They had been in the city for three days when Langston brought them out to the Civil War Museum. Their group had now grown to the point where it was no longer comfortable for them to travel in the one rental car, so Billy, Machiavelli, and Black Hawk followed closely behind the other three who had taken Langston's 1932 Cadillac de Ville. Machiavelli was beginning to wonder what was it with American immortals and their old cars.
"That car makes your car look practically modern," Machiavelli said, leaning forward to talk to the immortals in the front seat.
"I may have instilled in Langston a taste for old cars," Billy said, turning slightly so they could talk. Next to him, Black Hawk snorted. "Look what a great car it is though," he continued as though the Native American hadn't interrupted at all.
Machiavelli nodded enthusiastically; he'd appreciated the Fleetwood at length and would have liked to have continued talking with the poet about the restoration. He suspected that despite Langston's car being older, it would be much warmer in these winter months than Billy's Thunderbird, though he was careful to keep this opinion to himself.
He was almost surprised to find that there were still people- lots of people, in fact- out visiting the battlefields when they got there. It wasn't just rangers either- there were a ton of tourists milling around on the paths. He supposed the warmer climate helped contribute, but still… this was almost ridiculous, he reflected.
Now here they were, Black Hawk trying to find a parking spot, while the other immortals waited on a stone wall not far from the lot. Some guy in a minivan tried to cut the Native American immortal off, perhaps thinking that a far more tolerant individual was driving this rental car, but with a deathly squeal of tires, their man behind the wheel asserted his dominance. When at last they pulled in between two overly large trucks, they joined the others, making a very odd group. Machiavelli could almost feel the eyes of others upon them and he could see why the Kansas natives might be a little disconcerted, even if he disagreed with the sentiment. They were now a group comprised of two Native Americans, an older white woman, a middle aged black man, and two young white men.
"They're staring at us," he murmured to Perenelle as they joined a tour group.
"Maybe they're looking at you because you're so well dressed," she suggested with the hint of a smile. "You're a little more formal than most would be, at a park dedicated to a historical battle…"
"Hm, I'm casually dressed," he protested.
"Casually, for you, perhaps," Billy said on his other side. He hadn't realized the others were listening.
"Well, maybe Americans should raise their standards again," he said defensively. In Europe, he would have bended in with the masses, but here among the jeans and leggings clad crowd, he stood out like a rose among the daisies. He shivered. "I'm cold," he told the Kid.
"Sorry, honey." Billy patted his pockets and pulled out- miraculously- a pair of extra gloves. "Here you go. And take my scarf."
"I can't-," Machiavelli protested, but Billy interrupted him.
"Course you can. Because you're going to."
Not wanting to raise a racket, he accepted the scarf with quiet thanks. They'd walked probably half a mile before he realized that he'd listened to nothing that the tour guide had said. 'I shoud pay more attention,' he thought guiltily.
Next to him, Billy squeezed his elbow just slightly. "Bored?" he whispered.
"Just thinking about other things… does it show?" he breathed back. They fell a little behind the group.
"Nah, I just know you pretty well by now. Could see that you were distracted." He motioned towards the tour group. "I've been observing that little girl. She knows more than the guide. Did you notice? She's been spouting off facts since we started.
"I haven't heard anything that anybody has said, to be honest," the tactician confessed.
Billy laughed a little and shrugged. "That's fine. We're mostly scoping out the land for tonight," he said, lowering his voice even more.
They joined another tour group when theirs came to an end, most people and the guide drifting off towards a small gift shop near the front gate. Perenelle wanted them completely familiar with the grounds as they were going to be walking around them, off the pathways and in relative darkness tonight.
When the park finally closed, they left, pretending to drive away towards the interstate. In actuality, they parked at a little diner down the road, ordered dinner, and then sat drinking coffee while they waited for darkness to fall. Being winter, it didn't take long for it to grow dark overhead; Perenelle cautioned them against moving too soon though. They still had to wait for all of the rangers to head for home. Still, they felt they had a pretty good chance of the park being deserted soon- the holidays were quickly approaching.
Billy had given him the task of eliciting present ideas from Perenelle and Fred, who both were apparently hard to shop for. He had used the afternoon to work on this, with little success. They kept getting off topic and he was at least partially to blame for this; he had allowed the French immortal to draw him into a discussion of 16th century French politics which Fred had politely listened to; in retrospect, Machiavelli understood that the Chickasaw man couldn't have had much to add to a discussion of something which had happened some three hundred years before he had been born. So he'd accomplished very little.
The Kid didn't seem to mind too much. He held Machiavelli's hand under the table, the bulk of their jackets hiding their hands from sight. Billy surprised him by wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders after the dinner plates had been cleared away.
An hour and a half later, they finally left the diner again, heading back in the direction they'd come. Above them, a skift of snow fell to the ground, dropping to the earth and fading practically unseen. They stopped by the gate, which Billy and Black Hawk pushed out of their way, using their aura before driving the cars back into the parking lot. They parked these out of sight from the road. Machiavelli and Langston were left behind to put the gates back into place. They walked back to where the others were waiting.
"You seem fairly close," Langston said to Machiavelli quietly, his eyes following Billy.
"I suppose you could say we are," Niccolo confessed lightly. Under his feet, dry leaves crackled. The ground was slowly being covered by a frigid layer of grue, cold seeping through the soles of Machiavelli's shoes and into his feet. He was beginning to wish that he had thought to wear thicker socks, or perhaps even to pack boots. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be snow down this south; even in Philadelphia, the snow they'd gotten hadn't stayed long.
Langston coughed now, rubbing at his chest. "Black Hawk was telling me a bit about your situation from the summer. What a weird world we live in."
"Billy took good care of me. I…"
The poet waited but Machiavelli didn't know what to say, so he broke in. "Yeah, he surprises you. I didn't believe him, the first time he told me who he really was, you know? Cause he didn't act like the Kid that I had grown up hearing about."
Machiavelli nodded, knowing the feeling.
They followed Perenelle out into the fields, stepping behind a copse of trees to shield them for what they were going to do next. The Frenchwoman conjured up her aura- the white gray light lighting up the sky above them- and let the spirits begin to appear around them. With the snow falling steadily now, it was almost hard to distinguish the spirits from the snow.
"What's our plan, boss?" Langston asked the French immortal, all of the men deferring to her automatically.
"Let's stick together tonight. There are a lot of them, aren't there," she said, almost despairingly. We're looking for the men who served with Billy's father or better yet, his father. Look for flags from New York units…"
Machiavelli's legs were really beginning to ache hours later. They'd talked to soldiers on both sides, with some result but not enough to give them definitive next steps. By now, they'd been walking for hours and he was beginning to think longingly of their cozy hotel room and a shower. He didn't want to be the one to say anything though, even if it did seem they'd found out everything they were going to…
"Billy," Fred called from Machiavelli's other side. "It's really starting to snow. What do you want to do?"
They were all looking at the outlaw. He shifted uneasily, looking around at the group. Machiavelli knew that Billy didn't actually enjoy being the center of attention, despite what it might initially seem. "We can go back to the hotel guys."
They all breathed a sigh of relief. Billy, who had been looking miserable and tired, cracked a smile at this. "I'll catch up with you, though, okay? I'd just like to walk around a bit more."
"Billy, we've been everywhere," Black Hawk said sharply.
"I know. I just want to look around a bit more, you know? You guys don't have to wait for me. I can take the rental back."
"We can't just leave you out here alone."
Billy looked back at Black Hawk, looking a little dazed. "Nah, really, I'll be fine."
Black Hawk looked like he was going to argue, but Machiavelli stepped forward. "No offense meant," he said carefully to the Native American, "but I prefer to drive with Billy. If it's okay with him, I think I'll wait until he's ready to come back."
"Alright, well maybe you can talk some sense into him…" Black Hawk smacked him on the shoulder in what Niccolo thought was meant to be a friendly gesture. "Don't let him stay out here too long," Black Hawk said in a low voice.
Machiavelli nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. "We'll be back soon, I hope."
Billy was wandering away from them and Machiavelli waved slightly before hastening to catch up with the outlaw. He fell in step with the younger immortal, neither of them speaking, but traveling softly over the ground with only the slight crunch of snow beneath their feet to mark their progress. As the darkness closed in around them and obscured the other immortals from their sight, Machiavelli took his arm. He looked over at Billy and closed his mouth again. Billy, seeming to sense the question on his lips, looked back at him. "I'm okay, Mac. Little bit sad. That's all."
"I don't want you to be sad."
The Kid laughed a little, the sound hollow in the night. "Sometimes I will be sad, you know."
"I know. But I love you so, I just want you to always be happy."
"You make me happy, Mac. Really you do."
They went another fifty feet in silence. "William?" Machiavelli asked at last, a bit tentatively as he was starting to get cold. "Where are we going exactly?"
"Oh, I was just wandering a bit… Are you cold?"
"No…"
"You are," Billy said accusingly. "Oh, Mac, why didn't you say anything?" Too cold to truly argue, Machiavelli shrugged, yanking at the collar of his coat to try to get it as far up as he could. "Let's go back to the car now, querido. I'll warm you up."
"Going to turn on the heat?"
Billy actually snickered at this. "Yeah, sure. Come on, handsome." He took a firmer hold of the Italian's arm. "Just one more thing to do before we go…" He led the man over to the side of the path where dry dead leaves had gathered. "This will be fun. Leaves are meant to be kicked up in the air."
Machiavelli hesitated, stepping carefully into the leaves. "Are you sure? We're awfully old for this kind of behavior."
"No, we aren't. We're the perfect age for this kind of behavior." Billy kicked the leaves higher. "I only learned how much fun this was when I was about a hundred years old."
Machiavelli did some quick calculations in his head. "A hundred years... would that be when you met that girl they thought you'd marry?" he asked, but quietly and the Kid apparently didn't hear him. He felt a twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach and he strove to quash that feeling before it became something bigger. To please Billy, he kicked the leaves up himself. To his surprise, it filled him with a fluttery feeling.
"Now you're getting into it," Billy called happily. The American grabbed the taller man's arm and held him close. "Isn't it fun?"
Machiavelli smiled softly. In that moment, he was able to put away his jealousy entirely, secure in his knowledge that Billy's past relationships were in the past for the younger man. He dragged his legs through the leaves, looking behind him to see the trail they'd made. "It is fun," he agreed. "Si effettua la semplice bella."
Billy blushed and looked up at the dark sky. "Nah, I just know how to have a good time, is all." He pulled his coat close around him and changed the subject. Machiavelli noticed once again that the American didn't seem to be able to take too much affection full on. Billy shivered too. "Enough fooling around, Mac," he said glancing back at the tall immortal. "Even I'm cold now."
"Good. I'm cold. Why should I suffer alone?"
"I told you to put a heavier coat on," Billy told the Italian.
Machiavelli rubbed his hands together as they came back from their walk. He shivered. "It wasn't this cold when we left. I think it's getting colder," he told the American.
Billy walked so close to him that they touched shoulders every few steps. "You've never spent time in a colder climate, huh? Want my coat?"
Machiavelli shook his head. "You'll get cold," he murmured. "Besides, we're almost home." He pointed to their rental car, the last in the parking lot, about 100 yards ahead of them
"Well, we can share some warmth at least." Billy opened his coat up and wrapped one side around the slender Italian. The European slipped his arm under the coat and behind the American's back so that they both covered as much as they possibly could. Billy chuckled beside him.
"What's funny?"
Billy squirmed a little as they walked. "You're tickling me," he gasped. Machiavelli wanted to explore this new knowledge, but was too cold to seriously pursue it. He was more intent on making his way back to their car instead. He filed it away for later.
~MB~
Billy pulled over on a dirt side road. Machiavelli looked at him, probably wondering why they'd stopped in the middle of nowhere. "Is the car out of gas?" the Italian immortal asked and despite how lousy he was feeling, Billy couldn't help but laugh a little at the desperate tone in Mac's voice.
"No, we've got plenty of gas. I just wanted a moment with you, before we get back to the city. To the others," he clarified. Feeling a little flustered, he rubbed roughly at the back of his neck.
"Ah, well, I'd like that too." Niccolo's soft Italian accent still had the power to send goosebumps up Billy's arms.
"I'm sorry, Mac," he found himself saying.
Machiavelli looked over at him, surprised. "For what?"
"For not telling the others about us. I know you say it doesn't bother you, but I feel bad. It's not like I'm ashamed of you," he said quickly. He hesitated. "It's me."
"I'm not worried about it," the tactician assured him. "I'm a little nervous myself, about the others knowing…"
"Hmm…" Billy didn't know what to say next. He looked up through the moon roof of their rental car. "Look at all the stars, Mac."
"They're beautiful."
"Like you," Billy said, faltering just slightly, but sure enough of what he was saying to keep going. "I think you're just gorgeous."
"Me?" Machiavelli laughed. He looked back down at Billy, making his heart skip a beat. Machiavelli's smile shone even in the darkness. "Nobody has ever called me gorgeous… Me?" he asked again.
"Oh god, yeah," Billy said earnestly. "I've never met a more handsome man."
"You've got to be teasing me.
"I would never," Billy said solemnly. He could see Niccolo smiling at him in the darkness and for a moment, it felt like his heart was beating so loud that surely the other man could hear it. His stomach flipped over. It felt like riding a rollercoaster. "Want to kiss?"
Niccolo nodded. Leaning over, he paused. Feeling rather like a fish out of water, Billy cradled his face slightly and gave him a tender kiss. Resting his nose against Machiavelli's, he kissed him over and over again. He opened his mouth and felt the Italian immortal's tongue exploring against his.
"Want to do more?" Billy asked huskily. "Yeah? Yeah! How- how about in the backseat?"
"Si, absolutely."
Billy turned off the car. All the lights lit up again, casting them into a sudden brightness. Getting out, they both moved to the back seat. "Are the lights ever going to turn off, you think?" Machiavelli asked nervously. "We're pretty obvious out here."
"Like a pair of sitting ducks," Billy agreed. "I think they will turn off… now," Billy said as they were plunged into complete darkness. "God, now I can't see you at all," he said, laughing. "Where are you?"
"Here's my hand," Machiavelli said, reaching out for Billy. Finding him, he brought Billy's hand up to his face. The outlaw explored, finding his lips again. He leaned in and captured them between his. "Can I touch you?" he whispered.
"Don't have to ask," Machiavelli told him, sounding breathy himself.
Billy could feel his heart beating faster. Kissing Machiavelli on the cheek, he found the tactician's knee. He trailed his fingers up his thigh, gasping slightly when he felt the sinewy muscle beneath his pant leg. He squeezed just slightly and hear Machiavelli exhale sharply. "Feel good?"
"Oh, god yes."
"I wish I could touch you all the time," Billy said, moving his hand over and over the Italian immortal's erection, reveling in the obvious pleasure he was causing.
"Think the public indecency laws would have something to say about that," Niccolo gasped.
"Mm, don't care," he decided. He moved his hand up, trying to undo the clasp of Mac's pants, but struggling with it. "Can't get it. Damn" Abandoning his effort to look suave, he used both hands to open them up. Machiavelli obliged him by shifting forward in the seat.
As soon as the zipper was undone, Billy reached inside and cupped the growing bulge. The soft cotton of Machiavelli's boxers left very little to the imagination. "You're so big," he whispered, his breath coming out in little puffs of air.
Machiavelli snorted a little. "You're too kind." Groping around, Billy could feel him touching his arm and shoulder, then he found the American immortal again and kissed his nose. "Sorry. I was trying for your cheek."
Billy giggled, which embarrassed himself slightly. "S'okay. Kiss me more." He worked his fingers. He didn't like being the one on top though. Leaning over him to kiss, while maintaining contact below, was proving to be a bit of a balancing act which was beginning to feel tiring. He pulled on Machiavelli's shoulder a little, hoping to coax the other man into leaning over him for a little, but the Italian immortal misinterpreted and just shifted closer.
Breaking their kiss, he gasped, "Want me to do more?" He gave a little extra squeeze to illustrate his meaning.
"You don't have to do that."
"But I want to." And strangely enough, he found that he did want to do it too, which was strange because he'd never given another man oral before in his life and felt the beginning fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. "Shift over a little and- and lose the pants."
Machiavelli moved over and Billy helped to strip him of both pants and boxers. He could only see a dim outline of the European immortal in the darkness, but it was enough to excite him. Essentially bending over on the seat, Billy kissed the older man's thighs, slowly moving up. The air was tinged with pheromones. He could almost taste the other man's horniness and nervousness, all in one.
He felt a moment's blind panic- he didn't know what to do. Kissing just the tip of it initially, he hesitantly took more of it in his mouth.
It was a sensation he'd never felt before and part of him felt an overarching gratitude to all of his previous girlfriends because this was weird. He explored with his tongue- could feel the ridge where the tip joined with the shaft. Machiavelli was pretty big, despite what he might think, he was thick, and suddenly thinking that one day he might be expected to take the Italian immortal inside of him made him so nervous, he let the tip pop out of his mouth with a wet noise.
"Sorry," he apologized, looking up in the dark. "I'm no good at this."
"Machiavelli ran his fingers though Billy's hair and he felt calmer. "You're doing fine. It's something new- isn't it?'
Billy laid his head against the tactician's chest and was floored to hear the other man's heart beating fast. "Completely new. I've never… never tried before. Bending again, he took more of Machiavelli in his mouth. Occasionally, his teeth would scrape over it and he apologized frantically, thinking to himself that this must be the worse oral Machiavelli had ever received.
"You're doing good," Machiavelli said above him, almost as though he could hear the thoughts in his head. "You're so good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Billy thought that Machiavelli must not be completely lying either because he could feel him shifting in rhythm to his actions, tensing and flexing. "Billy?"
"Mac?"
"Ah, I'm… I'm getting close. What's our plan?"
"Our plan?"
"Well, do you have a… a tissue or are you going to-?"
"Oh," Billy understood finally. "I'd like to swallow," he said shyly. "That okay?"
"Yeah. Are you sure?"
"Mm hm." Dipping back down, Billy began to stroke his erection, feeling a little self-conscious, but licking his palm nonetheless to lend a little moisture. Wrapping his lips around the shaft again, he did his best to move his hand and mouth together concurrently. His jaw was beginning to ache slightly, but he could feel the Italian immortal straining, hear his breathing becoming shallower, and he knew the older immortal was close.
"Oh, Billy. Billy, that's good. Oh, fuck." Machiavelli tangled his fingers in the outlaw's hair. He moaned, his hips jerking involuntarily. Billy had to remind himself not just to breath but to keep moving. He willed himself not to stop.
"Fuck, William. I'm coming." Billy couldn't tell at first, except that his partner had gone rather rigid. Then there was a sudden rush of bitterness and it was only pure instinct that kept him swallowing. It felt like the flow kept coming for a while, though it was probably really only a matter of seconds.
"Come up here, Billy," Machiavelli said finally, pulling the younger immortal back up so they were on the same level. Billy was flattered more than he could say when the older immortal kissed his forehead. "You were so good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You feel better, honey?"
Billy nodded, glad it was dark cause he was blushing now, he could feel it. "I do. Something about sex…"
"It's the hormones, if you pardon my scientific assessment," Machiavelli said. The Kid felt him shiver. "It's getting cold though now," he continued, pulling his pants back up. "All of our," he made a motion between the two of them, "interacting kept us warm so far. That's going away."
"Ah, well, here Mac." With a little popping noise, Billy conjured up a small ball of his aura. Waves of warmth came rolling off it. "Let's get you home." Getting out of the backseat, he ran around the car in time to pull open the front door for Machiavelli, earning another kiss on the cheek and the impression that he had flustered the tall man. Shutting the door again, he got in on his side of the car, turning it on, and cranking up the heat. "I love you, Mac. Love, love, love you."
