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Tenna had large hands.
Spamton watched as they flipped through the script for tomorrow, marked up with scribbles of red pen. They’d been over it a million times at that point, but it was after hours in the studio bar, and Tenna had trouble settling down while excited about something. They were debuting a new game show tomorrow, one that incorporated prizes from Spamton’s very own ad spots, the perfect tie-in between the two of them.
Spamton had barely heard a word.
He eyed the TV as he took another drag of his cigarette. Normally when they were lucky enough to get the studio to themselves, he had another, better way of burning off the cathode’s excess energy. One that didn’t involve hours of pointless work chatter and the bonus of a much happier ending. Tenna, smoking and speechless, would be next to knocked out by the time Spamton was through with him. He couldn’t help it. It was nice to be with a partner who was openly and enthusiastically vocal the second he got a hand inside him. Sue him.
A hand.
Tenna had the script spread out in front of them now, pointing at some written cues in the margins, giving Spamton a front row seat to the way his hands dwarfed the papers. Awfully big. On the few occasions where he couldn’t keep them to himself, they wrapped around his body like an oversized jacket, gripping him from chest to hip. Surely too big. It’d never work. He didn’t need it to work. It didn’t matter. Just another irritating thought to squash like a bug.
“Spamton?”
“Hmm?” he gave him a glance then exhaled, the smoke momentarily turning the brightness of his screen into rays.
That beaming face was currently pouting. “Are you even listening? You know how important this show is to me.”
To us, was left unsaid. Spamton leaned back in his seat with a sigh.
“Of course, [[dollface]],” he said, ticking off his fingers as he went. ”You enter on our regular cue as normal, play up that I’m gone for the day, boohoo, only to reveal me on the Cungadero during the reward showcase. I’ll then be co-hosting with you for the rest of the segment. Prizes are already lined up, along with the sponsorships, in shooting order. The Pippins and Shadowguys had a flawless rehearsal today, if you can find in that [[idiot box]] of yours to remember.”
He arched a brow. So what if he hadn’t been listening, he really didn’t need to. He knew this song and dance by now.
Tenna had the audacity to flush, smiling at him with pleasure. God, what a spoiled idiot. He’d be nothing without him. Spamton fought off the desire to tug him over the table and kiss him stupid. Give him something better to blush about. Dangerous.
“Gosh, you got it. I guess I have been running my mouth a bit again. Pre-show nerves, even after all these years, I suppose.”
“Keeps you young,” Spamton replied, just to watch him tint pinker. He hid a smile behind another drag. He was so easy.
“O–oh, well! That’s–you know flattery doesn’t work on me!” Sure, and Spamton was ten feet tall and a natural brunette. “A–anyways, it’s getting a bit late. Perhaps we should…” He trailed off, giving him a shy look.
Tenna was a sweet thing, under all that glitz and glitter. They’d been hooking up for a while now, a culmination of months living out of each others’ pockets in the high-friction lifestyle of showbiz, and he still could never come right out and ask for it. Always a look, an open-ended thought, a plea disguised as an invitation back to the green room to talk shop.
Another glance at his hands, nervously twisting around each other, and he stubbed out his cigarette. Honestly, he wanted to. He would have, except—
“Not tonight, [[big guy]]. Ah, don’t get your wires in a twist,” he said, as Tenna immediately started shrinking in his seat, “I just wanna get some rest before the big day tomorrow. Wouldn’t wanna flub it up and disappoint my partner, yeah?”
He smirked as Tenna popped up to his full height again, smile back in full force. “Oh! Of course! Please, don’t let me keep you!”
“Besides,” Spamton continued, climbing down from his chair, patting his pockets for his keys as he made his way to the door, “I didn’t say that was off the table for tomorrow. Who knows, maybe if you’re the perfect little game show host, you’ll get a reward of your own.”
He shot Tenna a grin from over his shoulder and relished in the sight of his screen flushing bright red, his antenna straightening with a zap of static. So easy.
—
Spamton watched the lights of the studio fade behind him as he drove through the snow-lined streets between their worlds and felt…irritated.
He hadn’t lied. Either the show would go smoothly, and he’d fuck Tenna in celebration, or it’d crash and burn, and he’d fuck him out of his depressive episode. Easy and simple, a win-win for them both. Good business.
That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that stupid little thought that’d taken hold and refused to let go.
He wasn’t like he hadn’t bottomed before. Trists in the back alleys of Cyber City before he was his own self-made man weren’t unheard of, and it was always easier to fall into the role they wanted than argue about the mechanics of it all. To go through the motions as he stared up at the digital sky and wished for more. Or at the very least, better fucking sex.
Since becoming a big shot, he’d strictly gone top and thank Heaven for that. It was more his speed anyway, all his one night stands shouting his name, singing his praises, all begging and glory to him as it always should have been. It also wasn’t bad to see them melting onto his couch afterward, too, but they had all but stopped once Tenna came into the picture.
His big idiot TV had never once asked for something Spamton wasn’t already willing to give him. Always more than happy, blushing and eager as he spread himself open, to take and take and take until he was a stuttering, staticky mess. He didn’t push. They hadn’t even needed to talk about it. Besides, Spamton was more than familiar with what Tenna was working with. It would be impossible. Next to impossible. So of course there was no point in dwelling on it. Obviously.
But.
His hands. Large, yes, but manageable. Maybe. It’d been so long and honestly too dark to get any sense of scale of what he’d been handling back in the day, but surely one finger wouldn’t be too bad.
Fuck. He loosened his tie, feeling sweat prickle at the edges of his hairline.
If it had just been that, it would have been easy. He’d have taken the good ole cathode for a ride and been done with it. After all, he took what he wanted. That was the big shot way. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to come, but hey, Tenna probably would’ve short-circuited the second he bottomed out anyway.
He really wished that was all it was.
The issue was…he liked that damned TV. Tenna was his little ticket to the stars at first, but he was surprised when they actually worked well together. The edges of their personalities fit like a puzzle, and it didn’t hurt that Tenna was so easy on the eyes. He liked their nights out. Liked their nights in. Liked their chatting and bickering and stupidly hot sex and goddammit all, even their powernaps together in the green room between shows.
There was a small, almost smothered bit of Spamton that lived in the deep, dark part of himself he pretended didn’t exist that…trusted him. Ugh.
He wanted to do this with Tenna. Which was why it was such a bad fucking idea. Vulnerability had no place in where he was going and would only end up fucking them over in the end.
He sighed, rolling down the window as the sky began to glimmer with its neon green grid pattern.
Like he said, bad fucking idea. Obviously. Probably.
Maybe.
—
The premiere went as expected, meaning it was a smashing success. Ratings were through the roof, and the standing ovation lasted long enough to make Spamton start twitching, but Tenna of course was over the moon. The idiot was practically twirling as he left the stage, bouquets of flowers overflowing from his already long arms. Surely that much bowing couldn’t be good for his back.
Everything was great and all, but Spamton had a TV host to bend over, so he did his best to shuffle everyone out, clapping them on the backs with a wide grin, promising a late call for tomorrow so everyone could sleep in after their great work tonight. The crew was in high spirits as the last of them finally trickled out the studio door, each with a rose of their own that their beloved boss had pranced around to give them all at wrap. Spamton tried not to look too impatient as he waved off the final Pippins, some twitchy green fellow, before locking the door behind them with a satisfying click.
Tenna was in the green room, shining in a way that almost swallowed the details of his face. He was humming to himself, somehow still spinning around the room. As soon as they locked eyes, he gasped and rushed over.
“Oh Spammy!”
“I told you not to call me—WOAH—” Tenna picked him up and swung him in a circle, ignoring his sharp inhale at the sudden change in height. “Put me DOWN, you [[idiot box]]!”
“Oh, did you see the ratings? The turnout? The reviews! Oh gosh, they loved us!” Tenna thankfully stopped trying to tear his arms off via overexcited gesturing and beamed at him. He was smiling, tinted pink and overly large. Suddenly he flushed a shade darker and ducked his head just a bit. “You, uh, you were brilliant out there. When you came out on the car, it was very, ah…”
“Very?” Spamton leaned in, grinning. Savoring.
“Dashing,” Tenna mumbled, looking away as he went even pinker.
Cute, thought Spamton, then immediately buried whatever the hell that was deep. “You liked the look of that [[hot rod]], hm?”
Tenna huffed a laugh, the high-pitched one he did when Spamton made him nervous, then suddenly straighted. “I–I did! And I didn’t forget!”
“Forget what?” he said, just to watch him squirm.
“C’mon you know! My, um. My r–reward.” He hunched in on himself again. “Do you I’ve been…do you think I deserve it?”
God, this TV was going to kill him someday. He was ruining him for everyone else, which was so unspeakably bad and needed to be addressed with himself in the very near future, but it was hard to focus on that when the antennas dangling in front of his face started shaking when he reached up to stroke one.
“I think you’ve gone above and beyond, [[cathode]].” He gasped when Tenna’s hands squeezed around him in excitement, and without his permission, his idiot mouth opened and said, “I wanna try something new.”
Ah, fuck.
Tenna flickered, the closest thing to a blink he could do, Spamton guessed, and leaned closer, curiosity written through the digital lines of his face. “What did you have in mind?”
“Put me down and I’ll show you.” Tenna did, and Spamton started walking over to the couch, sliding off his suit jacket to hide his shaking hands. “C’mon, I don’t have all night.
This was such a bad idea. Stupidest fucking idea he ever had. God, he was gonna burn it all down for a piece of ass. Even worse, it wasn’t just a piece of ass, it was Tenna. Fuck. He should back out now. He couldn’t back out. He was so screwed.
He sank into the arm of soft leather, wishing for a cigarette as he watched Tenna approach. Watching how his TV was already so red in the face and sweating in anticipation of his prize. Spamton reached up and tugged him down by his tie, swallowing Tenna’s yelp of surprise and following moan as he kissed him deep. It wasn’t something they did often, as much as he knew Tenna loved it, but the line was already so blurry tonight, what did it matter.
Another moan and he pulled back just to have him chase his mouth. Tenna’s screen was wet where his mouth had been, shifting color, almost iridescent. “Oh wow,” he whispered, the leather beside him creaking in protest where Tenna was gripping the cushions. He looked hungry. He looked fucked out.
Damn. Fuck it all. Why not.
“Take off my pants,” Spamton said, voice hoarse to his own ears. Tenna didn’t say anything, but his breathing got heavier as his stupid large hands fumbled over his belt buckle. Spamton ran a fingertip up his antenna, and his trembling got worse. God.
Tenna, sweet, obedient thing that he was, made quick work of his pants and shoes despite it all. He made to sit back on his heels, but Spamton grabbed him again, pulling his tie close enough to feel the heat of his screen. “Take it all off.”
Tenna whined, the realization hitting, and he prayed he wasn’t already leaking through his boxers as the TV slid them down his hips and onto the floor. God, he was sweating so bad. He tugged off his own tie and tossed it somewhere in the room as he finally, fully spread his legs. He didn’t need to look to know how wet his cunt was, how it was one of the few parts of him that flushed pink. How he’d been keeping it under wraps, never fully undressing, not even in front of his own partner. Until now.
“Like what you see, [[cathode]]?”
Above him, Tenna began to pant. He was so red now, smoke beginning to leak out of the sides of his vents. “I d–do,” he said, voice strained and cracking with static. “Spam, can I—I want—”
“Yeah,” he said, wrapping a hand underneath his knee, spreading himself further, “do your worst, [[big shot]].”
He scarcely knew what he was agreeing to when Tenna lowered his face in between his legs, gasping as Spamton wrapped them around the curves of his beveled frame. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching as Tenna moved closer, breathing unsteady, opening his mouth to—
“Oh fuck,” he ground out as Tenna gave him a long, slow lick. Again. And again. And again like he was savoring his own executive buffet. He arched into it, the texture smoother than he expected, the metal cool but quickly heating. The pressure made him gasp. He felt dizzy.
Below him, Tenna was moaning like a cheap Cyber City whore, every press of tongue alight with a spark of electricity. Spamton was buzzing out of his skin at the feeling, legs twitching at each lap of his clit, and like he could tell he was coming apart, Tenna wrapped his hands around his waist and pulled him even closer, squeezing just a bit too hard. Spamton felt himself open, Tenna’s tongue sliding inside, and he choked.
“Tens, I—”
Tenna hummed at the nickname, spoken clearly for once, and pressed even deeper. He was barely able to keep his eyes open at the feeling but forced himself to look down. Tenna was scarlet with pleasure, smoke and sweat leaking from his vents down Spamton’s thighs, nose pressed at an awkward angle against the dip of his hip. The mixed mess of his cunt and his mouth was smeared all over his screen, and the sight alone was enough to have him hissing and clenching down. Beyond the curve of his own raised legs, he could see the prominent bulge in Tenna’s slacks, stretching the poor leather for all it was worth. A dark stain was spreading at the tip, even without any stimulation. So desperate from eating out his own partner in their little backroom. Pathetic.
Spamton had never felt more turned on in his life.
“Get up,” he rasped out, pushing at the TV’s screen. Tenna whimpered, pushing closer. Spamton grit his teeth around a gasp. “F–fuck, [[idiot box]], get the fuck up or I will walk out of this damned studio, I swear.”
Tenna finally pulled back, face dripping, begging. “Spammy, did I do something wrong? Please let me try again, I want—I want to taste—”
He ignored the nickname, thumbing through the wetness as he shushed him. Tenna quieted, dipping his head forward to suck the finger into his mouth.
“Pretty thing. If I knew this would shut you up this good, I’d have done it ages ago.”
A quiet gasp around his thumb, then a harder suck.
“Yeah, thought so. Maybe I should put you on your knees in front of everyone, let ‘em all know how good you are with a cock in your mouth.”
Another whine, and Spamton watched as the obscene bulge in his pants twitched. He felt himself clench on nothing in response. Tenna was gonna kill him.
Reaching down with his free hand, he slowly pried one of Tenna’s hands off himself before pulling his thumb out. Tenna opened his mouth and Spamton slid the TV’s own index finger back inside before he could fuss. “Suck,” he said. The look Tenna gave him was confused, but he listened, Spamton eying the way the satin of his gloves grew damp. “No more tasting tonight.”
Tenna’s face lit up and he pressed his thighs together. Hmm. Interesting. Spamton filed that thought away for later and said, “None of that either.”
The hand at his side began digging in again, pleading, and Spamton decided to spare him. He tugged at Tenna’s wrist, and he went easy, following Spamton’s lead as he pulled him further down, down, down until the edge of his ruined glove rested against his opening. Tenna seemed frozen, mouth agape, antenna sparking. The whole room smelled like sweat and sex and smoke. Spamton hesitated. He looked up. Dug his fingers into the metal that peeked out from Tenna’s sleeve. Glared.
“We go my speed, you understand?”
Tenna nodded. His screen was violently red.
“Good. I—”
—trust you.
Heaven help him. Absolutely fucking not. He exhaled and pressed Tenna inside him.
He gasped, head tipping back. The feeling was intense. Even his past fumbles couldn’t compare to the single finger of his co-star, the overwhelming sensation of fullness as he continued to slide deeper. How was he still going deeper? Had his fucking hands grew? Spamton was gonna kill him. He was gonna come harder than he ever had in his short, miserable life and then once he could feel his legs again, he was gonna kill him.
And suddenly, the brush of knuckles against his inner thighs. With effort, he lifted his head. Thank god, Tenna was still the same size, staring at where he was finger-deep inside him. He was whispering something to himself, face so hungry he almost looked devastated.
“Speak up, [[doll]].”
Tenna whimpered then started begging in a pitchy, shattered tone, “Please let me. God, Spammy–S–Spamton, please let me. I want to so bad. Please, I’ve been good—”
He clenched down just to watch Tenna moan brokenly, hips twitching. “I wanna hear you say it, [[cathode]].”
“I–I can’t. The censors—”
He dug his nails into Tenna’s wrist again and snarled. “Bring them up again, and I’ll finish myself off and—”
“No!” To his shock, Tenna buckled forward, hunching over him with a wild look playing across his face, “No! Please–fuck! Fuck, Spammy, let me fuck you, please! I’ll be good, please, I’ll make you feel so good. Just don’t go. Please, I want it. I want you.”
Slowly, Spamton released his wrist and settled back. Exhaled. Looked at his co-star. His…partner.
“My speed, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tenna whispered.
“Okay,” he exhaled again. “Slow.”
Tenna nodded, clearly beyond words, then began to move.
Spamton sighed shakily as the intense pressure began to recede, almost all the way out, before slowly, so slowly pushing back in. It was so slick and hot, and he felt like his entire self was turning inside out at the feeling. Tenna was gasping somewhere above him, drowning him out in the red glow of his blush, moaning each time he slid in and out of his cunt.
The movement got smoother. Easier. Spamton spread his legs more and felt Tenna dig his nails into his side. He felt his face pull into a grin.
“More.”
Tenna sped up, the sound of their fucking filling the air. It was such a mess. Spamton was sweating through his shirt. He could feel himself leaking down his thighs. Fuck, they were ruining the furniture. They were gonna have to replace the couch. The thought only made him wetter.
Tenna leaned his screen down until he was resting it on Spamton’s shoulder, too big and still smoking, almost burning through his button down. He was staring at him, murmuring into his hair as he started moving even faster.
“Spammy,” he slurred, “you feel so good—fuck. Didn’t even know. I wanted—I wanna do this again. I wanna feel you like this o–on me—”
He hit the place inside that had Spamton crying out, and always watching, began to hit it with the precision of a professional. Fuck, he wasn’t gonna last. “Tenna—”
Tenna shook against his shoulder. “Are you going to—? Will you let me see, Spammy? Please, I want to see—how good I can be for—”
Spamton, eyes half closed and half out of his mind, did several things at once. He stretched out a leg and placed his foot against Tenna’s trapped cock, grinding down as he reached up and yanked Tenna’s face closer by his antenna, just managing to growl out, “Fucking good for me,” before pulling him into a kiss.
Tenna’s voice cracked and broke on a scream as he came in his pants, screen blacking out, shoving himself inside one final time with a static shock that had Spamton snapping his head back as he came harder than he ever had in his life all over and down Tenna’s hand and wrist.
They lay there, panting, shaking as they came down from their highs. After what seemed like forever, Tenna slowly pulled out, and he winced at the feeling of emptiness as he let his legs relax. The hand at his waist finally let go, and Tenna slumped over onto his side, tugging him closer until he was curled around him. Spamton didn’t do cuddling or whatever this shit was, but he was too tired to fight it. Too tired to fight that tiny, squashed part of him that moved his head against his will, tucking it up and under the TV’s screen, even if it was still too hot.
Tenna made a happy sound, pulling him closer, and Spamton fought exhaustion to shoot him a look. His face was back to normal, smiling stupidly down at him, and his nose was blooming with a tiny flower that matched his colors. Their colors.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” Tenna looked like he was barely listening, absolutely beaming now.
Spamton raised a hand in a vague attempt to gesture to his own nose before dropping it with a thump against the couch. Too much effort for that right now. “Flower.”
“Oh!” Tenna jolted, and Spamton frowned.
“Stop moving—”
“I can—oh, sorry! Here, I’ll get rid of it—”
“Don’t gotta,” he said, only registering the words after Tenna froze. He felt his face heating and looked away, frowning harder at the leather cushions. “It’s…nice. You look. Nice.”
Tenna gasped, which really was uncalled for, in his opinion, and squeezed him tight. “Oh, Spammy, that’s so sweet—”
“For the love of the Angel, please never say that again.”
“Okay, okay.” A soft laugh against his hair, and then much quieter, “But it’s true!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever [[cathode]].” No one had ever had that thought about him in their entire lives. Tenna was one in a million. So fucking stupid. His idiot TV.
Spamton felt his eyes closing. He needed to get up and clean up and head home and sleep for twelve hours, but their couch was so comfortable, and Tenna was so warm. Tomorrow they would have to somehow hide the evidence from their cast and crew, and he’d have to dodge questions and misconceptions about what this actually was.
Against his own better judgement, Spamton shifted to throw an arm around Tenna, hiding a smile in the curve of his chassis at the ache between his legs. At Tenna’s soft sigh of pleasure.
An endless string of bad ideas.
Well. He could worry about those later.