agoodyarn | for the_second

Charlie whimpers and half closes his eyes to enjoy the claw. It feels so fucking nice. He cups John's dick between his hand and his messy cheek, sliding against it like a friendly cat.

"In his own trousers. I-in the middle of town." He's so turned on that his own breath is interrupting him. "People everywhere. He's shakin', tryin' to keep it from happening, then - nn - tryin' to keep the look off his face."

He's not sure what his place is in this part of the fantasy. He decides to venture a guess as his hand keeps stroking Charlie's scalp, his dick no less hard for the detour. The tentacles not in Charlie's mouth are now stroking his jaw and his chin and his throat, fond and coaxing.

"I imagine that would be difficult if we were in the to middle of town together, my tentacles coiling in the air, sliding against one another, making him think of how they feel inside of him. Wrapped around him. How they'd feel flicking their top along his sac like a tongue. Or sliding along the slit of his cock. Maybe while we're standing side by side, they get hungry again, play along the sensitive skin at his waistline, stroke over his hip bone. What do you think, Charlie?"

Charlie makes wanting little noises in his throat, and his mouth opens, pliant and hoping for more tentacles, as a terrific wave of humming relaxation falls over him. His imagination is more than happy to supply images following John's words.

"Yeah..." is not too complicated for his steaming brain, and is said desperately enough to be understood. "You make it... real difficult for him. F-fuck." Speaking of things that are difficult, he's pretty sure his whole blood supply is in his cock and it's taking superhuman will not to try to rut against his own pyjama pants. His legs are apart, touch barely existent, thrumming and buzzing without a particular need to make strides towards the finish line.

John's fit to lose his mind just from the response. After all, he spent so long being non-physical, is it any wonder that imagination is the biggest erogenous zone he has? Not that he minds Charlie panting against the underside of his dick, the soft touch of his lips, certainly Doing Things, and yes, he will slide a second tentacle in, a little farther this time, down towards the base of his throat to give a very different sensation than the head of his cock from before.

"Yessss..." and his voice is a low, thrumming purr that goes down the tentacles as well.

"And if you happened to wake up, Charlie? If you saw it, saw the tentacles slide his pajamas down, saw them spread his legs and press inside of him, one by one, opening him up to take him in a nice, slow pace that just keeps going deeper?"

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."

"Your whore, if you remember," he says, unabashed. But he glances down, cock twitching from Charlie's breath and his words.

"Did you want to touch me then?" He asks quietly. "Put your mouth around me? Or your hand?" A moment before- "Or you wanted to put your dick between my tentacles."

"Mm-mm," he confirms, his eyes slipping half-closed again. As if he's been reminded it's still there, he starts to stroke up and down John's cock in small, lingering movements, his fingers relaxed.

"I wanted to. I didn't though." He can't remember why not, now. Attempting to remember is about the least important thing he can possibly imagine, so when he's done talking he sighs and swallows around the tentacles; a line of spit is hanging out of his mouth, though he hasn't particularly noticed.

That's more than enough to drag a low moan from him and a sound like he's biting his own lips. And the tentacles are careful, but they're going to focus on gently fucking his throat.

"God, you look so good with your lips so red."

He starts to moan quietly in time with the movement of the tentacles; he's so fucking relaxed right now that his throat doesn't try to close at all, not even when they butt up against his soft palette or the small trap-door of his windpipe. The idea of being used is driving him nuts; the thought of how John's tentacles might feel in other holes too is hardly less so. Jesus, he wants them everywhere, but he's taking a long unhurried way to figure out how to ask for it.

Having his mouth fucked makes it more difficult to speak, but one assumes that Charlie's punched little noises will communicate something.

Edited 2025-06-22 01:04 (UTC)

The thing is... John is aware of where those tentacles are. And he is willing to listen to nonverbal answers. Which is why Charlie is getting hauled closer with one hand oh so carefully and he's going to start gently peeling his clothing open with the utmost care.

"If you need to, Charlie, tell me to stop and I stop. I promise. But I want to give you what you want."

Charlie lets himself be hauled as if there isn't a single solid bone in his body*.

He makes a pleased sound in the general area of John's statement and the slow opening of his pyjamas, and then he attempts to give a more thorough answer, and is argued down by his full mouth to "Awau awauawaua whhhhhh".

*submit your jokes on a postcard.

John has to gently pull his tentacles out of Charlie's mouth slowly and pets his hair before he speaks again.

"I need those for a moment."

Because he wants to kiss him. And that involves a single slightly thicker tentacle going down his throat as he uses everything else to pull his clothes off.

Charlie is not so far gone that he can't be funny. "S'pose that's allowed," he says, with a dreamy voice that's somewhere on the journey to wrecked, and a crooked, stupid smile, and an expression that's blissed as all hell.

He's delighted to make the acquaintance of John's -- tongue?? -- and gets straightaway to the very important business of fellating the hell out of it. He's not as mindful of his breathing as he was before, and has to breathe in through his nose with a sudden snort when he's reminded that tentacles aren't oxygen.

Half of him wants his clothes torn off, but he's feeling agreeable and so he moves languidly here and there to make their removal easier. Just being handled like that feels great, actually. Anywhere John's tentacles wiggle against his flushed and sweaty skin, he leans towards them, which -- well honestly John could probably kite him around quite effectively like this. Despite his relaxation, no part of him is exactly calm, and his muscles flex and twitch in reaction to the touches and to his own bubbling arousal.

He's already not being quiet, but he whimpers more distinctly when his pyjama pants are lifted away from his red and twitching cock. They stay connected, for several moments, by the long string of precum that's already made the front of them messy.

It's hard to speak intelligibly around the tentacle, but there's a distinct short 'o' sound coming up a lot in Charlie's moaning.

It feels good to use his body to move and help Charlie out of his clothes, to pull those soft sounds of want and need and pleasure from him. It feels very good to have his tongue sucked on, though there's a moment where he rubs Charlie's back when the oxygen issue comes up until he's satisfied Charlie is all right. And shifting Charlie around so that he can drape him over himself, wrap his tentacles around both of them and start stroking them together is very nice, his claw's main duty in the meantime to run featherlight along Charlie's back as they move together. He pauses the kisses to speak.

"Mmmm, I was right. I like your cock, Charlie. It feels good. I bet you could fuck me with this so good, I could come without a hand on me. ...though I like your hand too.

"Feel good, Charlie?"

He doesn't know how long either of them will last but it feels so good, he's not too worried about it.

It would be difficult to call what Charlie is feeling 'urgency', even though he's close. John's cock and tentacles sliding against and around him feels indescribably good, and pushes the warm humming of his whole body even further. He feels loose and happy with it. Open and wanting. The muscles of his abdomen work overtime to try to keep him from popping, but his short, heavy breaths say it's not far off. He'd do a lot for this snapshot of time to last forever.

"What are you doin' to me," he says, slow and drunk with pleasure. "You feel so fucking good, kid. I, a-aah, fuck I want your tentacles and your cock so far inside me they can shake hands in the middle." A long groaned sigh. His eyes are comfortably unfocused. "Jo-ohn, you're so goddamn big, I bet I'd feel you every time I moved for the next fuckin' month. I swear I feel so good you could put anything in me. Nng, I could sit on your face and I bet your tongue would come out through my goddamn mouth. John, ah, f-fuck, John."

"Would you like that?" he purrs happily, bolstered by the compliments, and that is what they are. He's been pretty open about what he's doing, checking along the way, affectionate and careful. He was nervous at first, but Charlie seems to have relaxed so much, and that keeps him moving forward.

"Watching you suck me off was fucking gorgeous," he tells him, nuzzling along his jaw, and it turns out that there's a little more going on with his tongue, because it seems to be pressing tiny kisses there as well. "I'm going to fuck you slowly, Charlie. So I can see how much you enjoy it." He gives a little rumbling purr. "Do you think you can take all of it, Charlie? I like the idea of you feeling me all month but... you're precious to me. I always want it to feel good."

Being kissed by a tongue is maybe the most alien thing that's happened so far this morning, and Charlie's breath gets a little heavier, because it turns out he's kind of wild for that. He's trying to keep his hips still, to keep himself at the mercy of John's pace, but the purr that rolls down John's body makes him fucking squirm, his cock straining and drooling as the tentacles rumble. They're like nothing he's had his dick in before, many and moving and dextrous and slick.

"I aa, aahh ha ahh hh," he says intelligently, eyes closed and mouth hung open as he tries to hold his climax at bay, "please please please please please, John, John, I will, I want it. Fuck me-e, ff-fill me up with haa haaaah--"

Oops, flew too close to the sun! Charlie's begging devolves into a long broken moan that probably disobeys his own noise regulations. His hips jerk and press forward into the nest of tentacles and his cock twitches rapidly, spilling over. He's whining John's name.

Edited 2025-06-22 15:57 (UTC)

And John is going to keep petting his back as he does, encouraging, protective, careful. He'll keep pumping his own cock, careful not to overstimulate Charlie as he goes off, and John will join him a moment later, rumbling out a groan that reverberates throughout all of him.

"I like you saying my name. I like it very much," is barely words, but he says it, low, like the earth moving. He'll work them both through it, getting his tentacles thoroughly covered before letting them settle together. It's only then that he'll reach around, back, towards his ass.

"Are you still thinking about watching Arthur?" he asks in a murmur against Charlie's neck, the tip of a tentacle or two sliding between the cheeks, finding the rim. He's not going to rush, like he said; he wants Charlie to enjoy this.

Charlie is glowing, sighing, and full of the intention to say John's name about a hundred more times. He usually sobers up right quick after an orgasm, whether that means he's sated and anchored, or rattled and tucking whatever thoughts he let out back into their bottle. This time seems to be an exception. The fogginess has lifted somewhat, but 'somewhat' still leaves a very pleasant daze.

He hums into John's collarbone, and pushes his hips back slightly into the touch, moving them in inviting little circles. He wasn't still thinking about Arthur, actually, but that provides a good segue.

He's moving and speaking with intent again as he answers in John's ear.

"Maybe I'm thinkin' about if he ever tongued you. Slid down and cleaned you off with his mouth while you played with his back door. Then got between your thighs and ate your ass with his little tongue till you were bleating. Anyone ever do that for you before, John?"

It's an education in Charlie, the kind he doesn't think he could have gotten any other way, to find out what a filthy mind he's got. It's delightful, to have this shared with him, to feel like Charlie feels safe enough; he's glad he was vulnerable with him, glad that he admitted what his dreams were, how he felt.

And he's getting very fond of the feel of Charlie's body warm and affectionate against him.

"He hasn't, no," he says honestly, and that's when the first tip of a tentacle actually slides in, slick, while the other starts gently moving along the rim. Another comes back between them, doing his best not to brush Charlie's dick but not entirely succeeding to grab more of what he needs to add a third 'finger' down there and more of what seems to be very slick liquid to ease the work.

"Bleating?" He chuckles a little fondly. "Is that the sound you think I'd make?"

It's tough to have a dirty mind and two sexy roommates, but every day Charlie is so brave about it.

Now he gets to have the entirely new sensation of questing tentacles all over again from the other end: thicker and more flexible than fingers, more articulated than a dick, curling about in a way that multiplies exponentially when there's more than one. He hums with enjoyment, plus a not unhappy little hitched note when his oversensitive cock is touched. His hand rests on John's chest, and his fingers drift around, just enjoying the feeling of it.

He's so relaxed that the first tentacle slides in without even trying. He could easily lie here, heavy-limbed and happy, and let John ravish him in every which way -- but there's a fair bit of ravishing he'd really like to do to John as well.

The grin on his face, half-hidden by their close proximity, is distinctly cheeky despite the haziness. "I'm in uncharted waters here, ain't I? Damn near anything could happen." He takes a lazy breath. "Mmm, you feel good."

Edited 2025-06-22 20:58 (UTC)

That smile does plenty of ravishing. He doesn't know how Charlie can do that, make him feel special and seen even here, even now, but he does and the tentacles inside his ass are going to squirm with delight before he refocuses.

"You feel good too," he reports. And he tucks his face a little against Charlie's temple. "I... wasn't sure if you'd be interested in someone who looked like me." He nuzzles a little. "It felt like it would only be a dream."

And now he's stretching him, a tentacle seeking inside, exploring to see what Charlie reacts to.

Edited 2025-06-22 21:29 (UTC)

"What, someone this beautiful?" He's teasing, but he's not mocking. Maybe he hasn't thought of John as beautiful before now, but he's looking at the expanse of dark skin under his fingers, bisected by a golden line, curves and hollows still shimmering, cock almost shy in its sheath, and you know what? He's coming around to it.

Distracted by John's explorations, his eyes close for a moment, and his asshole squeezes around the tentacle like it's trying to pull it deeper. It's a bit too soon to be excited again, but guess who has two thumbs and can still enjoy this gentle probe. He lets out a deep breath, but keeps his wits together to finish his thought.

"Mmm," and he keeps teasing, fondly, with a face like a satisfied cat, "you callin' the Charlie you were dreamin' about a liar?"

There was a plan... there's still a plan. Any minute now John's going to get the tonguing of a lifetime. But Charlie feels very lazy, and it's very nice where he is just now.

Oh, John has no idea how to deal with a compliment like that, especially from Charlie. He buries his face against Charlie's temple for a moment and when Charlie's ass squeezes around him, he groans a little, his cock twitching against Charlie's. There's a soft rumble that shifts against Charlie's neck.

"No. He didn't... I didn't imagine that. I- I don't think I could." But he nuzzles a little before he adds- "The real thing is much better."

"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.

for the_second_noel: SING AU

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