prodigalflame | [For Bobby] Welcome home.

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[For Bobby] Welcome home.

Heathrow was a bitch. Okay, that was discriminatory. Heathrow was a fucking nightmare. "It would have been so much easier to just take the train," John muttered to himself as he drove around the short-stay car park. But while taking the rail link to and from town would have been convenient and cheap, it would have also meant exposing Bobby to a bunch of people in a train carriage. And for all that the trip had gone well (or so he'd been told) and the flight across the pond was not so long (or so he'd experienced), John just couldn't do that to his boyfriend.

After having to spend happy fake time with his family and probably lying through his teeth all the while (which John didn't question, even if he took some umbrage in the back of his head), John wanted him to have some privacy and the capacity to relax a little.

So he'd hired a car. He didn't have one in London; didn't need one. They were close enough into town to use the Tube, walk to the shops, and get to college. But that day he'd gritted his teeth, picked up a car from the lot and remembered to drive on the wrong side of the road.

About half an hour later he was inside the surging mass of humanity, found the gate Bobby's plane was arriving at, and then he stood there in chinos and a t-shirt because it was still warm in the London summer, tapping his toe anxiously with no lighter to flick.

Whereas some of the starched shirts in the crowd held up signs for the people they were picking up, John did as well - but his simply read 'my boyfriend'.

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"I only call it fat because I look at it so much. I could always say it's pleasing and a delight to my eyes," John told him casually, over his shoulder, like it was just a typical conversation between them.

Which it sort of was.

Sliding the key home in the front door felt all the better knowing Bobby was home. John allowed himself a small smile as he turned the key, then did the deadbolt, and pushed open the door. The thing needed a scrape or an oiling or a...something. Whatever. He wasn't the carpenter in the household.

"I'll cook something up, and you can go to bed early." John had some more study to do; even in the break, there was always something for research students to do. That was why they called it research.

"Or you could just leave off the descriptors," Bobby pointed out, hauling his bags up to the door and inside, setting them aside just inside the door. He'd run them up to his room in a minute, while John cooked.

But first, he snagged John's wrist and pulled him close as he kicked the door closed behind him. "I missed you," he murmured, kissing him deeply, free hand moving into John's hair as he sighed contentedly into John's mouth.

"I could do a lot of-"

A lot of kissing? Yeah, he could do a lot of that. And John kissed back as much as he got, hand settling comfortably on that ass he'd so fondly described just a few moments before. He pressed up as close to his boyfriend's body as he could, knowing the way they fitted together, even if Bobby was an inch or so taller. God, he'd felt like half a person in the time Bobby had been away.

"Missed you too," John breathed, when the kiss was done, resting his forehead against Bobby's, just content to be there, together, in the stillness of their house, like any other couple that might be anywhere across London, or the world. Just another normal couple. Breathing almost in sync, drinking in the quiet solitude that was just them.

"I'll go get dinner on," John promised, and half-fumbled as he unhooked himself from Bobby, fingers reaching out behind him even as he made himself walk down the corridor, like instinctually he didn't want to be parted. He didn't need to tell Bobby to stow his shit: that lesson had definitely been learned.

But soon enough there was rummaging around in the kitchen to distract him, and grumbling, and chopping, and frying, and tying on the fucking apron before he forgot it, and making two burgers for him and his boyfriend.

Bobby watched him walk away with a contented smile before sighing and lugging his bags up to the room. He'd sort through it all and get laundry going later. For now, they would be fine stowed against the wall, out of the way.

He toed off his shoes and headed back downstairs, stopping to lean on the doorway of the kitchen. "Need me to do anything?" Not that John usually wanted him in the middle of his cooking, but he always felt obligated to offer even so.

"Oh, you can just stay there, if you want," John told him, with a faintly amused smile, and flipped the burger patties over in the pan. Yeah, having Bobby stay there forever sounded pretty good right about now. "Or you can check the table." John thought he'd laid out everything Bobby could possibly want on a burger, but there were always first times for everything. If nothing else, it gave Bobby something to do: the guy just seemed to hover otherwise, all too happy to help.

Bobby nodded and straightened. "Okay." he flashed John a quick smile and wandered over to the table, looking it over, trying to think if there was anything missing. He didn't think so, but he was tired, so he probably put more thought into it than it really called for. "I think you got everything," he called finally, wandering back to lean against the wall and resume watching John cook, happy just to be near him again. Late-night Skype just wasn't the same.

John knew Bobby was looking, and that grin grew a bit broader, more wry. Not that he was too obvious about most emotions beyond contempt. He flipped the burgers again, and made the flame flare up just a little, all professional pyrokinetic mutant chef-style. Gordon Ramsay eat your fucking heart out. "I bet you're thinking I'm a lot better in three-d." No matter the screen, no matter the sound, no matter the memory: the reality of Bobby Drake living a content little dorky life in their domestic enclave was definitely something else.

And John would never do anything to ruin that domestic feel. Which was why some things were never said.

Serving the now cooked burgers on a plate, he pulled on a mitten to extract the already toasted burger buns from the oven: a regular reminder that while flame was his domain, heat was not. But a regular enough reminder so that it had lost the sourness it used to have for him. "C'mon," he told Bobby, and set both plates out on the table for them to assemble whatever they wanted. "You want a beer or anything?" He paused, amusement and sympathy colouring his tone: "I bought some extra booze, in case you needed it." The very thought of Bobby's folks drove John to drink, and he didn't even have to spend time with them.

Bobby chuckled, pretty sure that the burst of flames from the pan was for dramatic effect more than anything. God, it was nice to be home. "Definitely better," he agreed, even though John's ego didn't really need the boost.

He followed John to the table and sat down, considering the offer. "I probably shouldn't. If I drink, I'm gonna fall asleep and then be wide awake at 3 am or something." But the thought of John asking about how his trip was and the minefield he would have to tiptoe across in answering made him reconsider. "Screw it, it's not like I have anywhere to be tomorrow. I'll fix my sleep schedule later. Beer me." He smiled ruefully at John and started assembling his burger.

John raised an eyebrow a little at the 'beer me' comment, because Bobby Drake made a surprisingly authentic frat boy. Crossing to the fridge, he pulled out a few beers he'd already had chilled, put them into a bucket, and sat that on the table, a testament to how much he thought Bobby might drink. Or maybe an offering.

"Consider yourself beered," he murmured, fixing his beer, and taking a satisfied bite. "And if you wake up at 3am, I'll probably still be studying, so I'll give you a cuddle and tell you to get back to sleep."

He took another bite, and pushed the bowl of fries he'd prepared in Bobby's direction, before reaching to grab a beer for himself.

"So. How is everyone?"

Bobby chuckled a little and grabbed a beer. "Thanks." Of course, if he woke up at 3, a cuddle wouldn't likely be the first thing on his mind, but he kept that thought to himself save for a brief smirk.

He scooped some fries onto his plate and added, "And thanks for the food," before focusing on John's question. "Everyone's fine. Nothing really exciting going on back there. Mom wanted to know when I was coming 'home,'" and the quotes were audible in his tone, "But that's not really a surprise, I guess."

John watched him eat and drink and acknowledged the question with a bit of a shrug. He hadn't really thought Bobby would answer fulsomely, because well - it was Bobby. "I'm glad they're fine," he said, and sounded like he meant it. At least Bobby had a functional family who wanted him, even now. John's family was worse off for all the changes.

"...You can tell me the rest after you've slept," he offered, making a quick judgement call. Bobby was tired, and Bobby was probably still fraught from the family, and Bobby did not do feelings well. It wasn't so much a case of John being kind (although he was, a bit) as John not wanting to push too much. "Although if they are coming to visit, I want fair warning."

"Yeah, I'll probably have more to say about it when I'm awake." And then Bobby's eyes widened a little. "Oh, my God, what if they want to come to visit?" he breathed, more to himself than to John. The thought hadn't occurred to him, and thankfully, no one had brought it up during his visit. He would just hope that continued.

"I guess I'll move into the spare room," John heard himself say, a little caustic, but also automatic. Because of course he'd do that for Bobby. Of course he would. And he kind of hated himself for that, that there was still a part of him who loved Bobby so much that he'd abase himself with lies like that. That he'd keep who they were, what they were, a dirty little secret, if it made Bobby happy. That he didn't deserve anything more in life than to be someone's second thought.

And well, the spare bedroom was still there. And perhaps it was more appropriate for him to move there than Bobby.

But it was one thing to avoid the topic on the phone with his parents an ocean away. If they were actually here, in London..."No, no, I wouldn't ask you to do that. If they decide to come...I guess I'll just have to tell them the truth." He'd have to tell them sooner or later, after all. "Besides, they'll probably want to stay here, so they'd need the spare room," he added, almost wincing. Hoo boy, wouldn't John love that, the Drakes staying with them?

"You don't need to ask me," John offered, and there was a tired, sad smile that went with it. "I've probably caused enough trouble between you and your folks as it is." Not that he knew exactly what he'd done that day, in a past that only existed in people's minds.

"...Well," John thought, rousing himself from some of his pity party, "maybe after your folks leave, mine can move in for a week. Share the trauma," he suggested, and reached across to place his hand on top of Bobby's, thumb rubbing across his knuckles, a simple affirmation that they were in this together.

Bobby turned his hand to grasp John's, shaking his head. "This is our house. If they want to stay here, they'll just have to accept that," he said quietly.

John's next words drew a low groan from him, though. "I'm not sure our sanity would survive doubling up like that," he commented wryly. "Anyway, no one mentioned a visit while I was there, so hopefully they won't think of it anytime soon."

"Maybe I could just smuggle Katie across somehow." John didn't really want to engage with his folks, but his sister: God, he'd talked to her, actually on the phone, messaged her on Facebook, commented, emailed...and he hadn't seen her since he was 15. Now he didn't have a security record and his family wasn't under fucking surveillance, so he could actually manage it. And he really did want to see her for himself: the emails and messages just made him hungry for the experience. A big brother without someone to brother was a very useless thing.

Still, he did acknowledge Bobby's quiet assurance, and squeezed his hand. "Have I mentioned already how glad I am to have you back?"

"I'd love to meet her," Bobby said nodding. He was a little nervous about engaging with John's parents, but his sister? He was curious to meet her. "You should see if you can work something out."

He smiled and rubbed his thumb along the side of John's hand before pulling it back again so he could finish eating. "Not as glad as I am to be back?" he replied with a grin between bites. "This is really good, by the way." Beat the hell out of airport food, that was for sure.

John snorted. "She's still at school. She should be studying." Spoken like a true professor-in-the-making. Not that he'd ever studied that hard at school. Katie would be seventeen, coming up on her senior year. He grabbed a chip and ate it. "Mom might send her over, just to find out what I'm doing." Or just to be able to say her daughter was holidaying overseas, of course. "But next time I sneak her a message on Facebook, I'll see what she thinks."

He shook his head a little at the compliment, and then reached for a handful of fries to dump them on his plate: "If you ever meet my mom, you can thank her for teaching me how to cook." Which was the kicker, wasn't it? His eyes glinted with amusement. He probably was more like his mom than he'd ever want to admit.

"Hey, visiting England is a great life experience. She'd learn a lot," Bobby said with a grin. "Besides, it's summer. If she's gonna come over, now is the time."

"I can do that." It would be something to say to her, anyway. He was extremely nervous at the thought of meeting John's mom, but it would probably happen someday, if they stayed together. It was kind of inevitable.

He drained his beer and reached for another one as he popped a fry in his mouth. "So what do you want to do after dinner? I want to try to stay up a little longer before I crash, if I can."

"She would," John acknowledged. "I think she's grown up to be even more sarcastic than I was, though - you might not be able to cope," he added, with a faint grin on his face. The idea of his own quickfire savagery combining with Katie's more cynical wit might be enough to make Bobby hide in their room. Or just cut a swathe of greatly offended British people through London.

"She'd probably love you though, so I wouldn't have to be too mean to her." Because being mean was practically part of the big brother code, along with random humiliation and punching people who cat-called your sister. The Allerdyces' love was a rough form of love, that was for sure. "And thanks. I know I probably make Mom sound a bit scary." He didn't add anything about how he'd found Magneto easy to deal with after his mom. Because she totally was more than a bit scary.

"We could watch a movie. Snuggle. I think you're too gone for wild sex," John murmured, in a deadpan, affectionately grouchy tone.

Edited 2015-09-26 00:25 (UTC)

"I think I can handle it," Bobby said dryly, grinning back.

"Yeah, I'm...definitely nervous to meet her, but I think that's pretty normal, right? I mean, most people are nervous about meeting their boyfriend or girlfriend's parents." he shrugged a little.

He chuckled at John's words and nodded. "Sadly, I think you're right. Much as I want to, mind. But after I sleep for about a million years--well, just don't plan to get out of bed tomorrow. Clear your calendar."

"She's probably not that terrifying, I just never had any other moms to compare her with." What was that, John? Defending your mother? Guilt, shame, or simply being unable to stick the knife in completely? Probably a mix of all three - he loved her, he just didn't like her very much. "But yeah, she'll love you, too. God, she'll love us. If she ever talks to you about running for office, change the conversation." Politics was in his mom's blood; raised on the knee of a state senator, relatives who were state attorneys-general, lieutenant governors, governors and one U.S. Senator. Power to her was something you clawed after and grabbed at and didn't let go of; it was what made you vital.

"And Dad will probably teach you more stupid jokes, not that you need any." He reached over and took the last fry with a grin.

"You pick a movie, I'll clear up." Because sometimes Bobby did need a little push, after all.

Despite John's words, Bobby was still pretty sure his mom was at least somewhat terrifying. He didn't say anything about that, though, just chuckled a little at his comment about running for office. "If she could convince me, my mom would probably be thrilled." A politician would be quite a career move in Mrs. Drake's eyes, though she was fairly satisfied with his current career choice, too.

"I always need more stupid jokes," he protested, getting to his feet.

"Are you sure? You cooked, I don't mind being on dish duty."

"I don't think you're the one here who likes attention," John said dryly, comfortable enough to admit that sure, he wanted to be somebody, even if he was still working out exactly who that somebody was. He didn't comment further here on their mothers actually talking to each other, because he didn't want to think about it. Jacqueline Allerdyce would probably find the Drakes utterly adorable, with the sort of affection his mother reserved for a particularly intelligent pet.

Gathering up the dishes to forestall any further protest, John shot him a look across the dinner table, one that said I love you, so sit your ass on the couch. "Bobby," he pointed out, reasonable and not unkind, "you've had to deal with your family and all that entails. You've had to lie and smile and be nice and know each and every moment of it that you're changing your life for me and this and God knows what happens next. You should put your feet up."

He moved into the kitchen without a further word, glancing across the counter to eyeball Bobby a little more as he placed the dishes in the sink.

John was right; politics really wasn't a field Bobby was cut out for. Too much attention, too much deception, too much corruption. Didn't mean his mom didn't still quietly wish things were different.

"It wasn't that bad. It's not like I'm not used to it," Bobby murmured to himself, shrugging as he watched John head to the kitchen, then went to pick out a movie. He pondered a few options before picking Guys and Dolls. Sinatra, a fun storyline, and a show familiar enough that when he lost the inevitable fight to jet lag and fell asleep midway through it wouldn't be a big deal.

He loaded the disc and grabbed the remote, sprawling on the couch as he navigated the menus. "Want me to wait?" he called into the kitchen, the film paused on the opening frames.

John heard that trailing statement from Bobby even as he entered the kitchen, and chose not to follow up on it. Bobby shouldn't have to be used to it, which was probably one reason why John viewed the Drake family as a bunch of passive-aggressive haters. Still, John's mom had pushed for him to enter politics, so he got the spiel. Turning on the sink, he absently wondered if Mrs Drake might like him more if he actually got elected to something and fulfilled a joint family ambition, before shaking his head and piling the dishes up.

"No, it's fine. You just sit back and enjoy," John called back, and started getting things all soapy. The domestic rhythms of washing up gloves and doing the dishes were familiar to him, reassuring in their own way. Gave him something to focus on, something to do, and took him back to a simpler time.

When the dishes were done, the sink clean, the towel hung up and the gloves put away, John took a moment to appreciate he had a fucking good kitchen thanks, before exiting and closing the sliding door behind him. It cut the rest of the house off from the living area (not that he was thinking tactically - okay, so he was, but also it gave the back half of the house an air of privacy he appreciated, cocooned away from the rest of the world.) Moving past Bobby half way through one of the opening numbers, he gave his boyfriend an automatic pat on the leg, and settled in on his other side, able to keep up easily enough with the rhythm and storyline.

Bobby smiled as John joined him, curling up against him and resting his head on John's shoulder. "It's so nice to be home," he murmured after a minute, even though he was pretty sure that was the third or fourth time he'd mentioned as much.

He fought the urge to just close his eyes, comfortable and content as he was with John's warmth next to him. He loved Guys and Dolls, surely he could at least make it to the end of the movie.

Another time, John might have remarked that Bobby had said that already, surly and unimpressed. Another time, John might have remarked that Bobby had said that already, amused. From school to college to now: this time, he simply dropped a kiss on Bobby's hair and curled an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah, it is," was what he said, keeping an eye on Bobby, half expecting him to fall asleep on the couch. Not that he'd grumble if Bobby did.

Bobby tried to stay awake, he really did, but the underlying stress of his visit to his parents coupled with jetlag and the sheer relief and comfort of having John next to him again won out around the time Sarah started singing "If I Were a Bell." His weight settled against John as he did indeed fall asleep.

John waited for a few moments to see if Bobby was in fact asleep, and then waited some more, flicking his glance between the sleeping lump and the movie. Slowly, achingly slowly, he eased himself away from Bobby and gently lowered him to the couch, finding a cushion for his head.

There was a light blanket in one of the cupboards in case of people crashing, and John used it now to drape across Bobby's sleeping form. Thumbing the film off, he put the remote down and then just took a moment to watch Bobby sleep, and knew - knew - that he could do this for a very long time. I could marry this guy, was what he thought, the idea bubbling up from somewhere, and he swallowed as it took hold. The reality of it was kind of shocking.

Although next time the lunkhead fell asleep on the couch, John would be sure to kick his ass all the way up the stairs. But tonight he was okay sleeping by himself for a change.

It was dark when Bobby woke up, and he didn't know where he was. He sat up abruptly, looking around as a cloud of frigid air surrounded him, ready to fight if he needed to. As the details of the room, shadowy but familiar, filtered into his brain and he realized he was safe at home, he relaxed, the chill fading from around him. He sighed and climbed to his feet, grabbing the blanket that had been spread over him and folding it before tossing it over the back of the couch.

He trudged up the stairs and undressed in their room, stripping to his boxers before he climbed into bed and scooted over to slip an arm around John.

John blinked, instantly awake at the sound of someone treading across the carpet. Of course he'd gotten a house where the floorboards creaked a little; of course he had. Tactically, it was smart. Even if the creaking got on his nerves from time to time. "What?" he murmured, as that arm curled around him. "Oh." And then he scooted back, comfortable, safe, and totally at ease with the benefits of being the little spoon.

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[For Bobby] Welcome home.

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