"Yeah, I think so too." When it's the real thing, he gets to join in, after all.

As good as the tentacle feels, there's the additional detail of what it's using as lube in there. And, abruptly, Charlie feels another strong wave of euphoria that crests over his head. He can't picture not being in this state. There are no horrible aches or shooting pains in his body; no anxious calculations in his head; no continued injury attached to the memory of things that injured him. He's just happy, hazy, and horny.

He writhes in sleepy slow motion against John. His slow, pleasured sigh and the soft sounds in his throat are not all that distinct from the noises he's been making so far this morning anyway.

John is sweet. He's beautiful. He feels good. His face is nuzzled against Charlie in a way that makes Charlie want to pat and play with John's - hair? - and so he does, dragging his hand up the thousand miles of John's body to rest it in the other mass of tentacles, petting, scritching, stroking, while he mouths a lazy kiss onto the corner of the mask nestled against him.