel zero.
She wouldn't let that get her down. They still had some time left before they would have to return to Encanto. Mirabel beames now at her tío, who, despite trying his best to appear grumpy, she could tell wasn't trying very hard. The corners of his lips tremble, fighting the urge to smile back at her.
She wouldn't say her tío is someone who smiles excessively, so she cherishes each and every one he shares with her, even two years after he's returned. Mirabel feels something warm settle in the hollow of her stomach as she stares at him; at the familiar, dear face with its warm green eyes and the curly hair shot through with strands of silver. Regular meals, an actual bed to sleep in, and time in the sun have brought back the color to his face and faded some of his dark eye-circles.
Mirabel recognizes, not for the first time, that her tío is a handsome man.
The thought transforms her previous warm feelings into something squirmier, like butterflies in her stomach.
Bruno catches up to her, bumping her shoulder with his own. "I have something on my face?" he teases.
Mirabel jerks away, turning her face so he doesn't see the blush fighting its way across her cheeks.
"What? N-no, of course not tío, you look fine," she stammers.
"No? Then come on," he says, continuing to head further into the jungle. Mirabel follows after him, scanning the foliage as they walk along.
"It is a nice day," he admits a little while later, turning to look at Mirabel. "I think this is the furthest I've been from Encanto in—well, in many years," he admits, laughing awkwardly.
"I'm sorry it's taking so long though," Mirabels says, shrugging her shoulders in a quick gesture. "I really did think they'd have them at the market," she mutters.
"Don't be, Mirabel," Bruno reassures her. "You're right, it was time for me to get out of the house for a while."
She can't help it. She smiles back at him, happiness curling up like warmth to fill her chest. Of all her family members, tío Bruno is still the one who most makes her feel like her opinions and inputs are valuable and worth listening to. Even when she ends up being wrong, he assures her they'll fix it together.
Mirabel loves him, how could she not?
She studiously ignores the voice at the back of her mind that whispers she loves him differently from other members of their family.
She's opening her mouth to answer him when something colorful catches her eye.
"I think I see them! Finally!" she shouts, grabbing Bruno's hand to haul him along with her towards the thicket of plants she spies in the distance.
As they get closer the shapes become clearer, and yes, they're definitely uchuvas.
The golden yellow berries are hidden within their characteristic orange husks, found dotted along dozens of verdant stalks. Mirabel gathers the folds of her skirt within her fists, creating a makeshift satchel to carry the fruit. Best to be careful with them, she'd hate for their hard work to be spoiled with bruised fruit.
"All yours tío Bruno," she says to him, nodding at all the fruit waiting to be picked.
He huffs out a laugh, narrowing his eyes at her. "Sounds like you just wanted free labor."
"What's that? I don't seem to hear you picking fruit," Mirabel sings back, swirling her skirts in an arc, dancing to the words.
Bruno shakes his head at her antics, but he smiles too, lips curling up at the corners.
Harvesting the fruits doesn't take long, all her tío has to do is pluck the husks directly from the stalks and place them in the folds of her skirt. In fact, in about fifteen minutes there's a sizable pile already.
"I think that should hold Dolores over for at least the coming week," Bruno says, plucking one last uchuva and depositing it alongside the others. "Don't you think, Mirabel?"
But she hardly hears him, focused instead on a strange cluster of flowers a few paces away. She's never seen something like them before. The trail thins out in that direction, going from a proper footpath to something more suitable for animals.
"Hey tío," she says, swinging her head to point in the flower's direction. "Doesn't that look like something Isabella would make?"
Bruno follows her gaze, turning to get a closer look at the vibrant ruby flowers.
"They sort of do," he says, but he doesn't sound sure at all.
"Let's go take a closer look then," she suggests, already heading towards the flowers.
As she gets closer she realizes the path doesn't end at the flowers, but continues past them, deeper into the foliage.
"Mirabel?' she hears from behind her.
She strides right by the flowers, following the little winding path into the jungle. It doesn't take her long to see what secrets await, for just past a few twists and turns the path opens up into a beautiful garden, a riotous tumult of flowers and plants in a thousand shades.
Mirabel smiles. This definitely seems like her sister's work.
"Bruno! Come look what I found," she yells.
"Don't do that Mirabel," he scolds as he catches up to her. "We're supposed to stick together out here."
She rolls her eyes, grinning. "I was never more than three meters in front of you. But that's not important," she says. She leads the way deeper into the garden. "Look at all this! Aren't they amazing?"
"I feel as if we shouldn't be here," Bruno grits out, taking cautious steps around winding vines that litter the ground. "If this is Isabella's garden, I'm pretty sure she won't appreciate us trampling through her plants."
Mirabel huffs out a laugh. "Who's trampling? I just want to get a quick look and then we'll be on our way back," she reassures him.
From the corner of her eye, something catches her attention. Turning towards it, Mirabel focuses on a bundle of indigo flowers, their color so deep as to appear nearly black. They're quite beautiful, she thinks as she gets closer. Some of them have already bloomed, petals wide and curling, their centers pale gold. Others remain buds, round and small.
"Mirabel, get back!" Bruno grates out, trying to imbue his voice with some semblance of authority.
Mirabel is about to let him know he has nothing to worry about when all of a sudden the dark petals of one of the buds begin to tremble.
That's strange, she thinks, bending over for a closer look.
But just as quickly they spring open, shooting forth a cloud of pollen straight into her face.
"Blegh!" she shouts, hacking and spitting out the pollen that has managed to make its way into her mouth.
"Mirabel!" Bruno shouts, rushing towards her.
"I'm fine," she tries to answer, eyes squeezed shut. "Can you grab the fruit? I have to wipe my face. Ugh, it's just my luck to find one of Isa's exploding flowers."
"Yeah, yes of course," she hears Bruno answer, his voice still tight with worry. The folds of her skirt get lighter as he grabs the fruit, freeing her hands. She scrubs away the pollen which has become stuck to her cheeks, her forehead, her glasses, and even her eyelashes. Mirabel is pretty certain she even inhaled some of it.
"There, that wasn't so bad," she admits a moment later, satisfied she's wiped off as much pollen as she can, short of taking a shower.
"Not that bad?! Mirabel, we don't even know what these plants do! Your sister must have had her reasons for keeping the garden so far from Encanto, probably to protect people," Bruno says, eyes wide with worry. "And you just got a face-full of whatever that thing is," he points at the dark bloom.
Mirabel wants to reassure her tío once more that she's fine, but she's starting to feel—warm.
Yes, that sounds right, like she's been doused in a bucket of hot water. Heat cascades down her back, pooling in her arms and legs, the tips of her fingers, and even—oh—the cradle of her thighs.
There's a slick heat building up there. It's not a completely foreign feeling, but it's never been like this before; like there's something hungry waking up beneath her skin.
"Uhm - right, totally get the safety issue tio, but since it already happened, I think we should just head home," she says, darting past Bruno and out of the garden. She heads towards the trail they'd been following earlier. The first order of business when they get back to Casita will be to head straight to the kitchen for some of her mother's cooking.
Mirabel winces at the dampness that has bloomed between her thighs. And maybe the second thing will be to lock herself in her room for a little bit of alone time.
"Hey!" Bruno calls after her, hurrying to catch up. "Are you really ok?"
He's frowning, one hand reaching out as if to touch her shoulder.
She wants him to touch her. Wants him to push her down to the ground and cover his body with hers and kiss–
She jerks her head back and forth, trying to dislodge the thought.
Where did that come from?
"Can we just keep moving tío?" Mirabel squeaks, wincing at the way her voice goes higher and then breaks.
She continues walking, but it's getting difficult to put one foot in front of the other now.
Mirabel stumbles forward, vision blurring so that the jungle turns into a kaleidoscope of green hues. This isn't normal she thinks, wincing at the prickling sensation all along her skin from where her clothes touch her.
A hand wraps around her arm, keeping her from falling. She gasps, turning towards Bruno. She can feel every individual finger he has gripped around her, like each point of contact is a burning star between them.
It's dizzying, the rush of desire to have him slide that hand up her arm, grip tight onto the curls at the base of her neck and haul her into a kiss. She shivers at the vision, trying her best to focus on the real Bruno in front of her.
"Can you hear me? Come on, look at me Mirabel," he cajoles.
It takes her a moment to focus back on his eyes, now very worried.
"Dios mio Mirabel you're burning up," Bruno exclaims, bringing the back of his palm to rest against her forehead.
"Feels like it too," she admits, rubbing her face against his hand like a jaguar cub.
The rest of her feels tight and itchy, but not where Bruno is touching her. No, where he's touching her feels like a different kind of heat, warm and delicious.
"Alright, new plan," he says. He hauls her up, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. "Can you walk?" he asks.
She tries taking a few steps, but it's no good. It feels like she's run all the way to Casita and back, thighs trembling, heart pounding in her chest. She heaves in short and shallow breaths, tries her best to get air into her lungs.
"Nope, alright. We're doing this instead."
She yelps as Bruno sweeps her off her feet, one arm supporting her thighs while the other supports her back. Mirabel knows her tío isn't weak, he'd nearly escaped her the first time she'd met him and chased him through Casita's walls. But she also didn't expect him to try carrying her back home.
"Tío – what – you don't have to do this!" she says.
"You can't walk and I can, seems pretty straightforward to me," he replies.
Mirabel stares, realizing this is probably the closest she's ever been to her tío. She tries to study him; the slope of his nose, his downturned mouth, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. But it's hard to focus on any one thing. She tries so hard not to squirm to alleviate the ache that's settled low within her. Panting, she rests her head against Bruno's shoulder.
She feels safe hidden in the crook between his shoulder and his neck. Mirabel shivers despite the heat emanating from her skin. He smells good, like chamomile tea, old books, and clean sweat. She inhales, burrows her nose deeper against his skin. It wouldn't be such a bad thing, to taste a little, right? What's the harm? In fact it sounds like a great idea. Mirabel opens her mouth, drags her tongue along the patch of skin beneath her lips.
She moans, the taste exploding across her tongue, a hint of salt from the dried sweat of their earlier hike. She ignores the bark of surprise from above her. This is what being drunk must be like, this inability to focus on anything but the warm skin beneath her mouth.
There's a voice warning her about why this isn't a good idea. That other Mirabel might as well be on another planet—in another galaxy—for all she cares to pay attention to it. The fire ripping through her veins keeps her grounded in the present, awareness hyper-focused on every single point of contact between her and tío Bruno.
She cries out when she's ripped away from Bruno's neck. His legs crumple beneath them, bringing them to kneel on the ground. She struggles against the hold, fights the hands keeping her at arm's length away.
"Mirabel! What are you doing?" Bruno yells. There's a red flush crawling down his neck now, and Mirabel itches to chase it with her fingers.
"Can't stop – feels good–" she whines. She's never, ever felt like this. Like her insides are full of fire, like she wants to rip her skin off strip by strip just to get away from the heat. The only thing that helps is touching Tío Bruno and he won't let her touch him.
"I don't know what's happening," she cries out in frustration.
It feels like a kick in the stomach, hearing Mirabel cry. She's trembling in the cradle of his arms, breath shallow as she stares up at him, pupils dilated. He can feel the heat emanating from her skin even where they're not touching.
He places a trembling hand on her chest, right above her heart. Mirabel whimpers and arches her back to push herself further into his touch. He feels her heartbeat beneath his palm, the thump-thump-thump rhythm much too rapid to be normal. Icy panic fills his chest. If he doesn't do something quick, if he can't find a way to help her, Mirabel might d–
No.
The mere suggestion of the thought makes Bruno want to scream. He's a fool. Mirabel is precious to him, much more than any sobrina ever should be. She's like the sun, illuminating and warming every hidden corner of his soul with her love and her laughter. He'd cut out his own heart before letting anything bad happen to her. But this – how will he fix this?
The girl writhes in his arms, tugging at his ruana between weak fists.
"It'll be alright Mirabel," he says, praying to God that he isn't lying to her. He hugs her closer, places a kiss upon the sweaty curls that crown her head.
"I need, I need–," she groans, making as if to sit up. Bruno lets her go, but Mirabel surges forward instead, straddling his thigh. He freezes beneath her, hands hovering on both sides of her waist, afraid to touch her.
Mirabel rolls her hips, grinds her center against the meat of his thigh. Not for a hundred years will he ever be able to forget the little choked sigh of relief she lets out at the contact.
"Mirabel?!" His body begins to function again, reaching forward to move the girl. His mind is unsure whether it's to push her away or pull her closer.
"I'm so—I think I'm close," she huffs, hips working harder, picking up a sinuous rhythm above him.
This must all be due to the plant, he realizes. Maybe the pollen has some sort of effect on the body; the rising temperature, the trembling, the increased arousal. Maybe—maybe the key is letting her work through it until it breaks, like a fever.
But this is wrong, he thinks wildly. Mirabel's face is scrunched tight in concentration, eyes closed, the bottom of her full lip clenched between her teeth. Bruno can feel his traitorous cock responding to the heat and movement of the body moving above him. No, it's more than that. It's the fact that it's Mirabel doing it, whining as she grinds against him. Blood rushes south, a flood of arousal filling his body. He prays Mirabel doesn't notice, lost in chasing her own pleasure.
He can't bear to look at her face when she peaks. The rhythm of her hips stutters as she grinds down once, twice, before her whole body tenses. She whimpers softly, holding onto his body for support. Thank God, perhaps it's finally over. Nothing actually happened, he rationalizes. He won't be able to look at her for the foreseeable future without remembering her grinding on his thigh, but they'll get through it. They have to.
"Oh god–" she gasps, and Bruno finally lifts his gaze to her face which is all red and blotchy. Her eyes look coal-black, the irises almost entirely eclipsed by her pupils.
"Tío Bruno, it's not – I'm still so hot," she whines. Mirabel reaches for the bottom of her blouse and in one violent motion tugs it off. "It's so much, I can't stand it," she grits out.
For a second his world narrows down to the swell of Mirabel's breasts in front of his eyes, covered only by the thin gauzy fabric of her chemise.
But then she cries out, beginning to work her hips in that same rhythm. Only now it isn't pleasure on her face, it's pain, brow crumpled in frustration.
"I'm so empty, and it aches, and you can – you can help me, I know you can," she babbles, wrapping her slim arms around his shoulders.
She doesn't know what she's asking him for, she can't. The idea of doing that with Mirabel fills him with a wave of indescribable guilt.
"Mirabel, we can't. We'll just have to wait until we make it back home to your mom's arepas," he pleads, pushing sweat-soaked curls away from her face.
Her throat works, moving as if she's swallowing down her words. A moment, two, then she chokes out, desperate, "I don't think I can wait that long."
His sobrina is so stubborn, so tenacious, he knows if she thought there was even the slightest chance of making it back she'd take it.
And then he feels the battering of her heart through the layers of their clothes, as quick and faint as a hummingbird's wings. She's gotten worse. Any higher and he's afraid her heart will give out.
He bows his head over her, crushing her towards his chest. Love, anguish, guilt, lust, all mix inside him to form a storm of emotions.
With God as his witness he would have never done anything untoward to her. He would have happily gone to his grave with his love for her buried alongside him. It's wrong, he's all wrong for loving Mirabel like this—dreaming of kissing her and holding her and wanting so desperately to wake up to her sweet face sleeping next to his. She saved him, she brought him back into the family's fold when she saved the miracle and that's a gift he'll never be able to repay.
And now they're here, desperate and alone, miles away from anyone else, as liquid heat drips down her thighs and his beloved sobrina pleads with him for something he's not sure he can give her.
But then comes the final nail in the coffin.
"Tío Bruno, please. It hurts," she begs.
In the end, it is this that seals his fate. It's Mirabel's face, tight with pain and fear, her eyes filled with absolute conviction that he'll help. He never could deny her anything, when it came down to it.
A shuddering breath escapes his lungs.
"I think I know what we have to do," he says, reaching out to lay a palm on the curve of her hip. She jolts beneath his hand, lets out a tiny moan.
"Lay down Mirabel," he orders, trying to make it seem like he knows what he's doing. He tugs off his ruana, spreads it out on the patch of grass beneath them, and then guides her body down. Tries to ignore the tangle of desire at seeing her sprawled out before him.
Mirabel writhes, arms reaching out towards him. "What next?"
"I'm going to touch you now Mira," he explains, laying down next to her. Bruno slides his hand beneath her skirt, fingers gently skimming the skin of her calves before settling atop her thigh. So that she knows what he means to do. So that she can tell him to stop, maybe.
But she just bucks up beneath his palm, eager. "And now?"
Now Bruno slides his hand underneath her underwear. A groan catches in his throat. The thatch of curls beneath his fingers is soaked, slick dribbling from her center and coating the insides of her thighs. His fingers find the center of her, all silky skin and wet heat.
Mirabel gasps beneath him, eyes locked on his face.
She's–she's more than he could have ever imagined, the way she feels so soft beneath his hands, so warm and wet.
Bruno slides his fingers up and down, looking for something in particular. He knows he's found it when Mirabel jerks hard, letting out a shocked "-ah". He circles the bud beneath his fingertips gently, feels it swollen and tender.
"That feels good," Mirabel says, soft, "can you keep—can you keep touching—"
"I've got you, Mira," he reassures her, ignoring his shameful erection as he applies more pressure to her bud, circles closer and closer around it. It doesn't take long for her to come, not like when she'd still been trying to do it alone. Her thighs tremble and she whines through bared teeth, back arching like the string of a bow for one long moment before suddenly falling limp against the jungle floor. Her panting breaths fill the air around them.
He thinks she looks a little less red, the haze in her eyes a little clearer. It means he's probably right and the pollen is acting as an aphrodisiac. It also means it seems like a partner's participation is needed to flush it out of her system.
"I think that helped, a little," she says, gaze fixed firmly on the glimpses of the sky that can be seen through the gaps in jungle foliage. "But I don't think it's enough. Feels like it's starting again," she says, voice trembling.
He wants to comfort her, wants to tell her it'll be ok. But he doesn't know if it will be. He steels himself, willing the words lodged in his throat to come out.
"I think - I'm not sure, but I think you need to finish," he says. "With a partner," he clarifies a moment later. With me, is the unspoken implication.
Bruno doesn't want to see the look of disgust on her face with what he'll suggest next, doesn't want to see the dawning horror as she realizes what he - what they will need to do.
"If there were any other way, Mirabel, any at all, I would do it in a heartbeat," he begins, willing her to believe him. "But-but when you tried on your own it didn't work, and what I did just now only helped a little. Our best chance is—"
"—is for me to finish. With you," Mirabel says, completing the sentence. It's clear from her widening eyes she understands what it is they have to do.
Bruno waits for the horror and the revulsion, but it never manifests.
"Yes," she pants out. Her eyes are starting to lose their focus again, little gasps escaping from behind parted lips. "I want to."
Bruno takes a moment to gather himself. Mirabel doesn't give him much time, reaching for him, dragging him forward so he's laying halfway atop her. "It's back," she keens, slipping a hand beneath her skirts. Her hand moves desperately underneath the fabric, and he can hear the wet noises as her fingers work into her center.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Mirabel," he whispers. He moves closer, gathering her skirts and lifting them away. "I don't want to hurt you. I just—I don't know what else to do. You don't deserve this, I'm sor—"
The slick sounds stop and Mirabel looks near to tears beneath him, brown eyes wide and shining. "Please don't say that tío Bruno," she says, voice small, "I'm glad it's you."
The words pierce his heart like an arrow.
"Ay mi vida," he says, cupping her face with one of his hands. His thumb traces the soft swell of her cheek.
"I'm the one - I'm the one who should be sorry," Mirabel says, and the remorse in her voice threatens to undo him. "You don't want this, and–" she lets out a raspy breath, "and you told me not to get close but I did anyway, and now you'll hate me but - butiloveyou so much." Her whole face crumples, defeated, tears welling in her eyes. "I don’t regret that it’s you."
Bruno feels his heart stutter in his chest. Her words ring in his ears, in his bones, as sonorous as church bells.
"I could never hate you," he says first because it's the truth. "There's nothing you could ever do to make me hate you."
But Mirabel is still shaking her head, eyes shut like she can't bear to look at him.
The right thing to do would be to deny her confession.
He should insist it's only the pollen and never again have them speak of what they're about to do. She'll blame herself though. He knows she will. He could confess, and doom them both. They have to sleep together either way. But–Mirabel deserves to have her first time with someone who loves her, and who she loves back.
The scales waver between both choices. The confession sits on his tongue, bitter and sweet as dark wine.
Bruno makes his decision.
“Don’t cry Mirabel, you’re not alone.” He will not allow himself to hesitate, “I love you too,” he confesses.
“Wait – really?” She clenches one lone fist in his shirt as if to anchor them together. “Tío Bruno don’t – don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not, I–I would never do that to you,” he insists.
He sees the realization dawn across her face, even through the heat and pain. And then Mirabel goes for it, surging forward to press her mouth against Bruno’s. She presses her lips against his with a gasp of relief. She’s inexperienced, teeth clacking against his, but she does it with a desperate enthusiasm that makes him melt.
Bruno gives up completely and utterly, kissing her back just as desperately. He tries to pour every ounce of love and devotion he has for her into it, kissing her like this will be the only time he gets to do it.
After a long moment, they pull apart, both gasping for breath. Mirabel moves to his neck, worrying the skin between her teeth. “Inside me,” she gets out between placing open mouth kisses along his jaw.
He shoves his pants down, takes his cock in hand. There’s nothing between them now except for a few scant centimeters of air. Even then he can feel the heat radiating off her body.
“I love you, Mirabel,” he says again, bending down to place a lingering kiss on her damp forehead.
He guides himself closer to her, and with painstaking slowness sinks into her. She’s so slick there’s no resistance at all, just one smooth glide until she completely envelopes him.
He can feel how feverish she is inside now.
Mirabel groans, nails digging into the skin of his back.
Bruno trembles as he holds still, muscles quaking as he lets her get used to the feeling of having him inside her. His world narrows down to Mirabel; to her scent of violets and green verdant things thick in his nose, her kiss-swollen mouth, the riot of curls spread like a dark corona beneath her head.
Soon she’s writhing, trying to move hips pinned beneath his weight. “Move tío,” Mirabel pants, licking at Bruno’s mouth between kisses.
It’s a tortuous kind of ecstasy, to pull out and then push back into the soft wet heat of her. Bruno’s never done this before either, but he soon finds a steady rhythm. Each roll of his hips punches out little sighs from Mirabel’s mouth.
"Ah, ah, ah," Mirabel gasps, high and breathy.
He should never have known what his sobrina sounds like when she's getting filled and fucked, but he does, he does and it's because he's the one fucking her. The noises spur him on, hips thrusting, working his way deeper into the blazing heat of her.
“It’s so good – so good,” Mirabel chants, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist and pull him deeper into the cradle of her thighs.
Bruno moans, helpless against the pleasure as he speeds up the pace.
He squeezes a hand between their jostling bodies, searching for the small bud he'd found earlier. He finds it within the thatch of curls above her entrance and rubs it firmly with his thumb.
“Oh!” she cries out, legs spasming.
Her body tightens impossibly more around his cock, and it’s too much, almost, the pressure and the heat of her around him.
“Come for me, Mira,” he encourages, slipping his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth.
She’s looking right into his eyes as she finally comes, one hand tangled in his hair and the other placed right over his heart. Her mouth drops open, whole body going tense as her walls pulse in waves around him.
His own orgasm catches him off guard, the tell-tale prickle at the base of his spine absent. He ruts into her, chasing the sensation until in one sharp thrust he hilts himself to the base. Bruno feels his cock jerk, pumping his spend deep into her as he comes. The waves of pleasure leave him wrung out and he lowers his head to Mirabel’s neck, panting against her skin.
“Mirabel?”
Laying atop her, he can feel her skin beginning to cool. He places a hand above her heart and is beyond relieved to sense a normal rhythm beneath his palm.
She’ll live, she’ll live, she’ll live repeats like a mantra inside his head.
“I think it worked Bruno,” she says, her voice still a little breathless.
He gently pulls out of her, doing his best to ignore the slick sounds they make when they separate.
It’s pointless, but he still tries to rearrange her skirts into some kind of semblance of modesty. When he lays back down Mirabel inches closer–like she wants to touch him but is afraid to do so after what they’ve done.
He opens his arms and she immediately curls into his body, resting her head on his chest.
“Did you really mean it?” she asks. “About loving me?” Mirabel turns her face toward him, eyes shining and clear and so, so brave. “Because I did, tío.”
He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Dios mio, this girl will be the death of him.
Bruno brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Of course I did. But, god Mirabel, I was terrified. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you.”
Mirabel snuggles closer into him, brings a hand forward to cup his cheek. “But you didn’t. You saved me.” Slowly, so as not to startle him, she leans up to press a chaste kiss against his lips.
He should stop her, but it’s like now that he knows what it’s like to kiss her it’s impossible to say no. Bruno kisses her back softly, grasping onto the hand on his cheek.
“We’ll be alright, won’t we?” Mirabel asks once they pull apart.
He could use his gift and have an answer, but he’s sure that’s not what she’s asking about. She’s asking about them, Bruno and Mirabel. He’s not sure about much else, but he knows this for certain: they can get through anything together.
He gathers her up in his arms and presses another kiss to the corner of her mouth, to the apples of her cheeks, the bridge of her nose.
“Yes, I think so, Mirabel.”
Her answering smile illuminates his heart.
