Work Text:
Work is hectic, chaotic, especially when one’s career demands it; show-running and entertaining is, by trade, a lot, a mental and physical toll, a constant, flashy demand for attention. Especially so, however, when you’re Tenna; the world’s most overzealously flamboyant showhost, second only to maybe his husband and co-host. They’re just about equals on that particular front.
No wonder, then, that as he grows older, his time off-stage is spent more quietly than that of his youth. As a young, dashing CRT, he could carry that energy into clubs and bars and keep the performance alight. Though that was also at a time when attention wasn’t a scarce resource. When he’d walk into a room and instantly be the most popular man, naturally invigorated by the numerous pairs of eyes on him. Nowadays, he’s not awarded the same overwhelmingly glowing reviews, except from whom it matters (which mainly means Mettaton). He’s grown accustomed to the quiet. He used to fight it, nights spent in anxious terror, thinking up desperate solutions to his dwindling reputation. He’s now rather grown to enjoy it.
Especially because, well… could it really be considered quiet? His shows ratings have died down, sure, and he’s treated much more as an old friend rather than a shining newcomer — but his husband. Oh, his Mettaton… his doll, his darling, his delight. The man is anything but quiet, though apt to his needs and peaceful during intimate moments. An electrifying presence in his life he’d likely spend woefully drowning in solitude if he was without. He’s a boon, a blessing, an angel descended upon him with kisses and roses and cooing praises in tow. And many, many other things that get him hot under the collar to think about.
Past the unpredictability of studio life lies the stability of domesticity. It’d come as such a surprise, Mettaton loving him enough to commit to him with a ring and a ceremony. Tenna admires the shining gold wedding band fitted right atop his gloves in his fist against the steering wheel, buffed weekly to ensure a brilliant glint in the cameras.
The moment he reaches the driveway, turns off his car and steps onto the pavement, the quiet truly settles. It eases through his body like a comforting stream of water, head-to-toe, relaxing him after the frustration of his employees and their lackluster competence. No need to dwell! Mettaton’s likely already inside, having taken the day off to rest, home and lounging his lovely self atop pillows and blankets. Oh, how he’s missed him… an entire workday without. Every time he’s back in Mettaton’s arms, he wonders how he survived so long away.
He smooths down his antennae with his palm and opens the front door. He’s greeted with the familiar sight of his and Mettaton’s shared home; there’s a homeliness their studio doesn't quite emulate within. Decorated wall-to-wall in memorabilia and photographs of themselves? Of course. But subdued in palettes of yellows and reds, lighted dimly, cozy. Despite this, to any outsider, their living space would likely still read as eccentric.
The scent of home fills his sensors. And, from across the house, he hears a voice that makes him perk up, an antennae twitching. Mettaton. He follows the noise like a cartoon character follows the scent of an enticing pie.
“Oh, that’s okay… don’t worry about it.” He hears the latter half of a phone conversation as Mettaton’s voice comes within earshot, his husband situated on the plush couch within their living space. His back is turned away from Tenna. With a big, silly grin, Tenna slackens his pace, lightens his steps. His arms reach forward as he approaches, planning his surprise attack.
“No, no… yes, yes, I’m okay. Just a bit inconvenient, darling. …Alright. Talk to you later.”
When Mettaton hangs up his phone, Tenna takes that as his chance. A step, another… slowly, carefully… but the moment he tries to pounce on Mettaton into a hug, Mettaton whips his head around, his grinning gaze falling instantly on Tenna. His antennae shoot up in surprise, almost falling back on his feet.
“Darling! Do you think you’re sneaky? Your shoes clatter on this tile egregiously.” Oh, his smile is so brilliant and blinding. “Hmm… trying to scare me, were you?”
Tenna’s position freezes as his gaze drags along Mettaton’s face. Not instantly, though startlingly, does Tenna realize the accessory Mettaton has adorned: a pair of short, rectangle-shaped glasses rest atop the bridge of his nose, through which Mettaton peers at him slightly squinting. Tenna’s mouth falls open. It’s no secret he’s attracted to Mettaton, every part of him with no exceptions. Anything he does, anything he wears… he finds a way to make Tenna’s circuits fry. A point which is proven by this pair of glasses. Tenna had never considered them as something he’d be attracted to, until they’re perched right on his husband’s perfect face.
“Hah, ah…” Tenna clears his throat. “Trying out a new look, doll?”
As he speaks, he makes his way around the couch perimeter to sit beside Mettaton. The man sighs, pushing the glasses up just-so as if to acknowledge their existence. Tenna’s throat feels dry.
“Ugh… unfortunately, not on purpose. I blew a fuse, or a wire disconnected, or… something. I haven’t been able to focus my optics on anything all day.” Mettaton squints his eyes deeper at him. “It’s all a big, blurry mess. These help, a tad… but you’re still a little fuzzy, sweetheart.”
Mettaton pivots towards Tenna, grasping gently beside his casing and giving him a few loving caresses. “I was just on the phone with Alphys. She won’t be free until later tomorrow for maintenance, so they’re all I’ve got before then. Don’t I look dashingly studious?”
Tenna nods dumbly. In truth, he’s having a hard time paying attention while currently wrestling with the confusion of his sudden attraction. What’s it about Mettaton in glasses that makes Tenna’s wiring buzz with electricity? Whatever it is, it’s driving Tenna crazy. When Mettaton leans up for a ‘welcome home’ kiss, the frames push gently into his screen. Mettaton pulls back with a laughed apology. Tenna wishes he hadn’t.
Mettaton’s bangs cover half the frames, along with the permanently non-operational eye they typically cover. Through thick eyelashes and glass, Mettaton looks up at Tenna, with that sweet smile pulled at his lips. Tenna is utterly obsessed. He grabs Mettaton’s hand and kisses the top, up his wrist to his arm, overzealous kisses that have Mettaton laughing.
“Did you miss me?” He grins, as Tenna works his way up to his shoulder pad, staticky presses of his lips against the ribbed metal of Mettaton’s arm.
“Oh, gosh, yes, doll… all of you, always.”
Mettaton hums in that distinctive way in reply. When Tenna hears it, his antennae twitch. That thinking, calculating sound, indicative of Mettaton’s rising arousal. His legs come to slightly spread, an even greater indication. Tenna sloppily mouths over his chest plate. Mettaton sighs, utterly pleased.
“Hahh… adorable. Adorable, darling. Look at you… you can’t keep your hands off me. Did you think of this moment, all day, at work? When you could finally do what you pleased with me? Tell me.”
“Y-Yes, I…” Tenna gulps. “I always do. You know I do, sweetheart. You’re on my mind constantly, I….”
He pulls back from his shoulder to stare at his face. Those glasses. What’s a man to do? He envisions an outfit around those catty frames, an office-chic type of getup. A black pencil skirt hugging Mettaton’s thighs and ass, a dangerously low-buttoned collared shirt… he’d unwrap him slowly with his hands or simply not at all, have Mettaton scandalously in his office, fully clothed. And of course, those ironic heeled boots, stopping inches from the end of his skirt. Tenna would drop to his knees at the very first sight of him. He already feels quite wobbly just thinking about it.
Suddenly, a pair of hands push Tenna back into the couch with a little oof. Before his processors catch up, he watches Mettaton plant both knees against the couch cushions and lean down. If he was barren, he’s sure he’d be able to feel Mettaton’s hot breath against his cock with the position he’s in; Tenna squirms, hips twitching as his cock stiffens in his uncomfortably tight pants.
“I can imagine you being so needy in your studio, as needy as you are right now. All day, unable to call me and get a bit of relief. Oh, my dear… let me take care of you.”
Mettaton makes quick work of his belt and pants, pulling his cock from his boxers, giving him a few eager tugs. Tenna’s chest rises with a heavy breath, a bead of pre falling down his shaft at the sudden, greatly-anticipated contact. Mettaton reaches up towards his face, to the frame of the glasses, and begins slowly pulling them off in preparation to pleasure him. Tenna panics.
“N— No—!” He groans. When Mettaton freezes and stares up at him, he exhales a shaky breath. He’s too predictable, too easy to rile up; he can’t do anything but admit the reason for the outburst, to remedy the confusion on Mettaton’s face. “K-Keep them on. The glasses. P…Please.”
“Oooooh.” Mettaton’s lips form into a sly grin instantaneously. He affixes the frames back into place. Oh, god. Now that he knows Tenna’s into them like that, he’ll use this against him for the rest of their lives (not that Tenna can say he’s complaining, really). “You like these? I hadn’t realized… I had just thought you were especially needy tonight. How intriguing.”
Mettaton is leaning closer and closer to his cock as he speaks. Tenna’s unsure where to look, really — his ass in the air, bent over, or his beautiful, sexy face and the mouthwatering way he’s peering up at him. He finds himself rapidly looking between the two, cock fully hard by now, begging for his husband’s attention.
“What about these glasses makes you so ravenous?” Mettaton asks. He loves to ask these leading questions, typically knowing fully well the answer, or feigning curiosity as a way to have Tenna stutter out desperate praises. To be honest, he doesn’t have an answer for Mettaton; none that would satisfy his craving to know. He’s about as in-the-dark to this sudden attraction as Mettaton is. Mettaton grabs onto Tenna’s thighs and spreads his legs deeper.
“I-I, ah…” It’s also hard to focus when Mettaton’s lips are mere centimeters away from his dick, only awarding him with his attention once he’s answered the proposed question. “You look… different. Er, not in a bad way, o-obviously! I don’t really know, ah… you’re just… so gorgeous, doll.”
Mettaton makes a satisfied noise despite what Tenna thought was a lackluster response. He rewarded Tenna's sparse-yet-worshipful honesty with slow, dutiful kisses to the side of his cock, mouthing along metallic ridging. Tenna wills his hips not to jerk right up when he takes the tip into his mouth, peering up at Tenna through those lenses as he teases his tongue against him. “G-Geez…”
Steam pours from his vents. His mouth feels so good, so heavenly; warm wetness engulfs his cock as Mettaton takes in inch after inch, stopping momentarily to slide the glasses back into place once he’s noticed they'd begun slipping down the bridge of his nose. The choked moan that slips past Tenna’s lips had no chance of being stifled.
“Mmnh, hnn—“ Tenna whines. “That feels, ooh… good, so good, thank you, thank you…!”
A hum of a laugh from Mettaton reverberates against him, a shiver sent throughout his entire chassis. He chases the feeling of Mettaton’s warmth with small grinds of his hips, gentle though certainly eager for more, small whimpers elicited with each movement. Mettaton allows this, and Tenna feels a desperate need to continue his thanks, but words feel difficult when his cock is halfway down Mettaton’s throat. He’s sure his darling understands.
“M-Mettaton!” He manages. If all other words fail, he’ll eventually find his beloved’s name, despite. One of his gloved hands moves to grasp into the locks of Mettaton’s hair, mouth agape in near-constant groaning sighs. He’s close. It’s becoming increasingly clear as his breaths grow shorter and shorter, pressure building throughout his whole body.
He’s being wound up tightly by Mettaton’s lips and mouth, spun round and round in the ropes of Mettaton’s dutiful touches. He needs that unwinding release, chases it ardently. Cruelly, of course, the moment it’s about to snap, Mettaton lets his cock fall from his mouth. The wet, popped noise that follows reverberates throughout the living room, but it’s barely processed in his following frantic need for release.
“Mmn, mmn— d- d-doll—“ He stutters out, hips jerking up involuntarily. Though the initial action feels like cruelty, Mettaton’s following movements feel a great gift; he grasps tightly onto Tenna’s tie and falls backwards, into the couch cushions, a mirror of Tenna’s own position before. He pulls along Tenna in the process, shifting the man up onto his knees before him. Mettaton’s hand shoots to between his own legs. His modesty latch is quickly discarded to the side, fingers making contact with his clit. He rubs the sensitive button with his fingers in tight circles, and Tenna watches, parched, as his cunt needily drools lubricant at the self-stimulation. Mettaton’s gaze is piercing, when Tenna finally looks up at his face. His eyes are fiery behind glass, burning the threads of Tenna’s restraint, lips apart in breathy moans as he touches himself before him.
His fingers at his clit suddenly move aside, parting his lips in invitation. Mettaton’s entrance flutters with excitement, legs coming to spread flexibly wide. “Come on,” he pants. “All yours. Fuck me, sweetheart. C-Come on.”
Tenna’s just about ready to short circuit. He summons his strength to crawl forward on his knees, get himself into position before him. Both his hands grasp at the backs of Mettaton’s thighs and push his legs up into a deeper spread, nearly bending his body in half. His hands greedily squeeze the soft, flexible silicone at this particular part of his body; if he waits another second, he truly will short circuit. He sheathes his cock into his husband with an Oh yes and an Oh geez concurrently falling from their respective lips. He’s a mess, an utter mess, sweating uncomfortably in this stuffy suit, ruining his dress pants as he fucks Mettaton into the cushions. His thrusts are quick, snappy to start, too teased and edged to mind being gentle. Mettaton absolutely melts beneath him, a delirious, open-mouthed grin on his face.
“Hnngh! O-Oh, Tenna!” Mettaton moans. His arms reach out, unspindling within his body to extend in long tubes around Tenna’s torso, slithering around his frame and grasping on tight like a constrictor. Tenna’s forced to lean forward, shoving himself deeper within him in the process. Tenna groans, loud; with the position, he’s kept well within him, though unrelenting in pace. He rather speeds up, humping wildly into Mettaton. He’s too good for Tenna to do anything but.
With Tenna’s position, he only has to lean forward a few more inches to capture Mettaton’s panting lips into a sloppy kiss. The man beneath him hums happily, eagerly receiving and reciprocating the kiss, their lips meeting between pants and moans in an utter mess of drool and spit. Once again, his glasses press up into Tenna’s screen. His display turns staticky at the sensation, the reminder. Oh, gosh — he looks too good, feels too good — Tenna’s rambling something similar between unions of lips, but his words come out as a garble of static instead. With a few more pounding thrusts, it only takes him moments more to come inside of Mettaton.
He has to part from Mettaton as he does, screen flickering wildly between off and on, squeezing his fingers into his thighs as his hips jerk repetitively into his husband, pumping him full of his come. Mettaton coos and moans, absolutely delighted, gyrating his hips up as if to encourage him as Tenna works through it. “Yes, ohh, that’s it, good boy—!”
But Mettaton still hasn’t come. So, sensitive post-orgasm with twinges of overstimulation in his sensors, he continues despite. Mettaton makes a filthy sound, the loudest he’s gotten thus far. One of Tenna’s hands leaves his thigh to anchor at his stomach, getting his thumb on his clit to work it to Mettaton’s completion. Tenna could’ve sworn his entire body arched off the couch with that final bit of stimulation. Mettaton comes, shortly after Tenna had, legs quaking beneath his hand. A mess of lubricant gushes from his pussy and straight onto the couch. He’ll have a ball scrubbing out flakes of glitter and artificial pink dye from the fabric tomorrow. Right now, as he continues thrusting into Mettaton’s pussy, it all feels so delightfully distant.
“Hnngh, m-my goodness, Tenna. Still hard? You must really, hahhn… enjoy these things.” Mettaton readjusts the glasses on his face as he looks down between their legs to where they connect, watching Tenna pumping in and out of him. Of course he’s still hard. After the sight of Mettaton’s orgasm, the only response he should have is an instant hard-on, even if he’s just came. It’s only right. “Go on, darling, you old cad. D-Don’t stop.”
Behind every tease lies the unmistakable twinge of Mettaton’s own desire. Tenna continues, of course. Who would he be to refuse? Except, this time, his thrusts are slower, gentler. His thumb keeps a steady rub on Mettaton’s clit that has his thighs twitching, gasps elicited from him with each thrust inside. “M-My doll,” Tenna whines. He gently drops Mettaton’s leg in his grip and leans back enough to explore his body with his hand. From his chest to the dip of his waist, his hips, to the chamber of his SOUL. He caresses atop the glass once his hand smooths over it, watching as the dim, pink glow brightens in brilliance at the soft touches.
“Your face, y-your voice, your body, t-this gorgeous, shining SOUL…” Tenna lists, without explanation, though the implications are clear. They’re but minuscule threads of the woven tapestry that is Tenna’s abundance of love for Mettaton, the tip of the iceberg. There’s so many things that go unsaid. The feeling of his foot stroking up and down Tenna’s leg when they’re tangled in bed together, the sensation of his lips fitting perfectly against Tenna’s when they kiss goodbye, how intelligent and funny he is, the commandeering place he takes in their studio and just how beautifully he fills the role. Oh, Mettaton… oh, he’s so in love it physically hurts, and he has to lean down and kiss every inch of Mettaton’s neck and chest he can to keep himself from bursting with it. He’d do anything for him. He’d die without him. What a sappy fool he must be, to be so in love… any other man would find Tenna’s love overwhelming, but Mettaton receives it and dishes it back with such grace.
Tenna whimpers beneath his breath. Mettaton’s vice grip on him lessens, his hands rather planting tenderly at Tenna’s back. “Good boy, so good…” He murmurs, surely hearing how emotional he’s getting with every choked noise he makes. “Oh, my darling, you’re making me feel so good, hahhn— I love you. I love you, Tenna…”
“I love you,” Tenna whines in reply. What a silly way to be put in such a tender moment, so aroused by the simple sight of Mettaton in glasses that he’d taken immediate notice. It must just exemplify exactly what Tenna’d been thinking. Anything he does drives him wild. Is it the perceived domesticity that’s making him mad? He could imagine Mettaton tucked away in bed, wearing them as he checked his inbox. Perhaps when he’s much older, when his optics malfunction more frequently. Oh, he doesn’t want him to malfunction, but the idea of growing older and rustier with him… a couple of tears actually fall down his screen. His thrusts stutter, a shaky breath falling from him. Mettaton must take notice when a couple of droplets fall against his chest. He quickly grabs hold of Tenna’s head to pull it back, his face screwing up in concern when he sees his teary expression.
“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks. His thumb rubs some of his tears away.
“I love you,” is the only way Tenna can reply. He doesn’t mean to imply that that’s wrong — quite the opposite — but they’re the only words left hanging around in his overthinking chassis. A couple more thrusts, and he comes within him again, embarrassingly quick. Mettaton smiles. Genuinely, tenderly. He bites his lip at the sensation of Tenna’s come filling him once again, grinding his hips back against his cock as his thrusts slow.
“Tenna, Tenna…” He gasps. “I love you too, sweetness. Don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry over, love, I’m here. I’m yours, forever.”
Maybe he mistakes his tears as sorrowful. The sniffly smile that splits his screen at the earnest affirmations indicates only the opposite; he’s so happy he has to cry. When was the last time Tenna cried from joy? …Okay, he knows the answer. Before their wedding, Tenna can hardly think of an instance.
Tenna exits Mettaton with a soft grunt, a mess of his come falling out his entrance. Before Mettaton can raise objections, he crawls off the couch onto his knees before it and grips onto Mettaton’s legs, pivoting his body and raising them above his shoulders to dive down right between them and get his mouth on his pussy. Mettaton gasps, grabbing ahold of Tenna’s antennae, stroking them gingerly up and down. “Ah—!”
He targets his clit instantly, groaning deliriously against him. The nub is sucked between his lips and teased with his tongue, all while Mettaton’s breath grows shorter and shorter, his orgasm rapidly approaching in the quick movements of Tenna’s mouth. When he comes, his legs pull in Tenna as close as he can get him, humping his screen as his lubricants soak him. There’s nothing else in the world that Tenna could want.
“Goodness…” Mettaton sighs, twitchy and overstimulated as Tenna continues working his mouth. With a little laugh, he pushes Tenna’s head away, grinning at what must be the sight of the utter mess Tenna’s been made of. “What a finale. My sweetheart…” Mettaton swipes a thumb across Tenna’s stained lips. “What made you so teary?”
Tenna grabs hold of the hand against his mouth to steady it, pressing repetitive kisses atop it in a mirror to his earlier gentlemanly gesture. “Nothing bad,” he reassures. “Heat of the moment, doll. I got sappy, thinking about our future.”
“Our future, hmm?”
“…Yeah.”
Mettaton looks thoughtful. He helps Tenna back up top the couch, silent though with the ever-lingering promise of a reply hanging in the air, unsaid until they’re settled side-by-side.
“When I met you, you didn’t seem much of a future man. It was always back then, or now, but never later.”
He knows what he means. It builds upon his earlier reminiscing of his lively past juxtaposed with his dimmed-down present. Suppose thinking ahead had never been much of Tenna’s strong suit, after all. He’s always been impulsive and unpredictable. Rash, at times. Careless. Stuck in the past and unable to move forward past his aching cling to his then-dying show.
“I’m glad to say you’ve got your priorities in order, now. I’ve loved to see you flourish away from the past. But, right now…”
Mettaton wraps both arms around Tenna’s shoulders. “Your husband would like a bath. Will you accompany him?”
Tenna grins. As brightly as he does on-stage, but without an ounce of forced performance. He grabs hold of Mettaton at his back and beneath his knees, swooping him off the couch as he stands in a bridal position, carrying his heavy metal body easily in his arms. “Of course I will!” Tenna exclaims, already marching in the direction of their en-suite.
Mettaton makes a startled, pleased noise. “And, darling…” Mettaton’s fingers draw shapes against his back. “Could you make that a solvent bath? I’d like for you to join me.”
Tenna’s clothing becomes now-tangible against his body at the purred request. Too stuffy. Oh, gee, if he wasn’t holding Mettaton in his arms, he may actually have jumped up and clicked his heels. “Y-Yes, dear. Anything. Of course.
“…But could you keep the glasses on?”