They go from being within a hair’s breadth of touching to touching everywhere, bodies pressed tightly together as Robbie steps into Lance and closes his arms around him at the same moment, one arm an iron bar around Lance’s waist, and his other hand splayed over his back. Robbie rubs his cheek against the line of Lance’s neck, his nose against the crux of Lance’s shoulder, and Lance isn’t sure whether Robbie is kissing him so much as he’s breathing him in. Overwhelmed, all Lance can do in return is anchor himself with both hands on Robbie’s shoulders and whimper.

He studied these shoulders as a child, memorized their shape and carried the image with him every day of his life until today. Square, strong, able to bear anything. Lance has imagined being held like this, his hands just here on the warm curves of Robbie’s shoulders, the biceps carved from ordinary hard work as beautifully taut and defined as anything honed in a gym.

But as soon as he has the feel of Robbie’s shoulders under his palms, it’s not enough. Robbie trails his mouth to map a new spot on the terrain of Lance’s neck, his beard dragging over Lance’s skin in a way that Lance wants to feel on his stomach, his thighs, and the back of his neck.

He leans back in Robbie’s arms, because more than this, more than touch and heat and the circle of Robbie’s arms, more than feeling the insistent press of Robbie’s hard cock between their flush bodies and knowing it’s hard because of Lance, Lance has wanted something else. Something simpler. Something much more complex.

“Robbie,” he murmurs against Robbie’s temple. “Robbie, Robbie,” he says again, a murmured chant. Robbie lifts his head, his lips still parted from the charted path of hot laves he left on Lance’s neck. The moment their eyes meet, by unspoken and instant agreement, Robbie’s hand leaves Lance’s back to cup his head, and they’re kissing.

Despite the fervor of their grasping, straining touches, Robbie’s kiss is so careful. So gentle. He focuses on Lance’s hypersensitive lower lip, stroking it with darts of his tongue and teasing it with his teeth, then sealing their lips together in a long, warm moment of pressure that’s languorous and practically chaste.

They might have stayed like this forever, kissing, if Lance could have stopped himself from grinding against Robbie’s pelvis, incredibly desperate for friction considering that he just had a decent orgasm only twenty minutes ago.

Robbie breaks their kiss and groans. “Lance. Sweetheart. I don’t—” His hands fall to Lance’s waist and he rolls his hips back against Lance’s, which makes them both pant. “God. I have no idea what to do with you.”

“Yes, you do,” Lance says immediately. “You do.”

“I don’t—” Robbie interrupts himself with another gasp as Lance guides one of Robbie’s hands lower so that his fingers are digging into the cleft of Lance’s ass. “Oh, fuck. I mean—I’ve never done anything with a guy.”