A/N: This chapter was initially going to be funny... oops.
Prompt: Gaming/Watching a Movie
"It's a classic movie, Billy, how have you never seen it?"
"I dunno, I was never interested. Do we have to watch it?"
"It's a rather good movie."
"But it's a stupid romance!"
"Fine. But I've never been a big DiCaprio fan," Billy grumbled, opening the DVD case reluctantly. The cheesy images of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet standing on the stern of a ship under the silvery word, Titanicstared up at him, and the outlaw grimaced. He placed the DVD in the player with as much care as though it would bite him, and closed the drawer manually.
"Billy, there is a button-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. It hasn't broken yet and I've been closing it like that this whole time," the American replied moodily, dropping onto the couch beside Machiavelli. The opening menu came on and Billy grudgingly pressed play. He folded his arms over his narrow chest and Niccolò scooted closer on the sofa, and pulled the younger Immortal close, planting a soft kiss in his sandy hair.
"I'm bored already," The American remarked, even as the opening title appeared on the screen.
"It hasn't even started yet," Machiavelli said patiently.
"Exactly." Billy sighed loudly, squirming on the couch.
"Now you're just being difficult."
"So, they're diving into the wreck. Whoopdee doo," he commented a bit later. Niccolò pinched Billy's arm sharply, eliciting a small, "ow!" Billy glared, but fell silent.
"What's in the safe?" Billy asked after watching for a minute more.
"Just watch," Machiavelli sighed, now growing irate.
"Ew," he remarked, as an overflow of mud exited the safe.
"Please be quiet."
There was another moment of silence.
"They found porn?"
"Billy, shut up."
"That's a really crappy TV- OW! Stop pinching me!"
For several minutes, Billy kept his mouth shut, and Machiavelli relaxed, his thumb softly stroking Billy's arm as they watched the film.
"Snazzy graphics there- ow! Sorry," The outlaw huffed, realizing he would not be allowed his usual snarky commentary. He settled to silence for the next few scenes, often having to stop himself from making a snide remark. Niccolò rewarded his quiet with a few soft kisses along his jaw, which definitely seemed to help encourage Billy to remain so.
"Some damn good CGI for whenever this was made," the American murmured, allowing himself to relax into his lover's embrace, pleased when he was not pinched for the comment.
"Oh, snap," Billy said at the unfortunate circumstance Jack was found in. Niccolò could not fight the small smile that crept across his lips, though, at Billy's sudden enthusiasm. Perhaps he was actually paying attention, after all. In fact, the American seemed almost interested now.
"Oh! That's the necklace!"
"Obviously." Niccolò held the outlaw closer, and several more scenes passed quietly.
"Ick. A high society dinner. I wouldn't last five minutes."
"Contrariwise, William, I think you'd do just fine."
"My name's not William," Billy snapped.
"Sorry, Henry." Machiavelli's smirk was antagonizing.
"It's Billy," the American growled, shoving Niccolò off him and moving away to sulk on the opposite end of the sofa for another portion of the film. But slowly, the pair shifted together again, Billy curling against Niccolò's torso once more.
And then the iconic scene at the front of the ship- and Niccolò caught Billy off guard by kissing him at the exact moment as Jack and Rose; pulling him close and passionately, deeply, kissing him, laying the younger man back against the arm of the couch.
Billy broke them apart when suddenly he heard- "wearing only this." Machiavelli sighed, peeved, but sat up straight again, pulling Billy up with him. Of course he'd be interested in this part, The Italian thought, almost amused, almost angry.
After the drawing scene, Niccolò began kissing along Billy's neck, but the American seemed at last interested in the film. "Stop," he muttered, but Machiavelli refused to relent, his tongue flickering out against Billy's skin. Billy relaxed, allowing Niccolò to continue, but sat up straight a few scenes later.
"Whoa! Did they do it?"
"I thought you didn't want to watch this," The Italian spoke against the American Immortal's collarbone.
"Well, it isn't so bad," Billy admitted. "Still pretty cheesy, though."
Yet, when the ship began to hit the iceberg, Billy's grip on Niccolò was vice-like, his blue eyes wide. He was pressing himself tightly against the Italian's body, grimacing as the ship on screen began flooding. They watched until the boat began going under.
"It would be terrible to be on that, wouldn't it," Niccolò mused.
"Yes, it was," Billy said stiffly. Machiavelli looked to him in surprise, and paused the movie. Billy took a deep breath. "It wasn't that I thought it was boring, Niccolò."
"It's cool," he replied flatly, grabbing the remote and continuing the film. Yet as the movie progressed, and the ship continued to be dragged under, Billy's face grew more blank, and Niccolò's concern increased. He had no idea Billy had been on board the doomed ship, or had even ever left America, though he supposed he should not have been surprised.
"Billy," he asked carefully. "Why were you-"
"I was running an errand for my master," he replied, voice quivering slightly. "I was fine, I'm alive, it's all good." But it was very obviously not "all good."
"Did you... escape on a lifeboat, or..."
"No. One of the rescue boats that came back." The American looked up at Niccolò and took a very deep breath. "I was in the water for... a long time, I don't know how long. I was almost... it was so cold, I-" he paused, his gaze flicking back to the film, and a small involuntary shiver coursing through him. "I thought I wouldn't make it, until I saw the light from the boats. I started... screaming. There was hardly anyone left... and these bodies everywhere in life jackets, bobbing in the water like corks." He leaned his face into the older man's chest, falling silent.
Machiavelli rested his chin atop Billy's head, his arms holding the American tightly, protectively, and he quietly turned off the movie. Billy did not need to relive that. Instead they sat in their hotel room, and Niccolò allowed Billy to hold onto him so tightly that it hurt.
"I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"It's fine," was the muffled reply. The outlaw lifted his face to meet the Italian's gaze, his expression completely vulnerable. Machiavelli kissed him fiercely, hating the ghost of fear lurking in the younger Immortal's eyes, wanting to exorcise it for good. Billy clung to him, his lips fervently moving with Niccolò's, expelling all other thought and feeling from his being but the rush of being kissed, his love for the Italian. After what could have been two or twenty minutes, Machiavelli parted their lips.
Billy looked present, alright, and reassured. Niccolò pressed his lips softly to the American's forehead and stroked the hair from his eyes. "Dinner?"