"Mm." Alucard is satisfied then, that he's allowed to do as he pleases when it comes to finding Alfred attractive, because he was going to anyway.

"I trust you," he says, and is surprised to find that he really does. It's... been a long time since Walter's betrayal, and it feels a little like he's betraying the good memories he clutches to, but perhaps it's time to move on. It's for the best, isn't it?

Alucard watches Alfred undress benignly: he's aware of tells in humans, is aware that the stiffness of his shoulders was discomfort, but Alucard isn't making him do it, he doesn't think, so he doesn't feel too bad.

The feeling he gets isn't pity or anything close to it as he takes in each scar and mark but it's something warmer tugging at his consciousness, and he's aware he should probably say something but he doesn't, not until Alfred is close enough for him to touch. Which he does, leaning up in the bath to hold onto his wrist again, surging up pointedly to kiss him from a lack of anything good to say.

He doesn't force it, doesn't press into it, but then sits back and gives his wrist a gentle pull. "I should look just like that," he says softly, "but I sold my soul to the devil."

Wry. He, uh, did, but still.

"Get in here, you could use some relaxation."