In those arms, Claudius can never feel unwanted. He feels, as he often feels when falling in love, like he’s being held in orbit, and no matter how far he drifts he’ll always be pulled back some inexorable force. He feels it in the force of Laertes’s arms, crushing him close.

“I admit,” he says, tone turning flirtacious, “this is the first I heard that thou didst long to fence for me. Sagramore said nothing of thy assent, whether it was obliging or eager, or whether thou wert wary of me still. Thou canst prove thy thoughts to me in voicing them, but ere now this desire of thine has been voiceless.” Flirtacious and demanding, he says, “Tell me. What makes thee want it?”