He doesn't know what he's waiting for. Rejection perhaps. Revoltion. Pity? Questions. There's usually questions. He's shoring himself mentally up for any of these options when Alucard decides to pick the option he hadn't known existed.

The kiss is so warm and fleeting. He's certain he goes a little red in the face from it. He's been completed thrown for a loop, finally unsettled by the vampire, all from a kiss.

When his mind starts to work again, he feels a bubble of relief. "I doubt you were ever short or British." He's trying to find a good position to get into the tub that's not too awkward. "And I don't think the devil can fix that." He holds no judgement on Alucard's choice. In Iran, the devil hadn't helped him. God hasn't either. He'd has to do it himself.

"Wouldn't want him to, neither. Well the British part at least. Wouldn't mind a few extra inches." And to keep it from being innuendo, "so I can dust the top of the cupboards without a stool."

The water is perfect when he finally settles in, facing Alucard and once more reaching for the shampoo. He's dead set on washing the vampire. As he does, he softly adds, "In case you're wondering, not a one of them that did it lived. Got me and me mate out and I think they've still got a bounty on me, two decades later. And the only thing I ever told them was a recipe for haggus."