[When Alucard removes his gloves, Anderson follows suit, peeling off his own and sliding them into a pocket. It would be silly to keep them on. It wouldn't be for Alucard, but- he gathers that this provides greater intimacy.

He closes the door with the toe of a boot before shrugging off his cassock, folding it neatly and placing it on the bedside table. It's followed by his clergy jacket, then his shirt, and finally his singlet, which are folded just as neatly and placed aside. The cross remains, of course, sitting flesh-warm on his sternum. He absentmindedly strokes the metal with a thumb as he returns to Alucard.]

There's no set number. Go for as long as you feel you need to.

[He stares at Alucard, and he's taken with the urge to touch him, strangely. Just touch him idly, unhurriedly, with their usual affection. But Alucard was insistent about not wanting to be touched by him when being kept captive, and it would probably be sensible to wait a little while before initiating anything.

He takes a step back and tilts his head toward the desk.]

I'll be saying some Hail Mary's, unless you want something else.