Asher smiles, turning so that he's sitting, his back against the side of Nathaniel's chair, the back of his head resting on Nathaniel's thigh. He tugs Nat down for a soft kiss, apologetic and grateful all at once.

"Je t'aime, mon chat," he murmurs, running his hand down Nathaniel's sleeve.

"That outfit...I think Jean Claude put you in it to torture me with what I could not touch," he smiles, faintly.