Machiavelli was happy to be in the department store; Billy was not.
The first marked difference between the two men in their adult years was beginning to show itself once more. Machiavelli could easily spend days (and lots of money) clothes shopping, while the outlaw was far more content to hold a pair of jeans up, estimate its fit, and toss it in the cart.
Still, with some convincing, Niccolò got Billy into the changing room with a dozen articles of clothing to try on. The only one to which he seemed to take an immediate liking was a leather cycle jacket, tan and fitted. He scoffed at the v-neck shirt Machiavelli tossed in after him, but obliged him by trying it on. Waiting outside the changing room, the Italian immortal picked out a couple of new belts and moving down the display, getting some ties for the two of them to share.
"I thought you were against me wearing denim," Billy said, coming out after a goodly amount of time and dumping the clothing back into the cart. "You gave me jeans still."
"Call it a compromise. At least these are new," Machiavelli commented. He made Billy try on a vest and ended up putting two in the cart.
"I thought we were shopping for clothing for you?" Billy said, following Machiavelli through the men's department. "Can I get this?" he asked, holding up a shirt that was red checkered on one side and gray stripes on the other.
Niccolò shook his head at the last article. "The clothes for me are on this side," he said, indicating the overflowing cart. "But I figured you'd pick out the clothes for me for tonight," he added, sounding a little worried. "I wouldn't know what to wear in that setting."
"I'm kind of liking this devil may care look you've got going now," Billy said, tugging on the other man's tie. "I take full credit for this, by the way."
"For what?"
"You. Wearing a tie that's not cutting off your windpipe. You in jeans. A lot of things. I'm good at getting you to lighten up. But I'm really no help for picking out clothes," Billy pointed out reasonably. "In the past when I've gone to clubs, people just go about halfway." Machiavelli quirked his eyebrows at that most unhelpful description and waited for him to elaborate. Billy leaned on a display, thinking deeply. "Well, you don't want to be dressed up like you're going to a business meeting, but you don't want to look like you just rolled out of bed either." He scratched his face. "Here, we'll get you a light blazer. Trust me, we're not going to want to go through the coat check."
"Why not?" Machiavelli asked curiously, picking out a light gray blazer with the sleeves rolled up. He tried it on over his street clothes- it fit snuggly. He got a pair of slightly darker gray dress pants. Billy followed him around, touching the clothes as they passed them. Passing the display of ties again, Billy snagged an electric blue tie and tossed it in. "Are you going to be wearing a tie tonight?" Machiavelli asked, confused, as they progressed to the shoe section.
"Nah, it's for you," Billy responded. At the Italian's prompting, the Kid picked out one pair of black shoes. Machiavelli on the other hand got five pairs of shoes, in his old shoe size, glad to have finally grown back to where he was before. "Just how much did you make being that French security guard?" Billy asked in amazement as they finally headed towards the front of the store.
"I was head of the national security division, and quite a bit. I'd been employed there for a number of years too, without using much of my funding." Machiavelli spoke rapidly and in French. "It would take quite a bit of work to drain my bank account."
"Well, you're certainly making a good effort," Billy said back, also speaking French. He grinned at the counter clerk. "Hello," he greeted the older woman, switching back to English. He began dumping clothing on the counter which turned out to be quite the process. "We did find everything we needed to, thanks."
"It's a good thing you drove over in the car," Machiavelli said as they left. He hoisted their half a dozen bags into the trunk and climbed into the passenger side seat.
"I saw you coming," Billy told him, getting behind the wheel. "I knew before we got out of here, we'd have half the store. Let's go home, you can put on whatever you're wearing and then we'll go out to dinner. It's surprisingly late. We spent longer in the store than I thought." He navigated the city streets with remarkable ease, bringing them through several neighborhoods before they began to pass houses that Machiavelli recognized again.
At the house, Machiavelli had to work hard to cajole Billy into one of the newer sets of clothing they'd gotten for him. He had to work piece by piece, starting with the leather jacket they'd gotten him and coaxing him into the other pieces of clothing until finally he had an entire outfit put together. To maintain their respective privacies, it took them a little longer with each of them taking turns changing in the bathroom off their bedroom.
Finally, they were ready to head out for the night. Heading down the front steps, Machiavelli headed for the garage, instinctively going to sit in the car, but was surprised when Billy walked past the garage. "We're not taking the car?" he asked in surprise, trotting after Billy. The Kid shook his head and explained to him how everywhere they were going was within a good walking distance. He let Machiavelli pick out their restaurant, pointing out the options as they walked down the road.
Machiavelli came to a halt looking at his options. Eventually, he picked what looked to be a nice sit down restaurant. He waited for Billy to go in first, then followed him as their waitress led them toward one of the booths by the window. "So, you think you're going to have fun?" Billy asked, sitting across from Machiavelli at the table. He unrolled his napkin, tossing it messily across his lap.
Machiavelli looked back at him from where he'd been looking out the window. "I hope so," he said, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. As it got closer to the time they would be heading over there, he'd gotten quieter, worrying that he'd made the wrong decision in agreeing to go. Clubs were very loud places and while he enjoyed socializing with Billy and the other immortals, he had a feeling he wasn't a good match for a club full of twenty-something aged individuals.
"I won't leave you alone unless you want me to," Billy broke in, startling him out of his thoughts. Something of his worrying must have shown on his face. He nodded thoughtfully, grateful that Billy seemed to read him so well. "Besides, Mac, maybe you'll meet a nice girl," he teased.
Machiavelli shook his head. "I sincerely doubt that."
"Aw, why not, Mac? You're a good looking guy. I bet you'll be beating the ladies off of you with a stick," Billy said good-naturedly, scanning the menu. He ducked closer to the Italian, speaking in a lower register. "Why don't you have a good time tonight? People go to clubs looking for fun."
It took Niccolò a minute to understand what the other immortal was saying and when he did, he shook his head violently, blushing lightly. "Not for me. Are you going to, I mean," he fumbled with his words, "are you?"
"Not planning to, no," Billy said without reservation. "I'm just saying, don't hold back on my account." They both got quiet at the approach of their waitress. Greeting her, Billy put in his order first, as usual ordering more food than a human should normally eat. Machiavelli ordered a far more reasonable amount, though he did wheedle an appetizer out of the man paying for the meal.
After she left, Billy tossed a card over to Machiavelli. "Before I forget, take this. It'll look better if I'm not the one holding it."
Machiavelli picked it up and looked over at Billy. "This is the fake id that's going to get me in tonight?" he queried, slipping into French again in an attempt to disguise what he was saying. He held it up. The ID looked to him like a piece of cardstock with a stick figure drawn on one side and his name printed on the other. "This is what Nick gave you? Is he crazy?"
"It's got a charm on it, Mac. You're see it as it is cause you can see through enchantments," Billy explained, a wide smile on his face. "Try ordering a drink with it. You'll see." Machiavelli gave him a suspicious glance, but flagged down their waitress the next time she passed by them. He ordered a glass of wine, handing her the card and feeling ridiculous, but she studied it for a moment and gave it back to him, promising him that she'd bring back the drink soon. He put the card in his wallet, shaking his head. "Cool, right?" Billy asked, grabbing his hand and giving it a small shake.
"Well, you never fail to amaze me," Machiavelli allowed.
"Good," Billy said, leaning back when the waitress brought their appetizer. They thanked her and waited until she was two tables down. "I'm glad we still don't know each other too well. It would be bad otherwise."
"Why's that good?" Machiavelli asked curiously, snagging one of the mozzarella sticks. He took the marinara sauce, knowing Billy didn't like it very much. He was slightly offended that Billy didn't think they knew each other well. He felt like he knew some things that even Black Hawk wouldn't have necessarily known.
"Well, we have to have something to talk about," Billy pointed out, proving once again that he thought circuitously. "We spend all day together. It's not like at dinner time I can say, 'what did you do today?'. I know what you did today. I did it with you." He leaned forward and stole a sip of the Italian's wine. "Of course, I could always ask you what you thought of or if you had fun, but it's nice to find out things too. It's like a puzzle we're putting together, only we don't know how many pieces there are."
"That makes it hard to look for the edge pieces," Machiavelli observed, extending the simile. "Well, we'll have something to talk about after tonight." Billy nodded, telling him about one particularly fun experience he'd had at a club back in the 1920s. He stole his wine back from the other side of the table, listening to the outlaw describe the differences between now and then. He was very grateful that smoking wasn't allowed indoors anymore, as it sounded like a club occupant couldn't necessarily see one side of the room from the other. "Here's our food," he said at last, seeing not one but two waitresses approaching their table with trays. "You got so much food," he said, sounding exasperated.
"I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
The good thing about Billy always ordering so much food was that Machiavelli could sample the menu, making each restaurant experience a sort of private buffet experience. He wondered how Billy remained so trim, especially after watching him shovel half a piece of chicken parm in his mouth. He was pretty sure that Billy would live off of carbs if he could and yet the young man always looked so lanky. It was an enviable trait, to say the least.
He protested ever so slightly when Billy offered to buy him a desert, citing the added calories from the alcohol they'd been consuming as reason enough to stay away from any extra additions to their meal.
After the restaurant, they walked back to the apartment, Billy carrying the bag with the leftovers in his left hand. His other hand he kept jammed in his right pocket and Machiavelli was sure that despite the American's laidback nature, he was keeping a hand firmly on his keys. "So, we're going to the club after this?" the Italian asked him just to break the silence.
"Yeah, unless there's something you need to do," Billy said decisively as they walked through the front door. Machiavelli shook his head, feelings of nervousness and excitement bubbling inside of him. He watched the outlaw push the bag into their otherwise empty fridge and leaned on the counter, waiting for him. "Alright, then let's go," Billy said, smiling at the other immortal.
"Are we walking to the club, too?" Machiavelli asked as they stepped outside. He looked up at the moon just beginning to clear the tops of the skyscrapers. He sniffed. The air smelt like burning leaves.
"I was thinking we'd do that," the Kid said, grabbing his shoulder to lead him in the right direction. "That way we don't have to leave it if we drink too much. And the club's not too far away. Couple of streets maybe." He set off at a steady pace, his vigor matched perfectly with Machiavelli's long strides. "Don't worry, we're sticking to the good part of town. Which can be admittedly small at times," he allowed cheerfully. "If we went the other way, we'd hit a bad neighborhood about six blocks down, at least if things have stayed the same from what I remember." He turned down a side road and cut across the street, Machiavelli keeping close to his side.
"You'll stay with me?" Machiavelli asked again.
"Until you get sick of me," Billy promised. "Here we are." They came upon a hole in the wall kind of place, much different from the deli that they'd been in earlier. A sign in blazing letters spelled out a rather tongue in cheek name for the club. The two outlaws stepped behind a line of people, pretty evenly split between men and women which Billy told him was a good thing, or they'd have more trouble getting in. "All these clubs would rather let in women," he explained, stretching onto his toes to see over some heads, "cause where women are, the men follow."
"We passed a club last night when we got in that had all men in the line," Machiavelli remembering how he'd been briefly woken up when they first entered the city, almost feeling the bright lights from the raucous sign again. "The sign woke me up…"
"I'm pretty sure that was a gay bar, Mac," Billy said quietly in his ear. "Otherwise, I'd like to think there'd be one or two women in the general area." They stepped forward again. Billy tilted his head and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "You're going to be carded for sure."
"Think so?"
They stepped up to the bouncer. He scrutinized Machiavelli for half a second and then, as Billy predicted, demanded an ID. "Young boy like you trying to get in the club?" he asked, tutting, he actually tutted, and holding out his hand for Machiavelli's card. His reaction got a lot of laughter from Billy, who tried to arrange his face into a carefully puzzled expression. Machiavelli held out the card that the American immortal had given him, feeling like a fool. The bouncer kept it for a solid minute, studying it as if he couldn't believe it. Niccolò, getting nervous, bounced impatiently on the soles of his feet. Finally, he was handed his card back. "Alright, go on in," the bouncer grunted, looking like he would have been happier to have sucked a lemon.
"Never mind him," Billy said with some glee, pulling Machiavelli behind him. "Those people are always grumpy, they deal with a lot of people trying to sneak in," he shouted over the sudden influx of music, looking gleefully radiant. "Do you want another drink before we go on the dance floor?" he yelled over the music. "I'll buy!"
"Sure," Machiavelli said back, though he couldn't be sure the Kid heard him. The crowd around them seemed to swallow the noise whole. He jerked his head in the direction of the bar, trying not to stare at two girls, obviously very drunk and hanging on to each other. A small crowd of men surrounded them and he had to push down his more paternal instinct that was shouting at him to intervene.
Also skirting around a couple more people who were very much into the dance, Billy ordered for both of them when they got to the bar. Machiavelli wasn't sure what the American handed him, but trusted him enough to take a sip without asking. The resulting concoction nearly knocked him off his feet. The American immortal had got him a shot of straight whiskey. Niccolò coughed, feeling like he'd burned his throat.
Billy had already struck up a conversation with the man next to them. Machiavelli tried to listen in, feeling a bit lost in the crowd, but couldn't hear even this man three feet away from him over the surrounding din. He was just thinking of how he could slip away when he felt Billy's hand on his shoulder. The outlaw gave a slight squeeze and he relaxed slightly, still sipping from the strong drink. Between this and the wine he'd had earlier, he could feel himself losing some control, something he hoped would help him navigate this room.
Next to him, Billy ended the conversation, swigged the last of his drink and set it on the bar behind them. He seemed remarkably clear headed, considering he had just downed a shot, but then again, he hadn't had the same amount of wine as I did earlier, Machiavelli thought. Pulling the Italian into the melee, Billy leaned in as close as he could to the other immortal's ear and shouted, "let's find you someone to dance with, Mac." Plunging into the crowd, the Kid soon pulled aside a very pretty girl, talked to her for a moment and then pulled Machiavelli forward. Introducing the two of them, he patted Machiavelli on the shoulder. "I told her how shy you are, Mac. She promised she'd play nice." He smiled and indicated that he'd be in the area.
Alone now, Machiavelli grinned shyly at the girl, who introduced herself as Becky. She smiled back at him, pulling him closer so that they could dance. In between songs, she told him a little more about herself and asked after him. During the songs, it was too loud to talk, but she did show him how to dance like the other people in the crowd, something he found quaintly absurd.
He was a little disappointed when her friends pulled her away to go to a new club. She'd seemed very nice, and more understanding about his nervousness than he suspected anybody else would in this place.
After her, he danced with three other girls, at one point two at a time. He was surprised by their interest in him, reflecting that he was in a much younger body right now. Still, he hadn't remembered being so interesting to women when he'd first been this age. He shook it off as a change in the way men and women interacted. Still, part of him wondered what these women were looking for, and for that matter, what he was looking for himself.
Billy seemed to have things more in hand, he reflected, at one point passing the American immortal. He's somehow managed to find a girl with a cowboy hat and was getting awfully friendly with her at the front of the dance floor. It was like a drinking game to the Italian immortal. Every time he saw Billy with another girl, he took another shot. The increased flow of liquor helped loosen him up.
A couple hours in, he looked around the room, trying to find Billy. Circulating a little, he found the American immortal dancing with a red head. He felt a curious twist in his stomach, watching the two interact.
Deciding the Kid was too busy for him, Machiavelli went to the bar and ordered another drink. He downed this quicker than the last one, feeling the pleasant sensation of warmth enter his head and descend down the rest of his body. He got back on the dance floor and caught the eye of a taller girl, woman, he corrected himself. He made his way over to her, smiling in a much more self-assured way than he had before, the alcohol lowering his inhibitions. Still, he was rather surprised when she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. His mind went blank with shock; she giggled and put his hands on her hips. She grabbed him, dragging him further onto the floor.
He tried to tell her his name, but he couldn't be sure that she was listening. His attempts to find out her name were deflected; she did her best to distract him in between songs. When she went in for another kiss, he leaned back slightly, making it seem like a casual movement, a mistake even, but it wasn't. His head spun a little. This was more than he had bargained for. He looked up blindly, his tall stature letting him see over more heads than the average person would have been able to. Billy was his North Star; locating him in an instant.
The Kid was moving towards the corner with the redhead from before, another one of her friends trailing behind them. He wasn't sure what the American was going to do but he knew that he wouldn't like it. The blood rushing to his head, he did something that later he might consider very stupid- he leaned down and passionately met the lips of his brunette companion, gripping her around the waist. This was apparently the sign she'd been looking for; all the sexual tension she'd been alluding to for the past hour rushed through. He gasped into the kiss when she groped him through his clothes and he leaned his head back.
One small voice of reason told him that he was severely drunk at this point and should probably stop, but another part kept goading him forward. He took a chance and moved his hands from where they'd been resting on her hips to cup her breasts instead. She pressed into his hands, pulling the shirt down further, as if he needed to see more.
His companion was clearly in more control of the situation than he was. She pulled him off the dance floor and ducked into a darker corner of the bar where she pushed him into a seat. Kneeling in front of him, she opened his pants and manually stimulated him, alternatively sucking on her fingers and pulling on him.
Machiavelli let her have her way, seeing stars. All of his teenager hormones came rushing to the surface and he was momentarily overwhelmed.
Looking over at the booth next to them, he saw a girl sitting on the lap of a man. She was clearly not aware of what she was doing, but then neither was the man. At last, Machiavelli saw a moment of clarity, realizing that this wasn't where he wanted to be. He looked down the woman in front of him. Catching her before she did anything further, he gently pulled her to her feet. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "You're a nice girl. You deserve better than this. I'm, ah, I'm going to find my friend."
Hastily shutting his pants, he ducked through the crowd, looking for Billy. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the outlaw was as occupied as he'd been about to be, but he figured he could beg the American to bring him home.
Machiavelli wedged himself between two groups of revelers in his haste to get over to the American. The Kid was leaning on the bar not too far away from where he'd been, sans any companion, and Niccolò had to wonder how much the other immortal had seen. Not much, he sincerely hoped. "Billy!" he had to yell to hear himself over the music. The Kid looked up at him, a hesitant smile crossing his face. Leaning into the other man's space in order to be heard, he spoke into the other man's ear. "I'd like to go home now, unless you want to stay?"
Billy slid off of the stool he'd been sitting on. "Nah, I've had enough myself," he yelled back. Grabbing the Italian's hand, he pushed his way through the dancers, heading in the direction of the door.
It was a relief to be outside in the relative quiet once more. Behind them, the music pulsed in the night air, but at a severely decreased level. "Ah, it's raining now," Machiavelli said, glancing out from under the cover of the door awning.
"We're close to home. It'll take longer trying to flag down a taxi than it would to get back there ourselves. Let's make a run for it," Billy told him. Grabbing his hand, he pulled the European immortal behind him into the pelting rain. They sped down the sidewalks, laughing as they got soaked. Water kicked up from all sides, effectively drenching their backs. When Billy finally stopped in front of their home, Machiavelli ran into him, not expecting to make it back that quick.
Before either of them could fall down, the outlaw grabbed hold of him and steadied himself. Caught below a streetlamp, he grinned at the taller man, water dripping down both of their faces. Machiavelli could smell the beer on his breath, they were standing so close, and he was reminded of how drunk he was himself, reminded that they'd both been drinking a lot that night. "Easy," Billy said, keeping a hand on his elbow, and for a moment, Machiavelli thought the Kid had somehow become privy to his racing thoughts. But, he hadn't. "Did you have fun tonight?"
Machiavelli thought about it, considered it, and nodded. He did have fun, despite some of the less than enjoyable parts of the night. "I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. And you seemed like you were having fun." He grinned and tilted his head. More than anything he wanted to kiss Billy. But that wasn't very wise, he thought ruefully, finally getting a handle on his emotions. "We should probably head in the house now."
Billy nodded. Was that something like regret in his eyes? Machiavelli wondered just as the Kid turned away. He found himself shaking his head, feeling half stupefied. I'm probably imagining things, he thought to himself, rubbing his hands together now that they were back in the house.
The first thing the outlaw did when he was in the house was take off his jacket. The difference between the exposed area and the rest of his t-shirt was almost laughable. Half of the shirt was soaked; the rest was fine. Billy pulled the shirt off and left it hanging on the baluster on the second floor. Machiavelli stopped long enough to toe out of his shoes and socks before fumbling up the stairs behind Billy.
"We're pretty goddamn wet, aren't we?" Billy asked, glancing at him tipsily from the top landing. Having snagged a towel from the bathroom on the first floor, he tousled his hair dry and proceeded to dry off his back. He waited, leaning on the railing as Niccolò made his way up the steps at a much slower rate.
Machiavelli nodded, finally reaching the top of the staircase and leading them into their shared bedroom. He loosened his tie as he went. "Did you know you swear more when you're drunk? Anyways, I'm surprised you came home with me," he admitted openly, cutting his eyes over to where Billy was fumbling with his boots. "I saw that girl with the red hair. I'm surprised you didn't go home with her."
"She was pretty," Billy agreed, finally managing to get the other boot off. "But tonight was about celebrating with you. It's not often you turn 18." His eyes crinkled. "How often does that happen? Once, twice… And you were with a girl, at the end. Looked like you were getting pretty copacetic with her and I thought-"
Machiavelli cut him off suddenly, pushing him against the wall. Without thinking about what he was doing, he tilted his head so that their noses wouldn't bang into each other. Their lips met and Machiavelli was kissing him, he couldn't think about what he was doing, all he could think about was the taste of alcohol on the other's lips. The outlaw took a deep breath, stealing air from the darker haired immortal's lungs. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but Machiavelli was spurned to do more. He let his tongue explore Billy's mouth, coming into contact with Billy's, and for a solid minute they wrestled for control of the kiss. They broke apart, staring into each other's eyes. "Billy," Niccolò breathed, not sure if he'd made the worst mistake of his life.
The Kid snagged him by his tie and used it to draw him close again. He tilted his head, hesitant, and captured the other's lips once more in small kisses, these more tender. "Guess you're not a kid, anymore," he mumbled in between the points of contact, grinning into the kiss.
Mac tangled his hands in Billy's long locks, relief crashing over him. "Told you that," he mumbled. His hands dipped lower, feeling up the outlaw's backside and moving steadily downward. Finally, he moved his hands into the back pockets of Billy's jeans, pulling his wallet out and tossing it away in frustration. He squeezed tightly, eliciting the same breathless reaction that he had gotten from Billy before. He kept exploring, undoing the outlaw's belt and then jeans, and pushed them down, all the while, locked in another deep French kiss.
Deciding to get this show on the road, Machiavelli pulled Billy away from the wall and towards the bed. As soon as his calves hit the mattress, Billy sat down primly. He scooted back on the bed, drawing Machiavelli along by the tie until finally, he was lying down with the Italian immortal straddling his hips. "How is it, that I'm half naked now and you're still dressed?" Billy slurred, his blue-green eyes staring into Machiavelli's gray.
"I'm just that good." Machiavelli said back cheekily, momentarily leaning back to glance at the man's body below him. Niccolò worked his way down Billy's torso, exploring the man's bare chest. He moved lower, nipping the American's left nipple with his teeth ever so slightly and glanced up. Billy's eyes were half lidded. He moved to the other side. Billy let out a groan, which he took as encouragement.
This was all moving very fast, considering. He leaned back on his haunches, glancing down at the area where their bodies were currently touching. Billy was still in his briefs and Machiavelli shifted backwards, thinking that he'd like to pull them down. A soft snore interrupted his very scattered thoughts. "Oh, Billy, no," he moaned, scrambling up to see his face. "Wake up, Billy. This is a horrible time to fall asleep." He tapped Billy's nosed expectantly, but it was to no avail. The American had definitely fallen asleep. "So close," he whimpered, rolling off of the outlaw and heading for the bathroom.
Turning on the water, it took several minutes and a very concentrated effort on his part to calm his body down again. The cold water also served to sober him up considerably, forcing him to consider what he had just done. Climbing carefully into bed later, he gazed at the ceiling above them. "What happened?" And outside, the rain still poured down.
AN: So that's it, hope you liked it. I will be writing a sequel, but I wanted to really separate Machiavelli's younger years with the more adult material coming down the turnpike. Keep an eye out for the sequel, it will be under the title "The Outlaw and the Tactician" or some variant of that. Cheers!