prodigalflame | [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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"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.

[For Bobby] Welcome home.

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