Crichton practically melts on the spot from that kiss, his shoulders slumping loose, releasing the last of his fearful stage-fright as he's enveloped instead in the warmth of such deep and passionate love. Arthur's said it all without saying anything at all.

He laughs as they break apart. "That just means we're both masters at picking the best present possible, doesn't it?" Because if Arthur wrote him a poem too, he's going to bawl like a baby about it. If that isn't proof that they are a perfect match, he doesn't know what is.

"I want to hear it."