Machiavelli couldn't deny that his body was now operating at full sexual potential. He felt increasingly horny as his body aged further, day by day, and this provided him with often embarrassing results. As the summer dwindled, his body was growing by leaps and bounds and with it his appetite for more adult ventures.

This was rather unfortunate for the Italian immortal as he was not legally old enough to have sex with adults in his current state, and morally, he felt that his expansive years put anyone that was really under the age of 18 at a disadvantage to him. This left him with no possible sexual outlets through which he could channel some of this new found energy.

This meant that he rediscovered his sexuality primarily when he showered in the early morning or at night after the others had retired to bed. Recently, he had rediscovered the joys of grinding into his bed, and so on an almost nightly basis, he lay on his stomach and thrust his hips down in quick, hard movements. There was a few times where he had to bite down on his fist to keep from making a sound.

He was reasonably sure that Billy had probably figured out what he was doing at a few different points of time, but luckily for him the American immortal chose to either ignore or not mention it. There were a couple of close calls, especially when they went swimming in the lake, but Machiavelli couldn't stop himself from engaging in this kind of behavior. Embarrassing as it was, it felt like his hormones were finally working with him to a positive effect, his own pleasure, and he couldn't bring himself to cut it short.

I don't normally behave this way, he assured himself the next morning after one particularly poignant session. Still, he wished there was a little more assurance that he wouldn't get caught and resigned himself to select times when he had a little more security.

Still, it became increasingly difficult for Billy to ignore his actions when they were staring him in the face. That particular morning, Billy came down to the kitchen to find Machiavelli stuffing his sheets into the washer. For a fraction of a second, the Italian stopped what he was doing, then the moment passed and he continued to shove his bed clothes in.

"Why the comforter too though?" Billy asked amicably, scooting past him towards the coffee maker. "Didn't the sheets do their job?"

Machiavelli tossed half a cup of laundry detergent in on top, along with fabric softener. "I got a bit enthusiastic last night," he admitted, turning slightly pink. He shuffled his feet. Billy didn't prompt him further, nor did he laugh, for which Machiavelli was very grateful. Instead the American just passed him a cup of coffee. "I'm not really in control of my body right now," the tactician continued, despite the lack of prompting.

Billy nodded, remaining uncharacteristically silent throughout the discussion. "I know," he said. "Your body will normalize. Give it some time."

"I think I'll be rubbed raw before that happens," Machiavelli whispered hoarsely, leaning in closer to the American. He stayed a solid shade of pink through the entire conversation. They sat down together on the couch in the living room, but Niccolò wouldn't look at him.

Billy did smile at that, though he covered his mouth with his hand. "Perhaps you should put some Vaseline on…," Billy trailed off, gesturing in the general direction of the Italian's midriff. "Watch a movie with me tonight. You don't do that kind of thing when I'm in the room."

Machiavelli took a big sip of his coffee and coughed. His face turned a darker shade of pink. "Maybe we should wash this too," he said, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch. He refused to look at the outlaw.

Billy considered this for a moment. "Ah," he said at last. "Yes, well. There's no real harm in what you're doing. Just don't do it in front of the girls." He rubbed his nose absently and heaved himself off of the couch. Instead he settled in front of the piano and began to play a quick piece, still conversing with the Italian. "You're really a blusher, did you know that, Mac?"

Machiavelli both shook his head and nodded. He stared fixedly at a picture on the wall opposite him. "Hmm," was his only response.

"Oh, I had forgotten to tell you this was coming up," Billy said, stopping his piano playing for a moment to pull something out of his back pocket. He handed a folded piece of paper to Machiavelli, nearly arching off of the piano bench in order to reach back far enough. The European immortal unfolded it and scanned the text. "It's the town's old home day coming up in two days. Want to go? The others were going to come along."

"What's an old home day?" Niccolò asked, coming to sit beside Billy.

Billy started up his playing again. "It's a thing they do, mostly in New England, I guess, where every year the town gets together to celebrate. The guy that I helped start this town with, Will Blancminster, he started up that tradition. See, he was originally from Vermont. Anyways, this town does it every year, is the point I'm trying to make."

"And you attend this regularly?" Machiavelli asked, looking over at Billy quizzically. He had to smile.

Billy nodded enthusiastically. "Why wouldn't you? A celebration for something you did? Plus they have rides."

"I can see that," Machiavelli said. He pointed at the flyer where it said 'rides' in big letters. He tilted his head. "Can people of our size ride on these rides?" he deliberately goaded the outlaw. He was rewarded by Billy's grimace, especially since both of them knew that the Italian was slowly getting taller than him.

"Yeah, you going to go on them with me?" Billy said, ignoring the jibe against his height. "We should go on all of them this time, even the scary ones. There's the Tornado and a Zipper and…"

Machiavelli waved his hands back and forth frantically. "Remember my propensity for throwing up."

"Oh, yeah," Billy remembered. "Well, we'll cross off the Tornado. But can we go on the Pirate Ship? That's just a rocking motion, really."

"How many rides are at this old home day?"

"A fair few," Billy said over his piano playing. After the first few notes, Machiavelli recognized the song as the Entertainer. "There's the Tilt-A-Whirl, we can go on that again, and a Ferris wheel, of course. Then there's the three that I mentioned before and the Scrambler. Then a bunch of other things. It'll be fun."

"I guess I'll go," Machiavelli agreed. "But I can't promise I'll go on all of the rides."

Billy smiled. He had effectively, won again, though the Italian might not see it right now. And truly, he had no intention of making the other immortal go on any ride that he wasn't comfortable with.

Machiavelli stomached rumbled. "Are we having breakfast soon? I'm getting hungry."

Billy checked his watch. "Mac, it's like half past eleven. The Flamels already went off to work. You slept in really late." He showed the Italian his watch, as the other immortal was giving him a very disbelieving look. "Perhaps you should curtail your nightly operations down a bit?" He laughed and ducked the pillow being tossed at him. "Okay, I'll get lunch going. You want chicken tenders or chili?"

"Chicken, please."

"Hey," Billy called, looking back at the Italian. "Scatty and I were going to go ride horses this afternoon. One last time, since I don't know when I'll get to ride again, now that we're going to the city. Want to come? We're going to go on some of the mountain trails."

"Sure," Machiavelli agreed hesitantly. It had been almost half a month since they had gone last. He wasn't sure he'd be any good at it.

"Great! I'm going to go find Scatty and then we can have lunch, head out." Billy headed out to the backyard, letting the door bang shut behind him. The Italian immortal could hear him whistling as he strode through the tall grass.

~MB~

"Hey, you got up alright," Billy said, smiling up at Machiavelli. "Good for you."

Niccolò nodded, carefully balancing on the saddle. He hung on to the horn watching his companions swing onto their horses easily and felt a twinge of jealousy. They made it look easy, but he had climbed onto his horse first so that if he had messed up nobody would witness it.

Billy stood up a little in his saddle, winking happily at the Italian. Settling back he turned his palomino around so that the horse swung in a wide circle. "Where are we going then?"

Scatty came to a halt on Machiavelli's other side. She pointed to the far end of the field they were moving through. "There. Want to race?" She answered Billy's question, but looked over at the Italian's face, watching for his answer. Machiavelli realized that Billy too, was waiting on his answer. He nodded tightly. "Alright," the Shadow said, a hint of determination undercutting her playful nature. "Then here we go." And she took off.

Billy whooped and swung his horse around so that he was facing the same direction she had headed off in. He almost didn't seem to touch down on the horse, balanced perfectly above it as the horse flew over the land. Too late, Machiavelli realized that he had been left in dead last. Squeezing his thighs together hard, he urged his horse to follow the others' progress.

As the horse sped to a strong gallop and the grass from the field began to whip by him, Machiavelli felt his last tendrils of fear fall away. He had to grin, feeling the wind behind him. Just when he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever catch up with the others, he rounded a bend and came upon them. They had been waiting for him apparently and he felt a surge of joy, deep inside him, knowing that they hadn't left him behind.

Laughing, he thundered by them, knowing they were skilled enough that they could catch up with him an instant. Sure enough, the thought hadn't even left his head yet before they were upon him again.

"And to think," Billy shouted over him. "We waited for him!"

"Some people are just inconsiderate!" Scatty yelled back.

"Are we or are we not having a race?" Machiavelli broke in, goading his horse forward. He stuck his tongue out at Billy, who made a rude gesture back to him. He snorted and looked back to the front. The horse responded easily under his touch. It made him feel especially alive. He pulled slightly on the reins of his horse, coming to a stop so that the others could catch up.

Billy got to him first, practically standing up in his saddle. He settled back, grinning at him. "What happened? You give up?"

"I simply realized we had failed to set a stopping point for our race," Machiavelli said smoothly.

"Uh huh. I'm sure that's it. Hey, watch this," Billy said. He took an aluminum can from his satchel and tossed it twenty feet to his left. Goading his horse into action, he cantered towards the can and swung down to pick it up off the ground. He grinned at the look at the Italian's face. "It's really nothing. Scatty can do it too, can't you?" he called to the Shadow. She gave a slight nod and Billy stuffed the can back in his satchel.

"That wasn't a full can was it?" Machiavelli asked, getting close to Billy again.

Billy shook his head. "Would have exploded. Yeah, I was very good at tricks on horses in my day. And shooting too," he said proudly. "With my six-shooter, I could toss a can up in the air and empty the clip into it before it hit the ground. True story." He exuberated a quiet pride, unable to stop smiling. Machiavelli loved him so much at that moment, it almost hurt.

They turned so that they were heading back towards the pathways which lead into the forest. Niccolò craned to look at Scatty. "Are you good with guns too?"

Scatty half shrugged. "I like closer combat weapons better." She grinned at him, her pointy teeth showing in a flash. "So are we going in here?"

Billy came to a close stop between the two of them. "Sure, you want to?"

They ducked under the tree line. Here, it was much cooler and the Italian shivered with the sudden drop in temperature. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darker lighting. He looked around.

They'd never been this far away from the barn before. Machiavelli hadn't even known that these paths were over here until Billy had pointed them out to him. The trees were much bigger, more like the ones around the cabin. One oak tree towered over them. He craned his neck to see the top of it, but it retreated from sight and he got a bit dizzy. He swayed a little in his seat and he looked down again. Luckily, his horse was picking his own way down the path and the others weren't very far away.

"Where does this path lead?" he asked, following the others. He had to be careful to keep his horse from going off the path as the sides got rockier.

Billy pulled at his boots. "It just keeps going up a ways. We'll stop and turn around at some point." He patted his horse on the neck. "It's nice here, though. Isn't it?"

"It's cooler," Machiavelli commented.

Scatty looked over at him. "I keep forgetting you're Mediterranean."

Niccolò smiled. "Yeah, I like it warmer." He shivered slightly.

"Are you cold?" Billy took off his leather jacket and tossed it over to him. Machiavelli grabbed at it, afraid it would fall onto the ground. He put it on quickly, folding the collar down where it stuck up in the back. The leather was soft and worn, somewhat frayed around the cuffs. He mouthed his thanks at the American immortal.

They kept on the path for a while. Machiavelli could hear the other two ahead of him, talking, but he kept glancing around. The forest around them was very different, not only from Paris, but from his life in Florence. The world he had lived in for the past couple of centuries had been manicured; this world was almost the extreme opposite.

The Shadow and the Kid seemed to be enjoying the ride more than he was; he wa cold despite Billy's jacket. He supposed that this was the changing September weather disagreeing with him. Eventually, he had to ask Billy if they could turn around. The outlaw readily agreed, for which he was very grateful. He could tell that all this riding was going to make him sore in the morning. It seemed like his whole backside was bruised.

~MB~

"Alright, I'm going to bed," Billy said at almost midnight, that night. The Flamels had just retired an hour earlier and he couldn't stay awake any longer. He kissed Scatty on the cheek, handed her the remote, and stumbled to his feet. "I'm falling asleep in my chair. You should come to bed too, you look tired," he told the Italian.

Machiavelli looked up from where he had been messing around with the piano. "Okay," he agreed. He edged carefully off of the piano bench and slowly straightened his long legs out. He too, kissed the Shadow goodnight before trundling over to the stairs. "Uhh," he moaned pitifully. "Did you do this on purpose?" he asked Billy under his breath.

"Do what on purpose?" Billy asked cheerfully, making it to the top long before the Italian. He leaned on the banister and watched the other immortal's progress.

"Make me too sore to mess around at night," Machiavelli said tightly, reaching the top at long last.

Billy grinned. "Maybe. But not really. I just like riding horses," he admitted freely. "And I like being with you and Scatty. Next to Black Hawk, you're my best friends." He waggled his eyebrows and cupped Machiavelli under the chin for a minute. Letting go again, he turned the Italian around and gently pushed him into his bedroom. "Anyways, get some sleep. We're going to have to pack tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."