"I love thee as I love sunlight, cher." Laertes leans into that touch. There is something he's been longing for, and felt too ridiculous to ask--but the earnest affection in Lucien's voice makes him brave. "I'd like very much to rub thy back, and to have thee touch me in kind," he says, and meets Lucien's eyes. In the firelight, his own look closer to brown-golden than to green, the lines around them soft with fondness. "Wouldst thou like that?"