AN: Thanks for all the kind reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying the change in scenery, lol. I know the pace of the story is slow, but for me, I have always taken a long time to fall in love and as I model Machiavelli after my own personality, he's had to endure the slow burn. As always, I'm open to your suggestions! Best, Lilacs and Monarda
Machiavelli checked his watch. "It's been five minutes," he argued, beaming at the other man. "I wanted to give it a few minutes so it wouldn't look suspicious. You don't want Black Hawk finding out, remember?"
"Oh, yeah." Climbing across the bed, Billy leaned against him, putting more and more weight on the Italian immortal until he had to wrap his arms around the Kid's slender frame to keep from dropping him. "Yeah, I've got to figure out how we're going to work that," he mumbled vaguely, but he didn't seem very interested in the topic, at least not at this present moment. Running a hand through Machiavelli's thick hair, he said, "Have I told you how handsome you are with your dark hair?"
"No." And then because he couldn't help himself, "you didn't like me with my white hair?"
"I've liked you from the start," Billy said, sitting down on their bed and bouncing a little. "White hair and all. I like everything about you."
"No pressure," Machiavelli quipped.
"No, not at all," Billy agreed, laughing at him. He yawned, and fell sideways. "I am tired, though, Mac," he told him in a muffled voice.
"Yes, well we do need to go to bed." Beginning to empty his pockets, Machiavelli wondered how he was going to get dressed tonight. He wasn't sure what the boundaries of their new relationship were, exactly. Just when he began to think that perhaps we would go change in the bathroom as he normally did, the outlaw slipped off the bed and came over to him.
"Let me help," he said, beginning to loosen the Italian immortal's tie. "Don't worry," he added. "I'll go slow."
Machiavelli wasn't sure Billy knew the meaning of the word slow. After months of total uncertainty, suddenly he was standing in their shared bedroom and Billy was undoing the buttons of his shirt. He himself undid his belt and the zipper on his pants which let the younger man pull his shirt tails out and consequently, slip the shirt off over his shoulders and drop it down to the ground. Yes, they were still moving too fast, he decided. "Billy, I'm- I'm still not ready to- you know," he stammered.
"I know," Billy agreed. "Just helping you get undressed. No more or less. I like touching you." He flashed another of his wide smiles at Niccolo, who felt a lurch of nerves, and leaning in, captured his lips in another kiss, much more passionate than the tender one they'd shared under the street lamp.
"Billy?" Niccolo said, in a rather husky voice. He coughed into his elbow, trying to clear his voice. "Why do you taste like cinnamon?"
The outlaw blushed a little. "I've eaten a lot of apple pie?"
Machiavelli snorted. "Oh, William…"
"Say that again, but lower and longer," the outlaw told him with a smirk. He pushed the Italian's suit pants down and hooked a few fingers under the elastic of Niccolo's boxers. Bending just slightly, he kissed the pendant around Machiavelli's neck.
Niccolo ran a hand through Billy's hair, tangling his fingers in the Kid's locks. His other hand slipped into the back pocket on his sweatpants. It reminded him of the time in September. Pressing forward, he pushed Billy back onto the bed. The outlaw let him do it, lying down and pulling his body backwards. Niccolo yanked the blankets out from under him and climbed into bed. "Was this all just a cheap ploy to get into bed?" Billy asked him sleepily.
"Kind of. You're falling asleep too. I guess I can't be that exciting."
"It's very exciting," Billy mumbled. "I'm just very tired too."
"That's the problem with you, you're always falling asleep in the middle of me ravishing you," Machiavelli complained.
"Like you apparently did in September?" Billy asked, sleepily watching him. "I can't believe I fell asleep."
"I know. A couple more times like this and I'm going to start developing a complex."
"Hmm." Billy moved over onto his side of the bed, still watching the older immortal. "Okay, so you kissed me back in September and in front of the bookstore. Do you remember," he licked his lips nervously. "Do you remember me kissing you?"
"Outside of those two times?" Machiavelli asked, raising his head off the pillow to look at- his stomach squirmed pleasurably at the thought- his boyfriend. "No, I mean I remember the one in front of the bookstore, Scatty told me about it… She didn't tell me about any other time though.
It was Billy's turn to duck away. "Well, it was the same night as the one in front of the bookstore. You put the idea in my head, I guess. I kissed you on the steps, that night we walked back from the bar. We should go to bars more often, Mac. Apparently, it gets us in the mood."
"But you kissed me?" Machiavelli cut in. "Why didn't Scatty say anything about it?"
"She didn't know… Cause I didn't tell anyone about that." He stretched, yawning. Looking up, he gave a tiny grin, still unsure of himself. "I couldn't help it. You look beautiful in moonlight." His eyes crinkled as he smiled.
"Yes, I do have a certain 'je ne sais qua'," Machiavelli said smoothly. "I won't really believe this is real until I hear you say you love me in the harsh light of day."
Billy laughed. Scooting forward, he wrapped his arms around the Italian's torso. "I'll try to remember that. G'night."
"Buonasera, caro. Te amo."
~MB~
When Machiavelli woke up the next morning, Billy was pressed against him, his head tucked in the crook of the tactician's neck and a hand slipped under his shorts so that it was cupping his ass. He felt self-conscious about it, but electrified. Taking deep, steady breaths, he looked down on the Kid, taking note of the various landmarks and imperfections.
His sweatpants were riding low on his hips, the beginning of his crack showing. Touching Billy's hip lightly, Machiavelli couldn't believe this was reality and that last night hadn't all been a dream. Running his hand over the other man's chest, he could feel the ribs under the muscle.
Billy was stirring. Arching his back like a cat, he clung to Machiavelli even tighter. Machiavelli couldn't help but let out a little squeak. "Mm, Mac."
"Are you enjoying yourself Billy?"
"Just warming my hands," he murmured. Leaning back, he grinned in a goofy, bemused manner, gave him one last squeeze and rolled over. Machiavelli shoved him back onto his side of the bed, but wrapped an arm around his waist. He didn't want to get up. Getting up meant figuring out what everything meant and what they were going to say to the others. Billy was warm and soft and comfortable. "What are you thinking about?" the outlaw asked suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts.
"I'm thinking that I don't want to get out of bed."
"Oh, yeah?" Billy said, sounding interested.
"I didn't quite have that in mind," he backpedaled immediately. "Not that I'm not- not that I don't- Why? Do you want...? Now?" he asked weakly.
Billy sat up, leaning on his haunches over the taller man. "Well, we are dressed for it," he said mischievously. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm only teasing you, Mac. Oh, this is going to be fun, querido."
"You're going to be the death of me," Machiavelli said weakly.
"Nah. I've got to pee though." He could have gone around, but instead he climbed over the Italian who groaned. "I'll be back! Don't go anywhere!"
Machiavelli had no intention of leaving his bed. He sank onto his back, listening to the quiet house. He could hear the snap of the bathroom door as it shut and, listening even closer, heard the clatter of the toilet seat being pushed up. Someone was moving around below them. He listened hard, trying to figure out who it was but gave up. The footsteps were soft- it could be any of them.
He heard Billy coming back. The Kid had pulled his pants back up, which Niccolo found slightly disappointing. "How long do you think we can stay in bed before they get suspicious?" he asked the Italian.
"Maybe another hour," Machiavelli whispered back, glancing at the clock on the wall. "If we're quiet," he added meaningfully.
"I can be quiet," Billy whispered. "Do you really love me, Mac? Really?"
"Yeah. Yes, of course I do. I never thought... never thought you'd feel the same way though."
"Know what you mean." Crawling in beside Machiavelli, Billy bent to kiss him. "Oompfh. Sorry, honey." They'd banged noses.
Machiavelli was laughing. "My fault. I was trying to make it easier for you."
"Make it easier for me to push your nose out through the other side?" he suggested. "I'm going to hold your face now. Make sure you don't move on me again."
The problem with this, they soon figured out, was that Billy had no way of balancing when he took his weight off both of his hands. He lurched forward, and Machiavelli snorted in what he was sure was the most undignified way that Billy had ever heard from him. "We're going to have to soundproof this room if you keep laughing like that," he told the Italian immortal. "We were doing alright last night."
"Maybe because it was dark and we couldn't see each other to screw it all up," Machiavelli suggested innocently.
"You were the one who told me to be quiet and now you're laughing the most," the Kid said accusingly. "Close your eyes."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"You'll find out if you close them."
Machiavelli closed one eye, then reluctantly, the other. He felt the Kid throw a leg over him so that he was straddling his body- every instinct within him wanted to open his eyes, but he resisted- and then Billy's lips were on his.
They kept it up for some time. Billy must have thought I was going to be more passive, Machiavelli decided, assessing the situation despite himself. But he had never been a submissive lover and he wasn't about to start right now. He'd given Billy all of five minutes to kiss him before he flipped the situation, figuratively and literally.
It was only when they heard the rest of the occupants of the house beginning to truly move around that they gave it up, at least temporarily. Rolling out of bed, Machiavelli picked out a shirt and suit combination, while Billy lay in bed, looking very bemused but happy. "Stop that," he told the American, who had slipped a hand under his sweatpants and seemed to be jerking himself off. "We're never going to pull off this charade if you come down hard enough to poke someone's eye out."
"You could take care of my pocket rocket," the outlaw suggested lazily.
"I think not. See you down there." He flashed a smile at the Kid. Opening the door, he saw the muscular form of the Pup run past him, into the room. "Good luck!"
They'd 'slept through' breakfast and were quickly approaching lunchtime. Billy came down shortly after him, sitting next to him at the table. He glanced over at the jazz singer. "Did you end up staying the night?"
"Nah, we headed back to my apartment around 1. Scatty and Nick kept us company for a while though; Mrs. Flamel went to bed shortly after you."
"Is Black Hawk still at the apartment?"
She shook her head. "No, he's out and about. It's Black Friday, you know."
"Black Hawk doesn't go shopping for those ridiculous deals, does he?" Machiavelli said in surprise.
Billy was tapping his cutlery energetically on the table, beating out a Phil Collins song, though the Italian couldn't remember which one it was. He looked up. "Nah, I think he just thrives on the chaos."
"We're going to go out after lunch though, just to get away for a bit," Billie told them. "Want to come?"
The outlaw looked over at Machiavelli. Noticing this, the Italian immortal shook his head ever so slightly. He didn't want to. "Nah," Billy said happily. "No, I think I want to get some more rest this afternoon. But maybe we could do dinner somewhere, tonight."
"I planned on reading my book this afternoon," Machiavelli said, trying to sound offhand.
Scatty was definitely looking at them suspiciously now, but she nodded and left with the others. Machiavelli knew that they should tell her soon, but for now he was too elated at finding himself alone with the American immortal to think about anybody or anything else.
There was something comfortable about knowing that while the rest of the city rushed around them in one grand commercial swoop, in the center of it all, they were happy alone in each other's company.
"Come here," Billy cajoled, having watched the others make their way down the road. "God only knows how long we've got before one of them comes back." Crooking a finger at Niccolo, he enticed him over to the couch.
"You know what we forgot yesterday," Machiavelli murmured, coming closer to him. "We forgot to celebrate your birthday."
Billy huffed. "As far as I'm concerned, I got the best birthday present ever." He raised his eyebrows at the Italian, making the taller immortal laugh. "Give me a kiss."
"We're getting better at this," Machiavelli commented, his lips vibrating over Billy's.
"We'd do even better if someone didn't keep talking through each and every one," the outlaw shot back at him.
"I just have trouble-," Machiavelli caught Billy's lower lip between his, "-stopping my brain entirely. Because I was thinking that we should celebrate-," he moaned, "your birthday properly."
"Sure, Mac," Billy told him impatiently. He pushed him onto the couch and climbed over him, grinning at him saucily. "I've got some ideas on how I'd like to do that."
"I'm serious-."
"Oh, believe me querido, so am I. So am I." Machiavelli had to laugh at this; above him, Billy grinned in embarrassment. "Okay, Mac. Tell me your grand plans that are going to outdo my wildest fantasies."
The Italian shook his head. "Too much pressure."
"Sorry." He didn't look sorry though. Propping himself up on Machiavelli's chest, he gazed down at the Italian with open interest. "I'd be happy doing anything with you."
"Ah, well that does open things up more," Niccolo said with some relief. He ran his hands over Billy's backside experimentally. The Kid didn't object, so he squeezed the back of the immortal's thighs, touching him everywhere he could reach. "I'll- I'll text Scatty later, tell her to pick up a cake for after dinner."
"Chocolate?" Billy asked him hopefully. Sliding off him, he wrapped an arm around Machiavelli's torso, lying next to him on the couch.
"Sure."
"Does what we do make us homosexual?" Machiavelli asked curiously, wrapping an arm around Billy's waist. The word felt strangely heavy on his tongue, knowing that it might refer to himself. He had never thought of himself that way.
"Let's just say, it doesn't hide it."
"Ah, but I'm serious."
Billy shrugged, his shoulder pushing slightly against the Italian's close form. "I, uh, try not to think about it too much, Mac." He angled his face away from the other immortal so that Machiavelli couldn't quite make out his expression.
Machiavelli propped himself up now. "There's nothing wrong with it," he said, sounding rather stern. He softened his voice. "I mean, homosexuality has existed for as long as heterosexuality. I was just wondering if I've changed or if I've always been this person."
The American immortal shrugged again. Machiavelli was beginning to wonder if that was all he was going to do during this conversation, but Billy surprised him by talking first. "I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing to be gay. It's just I've never put a label on myself before and," he paused, "I don't really like labels. I guess what we do might make me gay, but all I know is…"
"What?" Machiavelli asked when it didn't seem like Billy was going to continue.
Billy turned his head so they were looking at each other. "I just like being with you. It feels like something real. I haven't felt that way in a long time. Maybe ever."
The Italian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. He gave a weak chuckle and kissed Billy tenderly before lying down again. "Good. I feel that way too. I guess we're just going to have to figure things out as they come along." Billy hemmed his agreement. They both lay in the quiet, Machiavelli absently interlacing their fingers. "But what are we going to tell the others if they ask?" he asked finally. "When we finally do tell them…"
"I don't know," Billy said quietly. "I guess…" He trailed off and Machiavelli waited. Billy snuggled closer to the tactician. "I guess I'd just say that I love you more than I've ever loved anybody. They're our friends. That should be enough."
Georgette chose to jump up between them then, climbing into the small space made between them; she began to purr loudly, kneading the couch before lying down.
"Guess we're keeping things pc for a little longer," Billy laughed. "Want me to read to you?"
Machiavelli nodded, watching the younger immortal. "That would be nice," he agreed, with a shy smile.
"Let's see. Can't disturb the cat," Billy mumbled. Reaching around them, he fumbled for one of the books on the nearby table. "Can't disturb the baby," he said, louder, lifting his head to blow kisses at the feline. "Okay, Mac, I'll read you the very romantic… Oil? What is this Mac?"
"It's an expose piece on the oil industry in turn of the century…"
"Not that book," Billy decided, cutting him off. "There's got to be something better." Fumbling, he grabbed two of the other books that were stacked on the table. "Okay, come on," he complained. "Who the fuck is reading 'Birds of New England'?"
"What's the other book?"
Billy turned it over in his hands. He laughed, a funny squawk. "Sorry, sorry," he said hastily. "But this is the least romantic out of all of them. 'Then End of Alice.' Have you read it?" Machiavelli shook his head, wonderingly. "Okay, then. I'll read you this one."
