Laertes smiles. "Good. Thou art good, my love." Again, he trails his fingernails in light, meandering paths over Lucien's shoulders, the back of his neck, down the valley of his spine--and when he's reached down as far as he can, to the cut of Lucien's waist beneath his ribs, he digs his nails in deep and rakes them hard up Lucien's back.