Asher reluctantly rolls off of Nathaniel, though he keeps one hand on Nathaniel's face, stroking softly. He doesn't want to clean up, doesn't want to lose contact with Nathaniel for a second. At least this time, he knows that the marks are affecting him - with the first, he thought he was simply going mad.

"There should be a bottle or two in the fridge," he murmurs, having invested in a mini-fridge when Nathaniel started making regular visits, keeping a few bottles of Gatorade, some power bars, to keep his leopard's energy up.