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[risorto]

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[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.

[risorto]

[Bruno starts giggling again.]

Sì, sì, altrimenti Emma avrà compiti non la può aiutare con.

[silvercrusader]

[Oh, no. Just for that tone and laughter, Polnareff scoots away, pulling Bruno back just far enough that he can squint down at him. Cold air rushes between them, but life is sometimes cruel.]

Are you making fun of me?

[risorto]

Noooo...!

[Bruno immediately starts trying to wriggle back in closer. He's not really protesting and saying he wasn't making fun of Polnareff, so much as he's protesting Polnareff pulling away.]

I cuscini non dovrebbero muoversi...

[silvercrusader]

Oh no you don't--

[He keeps him firmly in place, a good arm's length between them.]

Apologize. You were making fun of me, I know you were, and you can just stay cold until you say sorry.

[risorto]

[This cruelty! It's completely unprecedented!]

[As is most likely the small whine Bruno lets out before he gives up on trying to slink his way back to getting close. He squirms under the blankets until only the top of his head is visible.]

Sei crudele... Ti amo e tu mi lasciassi congelare a morte. [Bruno huffs softly and mumbles,] Mi dispiace...

[silvercrusader]

Aw, ti amo too, sweet thing--

[That most assuredly was not the emotion Bruno was trying to convey, but he's allowed to pick and choose as he sees fit. And now that Polnareff's gotten his apology (grudgingly mumbled though it might be), all is forgiven. Sliding his hands down Bruno's back once more, he tugs him in close, sharing all his body warmth. He even slings a leg around his knees for good measure, because he's that nice.]

My poor Bruno . . . was it so hard for you, being alone like that? Oh, poor thing, poor thing--

[risorto]

Vaffanculo.

[And yet, Bruno does not pull away or roll over. No, he just snuggles in a little bit closer and then make the official decision to refuse to move ever again. That is not going to stop him from sulking though.]

[silvercrusader]

Ahhh, my husband is mad at me . . .

[He beams at the wall as he says it. He's going to have to remember not to get into the habit of saying that. This isn't a conversation they're going to be able to have all the time. But for tonight, he savors it, just as he savors the angry lump trying to bury himself in his chest.]

Would it help if I kissed you better, mon mari?

[A beat, and then, with a huffed laugh:]

That's my husband, not my ocean.

[risorto]

No, io non voglio baciarti più di voi.

[Still not moving though.]