prodigalflame | [For Bobby] Paris, je t'aime.

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[For Bobby] Paris, je t'aime.

They had left London from St Pancras on the Eurostar early on the Thursday morning, one suitcase between them and just a couple of bits of hand luggage: this was a short getaway, John had said, not an exchange program. Bobby had made a list, of course, and John had groaned and kissed him anyway.

He'd made sure to get decent seats on the Eurostar too - standard premiere class so they had enough leg room and space and food that wasn't crap - although he'd spent most of his time with his nose in one of his texts, a hand absently stroking along Bobby's forearm as it rested on the seat arm between them.

Disembarking in Paris had been a bustle, with Bobby trying to remember his high school French and John popping open the phrase book and pointing to maps on his phone. Fortunately they arrived at the boutique hotel a little way off Avenue Victor Hugo without much more fuss, and John had promptly dived onto the bed for respite after they'd checked in. It was a nice room, all wood paneling and space and kind of grand, the kind of thing John had picked out (and Bobby had said 'Fine, that looks good' to), but he hadn't been allowed to flop down for too long before unpacking, and then hitting the pavement, mostly to gawk.

Paris was Paris. It wasn't New York, or San Francisco, or London or any of the places John had been to in the UK (which consisted entirely of Brighton, Oxford, Leeds and Hull); it had a air and atmosphere of its own, with seemingly insane traffic, vaguely amused Parisians, other gawking tourists (so they fit right in); the Metro, the sidewalk cafes, the history, the sense that everyone local was somehow better dressed - John's hand found Bobby's and he held it as they browsed maps and tourist guides and took photos and wandered around. For his nerves (and he had been nervous the last little while, all too conscious of the rings he had back in a suitcase in the hotel), he was gonna hold that hand and be proud and let everyone see it, fuck 'em if they had an issue.

That day was Midnight Mass (Bobby's idea), and John who'd been raised in faith and torn it down like everything else he used to believe in was moved by the sanctity of it, the sense of community. Respect must be paid. And Christmas morning they had lingered long in bed before John had reminded Bobby to get his ass in gear, promising that his present would come later. There was after all, an Eiffel Tower to visit, an ice rink to skate on, and a proposal to propose.

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"Wow. They're just so perfect," Bobby marveled, then shifted closer as John joined him on the bed.

"Mmm..." his breath hitched at the light brush of lips, and his hand moved between them--and was arrested by John's ringtone. He let his hand drop to the bed with a frustrated sigh as John rolled away to grab his phone, but it made sense that they would hear from their families. It was Christmas, after all.

He folded his arms behind his head and watched John while he talked to his sister, grinning at the excited shrieks that were shared with him in order to preserve his fiancé's eardrums.

And then John's mom came on the line, and John moved away. Bobby made a face at his back as he watched and listened, a little nervous himself about what would come next.

Excitement was to be expected from Katie - even at seventeen, she wasn't quite jaded beyond her 'teenage girl' years. But John's mom was something else. There was no excitement there, just an amused condescendion that made John feel all about of five years old.

"Hey, how are you-" Okay, that gambit didn't work. "No, Mom, you don't need to apologise, Katie didn't disturb-" And that didn't either. "Thanks for sharing how you spent the evening after Dad proposed, that was....kind of you." Oh, with the oversharing. He'd definitely got it from his mom. "But yeah, I am engaged now. Yes, to Bobby." He turned around a bit and rolled his eyes at the person they were currently talking about. "Yes, this was probably a long time coming. Yes, I know exactly what you think about it." John's voice got a little more steely as his mom tried to impart her usual wisdom about first loves. "But I'm still - what, you want to talk to him?"

John held the phone to his chest and mimed 'Do you mind?' to Bobby, a bit bewildered himself by the idea his mom wanted to talk to his new fiancé.

Bobby shook his head a little at the snippets of conversation he could hear on this end, but then it took a turn that was utterly unexpected.

He looked at John wide-eyed, his mouth working a few times before he sat up and gave a helpless little shrug before holding his hand out for the phone. He held it up to his ear as if it was perhaps a bomb and managed a nervous, "...Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the call was poised, confident and utterly self-collected. "Bobby," was the greeting, sounding so keen to talk to him that it rang false. "Do you mind if I call you Bobby? I wouldn't want to stand on formality, now you're joining the family!" She had a laugh like chiming glasses. "I first heard about you when Sinjin was fifteen. It's lovely to finally talk to someone who's always been so important to my son."

She allowed that to sink in for a few moments, then continued. "So, you're in Paris, aren't you? That sounds very romantic."

"No, Bobby's fine," he said politely, still staring at John like what do I do? What do I say? The rest of it didn't really call for a comment, or at least he couldn't think of an appropriate one, which was all right because she didn't leave him much time to give one anyway.

"Yes, it's a beautiful city, Mrs. Allerdyce. Very romantic," he agreed, shifting to 'dinner party' manners automatically, all formal, polite, respectful. "I...hope you've had a good Christmas so far."

John stared back, before finally shrugging. It wasn't like he knew how to talk to his mother after twenty-odd years, so what advice could he give Bobby? At least he was being polite and well, being himself in a sense.

"Oh, it's been fine, although not nearly as eventful as yours. Still, it's nice you appreciate all the effort Sinjin went to. When you get older, you find romance loses some of its appeal." In other words, boys, you're being adorably immature.

"And you're studying as well, from what I've been told? Accounting? Sinjin's father always had a wonderful mind for figures - he was a bank manager - but my son never took after him that way. I can remember Sinjin writing home about you, and the fact you could actually use numbers. We're all very grateful you've always looked out for him, Bobby, very thankful."

It was just a painfully awkward conversation with a woman who was basically a stranger, was all. Bobby suppressed a sigh as he got no help from John and focused on being as polite as he could, filtering the 'um's and 'uh's out of his conversation automatically.

"Oh, yes, he did a great job planning it. I was completely surprised," he said, although he could think of no good response to her other comment about romance.

"Yes, ma'am, accounting." And the last sentence had him glancing at John again and shifting uncomfortably in his space on the bed. "Oh...of course. I've always cared for your son, from the moment I met him." He wondered what she would think if she knew the reason he'd ended up in prison was because of the decision he'd made. Of course, he was also the reason John had been alive to serve his sentence.

"Oh, and where are my manners? It's Ellen, please." While she was polite and garrulous and perhaps charming in a way there was still something false about the way she talked, the patter a little rote, like the sort of thing that could be expected from the hostesses at a dinner party. "Well, I'm sure we'll have lots of time to get to know each other better, but I should leave you two to enjoy the afterglow. I'm glad you're keeping him out of trouble. Can you put Sinjin back on, please?"

Bobby wanted to collapse onto the bed in relief as she wrapped up the conversation. "Of course. It was lovely to finally speak to you, Ellen," he said dutifully. "Here he is." He resisted the urge to literally throw the phone back to John, but as soon as it was out of his hand he actually did flop back onto the bed with a sigh, then shifted closer to John, reaching out a hand to lightly caress the backs of his fingers up and down John's side while he waited for him to finish the call.

John took the phone back, and put it to his ear, responding on autopilot as he eyed Bobby. His fiancé looked fraught from the conversation, and John couldn't help but being amused and concerned at the same time. Amused, because thank God it wasn't just him who was vaguely terrified by his mom, and concerned, because well - Bobby was gonna have to learn how to deal better in future.

"Yeah, thanks mom. Maybe Katie can talk to him another night? We've just had a really long day." Hearing the response he got, John replied with a deadpan: "Yes, mom, I would like to have sex with my fiancé. Night." He'd never felt so satisfied to end a damn call in his life, almost jabbing at his cell with his thumb.

Flopping down next to Bobby, he shifted closer, one hand under his head, the other snaking down to entwine fingers with Bobby's. "...So that's my mom. You know, it sounded like she was in a good mood."

"Oh, my God," Bobby groaned softly at John's parting comment to his mother. He wasn't sure he could have sex now, knowing that she knew exactly what they were doing.

Okay, that was a lie, but he was still mildly mortified.

"...She seemed...nice," he said diplomatically, squeezing John's hand.

John snorted at the idea anyone could think his mother was nice. Taking Bobby's hand, he squeezed it, and then brought it up to his mouth to brush his lips across Bobby's knuckles. "...She is not nice," he said gently, but firmly, still in some ways assuming he knew best and that Bobby had to get himself a bit more spine. At least when dealing with his mom. "But you'll have many years to come to learn that," he reflected. John had learned that from an early age.

"...And she didn't say to me I didn't expect, anyway." He gave a little shrug about it; water off a duck's back.

Well, no, nice wasn't the word Bobby would use to describe John's mother honestly, but he also wasn't about to tell his fiancé that his mom was kind of creepy and nerve-racking. It had been kind of like talking to a Stepford Wife, all polite and kind and yet not quite right, with just that feeling of being off.

"It's not like she yelled at me or anything," he pointed out instead, shaking his head a little. He didn't understand John's relationship with his mother, but he had a feeling that was pretty mutual. Which reminded him.

"I should probably call my folks too, before we do anything else," he said in a resigned tone. Otherwise, they were liable to get interrupted again, and nothing would kill the mood like fielding a call from Madeline Drake in the middle of sex.

No, she hadn't yelled at Bobby, but then she hadn't needed to. Emily Allerdyce could easily get under someone's skin without needing to resort to something uncouth like yelling. Yelling just proved you'd lost the argument, after all. And if John knew his mom, she'd probably started to do a number on Bobby, and that phone call was just the start of it. So he searched Bobby's face for any trace of discomfort, before seeing that resignation wash over him at the thought of his mom.

"You sure you couldn't use some...support before you ring your parents?" John asked, hand moving around to slip under the hem of Bobby's shirt, making it very clear just what kind of support he was offering.

Bobby whimpered softly at the feel of John's fingers moving over his skin, wanting nothing more than to feel more of that touch, to roll over and pull the rest of their clothes off and lose himself in his new fiancé, but. "If we get started and they call in the middle of it, I'm not sure I'll be able to get hard again tonight," he said wryly, half-teasing. He rolled onto his side and allowed himself to at least give John a long, lingering kiss full of promise of what they would do after the family obligations were all sorted before shifting onto his back again and finding his parents in his contact list, putting the phone to his ear with a small sigh.

"Hey, Ronny. Merry Christmas," he said as his brother answered. "Get anything good?" He smiled faintly at the reply. "Oh, yeah? You'll have to tell me about it after you play it, maybe I'll pick it up. Are mom or dad nearby?" He waited for the phone to change hands, glancing over to John to give him a small, rueful smile.

"Hi, mom. Merry Christmas. Yeah, I know, I miss you guys too. Actually, I did. I'm in Paris right now. Cool, huh?" He listened to his mother's reply and mouthed, 'oh, God,' to himself, but into the phone said brightly, "Yeah, sure, that'd be pretty cool. Maybe next year." His hand sought John's as he took a deep breath and said, "Listen, mom, there's something I need to tell you guys."

John just raised an eyebrow at the idea that Bobby wouldn't be able to get hard again tonight. His fiance treated John like he was his sexual kryptonite (which frankly, John did not mind one bit). But at the same time, John didn't know if he wanted to have sex with any of their parents' still in his thoughts.

Although he did think Bobby might be able to convince him, from the way he went with Bobby as Bobby pulled away from that kiss, momentarily stunned by the slow, lingering intimacy of it. Still, that joy turned to gritted teeth as he heard Bobby greet his brother like - well, like his brother, the little snitch that he was - and forced himself calmer, because Bobby needed him calm. This wasn't about him, or Ronnie, or how the family could go to hell. This was for Bobby.

So he shuffled closer to Bobby, one hand warm on Bobby's back, palming reassuring circles. The muscles felt taut and stiff, John thought absently: nothing too unusual. Bobby was always a bit tense, and a massage would not go astray, probably. It just made John ache for him more.

Bobby licked his lips and took a deep breath, the words tumbling out of him quickly as he exhaled. "I'm engaged. Yeah, I know you didn't. That's because, uh...you know my roommate?" He closed his eyes as a new wariness entered his mother's voice when she replied. "Well...he's my fiancé now." He was quiet, waiting for a few seconds. When she didn't respond, he went on. "Mom? Are--" And then he got a response. "--Mom, I just wanted--" His jaw set as he listened. "I don't want to, mom. I love him. No, I'm not a child, and I do know--" He subconsciously shifted away from John, wrapping an arm around his stomach and hunching his shoulders as his mother's emotions shifted from anger to pain and bewilderment. "No, mom, it's nothing you did," he said quietly, wondering why he ever expected this call to go even slightly better than it was. "It's just who I am and who I love." He listened for another minute, then said, "I'm sorry, mom. I didn't mean--yeah, okay. I l--"

And then his phone was beeping in his ear, signalling the end of the call, and he let it fall from his hand onto the bed before leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

John felt Bobby tense up even further as his mom conversed. The explanation was never going to be easy, but John never thought it would be this hard. Seeing - and feeling - Bobby pull away made John ache like there was a hole in his chest, because he couldn't do anything and he could tell this was becoming a train wreck.

God, they were such douches. He had been right in a way, looking at all those damn photos, lined up in the hallway of the Drake household. Happy families only went so far. They'd shat on Bobby that day and they were doing it again. And John was the only one Bobby had in the end, because John was the only one Bobby ever really had. He didn't even dump him for those puns, and that took a lot.

So when the call ended, John was there, arm around Bobby's shoulders, kissing his temple and into his hair, cuddling Bobby to his chest. "Hey, it's gonna be fine," he made himself say. He hated these people. Bobby loved them. And that meant he had to fix this. "It's gonna be just fine, she's just a little rattled, that's all. She'll come around, I know, because you're an absolutely wonderful son, you know? You're a great guy, and a gentleman, and everything she could ever hope to have." In the end he reached to tug at Bobby's hands and lift him from the near-foetal position so he could look in those scared blue eyes as he said it. "You're wonderful," he said again, and kissed Bobby's lips, softly.

Bobby returned the kiss weakly, tears starting to run down his cheeks as he pulled his mouth from John's in order to bury his face in John's shoulder, slipping his arms around him and clinging desperately to the best thing in his world. "Yeah," he croaked, because he had to believe that's all it was. He'd known it would come as a shock to his family, after all. That was why he'd put off telling them for so long. If he hadn't been such a coward when he went to visit over the summer, maybe he could have prepared them for this instead of blindsiding them on Christmas with a whole lot of information to take in all at once.

"It'll be okay. I'm okay," he said after crying against John for a minute, pulling back to wipe his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Sorry."

And John held him close in turn, hand smoothing up and down Bobby's back, kissing his hair and temple and murmuring "Sssh, it'll be okay" and variations thereof what felt like a dozen times. While a steady, cold hate built in his heart, he didn't show it. He wouldn't even show it to Bobby's so-called mother. No. Because Bobby needed her and John got what it was like to have a complicated relationship with your mom.

So he let Bobby cry himself out and then reached forward to hold his wrists after Bobby wiped his face and sniffily apologised. "Hey," he murmured, quiet but firm. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Bobby shrugged, not entirely sure he agreed with that. He felt like he's somehow ruined the night, at least a little bit. This was supposed to be a happy night, not one he spent crying on John. "It's just...not how I wanted the night to go," he said with a sad little smile. "I feel bad." He sighed and continued, "Maybe I shouldn't have told them tonight, should have just waited until we were back home. But..." and here he actually managed a weak chuckle, "I kind of want to tell everyone. The whole world."

Cupping Bobby's cheek, John kissed him again, soft, gentle, just being present with him, and gazing into those eyes. He let his hand drop, and shrugged a little. "You weren't to know how she was going to react. You shouldn't feel bad. I still a lovely night."

His fiance matched Bobby's chuckle with a wry one of his own. "Hey, if you want to tell everyone..." he reached to the bedside table and picked up his phone, holding it so the screen was visible: "I could update Facebook. Because if for no other reason," John told Bobby, "the world should know that you made me the happiest man in the world tonight. Like you do every night. Like you'll do on our wedding night. And that's all there is to it."

"Okay." Bobby nodded, accepting the reassurance John was offering. And it still could be a lovely night, despite having just one dark spot in it. He was still engaged and still thrilled about it, after all.

He laughed a little, shrugging a shoulder. "Hey, go ahead. That's one good thing about...all of this. We don't have to be careful what we post or tag anymore." He smiled and leaned in to kiss John briefly, then pulled away and stood up with a little sigh. "I think I'm going to take a quick shower. Okay?"

At Bobby's words, John nodded, and fell back on the pillows, thumbs already at work updating his relationship status. There. That way all his Facebook friends would know about it, and possibly all of Bobby's Facebook friends, depending on his security settings stuff. That was how it worked, right? It felt satisfying to press the button with his thumb to make it go live.

Not that half of their friends would probably see it, considering the general fucked-up-ness of the news feed. Damn Facebook.

"Tell me if you want me to join you," John suggested, with a flash of a smirk at Bobby, eyes already back down on his phone as the 'likes' came rolling in. He wasn't really sure if they should go all the way that night, but some seriously slow intimate making out was definitely on John's schedule. Soaping Bobby down in the shower might give John the opportunity to massage some of those stiff muscles.

"Nah, I won't be long. And then we can finish what we started," Bobby promised with a smile. The truth was he wanted to be alone for a few minutes so he could feel bad and sorry for himself without John having to watch, and then he'd get it out of his system and they could salvage the rest of the night.

He headed for the bathroom and started the shower before closing the door, and true to his word, he was only in there for about five minutes before returning, damp and wrapped in a towel, his demeanor definitely lighter.

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