Lucius's head drops forward, sagging against Izzy's shoulder as a choked moan spills over his lips. He's made a mess of them, or Izzy has, it's hard to tell and harder still to give a fuck about it. He feels like his whole body twitches as his cock jerks in his hand, as he comes across his stomach and Izzy's prick held tight against his own. His hand is still moving, though the rhythm has gone a bit erratic with speed and eagerness. The extra slick of his own spend helps as he wrings himself dry and tries to bring Izzy off in kind. He whines with it, the slight burn of over-sensitivity, but he's not about to stop jerking them until they're done.

It's so fucking hot and he's so sticky--stickier now, really--and he's got Izzy in his lap somehow and both of them in hand and his mind is just blank from all the sensation and exertion. It still tastes like that stupid flower, tangy and raw, but now it tastes like Izzy too. Sweat and salt and skin and something like gunsmoke. He mouths at Izzy's collarbone and his free hand pulls the other man closer, grips hard at the meat of his thigh as Lucius works them over.