Reunion (Flynn/Quinn and momentary Deirdreface)

[myeyesarehollow.livejournal.com]

Flynn had never felt so nervous getting off a plane before.

Spectre tours tended to go very well. The band had a great time touring and they enjoyed meeting the fans who were, by and large, lovely people. The time with his bandmates and his fans and his music had done more for Flynn than anything else int he past few months. The band had their occasional snafus while travelling, of course. The odd venue got stormed by the Templar, but mostly the tours themselves went well. It was the end of the tours which usually went badly. On one occasion, Quinn had been found with his head bashed in. On another, Flynn's brother Frankie had tried to shoot Quinn, causing Flynn to have to shoot him. Flynn dreaded the end of tours like nothing else. And now he was about to step off a plane and see his husband, whom he had been estranged from ever since the night he had shot Frankie last August.

He collected his bags and headed through customs to the international arrivals lounge of Heathrow airport. Panic twisted in his gut and for a moment, he truly believed Quinn wouldn't be there. Maybe Quinn changed his mind and didn't want to work on things after all, or maybe he was lying in his home with his brain leaking all over the floor like he had been so many years ago.

But no. Flynn lifted his eyes to search the crowd and he felt his best friend Deirdre's hand on his shoulder. "He's over there," she whispered in his ear, and she turned him to the left. And there, against the wall, Quinn was leaning and looking just as nervous as Flynn felt.

Flynn very nearly dropped his suitcase and ran over to his husband. All trepidation melted away, and while he had been cautious around the other man, if not completely cold, since August, he just wanted to hold Quinn. As it was, he waddled as quickly as he could with a suitcase and his bass guitar, and when he reached Quinn, he set them down and had hardly straightened up before Quinn embraced him, his grip almost rough.

"Mal," Quinn murmured into Flynn's neck. "I missed you so much." He held his husband tight. So tight Flynn knew Quinn was actually worried he would be pushed away. And that fear wasn't without reason. Flynn had spent months pushing Quinn away, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally. He had no intention of doing so now. Quinn knew everything that had happened in Liverpool and he wanted to work things out with Flynn anyway. He had no reason to push Quinn away anymore.

"I missed you too," Flynn admitted. He let Quinn hold him and it was wonderful. The only people he had really let comfort him since being forced to shoot his own brother were Susan and Deirdre. And now the man he had killed for was holding him and maybe...just maybe Flynn wasn't a terrible person after all. "I love you, Quinn."

Quinn clung to Flynn and when he pulled away, he was clearly holding back tears. "I love you too, Bub. Come on, let's get you home."

The taxi ride was quiet, and Flynn spent it leaning on Quinn with his head on the other man's shoulder. They chatted about the tour and their friends, waiting to speak about anything actually important until they returned home. But at least when they arrived there, they were caught up with each other's lives.

The first thing that Flynn did when he got to the house he hadn't actually been back to since the beginning of August, was hug their housemate Adrina. He cuddled his cat Errol and Quinn's cat, Booster as well. Then he was dragged upstairs to the room the two of them shared, or at least they used to.

Quinn sat Flynn down, and Flynn let him. Then Quinn started to pace and Flynn watched him quietly before softly clearing his throat. "Bub?" Flynn said from his spot on the bed. "Bub, can you just...stop moving?"

"Sorry," Quinn breathed, though he didn't actually stop pacing. He was always a little too energetic to stand still. "This feels weird. Having you in our room shouldn't feel weird, but it does."

Flynn had to admit being in the room felt weird too. He was in a place surrounded by his things. It was strange. "I can go," he said in his quiet and calm way. Flynn never wasted words when he didn't have to.

"Don't you dare," Quinn whispered and then, in order to keep Flynn from leaving, he climbed right up into Flynn's lap. Flynn looked startled for a second, but then he wrapped his arms around Quinn to make sure he didn't fall.

"That's a no, is it?" Flynn asked with a smirk.

"It's a no." Quinn kissed Flynn's forehead. "Mal, I don't care what happened in Liverpool. ...that sounds horrible. I am so sorry about everything you went through there and I hate that you thought I didn't want to be with you while I was here wishing I knew where you were the entire time. But what happened between you and Susan...it's fine. With me. I understand it."

Flynn knew there was very little chance Quinn did understand, but he wasn't going to hold that against his husband when the man was being so wonderful. "I wouldn't have been with her if I had known," Flynn said simply. His parents had told him Quinn wanted a divorce and Flynn had believed them and run. That was all there was to it. Susan had been there and warm and kind in the face of his heartbreak.

"I know, Bub. I know that. I spent a while being angry and then I realised I have nothing to be angry about. And I just want you back. Mal? Are you mad at me for being angry with you?"

Of all the things Flynn had felt since August, anger at Quinn was not one of them. He had never even considered it. He raised his hands to Quinn's face and he kissed the man on the lips. "No, Quinn. Never."

"I'm still so sorry. I should have known bette-" Quinn was cut off when Flynn slipped his hand over Quinn's mouth. Quinn's eyes widened and then he gave Flynn a slightly confused look.

"I'm used to having to stop Deirdre from talking," Flynn explained, removing his hand. "There is nothing to be sorry about." It was Flynn who had made mistakes. Flynn had believed his parents and he had run and he had kept his loved ones at arm's length even after returning. He did it because he truly considered himself despicable, but Quinn still loved him and he couldn't put into words how much that mattered to him. He would try now. He would try to be good and worthy of Quinn's love. He would try so hard. "I am back. I am not going anywhere. Except for...on tour. That I still have to do."

Quinn chuckled, "and I do love watching you tour. In your little hotpants."

"Everything will be okay. I love you and I don't want to be without you anymore either. Everything that happened...it happened because I wasn't where I belonged. With you. So I'll stay where I belong when I'm not on tour. Oh hey, on tour, I wore a selection of leather pants the whole time!" Flynn informed Quinn, though he hadn't liked it. Deirdre had made him.

"Ohhhh, don't say things like that," Quinn groaned, dropping his head to Flynn's shoulder. "The leather pants thing. You're allowed to say the other stuff and I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear it. But you talking about leather pants isn't fair."

Flynn pulled back and he smirked at Quinn. "I could put them on for you?"

Quinn's head shot up and he stared at Flynn with his eyes wide. It occurred to him that having just reconciled, it might not be the best idea to jump Flynn's bones. But Quinn and Flynn had been a part of each other's lives since they were sixteen. They would work this out too and be just fine. Sex had always been a big part of how they related to each other. After reuniting from a separation of six years they had slept together, why should now be different? Quinn hadn't had sex since August and he had spent months not knowing where his husband was. He had found him broken and then he had had his heart shattered... He had waited long enough. "Or you could just...take everything off."

Flynn laughed and he patted Quinn's legs. "Not with you on me."

"Oh!" Quinn jumped off of his husband and then he quickly pulled his own shirt over his head eagerly.

He was joined by Flynn who stood much more slowly and began to remove his own clothes until Quinn's hands clasped his arms. "Babe-" Quinn said, looking guilty but no less topless. "I didn't even ask you if you were tired or hungry or...do you want anything? First?" He meant first, not instead of, which he felt he needed to make clear.

Flynn's lips broke into a rare and huge grin and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Quinn. His husband was adorable. "Only you, Ardal. I have only ever wanted you." And not only was it true, but Quinn believed him. "I was so worried this tour would end badly too," Flynn admitted. "But this is perfect."

He had no way of knowing what had happened to his best friend when she arrived home. He was too wrapped up in his own bliss.