risorto: (✝ both hands with a heart to hold)
bruno buccellati ([personal profile] risorto) wrote2016-08-13 12:15 am
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{ic inbox}


text . video . voice . action
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silvercrusader: you'd look hot naked (talk ⚔ honestly babe)

[personal profile] silvercrusader 2016-10-03 05:50 am (UTC)(link)
[He doesn't like the record all that much, but he can appreciate that, at least. Polnareff hums his agreement, his eyes closing as he does. He'd been right: he likes the record a bit more when they're lying here talking and it plays in the background. It adds to the conversation, puts him in a wonderfully relaxed mood. Idly, he wishes he had a cigarette, but he won't ruin this for Bruno.]

Are his other records like this? Like--

[He gestures vaguely, indicating the drifting notes of the song.]
silvercrusader: is that a sale at aeropostale i spy (talk ⚔ --wait what?)

[personal profile] silvercrusader 2016-10-03 06:14 am (UTC)(link)
[That's actually pretty cool. Polnareff considers that as his hand once again plunges beneath Bruno's shirt.]

He was that important, huh?

[So like . . . like the Beatles, maybe, if they're going to compare it to something he knows. Changing the entire game around, making it so everyone had to struggle to keep up. He can respect that. It's certainly unlike any jazz he's ever heard (not that he's heard much, but still).]

Mm. Maybe sometime we'll get some more of his records, and we can compare.

[A beat, and then he adds:]

It was kind of a miracle I got this one, that's all I mean by maybe.
silvercrusader: (happy ⚔ pamiii~♥)

[personal profile] silvercrusader 2016-10-06 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[He smiles at him, his gaze soft.]

You're more than worth it, you know that?

[He pushes his fingers through Bruno's hair. The music still plays in the background, low and soothing, and Polnareff's smile grows.]

Happy birthday, chéri.
silvercrusader: or at least a chosen few thous (happy ⚔  bread wine and thou)

[personal profile] silvercrusader 2016-10-07 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
[I love you, he thinks, but he knows not to push his luck. There's only so many times he can say that without souring things. So he pushes it into his kiss, enthusiastic and eager, as hard a kiss as he can make it. I love you, and he brushes his thumb against the side of his throat, the movement as possessive as it is loving.]