Aside from the flush, he's expressionless, but his mind is racing with several thoughts at once, following the trail of a handful of unrolled spools of thread -- Laurel read enough books on fashion that he understands what Claudius is describing, but a corset or stays on a woman held no interest for him and he passed over those pages briskly. Now he's pulling them back up in his mind's eye and imagining boned fabric laced around Claudius' slim waist, imagining the texture of embroidery on the brocade of the corset against his skin. Imagining lace undergarments beneath Claudius' fine suit, thinner and more delicate, with thigh garters and straps, Claudius' cock cradled in silk underwear small enough to make the shape of it stand out--

Galahad carefully stops imagining, although not quickly enough for Claudius to miss the effect it has on him. But he's prayed his way through unwanted erections before. It's fine.