"You too, sweetheart," John murmured in his ear, and just enjoyed holding him for a while. "You too." It hadn't even been long, and yet having him back - well. So John stepped back to look at Bobby, astounded somehow that they hadn't fallen apart yet, and carded fingers through Bobby's hair. He noticed the elderly couple staring and muttered a good-natured (for him), "Go get your own."

The (straight) elderly couple seemed more amused than mortified, and for once, John didn't notice. Bobby was back, and Bobby was a wonder. Sliding one arm around Bobby's waist a little more hungrily, he kissed him slow and deep and not-giving-a-crap-who-saw, his other hand fishing around for the strap of Bobby's carry-on, to break from the kiss and haul it onto his shoulder with a grunt. "Let's get you home." No pithy comment about how it was lucky Bobby's folks had let him leave, no remark about how he was surprised not to find him on a leash - those things he thought, sure, but didn't say.

Couldn't ruin the moment. And Bobby would tell him, in his own time, in more detail than texts and Skype chats had allowed. Hopefully he would, anyway.

Managing somehow to drag his eyes from Bobby's, John took Bobby's hand with his own, and half-led him along, still carrying Bobby's luggage. "So," he prompted, "how was the flight?"