Charlie whines again, feeling wanton, as the second tentacle moves in farther and at an unfamiliar angle -- sliding over his tongue, pressing into a part of his throat that isn't often touched, rumbling and trembling there -- it's bizarre and he leans his face forward, badly wanting more of it.

He hasn't felt this good since the last time he was put down with morphine. Unfortunately (fortunately), the parts of his brain that would be alarmed by that were also the first to get switched off.

"I..."

The universe is really starting to come down to the claws stroking his scalp, the tentacles humming in his mouth, and the ache in his cock that seems to radiate into his whole body. But he does his fucking best for John.

"Watch. Hnn- touch myself watchin'." His diction isn't exactly perfect when he's sucking on tentacles but it's more or less intelligible. "W-work a finger in round back and... try to move it like I think you would while you're havin' your way." He's going to be honest, this one's more freestyled. He isn't necessarily a recurring character in his own fantasies.

"I was touchin' myself watchin' you," he adds, lazily pleased with himself, peering up slyly at John's mask through his eyelashes. "Watchin' you moan and move like a whore. Trying to fuck the air. Goddamn nn-near set me on fire."