Charlie's world is once again reduced to sensation for a little while. There's John, warm and gentle and everywhere. There are soft fond kisses that he would usually second-guess. The tentacles that are opening him up have him sighing and humming and wriggling in a happy daze, and sometimes they coil against a spot that draws out a soft oh and makes his half-soft cock twitch.

He has, with worthwhile effort and fleeting coordination, draped one leg over John's haunches to open himself further. That signals him becoming more present again -- enough to answer a question, anyway.

"More'n anything."