"What happened to all the snow from last week?" Machiavelli asked, only noticing the absence of the snow banks now that they were walking outside.

Billy looked surprised. "The snow's been gone for a couple of days now, Mac."

"Well I know that. But why is it raining? Shouldn't it be snowing?" He shivered. "It's definitely cold enough."

Walking back from the bookstore on the other side of Rittenhouse Square, they'd gotten caught in sudden freezing rainstorm. Machiavelli had brought a woolen newsboy cap with him and was, at least somewhat, protected from the pelting droplets, but Billy's knit cap was covered in ice and he was beginning to look a touch miserable. They'd both turned up the collars of their jackets against the wind following them.

Billy slipped an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the curious glances of some passerby. "December's a funny month, especially weather wise. And you get cold easily. It must be that Mediterranean blood in you." He patted his shoulder. "We'll get you home soon," he promised.

"I'm just not used to it being so cold," Niccolo said, shivering. "It hardly ever snows in Paris."

"Really?" Billy stopped walking, and Machiavelli, who had been walking fast as it was, was forced to double back. The Kid apologized and ran ahead a little, meeting him halfway. "But how do you have snowball fights in France, then?"

"Oh, well I'm never going to participate in a snowball fight anyways…" He faltered a little midway through his sentence, wishing he'd had the forethought to stop talking sooner.

Billy had a mad glint in his eyes that told otherwise. "Think again. We're going to have fun." He leaned in close to the Italian immortal's ear. "I have ways to warm you up later," he whispered.

Machiavelli felt another shiver, one that had nothing to do with the cold. He looked over at Billy, but the outlaw was strolling along, innocently looking up at the ice laden trees. Only a slight twist of a smile at the corner of his mouth belied his amusement. "Care to share?"

"No, I'll leave it a surprise." He grabbed the Italian's arm. "We're almost home, come on. We've got to dry you off." He took off running and Machiavelli was forced to sprint to follow him, afraid he was going to slip and fall several times as he raced down the icy sidewalk. Billy only slowed when they reached their steps, grabbing the rail and half pulling himself up. He was half bent over with laughter. He fumbled at the door with the keys, their hands half frozen from the rain. "Here we go, get in!"

They clattered into the little hallway, the Kid's boots squeaking against the polished wood. "Scatty! Black Hawk?" Billy called. He listened intently. Hearing nothing, he surveyed the coat rack- empty. "I don't think they're here yet. Come on! We've got time." He grabbed Machiavelli's hand; the Italian just had time to kick off his shoes before he was pulled upstairs. He couldn't help it- he laughed.

Billy herded him backwards, towards the bed. He seemed all energy, quickly undoing his belt and zipper and scrambling out of his pants. He left his shirt on, climbing on the bed and straddling Machiavelli's skinny torso. "You're happy to see me," the tactician quipped, letting Billy's fleet fingers work on his clothes.

"I've been happy to see you all afternoon," the Kid shot back, grinning down at him. "Here we go!" Yanking on his suit pants, he left them bunched around his knees, giving Machiavelli very little mobility, but also an exquisite sense of tightness. Bending, he kissed the Italian immortal then ground his hips into the Italian, throwing his head back with a strangled moan.

"Is this the reward I can expect from your damned snowball fights?" Machiavelli panted. The contact between them was almost overwhelming. "Cause I'm game."

"You- talk- so- much," Billy grunted. He adjusted his pace to something more cadence. "I've never had such a sexual partner for talking," he laughed, kissing Niccolo's jawline in between words.

"My curiosity does not stop at the bedroom door," Machiavelli said smoothly, still desperately trying to push his pants down the rest of the way; it was no use, Billy had him pretty well pinned this time. For a man on the shorter side, the outlaw used his height and weight to his advantage, perching himself directly on Machiavelli's center of balance. His futile attempts to take control of the situation only heightened the American immortal's sense of pleasure.

"I don't mind it," Billy assured him. "I just think it's silly that you're so much more talkative when we're- you know- then the rest of the time."

"Can't explain it- I'm an enigma."

Billy tried to roll off him, perhaps taking pity on the Italian, but Machiavelli liked the feeling of Billy's weight bearing down on him, the friction it created, the way their hips rolled against each other's. He grabbed the outlaw's ass and held him close, slipping his fingers under the fabric of the other man's boxers. Billy kissed him, tilting his head so that their noses didn't collide. He started off gentle, but Machiavelli opened his mouth and the Kid deepened the kiss. Machiavelli felt a jolt of pleasure traverse his body when he felt Billy's tongue in his mouth.

Billy stopped, breathless, his forehead pressed against Machiavelli's. They were so close to each other, Machiavelli could feel the pounding of Billy's heart traveling into his own chest. The American immortal was hard and warm pressed against him; there was an unspoken communication of desire between the two men.

The outlaw groaned, shifting so that he could kiss Machiavelli's neck. He sucked on the Italian's Adam's apple.

"You want to do more?" Machiavelli asked, feeling alive with desire.

Billy hesitated. "We might not have much time," he said nervously, glancing towards the windows. Now he was the one with reservations. "We don't know when they left. And I'm…"

"I didn't mean sex," Niccolo assured him, sensing a sort of reluctance on the American's part to say the actual words. "I just meant a different position."

"Oh. Oh yeah. What do you have in mind?"

Half raising himself, Machiavelli whispered his idea in Billy's ear, too self-conscious to look him in the eye when he said what he wanted to do. Billy grinned, bemused, and said, "I can do that."

"I'm taking these pants off the rest of the way though," Machiavelli told him, pushing them off impatiently and throwing them on the floor. "Get on your knees."

"Yes, sir," he said cheekily, crawling onto the middle of the bed.

"I'm taking these off too," Machiavelli told him, tugging Billy's briefs off. The outlaw shivered. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

"I'm nothing to look at," he laughed nervously.

"You're amazing. I want to touch you everywhere."

"Feel free," the outlaw said. He leaned back on his haunches, taking Machiavelli's hand in his own. The Italian immortal closed the gap between them, wrapping his other arm around Billy's waist and feeling the exquisite sensation of muscle and bone moving beneath his fingers. He let go of Billy's hand, to cup him, and rested his head in the crook of the man's head and shoulder.

"I want you."

"I want you more."

Machiavelli pushed gently, but firmly down on Billy's torso so the outlaw was bent double again. "You like this?" He worked his erection free of his boxers, pressing it against the American immortal.

"Yeah… You know what I like, Mac?"

"Loose women, fast cars, irritating me, making out in the afternoon..." Machiavelli ticked them off on his fingers. He glanced down at the younger man. "At least I hope you like that last one, otherwise I don't know what we're doing here." He gestured around the room.

"I do, I do," Billy assured him. He let out a rather loud moan when the Italian immortal rolled his hips, driving himself further against the outlaw. Billy didn't continue the conversation right away, as most of his attention seemed to be diverted to his lower regions. It wasn't until his partner was spent and pulled out that Billy spoke again. "I like when you talk dirty."

"How often can we really say I talk dirty?" Machiavelli scoffed.

The Kid shrugged his shoulders. "Not often," he admitted. "But when you do, you're good at it. Here, I'll start you off. Billy, I want to fuck you so hard, your eyes will roll back in your head and- Why are you laughing? Put some effort in it, lazy."

Machiavelli languidly stroked Billy. The American immortal keened slightly, thrusting his hips to match the older man's movements. "Have I got the biggest member you've seen, Billy?" the Italian asked suddenly.

"Uhm, I think Black Hawk had more girth, but you're longer," Billy mumbled.

"What?" Machiavelli's hands slipped off and he pulled the American immortal up to look him in the face. "When were you around Black Hawk naked?" he whispered.

Billy moaned at the loss of his companion's fingers. He tried to guide the Italian's hand back to his erect member, but Machiavelli swatted his hand away and continued to stare at him. He pulled away and Billy made an unhappy noise. "It's not what you're thinking, Mac. Black Hawk and I have never had sex. We never will!" The American shuddered seemingly at the mental image this discussion had suddenly provoked in his head.

"Then why…?"

"I walked in on him one time when he was with a girl- a woman. Naturally, I stopped to compare. Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"I guess," Machiavelli mumbled reluctantly. Still, he pushed himself up so that he was level with Billy's face. "Have you ever had sex with another man?"

Billy shook his head vigorously. "I never was gay until I met you. I've always been a womanizer." He reached up to trace the Italian's jawline. "So were you. You've probably had just as many partners as I have had, so what's bothering you?"

Machiavelli hesitated and chose to prolong the moment by kissing the American immortal on the lips. "I just like to think that I'm special to you," he murmured. "Besides, we Italians are passionate lovers. Very possessive," he kissed down Billy's neck, "and we don't like to share."

Billy's hand found his and squeezed tightly. "You are special to me," the American immortal admitted freely. "You're the only man I've ever loved." Leaning against the tactician, he whispered in Machiavelli's ear, "And you're definitely the only man I'm ever going to let fuck me."

"I will fuck you, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I want that. It's just…"

"You're nervous."

"A bit, yeah. One of these days, I'll actually be ready to go further with you, you know," he added.

"I know. There's no rush."

"I like what you're doing now though."

"Oh, you mean this?" Machiavelli grated himself against the American's ass, feeling thrills as he made contact against the other immortal's body; he humped Billy with total disregard, foreign, unwieldy noises escaping into the afternoon air. "Does it feel good?" he panted.

"Ugh, oh god, Mac," Billy moaned into the bed. The Kid pressed backwards in response, sitting up so that their bodies fitted together. He reached backward with his right hand, tangling his fingers in Machiavelli's hair. "So fucking good," he said, rolling his hips. "Oh, shit…"

Machiavelli felt like he was going to lose his mind when Billy crawled away from him. "Where- where are you going?" he panted, still tugging on himself.

"I heard something…" Billy peeked out of the window. "Shit!" he swore again. "They're parking the car!"

"Fuck!" Machiavelli dove off the bed. Grabbing his pants, he hurriedly began to redress himself, Billy rushing to do the same. The American immortal had an advantage- he'd been wearing sweat pants and a Henley top the night before- he grabbed these off the floor and jumped into them- and so, getting dressed all the way first, he ran downstairs.

Machiavelli pulled himself together, quickly checking his reflection in the full length mirror in the hall. Everything seemed fine except for a semi noticeably bulge in his pants; he hoped the others wouldn't notice this. Below he could hear Billy chatting animatedly with the other immortals. Grabbing his book he'd been reading, he made his way down the stairs. "Found the book I was looking for," he said as casually as he could. "Did you guys just get back?"

"Just now," Black Hawk confirmed affably. "You missed a great movie."

"Billy and I had a quiet afternoon," Machiavelli lied, running a hand through his hair. He saw Scatty trying to get his attention. When all the others traipsed into the living room, she hissed at him, "your fly is down."

"Oh, thanks," he said gratefully, carefully doing it up after glancing in the other room. "We were just-," his voice faded as he motioned meaninglessly, ducking his eyes.

"You don't need to explain," she said, also seeming a little uncomfortable. "I tried to keep them out for as long as I could. Apparently, they both hate the next movie that was going to come on though."

"That's okay, I appreciate you doing it for us," he assured her quietly, leading the way into the living room.

"You'll be able to do more soon."

"I know. I'm trying to get Billy moving."