Somehow meeting Charlie's eyes doesn't feel good, and his own flick with more than a little shame down to the cloth to avoid them, taking it with a half-mumbled thanks.

"Probably because it's the only part of me that's not glued in place by scars," he muses wryly, taking John's tentacle in one hand, giving him a light squeeze for reassurance, before he dabs gently at the bite mark with the soapy cloth.

And sure, it's warm. But boy does it suck.