Having given a groan when Lucius pulled out, Izzy fell silent as he attempted to gather himself in the brief moment he was alone.

Now joined again (oof, why jostling, for what reason why) and presented with a warm cloth, he snorts at the quip and paws a tired hand to clean himself up. Nearly gave himself a facial, wouldn’t that have been embarrassing.

“For now,” by which he means an absolute, resounding yes. Drunk, Well Fucked Izzy, also isn’t above ruling out a next time.

It’s his turn to get up. To go and clear himself out, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet. There’s something terribly nice that curls in his belly and murmurs about being used and filthy.