The pressure helps. The pain (and it is setting in now, that dull hot tight feeling like an iron brand being pressed slowly into his brain) doesn't go away, but Sagramore's touch seems to redistribute it, to spread it thinner over Laertes's head. The touch at the back of his neck is especially good; there are moments where it cuts through the aching, like a sunbeam finding a break in the clouds. Laertes sighs and gives into it.