What would he like. What a question. No one ever asks him that. Now, presented with the opportunity, he doesn’t have the sobriety to think about it.

Which may be a blessing because, were he sober, this wouldn’t be happening at all. It is almost certain.

This lack of sobriety is a blessing two fold, actually, because he doesn’t have to think at all. Seeing Lucius above him, wearing the lad’s marks on his chest, teetering on the edge of monstrous starvation, Izzy knows exactly what he’d like.

He swallows. And never without a challenge:

“Can you fuck?”