He has to wait. As much as Reinhardt wants for all the world to be in that kitchen, wrapping his arms around the man, he must be patient. It's something he's never been very good at. It's only been now that he's older and slightly wiser that he can even bare the idea of waiting so patiently. He stubbornly waited to get in. He can wait a little more. He knows it will be worth it. Alexei is worth every second he must sit on his hands and count the ticking seconds of the clock.
He hears the footsteps and for a moment, he almost forgets himself. He nearly stands from his chair to take the cup sooner. It's the hardest thing he's ever done, to stay put in his chair and wait for the mug, his special mug, to find way to his hand. He keeps his eyes on the dark liquid, certain Alexei made it to his tastes without even having to ask it. As much as he wishes to look up, he has promised not to look. Sworn on his honor. So he must look at his own shadowed reflection in his cup.
Reinhardt startles a little when a hand reaches to take his. He looks down and it's Alexei. Which makes sense, since he's the only other person here. Yet he hadn't expected it with how distant the man was being. After that little jolt, his reaction is automatic, quickly tangling their fingers together, utterly relieved that he can at least have this much. He even slowly starts to lift it, to draw the man's knuckles towards his lips. To try and press a soft kiss to them, as if to say he's here to stay. "Alexei..."
What he is about to say, it dies on his tongue at the sound. Reinhardt's war career has taught him many a horrifying sound. He knows this one. It's flesh, pulling, tearing. His oath is immediately forgotten in the face of that sound. But only because his head jerks up and his single eye locks on Alexei's face, his own deeply lined with loving concern. That sound...it had worried him enough to break a promise. The worry etches deep, giving him dramatic frown lines that look like they don't know how to sit on Reinhardt's face for all the smiling he does.
There is skin...coming off. Something oozing. And then he sees the other hand. Larger than he's seen, like it's been bloated, swelling like he had slammed it with his hammer. His words fall silent and for a moment, his grip of the other's hand goes slack. There is a long silence, where Alexei begs him not to go. But Reinhardt's weight is shifting in his chair. It takes a long, oppressive second for him to stand back to his feet.
But he doesn't take a step towards the door. He doesn't let go of that hand. Instead, he steps towards Alexei, his other hand stretching out to lightly brush against that raw and sagging flesh that the other is trying to hide. His fingertips gentle as he carefully traces up and lightly threads into the man's hair before going back down to gently cup the man's molting face, swelling hand and all. When he does, his smile has returned, loving and warm as the night he had confessed. "That's what I thought. Did you know you have the most attractive bit of gray right there. I never noticed it before. You get more and more dignified every time I see you, my handsome Alexei."
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He hears the footsteps and for a moment, he almost forgets himself. He nearly stands from his chair to take the cup sooner. It's the hardest thing he's ever done, to stay put in his chair and wait for the mug, his special mug, to find way to his hand. He keeps his eyes on the dark liquid, certain Alexei made it to his tastes without even having to ask it. As much as he wishes to look up, he has promised not to look. Sworn on his honor. So he must look at his own shadowed reflection in his cup.
Reinhardt startles a little when a hand reaches to take his. He looks down and it's Alexei. Which makes sense, since he's the only other person here. Yet he hadn't expected it with how distant the man was being. After that little jolt, his reaction is automatic, quickly tangling their fingers together, utterly relieved that he can at least have this much. He even slowly starts to lift it, to draw the man's knuckles towards his lips. To try and press a soft kiss to them, as if to say he's here to stay. "Alexei..."
What he is about to say, it dies on his tongue at the sound. Reinhardt's war career has taught him many a horrifying sound. He knows this one. It's flesh, pulling, tearing. His oath is immediately forgotten in the face of that sound. But only because his head jerks up and his single eye locks on Alexei's face, his own deeply lined with loving concern. That sound...it had worried him enough to break a promise. The worry etches deep, giving him dramatic frown lines that look like they don't know how to sit on Reinhardt's face for all the smiling he does.
There is skin...coming off. Something oozing. And then he sees the other hand. Larger than he's seen, like it's been bloated, swelling like he had slammed it with his hammer. His words fall silent and for a moment, his grip of the other's hand goes slack. There is a long silence, where Alexei begs him not to go. But Reinhardt's weight is shifting in his chair. It takes a long, oppressive second for him to stand back to his feet.
But he doesn't take a step towards the door. He doesn't let go of that hand. Instead, he steps towards Alexei, his other hand stretching out to lightly brush against that raw and sagging flesh that the other is trying to hide. His fingertips gentle as he carefully traces up and lightly threads into the man's hair before going back down to gently cup the man's molting face, swelling hand and all. When he does, his smile has returned, loving and warm as the night he had confessed. "That's what I thought. Did you know you have the most attractive bit of gray right there. I never noticed it before. You get more and more dignified every time I see you, my handsome Alexei."