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.
[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.
[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.]
[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.]
[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...
[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--
[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.]
[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.]
[There's a brief pause, and then warily, Bruno asks,]
. . . Di cosa stai parlando? [He thinks to move to look at Polnareff, but that seems like it'd be a lot of work right now. So, he doesn't.] È il tuo compleanno.
[The unfinished thought here being that Polnareff is supposed to be the one getting surprised, not Bruno.]
It is my birthday, [he says patiently, because talking to Bruno when he only speaks Italian is akin to talking to a toddler (in that he doesn't understand what the other person is saying and so simply assumes and repeats what he does know),] but I love you. I always love you, even on my birthday, and loving you involves giving you surprises.
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Think he'll say no?
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Non si sa fino a quando si chiede.
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[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?
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No, italiani mantengono i loro cognomi. Ma Buccellati-Polnareff non suona poi così male.
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[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.
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Sì, sì, altrimenti Emma avrà compiti non la può aiutare con.
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Are you making fun of me?
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[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...
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[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.
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[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...
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[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--
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[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.]
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[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.
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[Still not moving though.]
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. . . Di cosa stai parlando? [He thinks to move to look at Polnareff, but that seems like it'd be a lot of work right now. So, he doesn't.] È il tuo compleanno.
[The unfinished thought here being that Polnareff is supposed to be the one getting surprised, not Bruno.]
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[Bruno is sleepy, but suspicious all the same.]
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Vero yourself-- I'm trying to be sweet, and what does my husband do? He gets suspicious.
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Quindi cos'è? Qual è la sorpresa?
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[He crinkles his nose and snuggles back in.]
Dovrei solo dormire.
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