A/N: Because I can't find ANY Billy/Mac fan fiction. So, here. Have some fluff that was written at 1:00 am.
It was now or never. Billy the Kid had meticulously practiced the phrase again and again, and again. He doubted how great the grammar was on the online translator, but an English/Italian dictionary was sure to draw Machiavelli's attention, and he wanted this to be a surprise, no matter how small.
The phrase played over and over in the outlaw's mind, and he whispered it under his breath the way the recording had. His accent didn't quite capture the lilting tune of the words, and it was hopeless to even attempt rolling his r's. But again, it was now or never.
Stepping into the sitting room, Billy stared for a moment at the back of Machiavelli's head, bent over a book. The American tried to swallow, but found his throat suddenly constricted. He steadied himself, and then crossed the room silently. Niccolò's gray eyes remained fixed upon the pages until a trembling pair of hands took the volume from him and carefully set it aside without losing the man's place.
The Italian looked up as Billy, looking nervous, lowered himself into his lap, straddling the older Immortal's waist. Niccolò's surprise was only increased when the American's fingers lifted to rest on either side of his face, and their foreheads were pressed together. For a moment, neither spoke, moved, or hardly dared to breathe. Then Billy leaned forward, and his lips found the Italian's ear. His breathing was shaky but warm.
"Tu sei l'amore di mio vita," he whispered softly, feeling heat rush into his cheeks at the sheer ridiculousness of the sentiment. Machiavelli leaned back, his eyes wider than usual but betraying no emotion; they simply examined the younger Immortal for a moment.
"E tu sei mio," he replied softly, his hand coming up to brush a strand of long, sandy hair away from Billy's face.
"I, um... didn't learn anything other than that," the American said sheepishly, averting his gaze. "And... I know it sounds kinda dumb and corny, but before you say any-"
Niccolò's lips found Billy's, silencing him. For a long, sweet moment they kissed, before the younger pulled back.
"Did I say it right, though?" He asked, slightly out of breath.
"Close enough," replied Machiavelli, a smile crossing his features. Grinning, Billy the Kid leaned forward again and resumed the very promising kiss.