Arthur makes a soft noise of complaint as Crichton pulls away -- but, fine, okay, he supposes he needs oxygen too. Sentimentally -- and what is Christmas for if not sentimentality? -- he thinks he could spend all day with his arms around Crichton, and feel quite ridiculously happy about it.

"Mm, let's," he agrees, then adds: "I don't suppose the closet came equipped with smoking-jackets that you forgot to tell me about?"

Yes, in Arthur's time people still wear smoking-jackets. Feel young yet, Crichton?