87:Arrival

*Author's note:  I took poetic license and disregarded the final show in Tel Aviv.  It wasn't intentional, but by the time I realized it, I was six chapters invested in the mistake and committed to what I'd already written.  ~blush

Jon peered out the plane window, absently noting that lights of the New Jersey coastline appeared as diamonds set into the black canvas of night.  They were virtually indistinguishable from one another, but as the aircraft continued its descent into Monmouth County, they became more individualized and distinctive. 

It wouldn’t be long now.

Three weeks and three days ago, they’d embarked on this adventure with all the enthusiasm that men their age could muster.  Tonight, after immediately boarding the plane post-show in Abu Dhabi and flying around the world with only one brief stop to refuel, each man aboard was reminded why this life was a two-edged sword. 

There was nothing that compared to being on a stage in front of thousands, but there were hours, days, weeks and months of preparation that went into a single two-hour show.  After a time, it began to take its toll on the people who made it happen, and that time was growing shorter with each new bout of touring.

They were all ready to get home to their families and not look at one another for a while.

Speaking for himself, Jon wouldn’t see his kids until tomorrow when he picked up Jake and Romeo for a trip to South Carolina, where they would watch Jesse’s Notre Dame football team take on Clemson.  His date with Stephanie for a daddy/daughter brunch wasn’t until Sunday. 

That left tonight open for Chiara, whom he was getting more anxious to see with each mile that brought the plane closer to Monmouth Jet Center.  He and Dorothea had been married a long time, meaning that it had been a lot of years since he was this excited to come home to a woman. 

His newly realized love for Chiara was weighing heavy on Jon's mind, too.  It would be nice to take her out to a romantic dinner or something equally appropriate before telling her that.  Their relationship thus far had been so tumultuous that she deserved something a little more traditional.

The problem was that he truly did suck with the whole romantic thing.  If it happened spontaneously, fine.  Planning and choreographing thoughtful gestures and romantic scenes weren't his thing, though.  Reality was that he'd probably end up professing his love during a randy bout of much anticipated monogamous sex, when she was pinned to the wall and yelling at him to go faster or harder. 

Team Monogamy was going to ensure he wasn't out on the road for more than a month at a time, because this blue balls thing was a frigging joke.  It hadn't gotten so bad that he resorted to whacking himself off, but he'd been dreaming and fantasizing about her - often, especially during the last few days.  He’d actually dreamed about her at some point over the Atlantic, waking with half a hard-on and the vague memory of her lips.  It was so vivid that he’d almost sworn he could taste her.

I will soon.

As the plane touched down with a gentle bump and braking of the wheels to bring the Bon Jovi contingency back onto American soil, Jon picked up his phone and several of the other guys did the same.  Tony was no doubt texting Lilah confirmation of their safe arrival, and Matt was likely doing the same with Desiree.  Dave and John Shanks were both flicking through, probably checking messages, while Tico was bent forward in the seat stretching his fingertips toward his toes to work out the kinks. 

[10:27 PM]JON: Just landed.  Be there in 30.  Be naked.

All six men aboard were glad to be here, if for no other reason than to put an end to the long flight, and each made their own sounds of fatigue and relief as seatbelts were unbuckled.  With messages sent and read, phones disappeared into pockets while gear was gathered together and everybody checked for stray items around the seats. 

Most of them were in the home stretch.  Multiple cars waited outside to take nearly everyone in a different direction for the final leg of the journey that would reunite them with their loved ones.  Tico was the only one who still had miles to go before he slept, as the Robert Frost poem went.

[10:28 PM]CHIARA: Welcoming committee in your bed waiting with open legs.  I mean arms.  Damn auto correct.  ;)

Chuckling quietly, Jon thought that he didn’t have all that many miles to go, but it was looking to a good long while before he slept. 

Thank God.

"It’s been real, boys,” Shanks announced, shrugging on a lightweight jacket in deference to the temperature change.  Early October nights in Jersey weren’t cold, but they were significantly cooler than the Middle East.  “I’ll catch you all on the flip side.  JB, call me this week.  We’ll tie up the loose ends on that song.”

Throwing up a hand of acknowledgement, Jon offered a vague farewell and stood to stretch arms out in front of him as he thought about her text.  Arms, legs… it didn’t matter.  He’d take anything as long as she was naked and rubbing up against him like a horny cat. 

Tonight's in-flight dream was a Technicolor boom-chicka-wow-wowww version of the waking fantasies he’d had for days, and right now, he was on the verge of aching.  Aching to sink himself deep and feel her legs lock around his waist to keep him there.  To have her scream and writhe against him as she came.

Jet lag be damned.  He’d probably get a hard-on as soon as he saw her. 

Thirty minutes and counting.

“No offense, but I don’t want to see your ugly face until next Sunday,” Tony rumbled as he moved past Jon.  It was unusual having him on the private plane, since he typically flew with the crew, but he was as anxious to get to Lilah as Jon was to Chiara and this was the most direct route to make that happen.

Covering a wide yawn with the back of his hand, Jon searched his mind for the significance of the date but came up empty.  “What’s next Sunday?”

“We’re celebrating your good lookin’ brother’s birthday, dumbass.  Pizza and beer at the house.”

Champagne and caviar were definitely not the direction in which Tony’s palate leaned, but Jon wouldn’t complain.  Sometimes the simple things in life were the best. 

“Remind me when my ass isn’t shaped like an airplane seat.”

“No need, man,” the middle Bongiovi called over his shoulder as he exited the plane.  “It’s your girlfriend’s birthday, too.  She’ll remind you.”

Oh, yes.  Somewhere between Singapore and China Lilah sent him a text alert about the counselor’s birthday.  Knowing that the date alone wasn’t going to stick with him after one mention, she’d subtly linked it to Tony’s birthday so that Jon wouldn’t forget.

It was a gesture that was appreciated, he hadn’t yet acted on the information because the perfect gift still eluded him.  Jewelry was always an option, but she didn’t seem to wear much.  A trip was worth considering, although not until he’d recovered from this one. 

Jon shook his head tiredly as he bent to hook the handle of his duffel. He was too tired to wrack his brain for some kind of suitable gift for the woman who was claiming a more and more significant stake in his life.  Next week would be soon enough.

Sleep first.  Chiara first.

Matt followed not far behind Tony, offering a quiet grunt and slap on the back by way of departure as Jon stuffed the newspaper into his bag.  He was hiking it onto his shoulder when Dave paused next to him, doing the same. 

“Girlfriend waiting for you, dude?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Going home to an empty house sucks.”  He issued a single nod of his head and lightly thumped Jon’s arm before resuming his shuffle toward the exit.  “Tell Charlie I said hi.”

“Yep.”

“Call me a nosy fuck…” The gravelly voice came from behind Jon, prompting him to turn and face the plane’s other remaining passenger.  “But you said your girlfriend’s name was Chiara.  Who’s Charlie?”

Jon kicked up a half-smile for the man who’d spent the last thirty years looking at his ass from behind a drum set.  “Same person.  Everybody but me calls her Charlie.”

Tico’s eyes crinkled with thoughtful amusement as he bent to remove a cigar case from the outside pocket of his carry-on. 

Unlike the rest of them, who were only double-digit miles from home, the drummer had one more flight before officially arriving home.  His plane to Florida was probably waiting, but he would manage to get a quick stogie fix before boarding it.

“I’ve only known woman named Charlie,” he mused removing his cigar before putting the case back in its designated spot.  “And it was a long time ago.  She was probably easy on the eyes, since most of ‘em were, but what I really remember is her tattoo.  There weren’t that many girls with them in the early nineties, so it kinda stuck with me.”

Jon knew exactly what his friend meant.  Back in the day, tattoos were very edgy and used primarily as an outward sign of inner rebellion.  It was only the wildest and most unruly women who got inked. 

Nowadays, tattoos were far more mainstream and socially acceptable and, because of that, there was a whole new image branded on its behalf.  What he called a “tat”, the kids of today called “body art”.    In his experience with his kids’ friends and the population in general, it seemed to Jon that every teenage girl had a flower, heart or unicorn etched somewhere on her body.

To each their own, as far as he was concerned.  You could call a guitar a drum if so inclined, but it didn’t change what they looked like or their purpose.

He followed his old buddy down the stairs to the tarmac, laughing as he went.  If this chick's tattoo stuck with Tico, it must be good.  “So what was it?  Skull on her bicep?  Black Widow tramp stamp?  Grim Reaper on her crotch?” 

“Nah.  She wasn’t like that.”  Tico stopped at the foot of the stairs, lighting his cigar.  Taking his first puff and releasing the smoke to drift away on the New Jersey night, he then turned to Jon.  The runway lights were just bright enough reveal a reminiscing smile when he said, “It was Tinkerbell of all goddamn things.  Right at the top of her thigh, so you couldn’t see it until she took her pants off.”