Work Text:
Spamton blinks awake, holding back a groan at the headache forming behind his temples. He’s still wearing his suit, and it takes a second for him to realize where he is.
It’s still dark, but there’s a faint light emanating beside him. He realizes that he’s in Tenna’s private greenroom — their favorite place to wind down and have a drink or two after a show.
Clearly he’s had more than two, considering the drool on his chin and the fact that he fell asleep on Tenna’s couch. Right.
As for Tenna himself, Spamton finds him laid out, taking up most of the shared couch. His knees are bent at awkward angles to give Spamton some space, but one of his socked feet is practically in Spamton’s lap.
After a moment, Spamton realizes that something’s playing on Tenna’s screen. There’s no sound, but black and white clips flicker in and out.
Is he dreaming?
Weighing the ethics of Tenna’s privacy vs his own curiosity, Spamton finds the latter wins, and climbs onto Tenna, being careful to not wake him up. As he gets closer, he realizes that all of the images are… him?
Spamton on stage, Spamton fixing his hair, Spamton having a drink, Spamton smoking a cigarette, Spamton, Spamton, Spamton.
What the fuck.
The images flash by. Him smiling, laughing, and plenty of times he wasn’t even looking at Tenna. He doesn’t even recognize all of them.
Spamton starts to feel his face heat up. He wasn’t supposed to see this. He knows he’s not supposed to see this. But now that he has — he’s not even sure what to make of it.
He feels something spark in his chest — hope. He tries to tamper it; he shouldn’t be feeling this way about his co-host — his business partner. Spamton has been trying to keep him at a distance, maintaining their professional relationship.
Something about Tenna just… draws him in. He extends perfectly normal invitations — usually to a bar for a drink or two — and by the end of the night, Spamton finds himself thoroughly drunk, making excuses to stay longer. He can’t help but enjoy their easy repartee; Tenna’s able to match Spamton’s energy in a way he hasn’t experienced before. It’s addicting.
He can’t pinpoint when it truly started, but Spamton finds himself distracted — during meetings, he stops listening just to be carried by his voice. He’s become more touchy, fixing his tie and resting his hand on Tenna’s leg. It’s a weakness, an exploitable flaw.
It could go south so easily. Regardless of the contract, they’re both incredibly temperamental. But if Tenna feels the same way, then maybe…
When he tunes back in, the scene has changed, and Spamton flushes at the memory. It’s one that lingers in his head on sleepless nights, when he gives in to his aching heart.
It must’ve been weeks ago. They were drinking together, and while telling a story, arms thrown out — Spamton spilled his drink all over Tenna’s shirt.
There’s no audio, but he watches himself apologize profusely. He leaves to grab a towel, and when he returns, Spamton remembers Tenna’s insistence that he can take care of it, his waving hands appearing on the edges of his screen.
Spamton, of course, insisted on cleaning it himself. He climbed onto Tenna’s lap to reach him, and started dabbing at the stain.
In his focus, he hadn’t noticed the position he had gotten himself into.
The shirt was a lost cause. It was white, and the dark liquid had spilled directly on his chest. When Spamton looked up at Tenna to apologize, he found the CRT staring right at him. Spamton realized that he was inches away from Tenna’s screen, and he watches his own eyes widen, his flush overtaking his entire face.
He stammered out an apology, but the next scene is decidedly not what he remembers — Tenna grabs his face and kisses him.
What.
He can’t make much out for a bit — Tenna’s shut off his vision — but when it returns, he sees himself unbuttoning Tenna’s shirt.
He doesn’t even get a chance to process because Tenna starts to move.
He’s not awake yet, but he shifts back and forth, and Spamton can make out a whine coming out of his throat. He tries to stabilize himself so he can escape, but it’s no use — Tenna wakes up.
In a facsimile of the dream, Spamton finds himself staring straight at Tenna.
“…Spamton?” Tenna mutters, still half asleep.
Despite the lack of response, Tenna is suddenly awake, attempting to sit up.
Spamton feels himself fall, letting out a cry before a large hand catches him, returning him to his earlier position. He feels his face burning, and when he tries to open his mouth to explain, nothing comes out. He shuts his jaw with a click.
Tenna seems to be at a similar loss for words, before his screen erupts in pink.
“Haha! Um! Must’ve — Must’ve had a few too many last night!” Tenna stammers out, attempting to hide from Spamton’s gaze.
Spamton can’t find it in himself to school his face, shamelessly staring at him. He slowly raises his hand to the edge of Tenna’s screen. His nervous laughter fades out, the CRT unnaturally still.
He scoots forward, tilting his head, and leans in. Tenna doesn’t reciprocate right away, but before Spamton can second guess himself, he’s spurred into motion.
The kiss is gentle, but it shocks Spamton to his core. He would be lying to himself if he said he hasn’t been wanting this for a long time.
He can feel Tenna’s large hands hovering, unsure where to put them.
When he opens his mouth, deepening the kiss, Tenna pulls back. Spamton can hardly hold back his groan of disappointment.
Tenna seems to be searching his face — Spamton’s not sure what he’s looking for. Or if he finds it. Tenna throws his head back against the armrest, covering his burning face with his hands.
“Oh c’mon Ant, let me see that pretty screen!” Spamton drawls, placing his hand over one of Tenna’s. This makes Tenna tense, his shoulders shooting up.
“Hold on! I just need a minute…” Tenna concedes, voice wobbling. Steam is pouring out of his vents. After a moment, he puts his hands down, but he’s still angling his head away from Spamton.
“I… I have to know you’re serious about this.” Tenna sighs, “This is a terrible idea for business in general, but I can’t handle a fling. Not… not with you.” His antennas droop.
“Hey… I saw what was on that screen of yours. I know you’re serious.” Spamton smirks, but he’s nervous. He can’t go back from this either.
“YOU SAW THAT?!” Tenna shrieks, his antennas shooting up. “Oh gosh I’m so sorry, I forgot I do that…”
“Hey, I’m an attractive guy, I see the appeal.” Spamton shrugs, feigning nonchalance.
“It’s not just that…” Tenna pouts, embarrassed.
“Listen, Ant, this is new for me.” Spamton says, gritting his teeth. He wants to dance around this, just let it happen, but he knows he can’t. Especially not sober. “I… haven’t felt this way about anyone before.”
Spamton swears the steam coming out of Tenna’s vents turns heart shaped. He must be losing his mind.
Tenna swoons, pulling Spamton in to kiss his face. It’s overwhelming, but… sweet. When one of the stray kisses lands directly on his eye, Spamton starts pushing Tenna’s screen away.
“Yeah, yeah, you like me, I get it…” Spamton tries to act unaffected, but he can feel his heart in his throat. “How about we revisit that last scene? I didn’t know you had that in you…” He coos, thumbing at Tenna’s loose tie.
Tenna’s screen flushes.
“I don’t! I never could’ve done that… It was just some fantasy.” He admits. He tilts his screen down, but Spamton can feel Tenna looking at him, almost coy. That bastard.
“Oh? I thought you were a big shot, but if you can’t handle it…” Spamton teases, leaning back to cross his arms. Tenna instantly takes the bait.
“Spam…” Tenna groans, but his hands move up to Spamton’s thighs. Jackpot.
“That’s more like it.” Spamton grins, “Now, be a good boy and continue where we left off.”
Tenna bluescreens. Spamton can’t help but feel vindicated. He waits as Tenna pulls himself together, before being yanked forward by his tie, lips crashing into Tenna’s.