[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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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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