[For Bobby] Welcome home.

[prodigalflame]

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'.

Comments

[prodigalflame]

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.

[cold_blueeyes]

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.

[prodigalflame]

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.

[cold_blueeyes]

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.

[prodigalflame]

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.