[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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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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