Hah. Well that leaves essentially nothing in question then. Charlie's eyes move themselves right down the golden treasure trail without his say-so, and glue onto John's cock as it gently moves and stiffens. Seeing it that one time already cursed Charlie with visions, so how long will he be thinking about this for.

His breathing is a bit faster, and he can tell himself it's surprise all he wants but he's not buying it. He wonders if he accidentally put this idea into John's head with the, uh, kitchen ambush.

Rapidly he tries to remember who else might be at home, without actually getting up to check. Arthur- Arthur said something about where he was going. The sometime housemate downstairs hasn't been around. It's just him and John and... this.

Okay yeah, if there are no witnesses then he's not beating around the bush: that's kinda hot. Whatever the fuck is wrong with him that's into John's sheath pulling helplessly back and John saying his name like that in his fucking voice, whatever's into the fact that John's apparently having a goddamn dirty dream about Charlie fucking Dowd, he's just going to have to face it and walk backwards into hell.

Gingerly he looks to see what the tentacles are up to. Sometimes they sprawl when John falls asleep, and Charlie remembers -- it doesn't matter what he remembers.