Rufus has missed that smile. The cheeky grin that says he's done things he probably shouldn't have, or is planning things he knows Rufus will find questionable but go along with anyway. It's not blind love, it's compromise.
He sighs as Robert's hands move over his chest in the wake of his buttons falling open. Sighs a deep, deep sigh that is complete satisfaction at it's finest. He shrugs his shirt off and throws it across the room, his palms running over his lover's chest again, every mark he is familiar with, committed to his mind.
Rufus leans in to the kiss, his own hands cupping Robert's face, feeling the bubbling laughter and letting his own spill out. He is very aware of his damp trousers pressing to Robert's thighs and, with a chuckle more fitting for a teenager, he leans back to pull down his zipper and wriggle out of his clothes. After all, giving Robert a cold would be a terrible welcome back gift. And Robert is an awful patient.
It takes moments to strip down to his underwear, and then Rufus is leaning in again, resuming their kisses, though now there is just their body heat and their skin and he moans. Out loud. The sound is almost alien to him, but it's raw and real and he wants so badly.