"Jesus Christ, kid," says Charlie very quietly into his palm, because it has to be said. When John gets into a dream he really gets into it. He always knew how to put on a show for Charlie. Well, no, John doesn't, but-- he's thinking too many things at once. "You got it."

Instead of fisting his own cock, he hooks a finger around it through the fabric of his pyjamas, lifting it the way the tip of a tentacle might. He pushes down on the head with his fingertip like something looking to force its way inside. He pants quietly into his hand. Fuck, this is... this is a moment already being compartmentalised even as it happens.