Chapter Text
“DAMMIT!” Spamton slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of his dressing room. He nearly bumped into Tenna, who had definitely not been lurking outside hoping to overhear his conversation with his benefactor, and the CRT immediately noticed his aura.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ugh, just—issues in Cyber City with one of the deals. I’ll have to go back this weekend.” Tenna wasn’t sure if his partner was being honest, but he would never get an honest answer from Spamton about anything to do with his oh-so-mysterious benefactor. Hence the eavesdropping.
Spamton lit a cigarette, still looking stressed. Tenna cocked his head, a little concerned. They were working in a high-pressure environment, but he didn’t want his partner to be stressed. The thoughts of drinks and a leisurely night in his suite followed by steamy passion flickered into his brain and he opened his mouth—
“You know what I could really go for?” said the addison, scratching a hand through his slick-backed hair.
Tenna perked up, about to mention his idea again.
“A ride in the Cungedero! I really need to feel that [sweet breeze] right now. Ya comin’?”
Tenna’s shoulders slumped. “Yep. Right behind you.”
****
It wasn’t that Tenna disliked the Cungedero, exactly. He wasn’t much of a car guy—ususally he just did a scene change or had a limo if he needed to make a journey to one of the other Dark Worlds. Spamton snickered at him over that, but it wasn’t as if the little guy didn’t also enjoy the… perks… of riding in a limo himself.
No, the problem was that the Cungedero was sized for someone a third of his height, so he had to shrink himself down to fit, which was annoying, and even then it was a tight squeeze. His antennae brushed uncomfortably against the roof as he had to hold his head at an awkward angle that left his neck aching later.
And Angel forbid he criticized Spamton’s driving or wanted to turn on the radio or anything like that.
“Stop grippin’ the seat so hard, you’re gonna tear the [genuine real] leather!”
“My car, my radio! Hands off the dial!”
“Don’t be such a baby, Tens, everyone does 120 on here.”
It was hard to enjoy the sweet breeze when it was whipping Tenna through the open windows (“don’t touch the window button Tenna!”) and he was trying not to claw holes into the seat or the side of the door in terror because it would upset his idiot boyfriend, who was now doing 130 in a 70 mph zone.
Apparently Tenna’s shrieks of terror were not very “relaxing” and “ruined the vibe.”
Well excuse him for not wanting to die.
But it’s not like Tenna was jealous of the Cungadero or something!
He just felt like… sometimes… that there was a machine in this studio getting its every whim attended to by Spamton and it wasn't him!
He yelled at Tenna if he leaned against the car, Angel forbid, or put his hand on anything except the door handles. “You’re gonna get [finger Prince] on her, Tenna!”
First of all, Tenna didn’t have skin oil because he was a TV! Second, he wore gloves! Spamton didn’t care.
Also, her? It was a car! Her?? What was it, his girlfriend?
At first it had been kind of cool to watch Spamton work on the car, handing tools over and learning about car maintenance. Spamton definitely knew his stuff.
But ugh, the way Spamton would fawn over the damn thing, like it could hear him. He would drape himself over it sensually when he washed it, lovingly polishing every inch of it to a show-room shine. Even the tires! Really, was the car actually getting so dirty that it needed to be washed twice a week?
Tenna could admit he was guilty of spying on Spamton just to watch him strip down to his shorts and proceed to clean his car in the most pornographic way possible. It should not have been that hot; even through the security cameras it was obscene. He’d jerked off to the sight of his little mailman basically making love to that dumb car more times than seemed reasonable.
And the way he talked to it, when he waxed it or repaired something in the engine. The sweet words. The gooey lovey-dovey talk that Tenna was desperate to hear in the bedroom. Sure, he liked the dirty talk but maybe he also wanted to be called “beautiful” and “precious” and “the most gorgeous machine I’ve ever touched” sometimes!
And… yeah, ok, Tenna was kind of growing to hate that stupid car. He couldn’t help it; it had started to feel like a rival for his precious mailman’s affections. And what had that glorified… lawnmower done to earn them, huh? Had it put Spamton on TV? No, it had not. Did it suck his dick? No, it did not. (Unless… but no, it wasn’t a Darkner. And Spamton would never… right?)
Like the phone wasn’t bad enough!
No, Tenna needed to put that car in its place.
Popping the tires or scratching the paint would be a tremendously cruel thing to do. Tenna could be petty but even to him that felt wrong. Not to mention that Spamton would be rightfully very hurt and angry at him. He hated when Spamton was angry at him.
No, he would have to find some other way. Some method that would not only be enjoyable but would guarantee Spamton would straighten out his priorities a little!
His opportunity came sooner than he expected. When Spamton came back late Saturday night from Cyber City, looking flushed with success, he turned down Tenna’s offer to unwind and get a drink and of course, wanted to wash the damn car. It looked spotless to Tenna, but Spamton insisted. So Tenna made his move.
“Oh hey.” Spamton looked surprised but not annoyed as Tenna’s hands gently grazed his hips. The TV stood close behind him as he stood in front of the hood, wet sponge in hand. “What’s… mmm… missed me, huh?” Tenna very lightly ground against him, making sure Spamton could feel just how much.
No way Spamton didn’t know how incredibly hot he looked to Tenna every time he bent over the hood, his shirtless body growing damp with soapy water, muttering sweet nothings to the darn Cungadero.
“Mm.” Tenna didn’t say anything in reply, admiring how Spamton shivered as he ran his fingers lightly down his back. The addison leaned in his touches, his breathing growing deeper. Then Tenna backed off.
“Wha—?” Spamton blinked at him, looking pink.
“Sorry. Don’t let me stop you,” said the TV, holding his hands up and stepping to the side, kneeling down next to Spamton. Spamton gave him a weird look but shrugged and began to clean off the headlights. Tenna continued watching him, admiring the way his ass looked in those jeans.
Tenna kept it up, little touches and comments, watching how his little mailman grew more flustered with each touch. As he “casually” brushed his hand just over the back of Spamton’s waistband the salesman white-knuckled the sponge in his hand, knees buckling slightly. Spamton reached back blindly, seizing Tenna’s wrist. The TV felt his smile grow as Spamton dragged his hand around and pressed it against his groin, whining softly.
“Don’t t-tease me…”
Tenna stood up, leaning over him, rubbing his thumb against Spamton’s cock, which was tenting his jeans. “Tease you? No, I’d much rather take you, right here and now.”
Spamton’s eyes widened. “R-right now?” He swallowed, but he didn’t protest. He leaned into Tenna’s hand, looking up at him hazily.
Tenna nodded but didn’t make a move right away. He wanted to make sure Spamton was totally ok with this. He wanted him to enjoy it as Tenna reminded him of who his favorite machine was. “If you don’t mind getting your car a little…” he leaned down, “dirty.” He squeezed Spamton’s groin gently. The addison moaned, nodding eagerly.
“Just d-don’t mess her up, alright, Tens?”
Oh, Spamton was putty in his hands. “I won’t.” He was definitely willing to get some questionable fluids onto that perfect wax job though.
…Maybe a couple of teeny-weeny scratches. Hey, he had claws, things happened!
Tenna set his little mailman onto the hood of the car, dropping the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and nudging it away with his foot. Spamton reached up to him and dragged him close, kissing him fiercely. Tenna sighed happily into his mouth, their tongues tangling as he slowly pushed Spamton onto his back. The car’s suspension creaked slightly as he leaned his weight onto it.
Tenna made his way down Spamton’s torso, leaving bites behind—not ones that would be visible to others, of course—soothing each one with gentle licks and kisses. Spamton’s gasps and groans underneath were music to his antennae. He sucked at Spamton’s nipples, tongue flicking out to tease them to hard points as Spamton whimpered and clutched at his casing. Then he pulled back to admire his work, a patchwork of pink marks that easily stood out on Spamton’s snow-white skin, marking him as Tenna’s. The addison was flushed, eyes black with lust, panting and lightly thrusting his hips up.
Tenna slowly pulled his jeans off, fingers sliding under the waistband of his boxers. Spamton suddenly sat upright.
“Wait—what if someone comes out here?”
“No one ever comes out here except you and me. And those cameras don’t see anything… that I don’t want them to.”
Spamton sniggered. “That sounds like an [abuses of power] Mr. Ant Tenna.”
“My Dark World. My rules,” purred the Dark World boss, lapping teasingly at his cock through his boxers. Spamton, grinning, leaned back on his elbows, hooking his shoes up over Tenna’s shoulders.
“Do your worst, Mr. Dark World B-ahhh-hhhhh, mmmmm!”
Tenna smiled as best he could as his mouth was a little occupied with one of his favorite activities to use it for—going down on his boyfriend. Lifting Spamton’s hips up, he pressed his tongue against his puffy slit, before licking up his cock and pressing a kiss to the tip, eager to taste him. Spamton’s cries of pleasure were muffled past his hand as Tenna ate like a starving man, pushing his own hips against the front of the car for some kind of friction. He pushed his tongue into Spamton’s twitching cunt, eager for when it would be his cock in there instead. Spamton was close, his panting and little noises growing louder as his legs twitched against Tenna’s case.
Yeah, the Cungadero can’t do THIS for you, huh? he thought triumphantly. He sucked and laved at Spamton as the addison pressed his feet against his shoulders, arching into his mouth with a ragged whine. Cum flooded Tenna’s tongue and he swallowed it down eagerly, not wanting to waste a drop, his hold on Spamton’s backside tightening. He kept his mouth latched on until Spamton whimpered with overstimulation, and then gently let him lie back down on the Cungadero’s hood. Spamton was panting, his body twitching slightly with the aftershocks, damp with sweat. Tenna wiped his mouth with his sleeve, trying not to feel too smug.
“Tuh—Tens… your fuckin’ mouth…”
Spamton gazed up at him, looking delicious all naked and sprawled on the hood. Tenna had to admit, in this context, he could see how these kinds of “sex sells” car ads made their money. He’d buy a car if it came with a sexy, sultry-eyed addison as part of the package. This addison specifically.
“More!”
Perfect! Now there wouldn’t be any part of the car that wouldn’t remind Spamton of Tenna making him cum his brains out.
He had to crank the driver’s seat as far back as it would go so his legs wouldn’t cramp but the sight of Spamton naked on his lap with his upper body draped over the steering wheel was worth it. Maybe this car had a few merits after all…
He made sure to take his time marking up Spamton’s back too as he leisurely fucked the addison with his fingers, touching him everywhere. Sometimes he was still amazed that this beautiful man wanted to be with him. Tenna was so lucky.
“Oh Spammy…”
“Y—you’re really gonna get all [[mushy oatmeal]] on me now, Tens?” groaned the addison as Tenna kissed his neck, a shiver fluttering through his sparkling body.
“Always, sweetheart.”
Spamton blushed, glancing over his shoulder at the CRT. “You’re such a sap.”
“Proud of it, especially since I’m still gonna make you ~scream my name~” retorted Tenna, grinning. The addison’s pussy twitched and fluttered around his fingers and he thought about bringing Spamton to orgasm just like this, but his cock was aching to get into that tight, wet hole, so he shelved the idea for later. Instead he pulled Spamton’s hips back until he was aligned, removing his fingers and rubbing his cockhead against the wet folds. Spamton whimpered, trying to grind down, but Tenna tightened his grasp on his hips, making him pause. “Tell me how much you want it.”
“I w-want it—”
“How much?”
“I [[want it, need it, gotta have it]] Tens! P-please! Please put it in—”
“Buckle up, Big Shot,” panted Tenna, the praise getting him all worked up. Before Spamton could protest his pun, he pushed in with one smooth motion, pulling Spamton’s ass flush with his thighs. Spamton yelped in surprise and pleasure, toes curling and back arching, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
“FUCK! S-so f-fucking big—God, Tens, you fuckin’ mutant!”
“And you love it,” Tenna snarled between bared fangs, an unbearable need growing inside him. He would never get enough of the sight of Spamton riding him, filled with his cock, begging him for more—
“Y-yes! Yes, I love it, more, please—” begged Spamton, and Tenna braced his feet on the floor, feeling the car rock as he snapped his hips up, setting a rough, quick pace. Oh, fuck, just the sight of Spamton bouncing on his cock, moaning unrestrainadly, was pushing him close to the edge. He gritted his teeth, blacking out his vision, trying to hold back long enough to make his partner come first.
In no time at all he felt Spamton’s walls tighten around him rhythmically and the addison threw his head back and practically screamed his name as he came around Tenna, uncaring of how he was splattering the dash with semen. Tenna pumped into him harder, already so close—
“S-S-S—Spa—nnnghhh,” he groaned loudly, his voice hissing with static, as he filled his little mailman with his seed. Spamton whimpered, tears beading in the corners of his eyes, muttering encouragement under his breath as Tenna came inside him until he was swollen with it. Tenna fell back against the seat—the suspension complained once more from the force—and sighed with satisfaction. Spamton turned back to look at him, running one hand over his bloated midriff. Fuck, why did he look so good like that?
“Guh… good?” Tenna panted, his cock already hardening again at the sight.
“Nghhhh…”
“....More?”
Spamton nodded frantically, only able reply with a moan of ecstasy as Tenna proceeded to fuck him stupid.
Needless to say, the Cungadero needed quite a bit of cleaning when they were finally done.
***
The potential job applicant stared, unimpressed, at the sight he beheld through the open garage door. The single car parked in there, some tacky red sedan, was rocking violently as though someone had unleashed a cage of rabid badgers inside. He could hear faint voices that carried easily through the room:
“Harder, Tenna, more!”
“Oh, Spamton, yes, yes, YES!”
He jumped at the sound of the “Mexican Hat Dance” suddenly blaring on top of the other noise as one of the idiots inside accidentally leaned on the car horn.
In disgust, he turned and strode straight back out into the snowy wilderness. He would apply for a job somewhere else.
“That car is pissing me off. I’m the original
Starwalker.”