Si mangia bene tutti i giorni. Sarà il cibo italiano e francese. Ti bacerò tutto il tempo e dirò che sei bello, almeno una volta al giorno.
[He pauses, starting to doodle little patterns on Polnareff's back with his finger.]
Ti farò ascoltare i rock and roll record come forte come si desidera. E ti lascerò dormire nel più tardi come si desidera. [Bruno sighs again, fingers stilling on Polnareff's back.] Sarete viziati.
Now there's a speech you're gonna have to translate for me later.
[He picked up at least half of it, though, and very much enjoyed those bits he did understand. Polnareff squirms, arching his back in a silent attempt to get Bruno's fingers to resume their teasing.]
If you're going to speak Italian, [he says patiently, looking down at what little he can see of his boyfriend,] you're going to get misunderstood. Yelling at me won't help.
[And with that, Bruno rolls over. Which is to say, he only turns his back on Polnareff. He does not actually make any attempt to get further away. This spot happens to be the warmest spot in the bed, so why would he?]
[He can't yank him any closer, but he can disrupt him. With one quick movement he yanks Bruno to the side, rolling them both until his boyfriend is lying on his back atop him, still held close.]
[Oh, no. He's on his side. There's very nearly no hope at all once Bruno is on his side; that means he means business, and is fully intent on sleeping. Possibly while perched atop Polnareff.]
Buon compleanno, [he says, very matter-of-fact and as though there's no connection between Polnareff's birthday and Bruno going to sleep.] Sei dopo il vostro regalo, non è vero?
[Bruno huffs a little, shifting to sit up just enough so he can look at Polnareff.]
Posso durare più di trenta minuti...
[Despite the fact he's starting to look sleepy and keeping his eyes halfway open is turning into a struggle. He settles back in on Polnareff, nuzzling his chest a little.]
[Yeah, all right. Sure, Jan. They'll just see if he lasts more than half an hour, but Polnareff is willing to bet he's got a pretty good read on his boyfriend's sleeping habits by now.]
I'm hot and you're cute when you get affectionate like this. Are you going to just bury yourself on top of me?
[ . . . There was more to it than that. Something along the lines of refusing to share and the reasons why, but it's hazy enough that that's about as far as Bruno gets. He's confident that's all he needs anyway. Or would be if he was a little more cognizant of no being the only thing he's said.]
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That wasn't an answer, sweetness. I'll show you plenty of gratitude our wedding night, don't you worry.
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Non si preoccupi. Sarò buono con te. [He nuzzles Polnareff's chest a little.] Sarò il miglior marito.
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[He kisses the top of his head again, smiling, and adds:]
Tell me how.
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[He pauses, starting to doodle little patterns on Polnareff's back with his finger.]
Ti farò ascoltare i rock and roll record come forte come si desidera. E ti lascerò dormire nel più tardi come si desidera. [Bruno sighs again, fingers stilling on Polnareff's back.] Sarete viziati.
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[He picked up at least half of it, though, and very much enjoyed those bits he did understand. Polnareff squirms, arching his back in a silent attempt to get Bruno's fingers to resume their teasing.]
Would you let me help in the kitchen?
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A volte.
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[Exasperation makes every word nearly its own sentence, non standing out the most out of the bunch.]
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Buona notte ti amo.
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[He can't yank him any closer, but he can disrupt him. With one quick movement he yanks Bruno to the side, rolling them both until his boyfriend is lying on his back atop him, still held close.]
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It's my birthday.
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[He pouts. Bruno can't see it, but it's a very good pout.]
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Che ore sono?
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So like another half hour.
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Posso durare più di trenta minuti...
[Despite the fact he's starting to look sleepy and keeping his eyes halfway open is turning into a struggle. He settles back in on Polnareff, nuzzling his chest a little.]
Sei caldo.
[How is this thought connected? Who can say?]
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I'm hot and you're cute when you get affectionate like this. Are you going to just bury yourself on top of me?
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Vivrò solo qui.
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[ . . . There was more to it than that. Something along the lines of refusing to share and the reasons why, but it's hazy enough that that's about as far as Bruno gets. He's confident that's all he needs anyway. Or would be if he was a little more cognizant of no being the only thing he's said.]