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Rio slides into the backseat of the service car next to Elizabeth. A sigh leaves his lips as he unbuttons his suit jacket and loosens his tie — whoever the fuck invented ties was either sadistic or masochistic, he can’t find any other reason why someone would decide to make wearing nooses socially acceptable. He slumps into the seat, legs sprawling in front of him and head falling back against the headrest. Elizabeth shuffles closer, letting her head rest against his shoulder.
“Told you we’d be tired,” she giggles, the sound muffled by his jacket.
He shifts, putting his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, until she’s pressed against his side, head tucked under his chin.
“Not really that tired,” he whispers against her hair, making her snort. And he’s not — or he is, but there’s also this energy coursing through his veins. He’s nearly giddy at the thought of his plan and it more than makes up for the weariness that spending the whole night dancing and socialising had brought.
The official plan — that they’d decided together — was that they wouldn’t make a big deal out of the wedding night. It’d come up after A had made another one of her not-so-funny comments, this one about how she wouldn’t mind taking the kids so they could boink — and she’d fucking said that too, boink, like they’re not all adults with kids. Elizabeth hadn’t said anything then, just pulled a face at her sister’s word choice, but she’d come to him after A had left and admitted that, in her experience, the “happy couple,” as she put it, was too drunk and tired to really appreciate the wedding night — by which she meant, of course, that fucking Car-Man couldn’t even do that one thing right and had ruined it by getting blasted at the reception — and that she thought it was better if they didn’t make plans for it besides passing out from exhaustion.
He’d tried to sweet-talk her into it — reminding her that he’s not Car-Man, that he always does right by her — but that had only made her twitchy and weird in that way she gets when he’s poked at a bruise she didn’t want him to know existed. And Rio never wanted to upset her none — not when it came to this, especially when he was well-aware that Elizabeth had only agreed to do the fancy ceremony shit amá and the kids kept pushing for because she’d gotten it into her head that he deserved to have the wedding experience, even though he’d told her he was fine with going down to the courthouse — so he’d caved. They’d have plenty of time to make up for it during the honeymoon, he’d reasoned.
But the thing is, he’d thought about it after — about them just coming home and getting into bed like any other day — and it’d left a bad taste in his mouth. He figures that if there’s ever a day to eat your girl out until she passes out, it’s the day you marry her. And so, the official plan had remained the same, but he’d privately decided that he’d let Elizabeth think they weren’t doing anything and then show her a good time once she came to bed — that way she wouldn’t stress about it, but she’d also get the wedding night she deserved.
The ride home is quiet. Elizabeth spends it playing with his hand, the way she does sometimes when they do movie nights — her fingers move softly over the lines of his palm, the veins on his wrist, helping him relax even further into the seat. He returns the favour by twirling the ends of her hair on his finger and is rewarded with her melting completely into his side.
Some thirty minutes later, the car slows to a stop in front of their place. It’s a big, white colonial house, complete with a front porch and everything — not quite picture-perfect, white-picket-fenced suburbia, but nearly there. They’d decided early on that it was probably better to go with a house than the open concept lofts he prefers, what with the five kids and whatnot, but he’d been surprised at first by how much he loved it — and, yeah, most of that love comes from the fact that it’s the house he shares with her, but he does appreciate the private garage, the office space, the big backyard where their brood plays, and he especially appreciates the bedroom with four walls and a door that locks.
He steps out of the car first, turning to offer her a hand to help her up. She takes it, smiling up at him. He can’t help but smile back.
The service is already paid, so he just mumbles a quick “thanks” in the driver’s direction before closing the door and sweeping Elizabeth into his arms in a bridal carry. She lets out a shriek, surprised, but quickly settles into him, her arms coming up to encircle his shoulders.
He starts walking towards the house, doing his best not to stumble under their combined weight and the effect of all that champagne. He doesn’t even like champagne that much, but there had been so many fucking toasts — first it’d been A, slurring through a speech full of not-so-funny jokes that had somehow ended with her in tears, mumbling about how much she loves Elizabeth; then it’d been Ruby, with a much more composed but much more emotional speech about how Elizabeth was her rock and how all she wanted was to see her happy; Ruby had been followed by Gabriella and Rosa, who’d yapped on about how happy they were that their little brother would finally know the joys of being married; Mick had been next, and thankfully he’d kept it short, unlike everyone else; and then, at last, had come amá’s turn, who’d given a big emotional speech welcoming Elizabeth and her kids into the family like they hadn’t already been part of it. If he’d known about it before he proposed he would’ve — well, he would’ve still proposed, but maybe he would’ve tried harder to convince amá that they didn’t need to do the fancy ceremony shit.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asks, giggling against his neck.
“Thought it was pretty obvious.”
She doesn’t respond, but he can practically see the way she must be rolling her eyes at his answer. When they’d decided on the wedding night plan, there’d been no mention of the carrying the bride over the threshold thing at all — he knows that Elizabeth probably just assumed that they weren’t doing it, but the fact she didn’t explicitly say so means he can get away with doing it without her having reason to grill him over not sticking to the plan.
The front porch stairs are a little tricky to navigate because the only light comes from the streetlamp behind them, leaving the stairs hidden in their shadow, but he manages not to send them sprawling to the floor, only stumbling slightly on the first step, which he takes as a win.
He’s stuck for a second, then, considering how to manoeuvre Elizabeth so he can disarm their security system without making them fall or having to put her down. It turns out not to be a problem, though, because Elizabeth does it for him, quickly scanning her thumb and punching in their code.
Rio steps inside the house, Elizabeth giggling against his ear. And it’s not the first time she’s done that today, not by a long shot, but here, in this house they share, he’s struck by how, once upon a time, he would’ve thought it was unlike her, always so repressed, holding herself together so precisely — except that it ain’t, not at all, he knows that now. It’s more and more common for him to see her this playful, this free, especially when she’s had a couple of drinks. It might just be his favourite version of her — but, then again, maybe not, because Elizabeth in boss bitch mode really is something else.
He kicks the door behind them closed, ‘cause he’s not so far lost that he’s gonna leave it hanging open, and almost loses his balance in the process.
“Christopher!” Elizabeth squeals against his ear. It makes him laugh for some reason. She laughs, too. It’s the most beautiful fucking sound he’s ever heard.
He takes another step in the direction of the stairs.
“Christopher, put me down,” she demands, laughter still clinging to her voice.
“Nah, we ain’t done yet, darlin’.”
“What do you mean, we’re not done? The bride only needs to be carried across the threshold.”
“Oh, yeah? That what the bride say?”
“Yes,” she replies. Rio can feel her nodding against his neck, can practically see the exact faux serious expression she’s got on her face. “That’s what the bride says.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Because the groom says he has to get the bride up to her room.”
“We’re gonna fall down the stairs!” Her tone is all accusatory and shit, which he don’t really appreciate. When has he ever been the person that lets her fall? Nah, that ain’t him — he is the person holding her up.
“I got you,” he says, squeezing at her waist. “You know that.”
Elizabeth’s hand travels from his shoulder to his jaw, stroking against the grain of his beard. Her lips press softly against the side of his neck, over the tip of a wing.
“We’re gonna fall,” she repeats. But this time her voice’s all breathy, giddy, so Rio takes it as the permission it is.
“You should turn on the lights,” she tells him when they reach the bottom of the stairs and it’s clear that he’s forgotten to do it, laughter clinging to her voice. He almost wants to ignore her, prove to her that he can do it with the lights off. But he’s not quite drunk enough for that to seem like a good plan. Besides, if they fell down the stairs, Elizabeth would never let him forget it.
Even with the lights turned on, making his way up the stairs to their bedroom is the hardest it’s ever been, especially because Jane had decided again to leave her sneakers on the first step instead of in her closet where they belonged. It’s worth it, though, for the way Elizabeth holds on tighter to his shoulders, muffles her giggles in his neck.
Finally, he stumbles through the door to their bedroom and slowly lets Elizabeth down. His hands move to her hips, pulling her closer to him so he can rest his forehead against hers.
The light coming in from the hallway hits her just the right way, playing shadows on her face and making her blue eyes shine. Fuck, she looks so fucking pretty like this.
He’d always known he wasn't the kind of groom that’d start crying during the bride’s walk down the aisle, but he’d been surprised that it’d been a close thing. They’d wanted to do away with that walk altogether, but amá had insisted so much that they’d caved, compromising with having Elizabeth do it alone. He’d been glad for it during the ceremony, though — it had given him time to take her in, let his eyes slowly rove over her form. Elizabeth was always beautiful, but she’d been something else walking down the aisle to him — all of her hair was up in a bun, except for a few tendrils framing her face; her dress was tight, the material clinging to her like a second skin at the top, with off-the-shoulder straps leaving her shoulders exposed and a tiny slit at the bottom that revealed a little bit of skin every time she moved.
“See, mama, told you we wouldn’t fall,” he whispers against her lips, breaking the moment.
Elizabeth huffs and rolls her eyes, stepping away from him. A shit-eating grin makes its way onto his face.
As she walks towards the bathroom, he moves to turn on the bedroom lights and close the bedroom door, more outta habit than anything else — all of their kids are with their respective other parents, so they don’t gotta worry about any little ones barging in.
He turns back to face Elizabeth, who’s leaning against the door frame, a smug smile on her face.
“We would have fallen if the lights were off,” she tells him, before turning to step inside the bathroom, the door closing behind her. He can only laugh.
Rio settles in to wait for Elizabeth to come back out — her nighttime routine takes way too fucking long and he’s told her as much more than once, tried to convince her she doesn’t need all of that shit, but she always laughs him off and goes back to applying her creams — putting his jacket and tie away to be sent to the dry cleaners and rolling up his sleeves the way she likes.
He’s just sat down at the edge of their bed when the bathroom door cracks open.
“Can you come over here, please?” Elizabeth asks from inside. “I need your help.”
The sight that greets him is not what he’d expected. Instead of being in her pyjamas with a bare face, Elizabeth’s still in that tight-ass dress — and maybe he should thank amá for insisting on the fancy wedding ceremony after all, because seeing Elizabeth in that dress is worth all the toasts in the world — bold red lipstick re-applied, looking like Venus reincarnate. He’s lost in it for a sec, just how fucking gorgeous she is, before it registers that her face is all scrunched up in that way it gets when she’s really upset but trying to fake like she’s not.
He wants to reach out and smooth away all the worry lines, but then she’d complain he’s ruining her make-up.
“What’s wrong?”
She smiles at him, that small, thin thing that can’t fool him for a second.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just need help with my zipper,” she answers, turning around so he can see the back of her dress, where the zipper’s stuck halfway down, revealing a half-corset type of thing made of flowery white lace that he’s never seen before underneath it.
It only takes a couple of tugs for the zipper to come unstuck. He pulls it down slowly, eyes fixed on the sliver of skin it reveals. The zipper stops just low enough to reveal the matching panties. This is the kind of lingerie you put on for someone else to take off of you, no doubt about it, and it makes him giddy — the thought that she’d went back on it too, that she’d gone out and bought a new set just for tonight, for him.
He traces his finger down the closure of the bra and over her spine, making her shiver.
“What’s this, mama?”
“A bustier,” she replies, snappy, startling a laugh out of him.
“Not what I was asking and you know it.”
She stays quiet for a minute, wriggling in place the way Jane does when she doesn’t wanna fess up to something. Then, finally, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
Ah, he thinks. That explains why she’s upset — Elizabeth was getting better at it, but she still very much did not deal well with things not going according to plan.
Rio drops a kiss to her shoulder while one of his hands slides down over the dress and squeezes at her ass before settling at her hip, the other moving inside the dress to grope at her waist.
“I went back on it, too,” he whispers against her skin.
“You did?”
He hums, flexing his fingers at her waist. “‘Course. I was gonna let you put on all of your fancy creams and your granny pyjamas and then I was gonna take you to bed and eat you out until you were begging me to stop.”
He can hear Elizabeth’s breath stutter out.
“That sounds nice...”
Rio chuckles and bites at her ear lobe. “Don’t it just?”
He pulls her until her back’s pressed to his front, peppering kisses down her neck and on her shoulders.
“And what was your plan? You were just going to step out of this bathroom with nothing on but your little matching set and watch my jaw hit the floor? That what you were going to do?”
“No,” Elizabeth replies, breathless. “I was going to leave the heels on, too.”
He lets out a groan at the mental picture, hands gripping her tighter against him.
“So do that, mama.”
“It’s not a surprise now,” comes her reply. He can practically hear the eye-roll in her tone, see the way her lips pout.
“Promise my jaw will still hit the floor even if I know it’s coming.”
She’s quiet for a moment, clearly considering. He sucks a hickey into the soft spot behind her ear, drawing a moan from her. Her hips rock back against his. A groan falls from his lips. It takes everything in him to keep his hips still, to not press back — he’s not about to turn their wedding night into a quick fuck in their bathroom; he’s got plans, and apparently so does she, and he’s not gonna let them get derailed.
A moment passes before she replies. “Okay.”
He hums against her neck. “Okay?”
“Yes, okay.”
“Good,” he replies, squeezing a final time before breaking away from her. “I’m gonna wait outside,” he tells her, before walking out, closing the door behind him.
It can’t be more than five minutes before the door’s opening again and Elizabeth’s stepping out, leaning against the door frame. She’s wearing nothing but the lingerie and the heels like she promised. The half-corset bra thing she’s got on — a bustier, she’d called it — ends at her waist, making it look tinier, and does a fantastic job of pushing up her boobs, even though it’s strapless, which he really appreciates. The heels make her legs look like they’re miles long. And he just — short circuits for a moment, maybe; can’t believe how fucking lucky he got.
Elizabeth is beautiful, always, even without make-up or lingerie — maybe especially then, because there’s nothing he loves more than having her naked underneath him — but there’s something about this that just gets to him. It’s not even that the set is particularly fancy or racy — he’s seen her in more transparent lace, more complicated set-ups with laced corsets and garters and all sorts of shit — but that she’d picked it for him, for tonight; that she wanted to make it special too.
Rio bites at his lip, holding in a groan. Elizabeth smirks at his reaction — the days when she was shy about being naked in front of him are long gone. Now, she carries herself with the smug satisfaction of knowing she could probably get him hard even if she was wearing a potato sack. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t into it.
“C’mere, mama.” And she does, sliding into his lap, her hands resting on his shoulders and her knees bracketing his hips on the bed.
There’s a big smile on her face — the kind that he loves, the one that shows her pointy little canine teeth. It makes her look so fucking pretty. It reminds him of that afternoon, her offering to make him a sandwich and smiling this same smile. He remembers the bitter taste that memory had left in his mouth for months after, ruined by her brutal dismissal later, but it isn’t present now, hasn't been since they moved in together — what matters is that he’s got her now, forever.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He’s surprised to find that his voice sounds wrecked, but he couldn’t give less of a shit — actually hopes she can hear it too, that she knows just how much he wants her.
As much as Rio loves seeing Elizabeth in heels, appreciates the way they make her legs and ass look, he knows they must be uncomfortable, so he kisses the hinge of her jaw in gratitude and takes off her shoes for her, eliciting a groan from her when he massages the arches of her feet. His hands run up her legs until they reach her hips, where they settle.
Rio kisses her, slow and deep, the hands on her hips pulling her even closer.
“You look so good, darlin’,” he whispers against her when they pause for air. She licks into his mouth in response, making him moan. Rio slides one hand into her hair, the other one gripping her hip tighter.
When they break apart, Elizabeth is a mess — her lipstick is smudged and her updo is ruined, some strands of hair having fallen away from the bun after the way he’d tugged at them.
He wipes the smeared lipstick off her face with his thumb. Elizabeth smiles and copies him, cleaning the twin smudge on his, before pulling him in for another deep kiss.
There are even more loose strands after that. Rio reaches behind him to grab one of the million cushions Elizabeth insists on decorating the ottoman with and drops it on the floor at his feet. Elizabeth gasps, insulted by his treatment of her beloved cushion. It might be the cutest shit he’s ever seen.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of this,” he says, curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
As she sits down on the cushion at his feet, he turns on the bedside lamp to see better.
Deciding where to start is hard — everything is curled and tucked and he doesn’t wanna yank at her hair and hurt her, not tonight — but once he does the process is easy enough. He’s a little surprised by just how many bobby pins there are — it seems like every strand tucked into the bun at the back of her head has approximately ten different bobby pins holding it in place.
Piece by piece, her hair falls down in soft loose curls. He loves her hair — how it smells, how it frames her face, how soft it feels on his fingers when he plays with it — so he lets himself appreciate the moment, too — he takes his time, threading his fingers through her hair, massaging the spots where the bobby pins were hurting her when he takes them off, making her sigh and moan in relief.
It makes him feel good in a way he didn’t expect, taking care of her like this. It reminds him of all the times she’s tended to his bruised and bloody knuckles, the way she’s so careful and soft with him those nights — dabbing at his cuts with peroxide, kisses a little more gentle than usual, nails gently scratching his scalp as she cuddles him to sleep. It’s nice to be able to pay her back in kind, to be the one soothing aches.
He places a kiss on the crown of her head when he’s finally done, breathing in the peach scent of her shampoo he loves so much.
“All done,” he whispers.
Elizabeth rises up, turning to face him. His hands find her hips, hers frame his face.
When she leans down to kiss him, he can’t help but think that he could spend eternity like this — licking into her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip, feeling more than hearing her moan against his lips. The realisation that he is gonna spend, if not eternity, then the closest he gets to it, doing exactly that unspools something in him.
The knowledge of it sinking into him only makes everything all the sweeter — the taste of her skin when he trails kisses down the column of her throat, the press of her nails on his shoulders as she bucks her hips up into his mouth, the way she moans out his name so pretty when he finally sinks into her.
As they fall over the edge together, panting into each other’s mouths, swallowing each other’s moans, the only coherent thought he’s capable of is that he loves her.