Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tenna felt as if he were going to explode. There was a surge between his antennae, a crackling energy in his fingertips, and a long flower sprouting from his nose with sheer joy as he leaned over his little mailman. He felt so thankful for Spamton that he couldn’t help himself. After all, Spamton had come to his doorstep to introduce Tenna to the world that his family was leaving him for, and since that fateful day, Tenna had been showing him nothing but appreciation.

Now, Tenna could catch up with his family before they left him for their e-mails and cellular phones. He could make them listen. He could make them stay. Spamton had the sway to influence them, and Tenna desperately needed his help. He needed Spamton. 

Tenna nuzzled against the minuscule superstar beneath him, rubbing soft flower petals against his cheek. He felt Spamton tilt his head back against the crushed velvet of the fallen stage curtain they had taken up residence on. They were in the backstage room that Tenna had gifted to Spamton. 

It was an otherwise sparse area, decorated with posters of the two of them, a few cushions, the curtain that they were on top of—a broken one that Spamton had requested be sent to his room when Tenna was finding a place to get it out of the way—and a phone set up toward the front of the room. 

Tenna tried not to be jealous of the phone's proximity. After all, here he was with his face plastered everywhere, showing just how much Spamton idolized him. They were quite the entertaining pair when on stage together! They would be co-hosts soon, if everything continued to go well. 

Just a few more tips, and Spamton could move up from announcing ads and bumpers with him and join him on the real show. Just a few more secrets, and Spamton could have his own segments. Just a little more help, a little more relevancy—and they could be everything.

Spamton had the makings of a , and if he just gave Tenna what he needed to move forward, Tenna would be all too happy to give him a stage to shine on. 

But, in the meantime, Spamton was still hiding things from him. He was fleeing for the phone and avoiding Tenna’s questions a little too often for comfort. So what was Tenna to do but pin Spamton beneath him and shower him with attention until he spilled the beans?

Tenna had since found that Spamton loved the feeling of a static screen up close and personal, and he took advantage of this fact often, reveling in all the closeness that the poor, flustered thing allowed. Most of the time that he took advantage of it, Tenna was just trying to make Spamton pay attention while he regaled their schedule for the day, ensuring that he had Spamton’s undivided attention. 

Now, Tenna took advantage of it to keep Spamton’s attention from wandering as he obviously, and futilely, tried to ground himself. 

The proximity made it easier to see Spamton up close and personal. Tenna had no eyes, even when his face was displayed on the screen. He relied on his other senses to tell what was going on with his sweet mailman. Hearing, taste, smell, and touch. 

He heard Spamton making soft sounds beneath him, pants and gentle vocalizations, the sounds of his own vents a backdrop to the otherwise quiet room. He tasted static, the buzzing of his screen electrical on his tongue. He smelled hints of Spamton’s tangy cologne still clinging to him, mostly worn away by sweat, though even that was difficult to scent with his nose sprouting new flowers every other minute, flooding his senses with various cloying floral perfumes. And he touched Spamton with his fingers and his screen and his antennae and everything he could reach him with.  

And, speaking of touch, Tenna could feel when someone's eyes were on his face, even if he couldn’t meet their gaze. It was his job to know when someone was looking at him, a carefully honed craft that he took great pride in. He could sense their attention. 

And Tenna could feel, too, how Spamton shut his eyes and refused to look at him.

It was remarkable, really, how Spamton tried to fight against the trembling pleasure Tenna was putting him through as he ran his fingers along Spamton’s body, tracing light touches along his inner thighs and pressing his screen close against Spamton’s face so the static made him shiver—his wonderful little being of 1’s and 0’s. 

Maybe the internet had a future after all, if it could bring Tenna something like this magical little mailman and his impossible stories. Maybe the internet was something to pay mind to, and Spamton would show him the best of it!

“Tenna,” Spamton complained, his voice tense. His teeth gritted around his words as he tensed against every ounce of pleasure that flooded through him. He was always so quick to move on—to pretend that nothing was really affecting him. “Aren’t you going to hurry up and [Call Now For Free Information]?”

Spamton had been slipping into that more and more often, lately. It was adorable how he called upon ads or other people’s voices to make his point, but occasionally, he had to be redirected during recordings so he didn’t spout anything copyrighted. 

Tenna had discovered that stress exacerbated that particular quirk of his, and he was more than happy to abuse this knowledge for his amusement. 

“Actually,” Tenna said, trembling with excitement and burning with the need to touch every inch of Spamton. Greedily, he ran his hands along Spamton’s tiny body. “I want us to take our time. We’ve really been rushing through things!”

Spamton scoffed. “Some of us have jobs to get back to. I was doing something, you know!”

“And now you’re doing this. Whatever it was can wait until you tell me you love me,” Tenna argued, twining his legs together and leaning his torso heavily against Spamton. He put on a bit of a whine in his voice, beseeching, searching. “Can’t it?”

“Oh!” Spamton said cheerfully. It was adorable how he relaxed, foolishly under the belief that Tenna would let him go. “Is that all? Sure, I [Hyperlink Blocked].”

“I guess I’ll count that,” Tenna said indulgently. He brushed his fingers down Spamton’s squirming form, touching every inch of his body that wasn’t pinned beneath his own. He tapped his antennae against Spamton’s face to feel his reactions. “Why don’t you tell me again?”

“Again?” Spamton asked, swallowing audibly as Tenna tapped his fingers along his inner thighs. 

“That’s what I said!” Tenna brushed a fingertip against Spamton’s cock. 

Spamton opened his mouth, as if to speak, but the word turned into a choked moan before he quieted himself altogether. Despite his hesitance, and the way he tilted his head away, his hips twitched eagerly into the touch. Tenna tapped his cockhead again, once, twice, with gentle fingers. 

Then he withdrew, pressing his hand lightly against Spamton’s heaving chest instead. 

“Come on,” Tenna encouraged, noting Spamton’s sudden silence. He trailed his fingertips down Spamton’s stomach, going lower and lower. “I know you can say it. That’s all you have to do.”

“I [Already Ordered It]!”

“Then order it in bulk. If it’s really so hard… maybe you need some practice.” Tenna thought for a moment. How could he entice Spamton to work with him on this? How could he get Spamton to spill his truths if he couldn’t even get Spamton to profess his love?

Spamton squirmed beneath him as Tenna lowered his hand to Spamton’s inner thigh and tapped the soft, sensitive skin there. He was just so beautiful when he was desperate. 

Ah-ha! Maybe that was his key to victory.

Tenna put some of his attention into editing existing graphics—throwing things together and reusing easy assets while he teased Spamton. He made a graphic to count up every time Spamton admitted his feelings. Though Tenna was currently more concerned with the quality of the words rather than the quantity of them, he was sure that a meter counting them up would be a handy way to get the idea through Spamton’s head!

And while he had a moment, Tenna made himself a second easy graphic, this time to help himself keep track of Spamton’s pleasure. It would help him to keep everything in check, even if this meter was only for his eyes. If he upped the pleasure and kept Spamton right at the edge of orgasm, then perhaps it would be easier to bully him into admitting how much he loved TV!

Feeling a bit cheesy, Tenna named it the and kept it to himself. 

It took a few moments, but finally, just when Spamton was getting fussy, Tenna gave a cheerful exclamation. 

“What?” Spamton huffed, trying to bat his antennae and nose away. “Your flower is in the way of the screen, Tens.” 

“I can’t help that!” Tenna said cheerfully. He tilted his head slightly. “Is this better?”

“Yeah,” Spamton said. “What the fuck is this?”

“This is your !” Tenna preened as he showed off his handy little graphic. It resembled the if it were straightened up a bit, colored a dark pink, and decorated with cute little hearts. “You should really try to fill it up!”

“My what?!” Spamton eyed it suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well, you might never orgasm if you don’t,” Tenna said solemnly, watching with satisfaction as Spamton’s eyes widened. “There’s a when you fill it up! But of course, you have to earn it. Does our wish to—”

“Yes!!!” Spamton cried insistently. 

“Then you know what to say!” 

Spamton’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he frantically tried to put his words together, but seemingly stopped himself before he ever spoke them. 

Then he froze, inhaling sharply with something like panic. Before Tenna could ask after his well-being, Spamton sprang into action, pulling frantically at Tenna’s arm as he tried in vain to sit up, though he was well trapped beneath Tenna’s affections. “Our?” he asked, trembling deliciously. “Who is our? [[Tell Me Who’s Watching!]]?”

Tenna drew back enough to let Spamton sit up and peer around a little. Then he smiled down at him. “I thought a big shot like you would just love to have an audience!”

Spamton cowered, and Tenna stuttered on a breath, feeling once again like he was going to explode. His flower bloomed anew on the end of his nose, and the petals quivered in the air as he moved. 

“Not like this!” his little mailman cried, finally releasing Tenna to cover his face. He was so adorable. 

While Tenna loved to tease, he doubted that he would get what he wanted out of Spamton if the other truly thought there was an audience. He hadn’t invited them along this time, even if they had loved the show the last time. 

Spamton always knew how to get the best audience ratings! Tenna had been implementing his ideas more and more, and it was just a matter of time before he would be able to turn Spamton’s occasional cameo into something more regular. At this rate, Spamton would have his own show! Forget just segments!

But for Spamton to cooperate, Tenna had to keep him from panicking over nothing. 

“Nobody’s here but us,” Tenna soothed. This time, anyway, he thought. He didn’t say that part aloud, because Spamton’s panic was already driving his down, and part of Tenna’s plan relied on edging Spamton for as long as he could! 

Tenna was sure that he would be able to convince Spamton of the benefits of having an audience… someday. But for the moment, he needed to draw Spamton back into the present. 

“Hey,” Tenna kissed Spamton’s hair, his cheek, angling his nose awkwardly to press his face against him before drawing back a little. “It’s just you and me!”

Spamton took a few deep breaths while Tenna tried to soothe him with touches and words, giving him a minute to come back to himself. It didn’t take very long for Spamton to reach out and tug at Tenna’s rumpled sleeve. 

“Are we back?” Tenna asked attentively.

“We’re back,” Spamton said, taking another deep breath.

“There we go! You just want to feel good, don’t you?” He brushed fingers down Spamton’s lower stomach, delighting in the way he startled and nodded. “Then say it!”

“I [[feel good]],” Spamton said after a moment, echoing Tenna’s voice back at him. “Okay, Ant, but I’m serious this time.”

“Alright! I promise nobody can see you.” Tenna huffed a laugh. He dipped his hand down to take Spamton’s cock in hand, stroking him firmly. “Now say you love TV!”

Although his breathing picked up again at the touch, Spamton had calmed down enough to snark at him again. “I [Feel Indifferent Toward] TV.”

“That isn’t it at all!” Tenna scolded, squeezing his hand around Spamton’s cock. “Try again!”

“I’m trying!” Spamton protested with a moan, lying back on the curtain and covering his eyes with his arm.

“Try harder! I know you can do it.”

Spamton trembled with effort. “I… [loa]— admire TV!”

“Is that all you can manage?” Tenna cooed. He had heard the near slip-up, but the attempt was so adorably pathetic that Tenna felt he simply had to give Spamton a few points on his , unable to fathom Spamton’s attempts meaning nothing. Spamton was still quite a way from filling up his meter with love, though his pleasure on the had rocketed back up after he had calmed from his scare. 

But, at the same time, as cute as his ineptness was, Tenna couldn’t shake the feeling that Spamton was purposefully weaseling his way out of professing his love in any straightforward manner—that he was using his vocal quirk to obfuscate the truth. 

Why make a puzzle of it when it would be so much easier for both of them if he just spoke up? Unless he didn’t…

No. Spamton had to love him. His presence was enough to prove that, even if his words seemed to fail him.

He had to. He had to. He had to.

He needed Spamton to admit this to him. If Spamton could admit that he loved him, then he would finally tell Tenna all of the secrets he so desperately needed to stay relevant—to make people look at him again! Sure, he was still being watched, but even with business booming, Tenna could feel the creep of obsolescence. He could feel himself getting older. He knew that other devices in the world had already far-surpassed him.

Tenna just needed a little help before it got bad. 

He needed to know how Spamton had made it so big!

“Come now, a businessman like yourself? I know you can do better than that. Where’s your bravado?” Tenna traced a hand along Spamton’s head, brushing hands through dyed hair, watching as the sweaty strands left the slightest of stains on his white gloves. He leaned close and tried to think of how to coach his overworked business partner to the right phrase, but could only think of his family, nostalgia muddying the waters. Helplessly, he asked, “Why don’t you try using your words again?”

Spamton made a frustrated sound, something heavy with static, and reached from the floor, palming around Tenna’s screen as he fruitlessly tried to find leverage. His fingers scrabbled and caught on vents and indents for plugs, but nothing was substantial enough for Spamton to keep his grip. So he touched and smeared his fingerprints all along Tenna’s head in a way that didn’t help his terrible nostalgia. 

He would be back among his family soon. He just had to show them what he could do—how he could keep up with them whenever he caught their eye. He just needed to implement a couple of simple things that would make him more relevant. He would show them!

He was so glad Spamton was his. 

Sure, Spamton still needed to sign a contract to make certain of it, but Tenna foresaw no issues convincing him to do so. Spamton seemed to want the TV deal more than anything, desiring to become a Big Shot and taking any deal that might let him leave that dreaded obscurity behind. Tenna was more than happy to oblige him, as long as Spamton and his wonderful, fresh ideas stayed with him forever. 

Tenna’s mechanical heart pounded, his inner workings whirred. Too excited even to speak, Tenna vanished his nose to kiss along Spamton’s face, smothering him with staticky affection.

Spamton panted beneath him, grabbing at the now-reachable edges of Tenna’s screen, holding on helplessly while Tenna peppered him with love, leaving not an inch of his face unmolested. And with his hands, he teased at Spamton’s body, along his chest and down his stomach and between his thighs, pinching and rubbing his fingers into Spamton’s flesh. 

He was just beautiful. 

If Spamton ever left, Tenna would ruin him. 

Tenna sat up a little, tapping his feelers against Spamton as his little mailman slurred ads and silliness and everything but the phrase that Tenna wanted him to admit. Except, before he could fully pull away, tiny, grabby hands shot out and curled around his antennae. And, as Tenna tried to straighten himself, they pulled.

“Gah,” Tenna said intelligently, bending to accommodate Spamton’s yanking, and winding up once again lying against the little man.

“I’ve got you,” Spamton cried, kicking his feet against Tenna’s chest as he held his fists tightly closed, wielding Tenna’s antennae as one might the reins of a particularly unruly horse. “NOT SO [[Tough On Stains]] now, are you? Where were you going?”

Tenna opened his mouth to answer, but all that left him as Spamton pulled harder was a helpless moan. And with that yank, something stirred in Tenna’s lower stomach. With a full-body jolt, Tenna felt the physical proof of his arousal straining against the fabric of his pants. 

Tenna usually didn’t have a cock. While he and Spamton had been intimate before, Tenna had always spent more time focusing on Spamton rather than himself, prioritizing his comfort and needs over Tenna’s wants, hoping to be so considerate and wonderful that Spamton might break and tell him everything. 

And usually, he had enough control over himself to stop it from forming, but Spamton forcibly including Tenna in their affairs was just a little too much for his stressed self-control. 

Now, Tenna couldn’t deny having formed a cock to palm at on the occasion that he had had extra time after a particularly charged session with Spamton, but having it wasn’t a necessity. He didn’t always feel the need to pursue his own pleasure when being useful gave him everything he needed, though he liked it when he could indulge.

He was indulging now. With Spamton underneath him like, Tenna felt like he was in heaven. 

At a loss for what to do as Spamton manhandled his sensitive stalks, sending throbbing aches through his lower stomach and making his cock twitch in the tight confines of his pants, Tenna wrapped his hands around Spamton in turn. He curled his hands around his torso, dug fingers into his unbuttoned, wrinkled shirt, and squeezed. 

Sparks arced across his antennae, across the waves of frequency, and across his little mailman, who made a shuddering, trembling noise high in his throat. 

“Spamton,” Tenna fussed, instinctively squeezing him tighter. “Did that hurt, you—“

“Do it [[Sparky Boy! It’s Me!]],” Spamton trembled, frazzled. He clung to the antennae more tightly. “AGAIN! Do it again!”

“Again?” Tenna asked incredulously. 

“Tenna!” Spamton huffed, his voice just a little staticky. “Don’t make a man [[beg you for more]] you twice!”

Feeling indulgent and morbidly curious—feeling the full-body flush of arousal, and the uncomfortable rubbing of too-tight pants—Tenna let sparks fly across his antennae. 

The surge was stronger this time. Electricity held Spamton hostage; his hands gripped tightly around the metal stalks that tortured him so. Spamton stuttered insensibly, half-words and cut-off ads and pop-ups fell uselessly from his lips as he shuddered in place.

Several seconds later, Spamton slumped, his body trembling. His grasp on Tenna’s antennae was weak. Carefully, Tenna took each of Spamton’s hands in his own and unpeeled his fingers, freeing them from his antennae so he could lean in and check on Spamton properly, tapping those dangerous, sensitive appendages against Spamton’s face and nuzzling them through his hair. 

He was a little singed, here and there, but most of Tenna’s worry was outweighed by his excitement over how adorable Spamton was, shaking like a newborn fawn as he panted and slowly recovered. 

Tenna leaned over him, pressing his flowering nose into Spamton’s neck and running his hands along the length of his body until Spamton made a noise, indicating that he was coming back around from his daze and melting away the last of Tenna’s concern. 

“Ant?” Blissed out, Spamton lay back, opening and closing his hands with small, twitching motions. He stared up at Tenna with open, floaty affection that made him preen. “I love you.”

Tenna felt something white-hot shoot through him. He had finally said something? Admitted something, even if it were under extreme duress. There was no way. He… Spamton really…?

Amidst his crisis, Tenna automatically added points to Spamton’s and let the image flash up on screen, which only made the words that much more real.

He couldn’t be acting like this— feeling like this. Those words were exactly what he had been wanting out of Spamton, who couldn’t even seem to look at him, trembling and blushing. Tenna couldn’t be the one acting glooby, here!

“You—you do?” Tenna asked, finding he was gloobly regardless. 

“I love TV,” Spamton repeated, head lolling. Then he paused. His body twitched, and his gaze focused as his attention sharpened. “I mean—”

Tenna cried out as he came untouched, arching his back and desperately pressing his face and antennae against Spamton and gasping as his cock twitched within the confines of his too-tight pants. The overstimulation of fabric rubbing against him made his eyes flutter. 

“—You,” Spamton stuttered, squirming furiously below him. Something like jealous rage overcame his expression, crinkling his face, completely wiping away that sweet, syrupy happiness. “Did you just come in your pants?” He asked, shrill. 

“Sorry,” Tenna mumbled intelligently, feeling as if all other words had been burnt away, ozone filling the air. He wondered if there were burns on Spamton’s hands where he had stubbornly held onto his antennae. “Sorry. ‘M sorry.”

A newer TV wouldn’t have been discharging sparks. 

“You did,” Spamton cried, mortified. “YOU [[saucy little m1nx!!!]]“

“Hey, watch the censors,” Tenna scolded, coming back to himself a little. He tsked and grabbed at Spamton’s arms, lifting them above his head so he couldn’t touch himself and ruin all of Tenna’s hard work. As he manhandled Spamton, he tried to secure him by the wrists, just in case he had burned his palms. 

“This isn’t fair!” Spamton fought desperately against him, but his strength was paltry in comparison to Tenna’s, even if the CRT was taking his sweet time catching his breath. “Let me go! You got to come!”

“It was an accident,” Tenna said guiltily. “Sorry, Spammy.”

He shifted his weight and grimaced at the feeling of oversensitivity and dampness.

That was part of why he rarely made the effort of having a cock—all it did was make him overexcited, focusing on himself when he should have been torturing honesty out of his little mailman. He simply couldn’t help himself once the physical manifestation of his excitement had reared its buzzing, glowing head. 

It was so much easier when he simply didn’t have anything to worry about—Tenna could control himself, he really could!

Mortified, he hid balefully past a peaking blossom at the end of his nose. “I just liked hearing you say it.”

“Stupid [Boob tube],” Spamton snapped derisively. “You—no, Ant, come here. And let go of my hands, I’m not gonna touch myself.” He paused. “Yet.”

With a flushing flower and a cock that sent uncomfortable shivers of overstimulation down his spine as he leaned down, Tenna followed Spamton’s command and lowered his screen while releasing Spamton’s hands. 

Spamton tilted his head up, bumping his forehead lightly against the top of Tenna’s screen as he angled his head so he was presumably looking somewhere between Tenna’s legs. Tenna wondered how visible the bulge in his pants was and gave a mortified, high-pitched hum at the idea of it. His hum turned into a moan when fingers wrapped their way back around his antennae. 

“Your hands,” Tenna worried.

“Are fine,” Spamton assured, pulling at him pointedly. “Ant, I love TV.”

Tenna’s spent cock twitched in the confines of his too-tight pants. “You—you’re just saying that.”

“Yep,” Spamton readily agreed. “But you love it.” Then he let go, pushing himself further up into a slightly different position so he sat with his legs parted. Tenna reached out to feel Spamton’s arms. Though his hands obviously twitched toward his thighs, he didn’t try to touch his cock, so Tenna didn’t recapture him quite yet. “You should show me your [Specil Object].”

“My—“ Tenna inhaled the heavy perfume scent of a fresh flower on the end of his nose. How many had he bloomed already? He felt dazed. “That wouldn't be proper.”

“My dick is out,” Spamton retorted. “How is that proper?”

“This is about you,” Tenna protested. 

And it was! It was supposed to be about Spamton! It wasn’t as if Tenna was getting nothing from their encounter. He loved to have Spamton like this! He just didn’t need to focus on himself when Spamton was there on his back, just waiting to be convinced. He even said he loved TV! He just needed some not-so-gentle persuasion, and Tenna would get everything he had ever needed from him. 

“You’re right! It’s about me!” Spamton said proudly. “And I decided that I want to see it!”

“Are you sure?” Tenna fussed uncertainly. “I don’t want to steal your show.”

Spamton scoffed. “You aren’t that impressive! And it’ll be for [[Me! Me! Me!]]”

“Fine,” Tenna relented. With his free hand, he reached down and, with some effort, undid the front of his pants. He pushed at the waistband and shifted, gyrating his hips gently to encourage the tight fabric of his pants to slowly slide down his legs until they bunched around his knees, leaving his cock free and already half-hard. 

Tenna forced on a showrunner's smile as he considered the differences between them. Where Spamton’s cock was the same as the rest of his body—small and pale and perfect—Tenna’s cock was a crackling burst of gray-white static given form, hard-light electricity hanging between his legs, warming his thighs with a gentle, barely-there buzz. 

Would Spamton like it?

Spamton, at some point during his shuffling, had gone quiet. Tenna really hoped he wasn’t just staring at Tenna’s cock. 

“[Woah Mama]!” Spamton exclaimed. He was definitely staring at Tenna’s cock. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, trying not to let on to his anxiousness. 

“Like it?” Spamton asked, grinning cheekily. “I love it!”

Tenna swallowed and wrapped his hands around Spamton’s waist.

“How’s that for more points?” Spamton teased. “I love your [Cock-A-Doodle-Doo].”

Tenna laughed despite himself. “That was on purpose!”

“Maybe,” Spamton allowed. “You would fuss about the censors if I really said cock.”

“Well!” That was true. “It’s not even the right phrase,” Tenna huffed, a fussy, staticky sound. “Try again.”

“If I say it right, will you [Hyperlink blocked] me?” Spamton asked. He made a frustrated noise at the placement of the pop-up. “[Hyperlink blocked]. [Hyperlink blocked]!!! Will you—”

Spamton seemed so earnest this time. Tenna often had his parental controls on nowadays, what with Kris getting more adventurous, and Asriel finally hitting a stage of teenage rebellion. He knew exactly what Spamton was tripping over himself to beg for. So, to give him a treat for an attempt at using his words, Tenna moved deliberately, pushing Spamton until he lay on the ground so he could tap his cockhead against the cleft of Spamton’s ass, delighting in how Spamton jerked beneath him. 

He didn’t give him any points, though. 

“Put it—“ Spamton choked. “[Hyperlink blocked].”

“I don’t think I’d fit,” Tenna teased. More than encouraged by the reaction, he sat up on his knees, pressing further between Spamton’s spread legs, and maneuvered his cock so it lay heavily over Spamton’s thighs and over his stomach, completely dwarfing Spamton’s own length by comparison. His cock seemed obscene in comparison to Spamton’s body. 

“You could [Rapidly Decreasing Sales!!]!” Spamton all but pleaded, his hips twitching instinctively. “Shrink, Tens, you could shrink for me, you—”

Tenna leaned over him, wrapping a hand around his cock. He stroked himself languidly before he opened his hand and took Spamton’s cock in his grasp as well, earning a whimper from his little mailman. That whimper turned into a long, mournful moan when he held their dicks together. Spamton seemed so tiny against his softly vibrating hardness. 

“But what if I’m inside you and I get too ?” Tenna asked, voice dripping with false sympathy. “I usually have pretty good control, but you make me forget myself sometimes…” 

He moved his hand, stroking them both. Spamton writhed about fitfully, expression twisting as he tried to withstand the contact. Did Tenna’s cock feel hot to him? Did it feel like static? Could Spamton feel the buzz?

“... What if I was deep inside of you,” Tenna moved carefully, sliding his cock languidly along Spamton’s as his hand held them flush. “And it felt so good, so tight, that I forgot myself? I could get so excited, and stretch so —”

“I love TV!” Spamton interrupted him with a cry, arching his back and bucking his hips up into the touch.

Tenna promptly let go of Spamton’s cock, leaving Spamton to shiver and sob with desperation as he hit the edge, but wasn’t allowed to come. His cock twitched, heavy and weeping.

Feeling close himself, Tenna sat back and pumped his own cock once, twice, before he came over Spamton’s body with a wonderfully warm feeling, covering him in a sticky mess. 

Spamton reached a trembling hand between his legs, but it seemed like he knew that Tenna was going to catch his wrist before he could get any serious friction because Spamton gave up immediately, dissolving into soft cries as he used his free arm to cover his face. 

Feeling gracious at his show of self-control, Tenna allowed Spamton some time to recover. He took Spamton’s twitching hand before he could let it wander and interlaced their fingers so Spamton had something to hold onto. He took his time kissing each knuckle, relishing in the way each kiss made Spamton squeeze his hand harder. 

A few moments later, once Spamton had cried himself out, Tenna helped drag over part of the curtain so he could wipe his face. Once he was satisfied, Tenna pressed their noses together, nuzzling all the way to Spamton’s wet, clammy cheeks and making kissy noises all the way down. 

“I’ll let you touch yourself as a treat, but I’m going to stop you before you come,” Tenna warned, speaking between kisses. He released Spamton’s hand. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Spamton stuttered, immediately reaching between his legs to take hold of his weeping cock. 

Finally, as he rubbed himself, the desperation broke him, and Spamton began to beg his promise to Tenna. He managed quite a few I Love TV’s, but many of them were lost to pop-ups or sounded more like begging than a love confession. 

Tenna had to admire just how far he had managed to push his little e-mail. Perhaps one day down the line, Tenna would be able to push him even further.

Maybe one day, Spamton would be willing to trade in his secret for an orgasm. 

Tenna had been doing everything he could think of to weasel Spamton’s secret out of him. When his direct questions had been shrugged off and met with promises of later, he had taken to spoiling Spamton instead, giving him greater deals, better ad spaces, the works! He had even started taking Spamton aside to spend time with him outside of work, networking for all he was worth until the sweet little thing had fallen for him. 

But still, Spamton resisted!

He gave Tenna hints, at times, ideas of what modernity looked like, and Tenna followed every suggestion he understood. And, like magic, each tweak improved his ratings overnight. He couldn’t even imagine the real secrets to success that Spamton held—the things that had lifted him from the common ad and had made him a Star!  

Tenna wanted the kind of secret that kept a man on the phone for hours on end, hooked on every word. He needed it. 

Maybe one day, that could be the play. But for the moment, he needed to find out just how desperate he could get Spamton. 

And, if he managed to get a genuine confession from him… that was just a plus. Tenna bloomed just at the thought of that admission of love, and checked in on Spamton’s meters. 

Both of them were getting to rather decent levels, climbing and climbing in percentages! Spamton was a natural, though he could stand to confess his feelings a bit more. 

“Come on, put your heart into it!” Tenna encouraged. “Don’t you want to show me your love?” 

Spamton began to speak, only to cut himself off with a breathy moan as he worked his cock over with his hand, legs splayed out and twitching. There was a certain pitch to his pants—

Tenna gently pulled Spamton’s hand away from his cock, delighting in the cry the forced denial bullied out of Spamton’s throat. Then Tenna lowered himself so he all but lay against Spamton and tilted his head so his antennae could tap along Spamton’s writhing form, telling him exactly how worked up his little mailman was. 

Looking over him sightlessly, he was able to more accurately fill up the . It was filled so high it was almost bursting! He would have hated to be in Spamton’s shoes right now.

Curled around Spamton as he was, Tenna didn’t need much in the way of his extrasensory organs—he could feel and hear and take anything he needed from his partner—but he couldn’t help but touch Spamton with all of himself, pressing closer and closer until his antennae were dragging against Spamton’s sweat-soaked skin, catching in the crook between his neck and shoulder, and in the bundle of rolled-up shirt along his waist.

Tenna felt so dizzy that he worried for a moment that his face had turned to static. But he could still feel his nose pressed against Spamton’s shoulder, and he could still feel his mouth, curled into a toothy smile as he breathed warm air against a place that made Spamton’s hips jerk. 

Tenna continued to bother Spamton, squeezing his hand and peppering his face with blooming nose kisses until Spamton fussed with annoyance, pushing and pulling away from his affections as he searched for something to be upset by. 

Perhaps he liked having something tangible to complain about, since he knew complaining about Tenna’s behavior wouldn’t do anything to help him. 

While Spamton tried to distract himself, Tenna began to touch him again, wrapping a warm hand around Spamton’s dribbling cock and going to jerk him off at a quick, unforgiving pace. 

Spamton was still so sensitive from earlier that Tenna didn’t have to do very much. In just a few scant moments, Spamton’s expression twisted, and Tenna let go. Spamton’s ragged breathing was like music. 

Spamton took a moment to recover from that one, though Tenna didn’t let up on his other forms of affection—kissing and nuzzling at his face and sweaty hair, mostly. 

“It’s too bright in here,” Spamton groused finally, his chest heaving. “Is that a spotlight?”

Tenna hummed, cheerfully tapping at the insides of Spamton’s parted thighs, enjoying every jolt and shiver the touch earned him, though he was careful not to touch his dick. 

Spamton was so fun when he was desperate. Every time he got close, he seemed to go a little stir crazy, looking for anything else he could do but focus on the onslaught of pleasure Tenna was forcing upon him. 

It was adorable how much he squirmed. He could get so embarrassed beneath Tenna’s attentions. 

If Spamton wanted to take a break to complain about something, who was Tenna to stop him? He pulled his hand away from Spamton’s thighs, ignoring how Spamton jerked and twitched his hips as if chasing Tenna’s touch, and instead moved to pin Spamton down as his mailman panted beneath him.

Tenna spread out his awareness and flicked his antennae about, feeling for the heat of a light. He rather enjoyed being in the spotlight, but perhaps it was a bit too bright. It wasn’t as if Tenna was the one staring up into it. 

“Mike, can we dim the lights?” Tenna called up.

“MIKE?” Spamton yelled. “You—“

The lights dimmed. 

Spamton jolted in place and then began to fight, kicking and scrabbling against Tenna with an animal-like ferocity. “LET GO!”

Tenna yelped, withdrawing his hand before Spamton could saw his hand off with the magical manifestation of his panic-turned-attack. The word-bullet narrowly missed him and lingered between them like a shield, keeping Tenna from reaching back toward him. 

Tenna sat back, alarmed at the intensity of his reaction. They hadn’t entered a battle or anything, but they had been alarmingly close. Tenna had even heard a snatch of Spamton’s battle theme. 

In the back of his mind, he noted with something like annoyance that even Spamton’s music had been punctuated with something that sounded like the ringing of a phone. 

“You said nobody could see us!” Spamton cried, writhing about and pushing himself up. 

“It’s just Mike!” Tenna defended uncertainly. “I don’t see the issue!”

“Mike is someone who can see us!”

“It’s just Mike, he doesn’t count!” Tenna reached out to drag Spamton back to him, but Spamton kicked at his hand. 

“Mike, get the [FUCK] out!”

Tenna crossed his arms, pouting as Spamton quieted, staying still and silent as if he might be able to notice Mike’s departure somehow. 

“Mike?” Spamton said, finally. “[Are you there, God]? Ant, tell him to do something.”

“It’s not like that,” Tenna scoffed, feeling defensive. “You know, he could still be there and just not say anything if he really wanted to watch us.”

“Wow!” Spamton laughed, nervous and angry. “It’s like you never want to touch me again!”

“Sorry,” Tenna replied, cowed. “Mike, turn the lights back up.” A beat. “Mike, if you don’t turn the lights back up, you’re fired! I mean it!”

They waited a moment, with Spamton scrutinizing the lights. Finally, when Mike’s departure seemed to pass muster, Spamton slowly approached Tenna again. He let Tenna bow to tap his antennae gently against him so he could feel the deep scowl on Spamton’s face.

He was really angry about it. Tenna felt a little guilty.  

“Is there anyone else watching us?” Spamton asked sourly. 

“No.” Tenna mumbled dejectedly. “There’s nobody watching us. Not even Mike.” 

“I hate that you sound upset about that,” Spamton insulted lightly. He rejoined Tenna, scooting awkwardly onto the velvet that protected him from the hard floor below. He took Tenna’s hands and pulled him along as Spamton laid back and spread his legs. “Drama queen.”

Slowly, Tenna began to touch Spamton again, tapping his antennae against him, up his thighs, and around his stomach to get a better idea of what he was working with after that interruption. Unfortunately, the excitement seemed to have somewhat killed his boner. 

Tenna didn’t know what to do with the information that their little spat had only made his own arousal grow—the thought of Spamton fighting against him was enough to make his cock twitch, a glob of fluid dripping down from the static between his legs. 

He shuddered with pleasure as he leaned back over Spamton, hands shaking slightly as he began to trace them reverently along Spamton’s inner thighs. 

At least this gave him the chance to work Spamton back up again. 

Spamton seemed more frustrated this time around. Tenna wondered how long it would take for his little mailman to turn into nothing more than a desperate, glitching mess in Tenna’s hold, begging in broken sentences for an orgasm that Tenna never wanted to give him again. Not if this denial made him so beautiful. 

Tenna curled his hand around Spamton’s cock and squeezed lightly, delighting in the noises it drew from him. First, pleasure, and then dissatisfaction when he chose to go no further with the motion, except to tease with his other hands.

“I love TV,” Spamton spat like a curse. His voice broke when Tenna rewarded him, stroking his cock languidly. He was looking everywhere but Tenna, which didn’t make sense—Tenna was leaning over him, taking up almost his entire field of view. But Spamton seemed to be doing everything in his power to keep his head turned. 

Tenna tallied up a few more points as he leaned in closer, pressing his screen closer to Spamton, and brushing the tip of his nose against Spamton’s cheek. Spamton made a frustrated noise, squirming in place. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” Tenna asked. He sprouted extra arms, two below his usual ones, slipping out from his unbuttoned coat, and slid the fingers of a newly free hand beneath Spamton’s chin. 

Tenna tugged, trying to guide his head, but Spamton refused, moving from his hold, and then going to bite him when Tenna tried again.

“Jeepers,” Tenna muttered, shaking his hand out. He drew his other hand away from Spamton’s cock, drawing a pained cry from Spamton’s lips. “Our contestant is being rather naughty, isn’t he?”

“[[Are you talking to me?]]” Spamton scoffed, though his head had turned away again, attention slipping off Tenna like oil from water. “What’s your problem?”

“You won’t look at me,” Tenna said plaintively. 

“But I said what you wanted! That was enough to make you [Old Faithful], earlier!”

“Look me in the nose and say it!” Tenna exclaimed. “I just need you to look at me.”

“You’re a sadist,” Spamton complained. “You can’t even see me looking at you.”

“But I can tell,” Tenna said, feeling breathless. “I need to know you mean it. I just—I need to know you mean it. I need you to say it until—“

“[Hyperlink Blocked],” Spamton spat. 

Tenna pinched Spamton’s chin and yanked his head back to stare up at his screen, finally feeling his gaze. “That doesn’t count.”

“It did before!” Spamton protested, sounding like he wanted to start throwing insults. “You said so.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind!” Tenna tapped the end of Spamton’s nose. “I don’t think you’re really saying you love me when you let those pop up.”

“I thought I was supposed to be saying I love TV ,” Spamton said smugly, as if he had caught Tenna in a trap. “Not I love you .”

Regardless of what he was supposed to say, Spamton’s points on the went up. 

“Well,” Tenna flustered. “I suppose… that is, well, you’ve been saying both, haven’t you? And you’ve been getting points all the same, so both answers are accepted.”

“Fine,” Spamton scoffed. “I lo—” He cut himself off, squirming with discomfort. 

Tenna was on him immediately, using all of his arms to hold and touch Spamton, teasing at his cock with light touches and tracing over the rest of his body, finding the spots that made Spamton tremble with need—his inner thighs, his neck, his chest, his sides. Everywhere Tenna could reach that drew forth a reaction, he paid mind to, scraping and pinching and rubbing. 

“Come on,” Tenna encouraged, flashing up the meter again. “You know you want to say it!”

Spamton grumbled, muttering under his breath. If he said anything to the effect of I love TV, it was unintelligible. 

“Speak up,” Tenna crooned. “Our— my contestant doesn’t have , does he?”

“No!” Spamton snapped, gaze finally settling on Tenna’s screen. 

There he was! That always got his attention, ever since Spamton had first stumbled off Tenna’s stage, trembling, having flubbed a line during one of his first-ever ads. Tenna had taken over quickly, so it hadn’t been too big an issue, but Spamton had been mortified. 

That had been a continual joke between the two of them since then. At least, it was a joke to Tenna. He had the feeling that Spamton took it a little more seriously, but mentioning it always seemed to spur him on! All Spamton ever needed was a little motivation. 

“No!” Spamton panted out again, reaching up for Tenna. Tenna took Spamton’s hands in one of his own. “I don’t.”

Tenna smiled. “Then say it.”

“Fine,” Spamton gritted out, frustrated and hurt. “[I]—” With some effort, he closed out of whatever had been about to pop up out of his mouth. “—I love TV.”

“Good,” Tenna said, swallowing down excess saliva. “Again.”

“I—I [loaf] TV—love, I—”

Tenna wrapped his hand around Spamton’s cock as a reward, flashing the on his digital display as the numbers grew higher and higher. 

Spamton’s chest heaved as he grew closer. Even the little stimulation Tenna was offering him was more than enough to drive him crazy, and it was beautiful. 

“[[Y0ur Number One Salesman]] loves!” Spamton choked. “TV.”

“Aw,” Tenna teased. “Almost!”

Spamton tried again, but he choked, swallowing down another strange pop-up. But Tenna knew he could do it! He just had to focus. 

“I love…” Obviously struggling to focus on something other than his own impending orgasm, Spamton’s eyes darted around desperately. Finally, he seemed to land on something applicable. “What’s… What’s that whine?” he asked, screwing up his face with something Tenna chose to take as concentration. 

What an irritating thing for him to focus on! Tenna had heard plenty of comments on that noise before—the high-pitched sound that poured from him as Tenna created the picture for everyone to see. 

It was normal for TVs to make that sound! The noises he made weren’t atypical. They weren’t! Really!

He was sure that nothing had changed, but… Over the years, as he grew older with his family, their tempers must have shortened, because more and more complaints had arisen when he was turned on, and that high-pitched noise accompanied their shows. 

Sometimes they even smacked the side of his casing to try and dampen it, rattling components in the hopes of fixing something not-quite-broken. 

Tenna hated this line of inquiry. He wasn’t broken, and he didn’t have burn-in, and he didn’t have dead pixels. And he wouldn’t ever have any of those things! He was fine. He wasn’t that old!

So, shaking with effort and indignation, even though Spamton was the one twitching beneath him with weak, exerted gasps and effortful annoyance, Tenna put on his best smile and announcer voice, and defaulted to the line that best distracted audiences and curious contractees. 

“Oh,” he said playfully, letting go of Spamton’s cock. Spamton’s hand twitched as if he meant to pleasure himself, so Tenna pressed down on his arms, keeping them pinned to the floor. “You hear that whine? That’s just your CRT asking for a walk!”

Spamton stared up at him, and after a long, torturous moment, let out a glitching laugh. “Are you some sort of [Man’s Best Friend]?”

“Well, I was hoping that with all of this that we were best friends!” Tenna grinned, slumping over Spamton with relief that he had accepted the diversion instead of pressing further. 

“I’m a man,” Spamton scoffed. 

“Would a man let me do this?” Tenna asked, tapping the tip of Spamton’s cock. 

The little mailman jerked beneath him, grunting with effort as he tried to touch himself, only for his free hand to get caught up with Tenna’s yet again. Tenna watched with satisfaction as Spamton’s spiked and then plateaued. 

“Careful,” Spamton gritted out effortfully. “You’re starting to sound like a bad dog.”

Tenna choked on static, feeling hot. He stuttered for a moment, flustered. “I—what?”

“Should I bring a collar next time?” Spamton asked. “[Only $19.97]!”

Tenna gave a helpless moan and let his hips jerk, yanking Spamton down to once again rut his cock against him, dragging his cock against the length of Spamton’s body. 

“[Careful, Mutt]!” Spamton cried, wrapping his arms tightly around Tenna’s cock so his whole body rubbed against him. 

Tenna groaned, hips jerking, and spilled over in seconds. He collapsed against Spamton’s fussing, squirming figure, and panted for a few seconds as his hips twitched with aftershocks, feeling very much like the dog Spamton had compared him to. 

It was only Spamton’s steadily climbing that had Tenna pushing his boneless body back up so he could keep Spamton from rubbing one off on him in return. After all, he still hadn’t got what he wanted from Spamton, stubborn little thing that he was!

Sure, it was a bit embarrassing to be so easy, but at times like this, it was a good thing it took so much longer for Spamton to reach orgasm than it did for him. 

“Come back,” Spamton groaned, just, if not more aware of how close he had come to orgasm before Tenna had removed all stimulation. “Here, boy!” For emphasis, he clicked his tongue against his cheek and, with some effort, wriggled a hand free so he could waggle a finger, tapping it against one of Tenna’s antennae. 

Tenna all but panted as he leaned to press his face into Spamton’s welcoming hand, letting his mailman trace fingers along his staticky screen as if petting a dog. 

Still, he had the wherewithal to restrain Spamton’s other limbs. Even when Spamton’s wandering hand found the base of an antenna and scratched, curled digits and perfectly cut nails against the heads of screws and where casing met sensitive electronics—signals and sparks galore. 

Something like a soft buzz came over Tenna’s body as he pressed into Spamton’s ministrations, reveling in the attention. It was different than the arousal from before—but not entirely divorced from it. He loved it, whatever it was. 

“You like that?” Spamton asked, as if he needed confirmation for why Tenna was all but melted against his side. 

Tenna gave it to him anyway. “Y—yes I—“

“That’s not what I want,” Spamton interrupted. “[[The dog says WOOF]]!”

“You want me—“ Tenna cut himself off with a laugh. “You want me to bark?”

“You’ve had your fair share of [Cruelty]. I should have a chance.” Spamton pulled his hand away, and Tenna couldn’t help the soft whine that left him, so reminiscent of the uncontrollable sound he had been playing up that it hurt, the feeling going straight to his dick. 

He wasn’t wrong. This was exactly what Tenna had been doing to him for—however long they had been sequestered away in this secret little room. He could have asked Mike for the time if Spamton hadn’t gone and gotten shy, but he supposed there was little he could do about that. 

It wasn’t as if Spamton could get himself off as long as Tenna had the wherewithal to keep Spamton’s other limbs splayed out. So he was offering to indulge in this little play for Tenna’s pleasure alone. 

Tenna let himself shrink a few inches in an effort to give Spamton an easier time reaching him—what with how Tenna had him pinned on his back—and let out a weak little woof. 

“Aw, puppy.” Spamton’s voice was condescending, teasing, and cruel as he echoed Tenna’s earlier sentiments. “[[I know you can do better than that]].”

He gave a louder bark, letting his fangs show, pressing the lightest of claw tips against Spamton’s other wrist and legs. 

Spamton’s free hand raised again, rubbing along the side of his screen, and finally up to his antennae again. The touches Spamton graced him with were much more gentle than the tugs had been earlier, and soothed away all the pain-pleasure soreness that had transpired, a gentle hand massaging away the ache and leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Spamton asked, pitching his voice up. This was terrible. This was humiliating. “Who’s my favorite [CATHODE RAY]?”

“Is it me?” he asked, feeling as if he might die.

“[[Our contestant is being rather naughty, isn’t he?]]” Spamton echoed Tenna’s words back at him, and Tenna couldn’t help the soft noise the reminder of their one-sided game pulled from him. “That’s not what my pet should be saying! Now, what does a good boy say?”

“” Tenna barked, trembling, digging his claw into the wrist he had pinned to the ground. His antennae were throwing sparks, but Spamton didn’t seem to care. 

“That’s a good boy,” Spamton moaned, body trembling beneath Tenna’s hold. “I love TV.”

Tenna barked his happiness, and Spamton’s touches became more erratic, his hand twitching and jerking as stray sparks shocked him. 

“I love TV,” Spamton said again, sweet and wonderful and— “I love you, Tenna.”

Tenna consulted the meters, leaned his antennae against Spamton’s face, and… “I believe you,” Tenna said softly.

A wide, mischievous smile overcame Spamton’s face. “Do you really—?“

The phone rang. 

Spamton snapped to attention, expression dropping from his face as if it had never been there. He took advantage of Tenna’s distraction, yanking his arm free so he could sit up, attention completely captured by the phone. 

Why had they chosen this room? Tenna should have thought ahead. He should have known that he would lose Spamton to the phone again—to whoever was more interesting than him on the other side of the line. 

He should have known that his games weren’t as important as whatever the secrets to stardom were. He should have known that orgasm wouldn’t matter to Spamton in the face of something real. 

But… maybe not this time. Maybe things could be different. They could be different. After all, Spamton had just promised his love. So maybe…

Hopeful, because they had gotten this far and there was no way Spamton would want to stop now, Tenna reached and wrapped his hand around Spamton’s leaking, throbbing cock.

“[[Cathode]],” Spamton snapped. His voice was so severe and hateful that Tenna felt himself shrink, and with each inch lost, the pit in his stomach grew larger. Then, gentler, Spamton tried again, “Let go of me, Ant.”

“But,” Tenna let the flash up, taking place of his face, trying to show Spamton just how far they had come—that he could finally earn everything he had wanted in their little afternoon together. The line rang, as if in protest to his point. “We aren't done.”

“I’ll be back,” Spamton promised, but he already sounded distracted, like he was just saying it to get Tenna off his back. Spamton rarely came back after picking up the phone. He spent forever on it, just listening and listening…

Tenna would kill for such a dedicated audience.

The line rang again. 

Spamton pushed away from his slackened grip and stood up on wobbly legs. 

“At least let me help you,” Tenna said, reaching for him. “You earned it!” 

If they couldn’t savor it, they could at least be quick. Spamton deserved an orgasm, and the thought of leaving Spamton unfinished after building him up so beautifully left Tenna feeling cold and shaky and off-kilter. He felt cruel. Spamton needed to be rewarded for listening—for doing what Tenna had told him to do.

Spamton jerked away from his touch as if burned. “Later.”

Tenna let him go. 

Spamton did return, but only hours later, distant and quiet as he joined Tenna in his sitting room. Their conversation was stilted and awkward. Spamton seemed averse to touch, and Tenna, feeling terrible and cold and lonely, didn’t know how to fix it. Continuing anything from earlier was out of the question.

The only plus side was that Tenna had been able to lure Spamton to bed with the promise of a comfortable cushion and a reservation for food in the morning, if Spamton were to stay with him. 

Spamton had a room to stay in while he was away from his home in Cyber City, but Tenna had it on good authority that the pillows and bedding in his own room were superior. And sometimes, if he pressed, Tenna could pull new little secrets to success out of Spamton when he was tired and not thinking at full capacity. 

It was a win-win situation, really. 

So to his room they retired, but even as they climbed into bed together, their touches were minimal. Spamton was distant, and Tenna’s attempts to fix it only seemed to make it worse. 

It was easier for both of them to fit on the mattress if Tenna let himself shrink a little. Making himself smaller for Spamton’s convenience was the least he could do after all that. 

Sometimes Spamton was like this after a call from his mysterious benefactor—distant and quiet while he took in all the wonderful secrets he had learned. It would just take time for him to bounce back. 

So, trembling with his impatience, Tenna lay down to sleep.