"Ugh, my feet ache," Machiavelli sighed, dropping onto the cushion next to Billy.

It was nearly midnight. They'd just gotten back from dropping Lady Day off at her apartment, the outlaw having insisted that he bring her back. She fought the immortal on it, wanting to walk back herself, but he prevailed in the end. Privately, Machiavelli agreed with Billy's choice. While they all were relatively protected by their immortality, he didn't like the idea of the jazz singer walking through some of the nastier parts of town to get to her apartment. Halfway there, though, he had regretted coming along for the ride.

"Take your shoes off," Billy suggested, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He yawned. "And to think that only," he checked his phone, "nineteen hours ago, we were asleep."

"Take me to bed, Billy," Machiavelli mumbled, not thinking about what he'd said until it was already out there. "I mean," he fumbled with the words. "I think I'm going to go to bed. Are you staying up?"

"Absolutely not," the Kid said, sliding off of the couch. He yawned again, provoking a similar response in his Italian friend. "God, I feel drunk off my ass right now."

"They say that sleep deprivation has the same effect on the body as consuming enough alcohol to be considered legally drunk," Machiavelli commented. He felt some of the wind leave his sail when he looked at the next flight of stairs they had to climb. "What's on this floor, anyways?"

"There's the store room, mostly. I don't think it was supposed to be a storage area, it just kind evolved to be that." Billy flopped on their bed as soon as they got in the room. "I was thinking, we can make it into a bedroom for you."

"Sure," Niccolò agreed, trying to sound like he was excited by the prospect of having his own bedroom. He nudged Billy. The outlaw groaned, but remained face down on the bed. Machiavelli began to change into nightclothes. "Billy." The Kid ignored him, and Machiavelli began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep already. "Billy?"

"Whassup?" The American immortal asked finally, looking up at him.

Machiavelli snapped the elastic on his flannel pants. "Aren't you going to change out of your day clothes?"

"No, I think I'm just going to stay like this until I die," Billy mumbled blissfully.

"That doesn't seem very comfortable."

"Hmm…"

Machiavelli thought that Billy really was planning on staying in those clothes for a minute, as the American immortal just stayed there. Then, with surprising agility, the Kid rolled over on his back. With far more wriggling than Machiavelli thought was necessary, he opened is belt and pants and pushed them down to his ankles, then kicked them off. He sat up and pulled not only his sweater off, but also the Aerosmith shirt underneath as well. "Good enough," he said happily.

Machiavelli realized that he was starting at Billy's midriff for longer than what was socially acceptable among friends and hurriedly focused his gaze upwards instead. The Kid didn't seem to notice Niccolò's prolonged glance at any rate; sleep deprivation was apparently catching up to him quickly.

"God, I'm tired," Billy yawned. He pulled his phone and wallet out of his pants pockets and threw them in the hamper. "Billie's a lot of fun, but she doesn't have the same limits that we mere immortals have," he joked.

Machiavelli grinned at that. He carefully pulled back the covers to get into bed, finally finding the sheet. He slid in, shivering with pleasurable goosebumps as the cool cotton hit his skin. "Today was fun," he agreed. "Let's just hope she doesn't show up at the same time tomorrow."

"Mm hm," Billy conceded. A funny thought struck him and he began to giggle, almost a little madly. "Do you realize we've been awake almost a whole day?" He kept on laughing, almost doubled over with mirth.

Machiavelli began to laugh too, not because the outlaw had said anything remotely funny, but because of the Kid's reaction to it all. Besides, almost everything seemed funny at this hour; he suspected that they were both a little punch drunk between waking up really early and walking around all day. Feeling a little reckless himself, he took a big risk. "I really do love you, Billy."

The outlaw cracked a grin, his eyes still shut. "I love you too, Mac. You're my absolute favorite."

"Do you really think those girls were checking me out?"

"I think women all over the place are checking you out." Machiavelli punched him on the shoulder and Billy snorted. Opening his green-blue eyes again, Billy sparkled before him. "They were, they were."

"Because I'm sexy?" Machiavelli huffed. Even the words felt foreign on his tongue. But his question elicited an even bigger smile from Billy, who nodded into his pillow.

"You are a very handsome man, Mac."

Then why don't you love me? Machiavelli thought desperately. That's not really fair though, you're both men, he chastised himself. Out loud he said, "You're not bad looking yourself, William."

"Aw, shucks." Billy turned the light off. There was a brief interlude of silence. Then, "Are you cold too?"

"A little," Machiavelli admitted, snuggling lower into the blankets. "Tonight's unusually cold. "Want me to get another blanket?"

"We don't have another one clean."

"Oh."

"We'll have to get another one. Some warmer bedclothes. Clean the one we already had," Billy chattered. "I could go down and turn up the thermostat if you want. It must be set pretty low."

"Nah, va bene. You'd freeze on your way down there. You wouldn't be nearly so bad off if you'd put on pajamas," he chided him.

"Snuggle with me."

"What?"

"Snuggle with me," Billy repeated. He opened his eyes wide. "We're closer than normal friends; it'd be okay."

"Billy, I don't think we're…" But the American immortal was already burrowing into their shared space and Machiavelli had to admit that it was warmer with Billy's arm draped over his shoulders. He sighed, letting himself pretend just for a minute that he was small again and that there wasn't anything weird about this interaction. He wished for the first time, that his transformation had been permanent. It was easier to love Billy back when he'd been small.

"You're thinking too much," Billy mumbled in his ear. "Stop that."

"Can't help it." Machiavelli was still trying to figure out how he felt about this situation. He wasn't aroused by the close contact between them, he decided, which was somewhat surprising because just the other day he'd had a bodily response to watching the Kid roll up his shirt sleeves. And yet now, even with Billy's seminude body beside him, he felt only a rush of affection for the outlaw. That's alright, he felt.

"I haven't had a friend in many years," he told Billy, feeling compelled to explain himself. "You're going to have to tell me if I do something wrong."

"You're not going to do anything wrong."

"How can you know that for certain?"

Billy exhaled, his fingers curling around Machiavelli's. "Cause I love you, Mac. Loads."

~MB~

It was one thing for the two immortals to fall asleep like that when they were massively sleep deprived; it was another thing to wake up the next morning, tangled in each other's limbs. "We've got to set up your bedroom before I do anything inappropriate to you," Billy joked, rolling over to his side of the bed.

Machiavelli shivered with the sudden intrusion of cold air and licked his lips. They felt somewhat dried out after sleeping with his mouth open the night before. He raised his head lethargically. "We were cold," he said defensively.

"Cold? In some states, we're legally married," Billy joked. He rolled off the bed. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Good, you stink." Niccolò snagged his pillow and settled in to get some last minute slumber. He rubbed lazily at his midriff. He was asleep again before Billy had even finished his shower, and thus unaware that the Kid sat by his side for an hour afterwards, deep in thought.