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[risorto]

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[silvercrusader]

[He misses Bruno's wearied complaint, which is a shame, but at least he understands that last sentence. Polnareff laughs softly, his fingers playing against his stomach.]

Our princess, huh? Yeah, I bet. Our darling princess. Mm. What would we name her?

[A baby girl, tiny and loud and perfect. He knows how to raise girls. Or at least: he knows how to raise a teenage girl, and he and Bruno can figure out the younger years together.]

[risorto]

[Bruno's quiet for a moment while he thinks. The fingers on his stomach steal his attention for a second or two, but he forces himself to stay on-task. What would be a good name? It would have to be something that isn't exclusively French or exclusively Italian, though his knowledge of the former is limited compared to the latter. Hm...]

[He thinks back to the books he's read, going through the names he can remember and lining them up with their Italian counterparts until one jumps to the forefront of his mind. He's met Italian girls with the same name.]

Emma.

[silvercrusader]

[He hums softly. That's a good name. It's neither overwhelming French nor Italian, and yet fits perfectly within both cultures. It's a good name, but nothing that reminds either of them of their pasts. Polnareff kisses him again.]

Emma it is. Emma, our princess.

[Emma, who doesn't exist, who will never exist, but that Polnareff imagines for just a few moments more.]

And what would you do? [That's not a question Bruno can answer in one word, but whatever!] Stay home with her, or go and work?

[risorto]

[Bruno hums softly into the kiss, hand coming up to lightly stroke Polnareff's cheek. He continues to stroke his cheek with his fingertips even after Polnareff pulls away. Even a handful of months ago, he wouldn't entertain this conversation under any circumstances. But looking at Polnareff's face, it feels safe enough to talk about. Even though it's entirely impossible and they both know it, it feels okay to pretend there's a future for them beyond this city.]

Stare a casa con lei. Almeno per qualche anno.

[silvercrusader]

[He stays pressed close this time, their noses bumping together, so close he can feel Bruno's hot breath gusting against his cheek.]

Stay at home, huh.

[He assumes. Maybe. It's very hard to know what Bruno's saying in detail, but years of living across Europe means he's got a pretty good scattered knowledge of common words among the romance languages.]

So I'll be our breadwinner. You can cook for us. But you gotta make sure you let our girl get both her cultures. Italian and French cooking. No making her love Italian food more. Promise?

[risorto]

Sì, sì, lo prometto. Finché non tenta di darle da mangiare quella merda premade.

[This is said firmly while he nuzzles noses with Polnareff.]

[silvercrusader]

I'll do what I want.

[He murmurs it more as a placeholder than anything, because now he's thinking of something else.]

Mm. Before we get our Emma, though, there's something else we'd have to do first.

[risorto]

Cos'è quello, tesoro?

[silvercrusader]

I'd need a husband.

[He says it steadily, his eyes locked on Bruno's expression, terribly uncertain about his next few words.]

A little village like the one I've got at home . . . you come home with a kid and no ring, all of a sudden you got all kinds of rumors flying around you.

[It's not a proposal, not at all. Even if they had all the time in the world, it's far too soon in their relationship to be thinking about such things. But he murmurs that, because if they're going to be fantasizing about impossibly domestic things, he'll go the whole way.

The words tastes odd on his lips. Husband, not wife, and it feels clunky, like he's misspoken somehow. But . . . he runs his thumb over his left ring finger and amends that thought. It's more as if he's trying out a new word in a foreign language, uncertain of the shape of the syllables but willing to try.]

[risorto]

Un marito? [Bruno hums, seemingly thoughtful with a raised eyebrow before he looks at Polnareff again with a grin.] Hai in mente qualcuno?

[silvercrusader]

[Thank god, he thinks, because there were so many ways that could have gone badly. But Bruno is grinning, and so Polnareff tentatively returns it, his eyes darting around his face.]

Yeah, a husband.

[A husband, he thinks again. It's easier to say the second time around. Still unnerving, but a little easier. He doesn't know what the rest of that sentence means, but he hears a question, and he knows Bruno.]

There's a pretty cute guy that I'm thinking about asking. You wanna hear about him?

[risorto]

[Truth be told, Bruno doesn't think much about marriage. It's not that he has some sort of negative view about it because of his parents' divorce, but it's just never been much of a priority. After all, the higher he climbed in the chain of command, the less and less he was inclined to rope anyone else into his life. So, even now, he doesn't put much stock into the idea.]

Stai cercando di farmi ingelosire?

[silvercrusader]

I'm gonna assume that's a long Italian way to say yes.

[He kisses him quickly and adds:]

You'd know him on sight, because he's got an ass you could spot a mile off.

[risorto]

[Bruno snorts quietly and falls into near giggles over it.]

È così? E 'questo l'unico motivo che si desidera sposarlo?

[silvercrusader]

It is an amazing ass, I agree.

[God, but he loves getting Bruno to laugh like this. It happens most at night, and it's part of the reason he loves talking to Bruno so late.]

You could bounce a quarter off those thighs, too.

[risorto]

Questo non è quello che ho detto!

[Bruno says this poking Polnareff in the chest with a finger amid his second wave of laughter. Almost helplessly though, he wraps his arms around Polnareff's neck and buries his face.]

Sei terribile...

[silvercrusader]

If you're going to talk in a foreign language, sweetness, you're setting yourself up to be misunderstood.

[He wraps his arms tight around Bruno, though, keeping him pressed close. He mutters against his hair:]

He's terrible. Sauntering around all day in lacy shirts and tight jeans, tempting me to bend him over the nearest counter-- and then he scolds me when I give in! I have to cook, he tells me, I have to do things, Fugo-- ah, no, Emma is right there, don't be obscene, why do I want to marry him, I don't know--

[He kisses the top of his head, a hard firm kiss that brooks no argument.]

But I do. I really do.

[risorto]

Oh, si dovrebbe assolutamente sposarlo. Sembra che tu sei molto fortunato ad avere lui.

[Bruno turns his head a little, settling in better. It's warm here, wrapped up in Polnareff's arms. He hums contentedly.]

Sarebbe un pazzo a passare questo in su.

[silvercrusader]

[Fortunato, he manages, but the rest flies right over his head. That's all right, though. He's got other things he wants to ask.]

How should I ask him?

[risorto]

Hm... Non lo so... [Bruno draws a deep, sleepy breath.] Basta chiedere può essere romantico.

[silvercrusader]

It does have to be romantic, you're right. But he hates the cold, so no doing it in the snow. Maybe I'll wait til summer comes again, take him out sailing. Then again, might get kinda tricky if he says no.

Think he'll say no?

[risorto]

[Bruno huffs a sigh, a substitute for that's not what I said. But he's too tired to point that out again. He smiles though.]

Non si sa fino a quando si chiede.

[silvercrusader]

I think he'll say yes.

[He slides his hands down Bruno's back, for once not taking the opportunity to grope at him as he does.]

But will he change his name to mine, ah, that's the real question, isn't it?

[risorto]

[Bruno sighs happily at the hands moving down his back.]

No, italiani mantengono i loro cognomi. Ma Buccellati-Polnareff non suona poi così male.

[silvercrusader]

I could live with that.

[Their combined names, he means, because it really doesn't sound so bad.]

Gets pretty complicated if Emma wants to keep her name, though . . . mm, but that's a problem for when we're old. Right now all we gotta worry about is making sure her brothers don't spoil her, hm? [A beat, and then, thinking of Fugo:] Or teach her too much math.