[It's different this time. Dramatically different, in fact. Before when Polnareff looked at him like that, it didn't feel right and it didn't feel good. All Bruno could feel was an overwhelming amount of guilt and regret beginning to settle in as he had to try and figure out a way to put some distance between the two of them. Now they're so close together and Bruno rests so comfortably against Polnareff that he can feel every breath he takes and nearly every little tensing of muscle when it happens. He doesn't want to be anywhere else right now.]
[Bruno hums thoughtfully before he gives him gioia mia, cucciolo, and bello with a kiss between each and their translation in French.]
[Possibly. It's a little hard to think with all those kisses, but he'll do his best. Polnareff presses his lips together, savoring the lingering pressure there.]
I like them. But you'd better stick to the French versions, hm? Don't fall out of practice just because you've got me distracting you.
Fair enough. But there's at least one I'm keeping in italiano.
[Which means he's also not going to tell Polnareff what it means if he doesn't already know enough Italian to figure it out, or if French doesn't let him guess at the meaning. He'll either have to ask someone or look at a book, if that's the case.]
Tu sei la, [he says, pausing there to kiss Polnareff again. He brings one hand back to Polnareff's cheek as he rests his forehead against Polnareff's.] Luce dei miei occhi.
[He murmurs his attempts at a translation, but the bulk of the phrase escapes him. All he knows is that it's about him, which does him absolutely no good whatsoever. Polnareff tips his head up to sneak another kiss before murmuring:]
[Bruno hums softly and shakes his head no a little, which really only results in nuzzling noses with Polnareff, as he looks at him through half-lidded eyes. Quietly he says,]
I told you. Italiano only. I won't say it in any other language. [He kisses Polnareff once.] You'll have to figure it out. [Twice. He thinks he's starting to get addicted to it.] Or let it be a mystery.
[It'd be a whine at any other time, except he's too addled by those kisses to bother. Instead it comes out quietly, a plea more than anything. But fine, if they're going to play the language game . . . he speaks in French now.]
I'm not even learning Italian, you can't keep things from me like this. It's like the night of the wine all over again.
[He ought to be able to understand most of that. He's a quick study, Bruno is, and he's learned a lot since that night.]
[Oh, he likes the sound of his name when it's said like that. Not that he'd mind it terribly with some volume to it either, but it's nice hearing it as a soft little plea out of Polnareff.]
[Bruno doesn't quite know what Polnareff is taking about at first, but once it connects he turns his head a little to laugh. He'd forgotten about that entirely.]
No, I'd say this is better. There's more kissing. [He kisses him again, as if to prove the point because it clearly needed selling.] And no kids.
[Who could he possibly be referring to?]
You're just going to have to learn more Italian, mon bonheur, if you want to know.
[Both that teasing and the nickname both. Polnareff huffs a little sigh and ducks down, kissing hard at the crook Bruno's neck.]
I'll just have to seduce-- [He bites firmly, sucking a mark there. Only when he's satisfied with what's left behind does he pulls back to finish his thought.] --seduce it out of you.
[He says the word twice-- first in English, then in French-- because every moment is a teaching moment.]
[He wants to call Bruno unfair and then immediately start kissing at Bruno's neck like that? Unfortunately, Bruno doesn't even have any time to complain insincerely. He gasps with a quiet ah when Polanreff bites at his neck, and— Polnareff is definitely leaving a mark. Bruno can't even remember the last time that happened. He must have been a teenager . . . ]
Impossible, [he says, sounding maybe a touch distracted.] If I say I won't tell you, then I won't tell you.
[He nips at the mark, entirely satisfied with himself. He'd been right; Bruno does look good like that. Polnareff pulls back, smirking up at Bruno, his fingers still teasing along the side of his neck.]
I mean, if I can make you sound like that with just a little biting . . .
[Then I am, too, he thinks, but doesn't say aloud because that would completely undermine the teasing. And . . . Well, he doesn't know if he wants to say something like that out loud just yet. Happiness to Bruno has always been a fragile, delicate thing, and felt so rarely in its truest form that he's hesitant to draw too much attention to it even within his own thoughts. So rather than finishing that statement, he leans in with every intention of kissing Polnareff breathless.]
[As it turns out, it's not so hard a task to accomplish. They've only been doing this for a little while, after all; Bruno kisses him with intention and suddenly he's overwhelmed in the best possible way.
Which isn't to say he just sits there. God, no. Bruno kisses him and Polnareff returns it eagerly, mouth opening to it. Both hands slip beneath Bruno's shirt, rucking it up with purpose as he lets his hands wander over his torso. It's not as if they can do anything out here-- or rather, it's not as if he wants to do anything out here-- but that doesn't mean he can't touch at all.]
[This is nice, he thinks. Good. He makes a wordless, pleased noise into Polnareff's mouth when he feels hands move up underneath his shirt. He's a little surprised, too, but it has little to do with Polnareff quite so directly. By now, Bruno's used to feeling again and answering the requests for touch when it's asked of him or vice versa, but there are some touches that he had gone longer without and he's missed them without realizing it.]
[Bruno bites hard at Polnareff's lip again, tugging on it until it comes free, but this time he doesn't kiss Polnareff's lip or mouth. He kisses his chin and along his jaw with the occasional scrape of teeth. He murmurs little words of praise and pet names in a mixture of Italian and French every now and again along the way to his ear. Bruno says it again softly and with a teasing sing-song to his voice — luce dei miei occhi — before he bites at Polnareff's ear, mindful of any earrings.]
[He's going to have to ask someone. There's nothing for it; he's just going to have to ask someone, because he sure can't look it up, not with Italian pronunciation the way it is. He'll never end this teasing otherwise, and the mystery of it will drive him up a wall. Polnareff thinks that faintly, the thought slipping through his mind between wordless flashes of pleasure.
He bites hard at his bottom lip, firmly keeping any and all noises to himself. It isn't that he's embarrassed, exactly, but he can't go around teasing Bruno and then start falling to pieces himself. No whines or breathless murmurs of Bruno's name, that's the rule. They're pressed so close together, though, that likely Bruno will feel the way he's gone tense. His fingers curl, nails dragging pointedly along his spine, and Polnareff shivers again as Bruno bites down.]
[He doesn't make a sound, but he doesn't need to. Bruno feels nails beginning to dig into his back and the steady rhythm of Polnareff's breathing concedes to all over tension and shivers. Bruno kisses the spot just under Polnareff's ear with a few kisses that seem to suggest he's going to pull away, each subsequent kiss growing lighter and lighter.]
You're quiet, Jean, [he notes as one of his hands begins trailing down Polnareff's front towards the hem of his shirt. His fingers curl just enough to occasionally tug on the fabric. Bruno bites a little harder at Polnareff's ear the second time.]
[He squirms each time Bruno's fingers curl in his shirt, helping him to hoist it up as he sees fit. It's only fair; his own hands keep moving upwards. His hands are in symmetry with one another as he rubs his palms flat over his ribs, against his stomach, feeling out the line of muscle there. Bruno's deceptively slender; you'd never guess just how muscled he really is.
He's breathless and his voice is thick, but he's hardly so far gone he can't speak.]
What is it you want me to say?
[Oh, but that's easy, and now his voice has the hint of a laugh to it.]
[Bruno lets out a small puff of laughter, kissing Polnareff's cheek. He's not laughing at Polnareff though. Not by a long stretch. It's just been a while since he's felt this way — happy enough where it feels hard to contain and he's not even all that sure he wants to contain it.]
J'ai envie de toi, [Bruno purrs close to Polnareff's ear as his hand finds warm skin. Though unlike the kiss he places on Polnareff's neck, Bruno's touch is nearly feather-light on Polnareff's stomach.]
[He'd expected it, of course. He'd known what he was saying. But still his stomach drops hotly as Bruno murmurs that, voice low and unfairly smooth. Thank god he's allowed to touch him now, he thinks, and tips his head, catching Bruno's mouth in a rough kiss. It's a reward for that French, which sets a pretty good precedent.
He squirms again, this time far more pointedly. He's not good at light touches and slow movements; he's very ready to feel Bruno's hand up his shirt. Come on, that's what that squirming means, and he nudges his own hands up again as if in demonstration.]
[If they weren't kissing, Bruno would probably concede to Polnareff's demands quickly. So, although the message is received, Bruno's distracted by the kiss, more focused on the feel and taste of Polnareff's mouth for a moment or two long enough to likely be almost cruel if there were more intent behind the teasing. Bruno's hand wanders aimlessly, still touching lightly until finally fingers followed by palm make contact and apply increasing pressure. There is something attentive in Bruno's touch, a mixture of fascination and need to memorize warm skin and reactive muscle.]
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[His fingers drag along Bruno's neck, tracing the lines there.]
What's another petname in Italian?
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[Bruno hums thoughtfully before he gives him gioia mia, cucciolo, and bello with a kiss between each and their translation in French.]
Think you can remember all of that?
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[Possibly. It's a little hard to think with all those kisses, but he'll do his best. Polnareff presses his lips together, savoring the lingering pressure there.]
I like them. But you'd better stick to the French versions, hm? Don't fall out of practice just because you've got me distracting you.
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[Which means he's also not going to tell Polnareff what it means if he doesn't already know enough Italian to figure it out, or if French doesn't let him guess at the meaning. He'll either have to ask someone or look at a book, if that's the case.]
Tu sei la, [he says, pausing there to kiss Polnareff again. He brings one hand back to Polnareff's cheek as he rests his forehead against Polnareff's.] Luce dei miei occhi.
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[He murmurs his attempts at a translation, but the bulk of the phrase escapes him. All he knows is that it's about him, which does him absolutely no good whatsoever. Polnareff tips his head up to sneak another kiss before murmuring:]
I'm your what?
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I told you. Italiano only. I won't say it in any other language. [He kisses Polnareff once.] You'll have to figure it out. [Twice. He thinks he's starting to get addicted to it.] Or let it be a mystery.
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[It'd be a whine at any other time, except he's too addled by those kisses to bother. Instead it comes out quietly, a plea more than anything. But fine, if they're going to play the language game . . . he speaks in French now.]
I'm not even learning Italian, you can't keep things from me like this. It's like the night of the wine all over again.
[He ought to be able to understand most of that. He's a quick study, Bruno is, and he's learned a lot since that night.]
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[Bruno doesn't quite know what Polnareff is taking about at first, but once it connects he turns his head a little to laugh. He'd forgotten about that entirely.]
No, I'd say this is better. There's more kissing. [He kisses him again, as if to prove the point because it clearly needed selling.] And no kids.
[Who could he possibly be referring to?]
You're just going to have to learn more Italian, mon bonheur, if you want to know.
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[Both that teasing and the nickname both. Polnareff huffs a little sigh and ducks down, kissing hard at the crook Bruno's neck.]
I'll just have to seduce-- [He bites firmly, sucking a mark there. Only when he's satisfied with what's left behind does he pulls back to finish his thought.] --seduce it out of you.
[He says the word twice-- first in English, then in French-- because every moment is a teaching moment.]
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Impossible, [he says, sounding maybe a touch distracted.] If I say I won't tell you, then I won't tell you.
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[He nips at the mark, entirely satisfied with himself. He'd been right; Bruno does look good like that. Polnareff pulls back, smirking up at Bruno, his fingers still teasing along the side of his neck.]
I mean, if I can make you sound like that with just a little biting . . .
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Are you calling me easy?
[He barely sounds offended, which is likely a possible side effect of smiling while saying that.]
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Well, if you're happy . . .
[Then I am, too, he thinks, but doesn't say aloud because that would completely undermine the teasing. And . . . Well, he doesn't know if he wants to say something like that out loud just yet. Happiness to Bruno has always been a fragile, delicate thing, and felt so rarely in its truest form that he's hesitant to draw too much attention to it even within his own thoughts. So rather than finishing that statement, he leans in with every intention of kissing Polnareff breathless.]
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Which isn't to say he just sits there. God, no. Bruno kisses him and Polnareff returns it eagerly, mouth opening to it. Both hands slip beneath Bruno's shirt, rucking it up with purpose as he lets his hands wander over his torso. It's not as if they can do anything out here-- or rather, it's not as if he wants to do anything out here-- but that doesn't mean he can't touch at all.]
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[Bruno bites hard at Polnareff's lip again, tugging on it until it comes free, but this time he doesn't kiss Polnareff's lip or mouth. He kisses his chin and along his jaw with the occasional scrape of teeth. He murmurs little words of praise and pet names in a mixture of Italian and French every now and again along the way to his ear. Bruno says it again softly and with a teasing sing-song to his voice — luce dei miei occhi — before he bites at Polnareff's ear, mindful of any earrings.]
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He bites hard at his bottom lip, firmly keeping any and all noises to himself. It isn't that he's embarrassed, exactly, but he can't go around teasing Bruno and then start falling to pieces himself. No whines or breathless murmurs of Bruno's name, that's the rule. They're pressed so close together, though, that likely Bruno will feel the way he's gone tense. His fingers curl, nails dragging pointedly along his spine, and Polnareff shivers again as Bruno bites down.]
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You're quiet, Jean, [he notes as one of his hands begins trailing down Polnareff's front towards the hem of his shirt. His fingers curl just enough to occasionally tug on the fabric. Bruno bites a little harder at Polnareff's ear the second time.]
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He's breathless and his voice is thick, but he's hardly so far gone he can't speak.]
What is it you want me to say?
[Oh, but that's easy, and now his voice has the hint of a laugh to it.]
Ti voglio, Bruno.
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J'ai envie de toi, [Bruno purrs close to Polnareff's ear as his hand finds warm skin. Though unlike the kiss he places on Polnareff's neck, Bruno's touch is nearly feather-light on Polnareff's stomach.]
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He squirms again, this time far more pointedly. He's not good at light touches and slow movements; he's very ready to feel Bruno's hand up his shirt. Come on, that's what that squirming means, and he nudges his own hands up again as if in demonstration.]
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