For all that he feels for Laertes, all his desire, there is still that coiled tension of anxiety somewhere deep within him. At the sound Laertes makes, though, Lancelot feels that tension loosen.

He lets himself relax, let himself feel and revel in the heat that courses through him. He lets go of the anxiety, the inclination to watch himself, to monitor, and instead pours all of his attention, his focus, into Laertes -- how Laertes feels under him, the heat of his mouth and the warmth of his skin.