[Here's something nobody tells you about being a gangster: it's a long fucking day of work.
Nobody says that when they hire you. Nobody had took him aside at age twelve and told him quietly that the hours were long and there were no benefits, and incidentally if you mouth off at your boss you're going to get a lot more to deal with than a strongly worded note. He would have liked to have known all that. It might not have changed anything, but he still would have liked to know.
At least the pay is good. That's true, though it isn't as good as, perhaps, he'd been led to believe. But it's good enough to afford one half of a rather large apartment downtown, two bedrooms and a fantastically huge kitchen. It's enough that he can have a dog, a fat little thing of indeterminate breed that he loves almost as much as he loves the other person who lives in that apartment. It's enough they eat well every night, and that's something both he and Bruno don't take lightly, not after the lives they've led.
And after he's done-- once all the stores they're protecting have been checked in on, once he's spoken to whatever people he has to, once he's cleaned himself of the blood and wiped down his gun-- he gets this. He gets to climb up the shitty wooden stairs and duck past two landings in order to reach the familiar red door. He gets to come home, and that's worth a hell of a lot.
He doesn't shout. He's very careful about that, ever since he'd learned Bruno has a habit of bringing home . . . call them guests. But he's very enthusiastic as he closes the door behind him and looks around for his absolutely-not-lover, what are you talking about, there's no lovers here, there's just two best friends, look, they even have a second bedroom.]
[It is not Bruno who responds to his name first. Rather it is the previously mentioned fat little dog that abruptly makes her appearance out of the kitchen, pausing just for a brief second before barking and bounding over in wiggling and bouncing excitement. It's difficult for her to make up her mind whether to lead him to Bruno or to stay and try to soak in attention. Fortunately Bruno removes some of the challenge by at least coming to the doorway of the kitchen. He has a little bit of a sleepy look in his eyes, having spent time catching up with changes in the books. He's let Fugo do most of the heavy-lifting on that end since he came to live with them — he has a much better sense for numbers than Bruno ever has — but he'd rather not be left out of the loop or rely purely on a verbal report. He's the one who will ultimately be held accountable, anyway.]
[Bruno leans, or rather sags against, the doorframe of the kitchen, rubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of one of his hands. He blinks the sleepiness away.]
You're home a little early.
[Or at least it seems like he is. He's really not sure how much time he's spent looking things over, so he actually has no idea what time it is right now. How Fugo is so ready and willing to lose time in those books is honestly beyond Bruno.]
[Emma gets scritches, first and foremost, a firm scrubbing behind her ears that has her wuffing her approval. But it's Bruno who has his full attention: Polnareff glances up with a grin the second his boyfriend comes in the room, his eyes lighting up.]
Not that early.
[Bruno isn't prone to napping, as a rule, but he supposes there's a first time for everything. Polnareff pinches one of Emma's ears and straightens up, coming to a halt a few feet away from Bruno.]
You just wake up?
[His hands are itching to touch, but Polnareff shoves them in his pockets instead.]
[Bruno shakes his head a little, though it's a little tomayto, tomahto given that with enough time, he probably could have just put his head down and it would have been lights out.]
[He glances down at Emma, who is, of course, following close behind Polnareff. Just in case there's a chance for more scritches. One can never be sure.]
I was just going over the books while the boys are out.
[Good, and out come his hands, one slinging around Bruno's hips to tug him in close. With a little sigh he kisses the top of his head, pleased at the chance to do so.
It isn't that he can't when Giorno and Fugo are around. It isn't as though it's some big secret. But it also isn't something any of them really discuss, and it's just-- it's easier to pour affection on Bruno when they're alone.]
[When he's pulled close, Bruno slips his hands under Polnareff's jacket at his waist, fingers curling slightly into the material of his vest. He hums wryly in response to the question. If only he was actually done. But Polnareff is home and they are alone right now, so the books can wait.]
Is that really how you're going to kiss me after not seeing me all day?
[He grins. He's normally quite happy to give into Bruno's quietly worded questions-that-are-truly-commands, bossy thing that he is, but there's fun to be had in teasing. So Polnareff steps forward deliberately, pushing them both back until he's got Bruno with his back pressed firmly to the wall. Both his arms brace against the wall, keeping his boyfriend trapped.
He presses their foreheads together. And he murmurs, very quietly:]
[Bruno's pinned back against the wall and he starts to grin. Naturally, he likes it when Polnareff does what he says, but he likes this, too. He might even like it a little more than when he does as he's told.]
I miss you the second I walk out that door. It just gets worse the longer I'm away.
[Oh, that's disgusting, and it's debateable whether or not he's trying to be entirely serious. But there is a note of sincerity there, hidden beneath the teasing.]
That isn't answering the question. Tell me how, darling.
[Bruno rolls his eyes at the schmaltzy comment. Even if there is that note of sincerity and he can hear it, that's nothing that can really tone down the cheesiness of it.]
I am. I want you to kiss me like that's how you actually miss me. And if I'm not breathless by the end of it, I'm going to be disappointed.
Oh, well, god forbid he be displeased for a single second of the day!
[He'd normally cut himself off and dart in, but not this time. If it's breathlessness Bruno wants, it's what he'll get, and that means taking a more careful approach. Polnareff leans down, bumping their noses together, and murmurs:]
Close your eyes, sweet.
[Only when Bruno obeys does Polnareff continue: a hot exhale of breath, followed by the barest of kisses. It's just a slight brushing of their lips, and then he's pulling back. Before Bruno can protest, he kisses him again: just a touch more firmly, staying just a little longer. And so on, again and again, until finally he stops teasing them both and kisses him: hard, hungrily, his fingers skimming down his torso, teasing idle patterns.]
[He does almost start to complain at that first kiss. It's nowhere near enough, and certainly not what he was asking for. But Polnareff keeps him from complaining with a follow-up. And then there's another and another, and Bruno starts to get where this is headed very quickly. He smiles and melts into the kisses, pressing himself against Polnareff until they come to an end when he leans that short distance back against the wall.]
[He licks his lips as he starts to catch his breath before opening his eyes.]
[God, but he looks good just kissed. He looks good all the time, of course, but there's something fantastic about the way his mouth looks all reddened . . . and it's not as if Polnareff can look all the time. So best to get his fill right now.]
[He emphasizes the word with relish, his fingers skating just above Bruno's belt. Does he dare tug his shirt out and rumple him up completely? Ah, but not yet. If his boyfriend wants to be breathless (and Polnareff takes that as a challenge for the entire night, not just right now), he has to be seduced. He has to go slow about it. He has to tease, and build up to it, and drive them both so crazy that it's breathlessly, dizzyingly satisfying when they finally fuck.
He's not always good at being that patient. But he can be, sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself.]
I can think of a few things to end the time with. But first, darling mine-- [He slips his hands lower, gripping Bruno's hips and tugging him forward.] -- I think you should come sit in my lap and talk to me. Sound good?
[It is a little bit of a surprise, even when Polnareff pulls Bruno closer by the hips, that that's his answer. Patience is hardly Polnareff's forte, and the house is rarely empty. It appears he's in a teasing mood then. He leans up and kisses Polnareff again with a smile. Bruno's not about to complain.]
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it's 192x and we're celebrating
Nobody says that when they hire you. Nobody had took him aside at age twelve and told him quietly that the hours were long and there were no benefits, and incidentally if you mouth off at your boss you're going to get a lot more to deal with than a strongly worded note. He would have liked to have known all that. It might not have changed anything, but he still would have liked to know.
At least the pay is good. That's true, though it isn't as good as, perhaps, he'd been led to believe. But it's good enough to afford one half of a rather large apartment downtown, two bedrooms and a fantastically huge kitchen. It's enough that he can have a dog, a fat little thing of indeterminate breed that he loves almost as much as he loves the other person who lives in that apartment. It's enough they eat well every night, and that's something both he and Bruno don't take lightly, not after the lives they've led.
And after he's done-- once all the stores they're protecting have been checked in on, once he's spoken to whatever people he has to, once he's cleaned himself of the blood and wiped down his gun-- he gets this. He gets to climb up the shitty wooden stairs and duck past two landings in order to reach the familiar red door. He gets to come home, and that's worth a hell of a lot.
He doesn't shout. He's very careful about that, ever since he'd learned Bruno has a habit of bringing home . . . call them guests. But he's very enthusiastic as he closes the door behind him and looks around for his absolutely-not-lover, what are you talking about, there's no lovers here, there's just two best friends, look, they even have a second bedroom.]
Bruno?
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[Bruno leans, or rather sags against, the doorframe of the kitchen, rubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of one of his hands. He blinks the sleepiness away.]
You're home a little early.
[Or at least it seems like he is. He's really not sure how much time he's spent looking things over, so he actually has no idea what time it is right now. How Fugo is so ready and willing to lose time in those books is honestly beyond Bruno.]
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Not that early.
[Bruno isn't prone to napping, as a rule, but he supposes there's a first time for everything. Polnareff pinches one of Emma's ears and straightens up, coming to a halt a few feet away from Bruno.]
You just wake up?
[His hands are itching to touch, but Polnareff shoves them in his pockets instead.]
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[He glances down at Emma, who is, of course, following close behind Polnareff. Just in case there's a chance for more scritches. One can never be sure.]
I was just going over the books while the boys are out.
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[Good, and out come his hands, one slinging around Bruno's hips to tug him in close. With a little sigh he kisses the top of his head, pleased at the chance to do so.
It isn't that he can't when Giorno and Fugo are around. It isn't as though it's some big secret. But it also isn't something any of them really discuss, and it's just-- it's easier to pour affection on Bruno when they're alone.]
Mm. And now you're done with the books, right?
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Is that really how you're going to kiss me after not seeing me all day?
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He presses their foreheads together. And he murmurs, very quietly:]
How do you want me to kiss you?
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You missed me, right?
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[Oh, that's disgusting, and it's debateable whether or not he's trying to be entirely serious. But there is a note of sincerity there, hidden beneath the teasing.]
That isn't answering the question. Tell me how, darling.
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I am. I want you to kiss me like that's how you actually miss me. And if I'm not breathless by the end of it, I'm going to be disappointed.
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[He'd normally cut himself off and dart in, but not this time. If it's breathlessness Bruno wants, it's what he'll get, and that means taking a more careful approach. Polnareff leans down, bumping their noses together, and murmurs:]
Close your eyes, sweet.
[Only when Bruno obeys does Polnareff continue: a hot exhale of breath, followed by the barest of kisses. It's just a slight brushing of their lips, and then he's pulling back. Before Bruno can protest, he kisses him again: just a touch more firmly, staying just a little longer. And so on, again and again, until finally he stops teasing them both and kisses him: hard, hungrily, his fingers skimming down his torso, teasing idle patterns.]
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[He licks his lips as he starts to catch his breath before opening his eyes.]
That's more like it.
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[God, but he looks good just kissed. He looks good all the time, of course, but there's something fantastic about the way his mouth looks all reddened . . . and it's not as if Polnareff can look all the time. So best to get his fill right now.]
Tell me you missed me too.
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[Bruno leans up, pressing quick, successive kisses to Polnareff's lips before settling back down.]
I'd much rather spend all day looking at you than going back and forth between the dog and the books.
[Polnareff teases by being over the top. Bruno teases by downplaying. Somewhere in the middle, there's always the truth.]
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[He interrupts himself for a kiss, this one shorter and sweeter than before.]
--see, shit like that is how I remember you love me. I'd rather look at you than the dog, he tells me, that's how you know it's true love--
[Polnareff leans in, nuzzling against him, pressing idle kisses to his lips.]
Mm. How long do we have the house alone?
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Knowing Giorno? Probably a couple more hours. [He tips his head to one side.] So, how should we spend the time?
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[He emphasizes the word with relish, his fingers skating just above Bruno's belt. Does he dare tug his shirt out and rumple him up completely? Ah, but not yet. If his boyfriend wants to be breathless (and Polnareff takes that as a challenge for the entire night, not just right now), he has to be seduced. He has to go slow about it. He has to tease, and build up to it, and drive them both so crazy that it's breathlessly, dizzyingly satisfying when they finally fuck.
He's not always good at being that patient. But he can be, sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself.]
I can think of a few things to end the time with. But first, darling mine-- [He slips his hands lower, gripping Bruno's hips and tugging him forward.] -- I think you should come sit in my lap and talk to me. Sound good?
no subject
Mm, it sounds perfect.