Laertes looks down at all that fierce eagerness, and pride blazes in him. I made him thus, he thinks. All the flushed cheeks and streaming eyes, the tumbled curls and flexing hips are for him. He's done well. He's given Lucien something that he craves, and Lucien has repaid him a hundredfold. He braces a hand on Lucien's cheek (tenderly, tenderly, a warm touch from palm to fingertip) and shifts to slide his leg between Lucien's spread thighs, giving him an ankle to rut against.