Chapter Text
Peppy 80’s workout music was filtering from behind the door of Tenna’s suite. What was he up to this time? Working with Mr. Ant Tenna was certainly never boring, that was for certain. Spamton had no idea how it was possible for someone to be this enthusiastic about work every single day. Stimulants, maybe? Tenna certainly had a taste for sugary coffees.
He was getting distracted. He checked notes once more. He hated using paper notes—TV World was so damned old-fashioned. But Tenna, despite his enthusiasm for the wonders of the Internet, didn’t actually know what it meant to upgrade and had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century.
He checked his appearance in the shiny golden doorknob, running his tongue over his teeth and smoothing back his hair. Had to make sure he looked good for—
What are you doing??
He shook himself, feeling his cheeks burn. This was happening more and more often. Right on cue was the nervous flutter of excitement in his belly, the sweaty palms, the pounding heart. Gawwwwd, get it together, Big Shot! He wiped off one hand under his jacket, scowling, and knocked sharply.
The music quieted a bit. “Come innnnnn!” came the cheerful call. Spamton sighed and twisted the knob, swinging the door wide open.
Oh… my God…
The workout CD played along cheerfully in the background but all of Spamton’s attention was locked onto the sight of the perky, shapely, sinfully round
bubble butt
of his cohost and the head of TV World, Mr. Ant Tenna. There it was, every inch of it lovingly wrapped in tight exercise shorts that were pulled even tighter on those plump asscheeks as Tenna dropped into a perfect split on the floor, the cords and wires flexing in his powerful thighs. He was facing away from the door—Angel, had he no shame? Anyone could have walked through—
What was Spamton thinking, of course he didn’t. Tenna owned the place, and though he played up that cutesy, TV-G rated host persona Spamton knew the man had no qualms about making it clear, verbally or not, who was top dog around here. It was a bit grating, honestly. Or would have been if Spamton didn’t find it so damn unbelievably sexy—
Argh, what are you doing?!
Spamton tore his thoughts away from dangerous places and took in the ridiculous workout ensemble the man was wearing. Extra mirrors encircled the floor, reflecting the sight of the television Darkner, clad in those silly, tight shorts, a crop-top (dear Heaven), and bright yellow joggers. Red arm and legbands completed the ensemble, and the top of his box was encircled by a sweatband bearing the TV Time logo. In fact the whole hideous outfit was covered in logos. Ego, much?
(Well, Spamton couldn’t really nail him for that one, after all he’d slapped his award-winning smile on every ad and billboard he could back in Cyber City…)
Speaking of nailing, Spamton’s gaze was helplessly drawn back to that unfairly perfect ass, and the tempting, flexing length of exposed back as Tenna smoothly bent forward until his screen touched his knee and he could grab ahold of his foot. Immediately his traitorous brain was plagued with thoughts of how well that flexibility could be utilized in a more intimate scenario—
“Spammy!” The fantasy popped like a soap bubble. “Hi! You’re here bright and early! Want to join me for some morning calisthenics before we start rehearsing? It’s important to be ~limber~ for our show! Don’t need to hurt my back in the middle of a physical challenge!”
Oh hell no. “Ah heh—no way, pal. I don’t need to sweat through my [cha-ching.mp3] suit!”
Tenna raised his head, pouting slightly. “Aww! Are you sure? I’m sure we could find a great workout outfit for you!” He leaned one elbow playfully on his leg and raised his other hand, fingers poised as though to snap. Spamton realized that Tenna could indeed change his outfit with a snap and threw his hand out.
“WHOA there, hold your horses Tens! I—I’m fine, really! Did some stretching before I drove over here, in fact.” That was a big fat lie but Tenna didn’t need to know that. Spamton even did some twisting and stretching for show. Actually, by the way his muscles ached pleasantly as he dropped his arms back to his sides, maybe stretching more would be a good idea—no! Focus!
Tenna chuckled as he smoothly climbed to his feet. “I’ll get you yet, Spamton G. Spamton,” he teased, raising one arm above his head and leaning over to the side.
You can have me now! chirped that tiny, horny, stupid part of Spamton’s brain that he tried to never listen to. Fuck, was it hot in here or was he imagining it? His pants felt a little tight. Fuck, no, please, not right now.
It was bad enough getting boners over his boss/business partner in private! If he got one now in front of Tenna he would die of mortification.
“Spammy? Did you, uh, just come in here to spend more time with your ~oh so wonderful partner and friend and the best TV host ever~ or did you need me to look at those papers?”
“Er! Yeah, these are just my notes on the commercial segments for today.” He handed them over, trying to get his mind back into “business” mode. C’mon, Big Shot, you didn’t make it this far drooling over your business partners!
Well… Tenna was the only business partner he’d ever had who made him feel this way. The only person, really, who’d ever made him—
OK, ENOUGH OF THAT.
“Hmm… These all look good to me! I trust your judgement, partner. Although I don’t know if you need a three-minute commercial for dish soap?”
“Tens, c’mon, you said it yourself whats-her-face—”
“Toriel.”
“Toriel! Yeah, her, she was complaining they were outta dish soap yesterday. [[Boom! Bang!]] She’ll see the commercial and remember to buy dish soap! That’s Advertising 101, babe. Listen to what your customer needs!” Spamton snapped his fingers and grinned widely, back in his element.
Why did I call him babe whyyyyyy
“Toriel needs three minutes about… dish soap?” Spamton focused on Tenna’s confusion so he wouldn’t focus on the way that stupidly short crop-top was riding up his side and exposing gleaming metal and silicone that Spamton just wanted to run his tongue down.
“Toriel… is gonna be so [[Happy Days]] that we reminded her to buy dish soap! I bet she’ll even say, ‘What a great TV I have that reminds me what I need to buy!’”
Tenna grinned hugely, a flower sprouting from his nose as he contemplated, presumably, this exact scenario. “Awww Spammy, d’ya think she will??”
Spamton just about managed not to roll his eyes. “Yep… she probably will, Ant.”
Tenna thrust the papers back at him with a happy little pirouette. “You know what, three minutes sounds perfect. Everything looks perfect. Gosh, I—” He smiled fondly down at Spamton, who felt his face warm. “I’m so glad you came onboard, partner. You’re the best spammy mailman I could ever ask for!”
Spam. Email. Man. How hard is that to say? All the same, embarrassingly, Spamton felt a dumb smile creep over his face in response to Tenna’s compliment. God, he was pathetic.
“I uh, I should probably go and prep my lines, you know, make some phone calls and all. Big Shot’s gotta stay busy, you know how it is!” he said hastily, pointing backwards towards the door.
Tenna’s antennae drooped a little. What was that all about? “Ah… yeah, yeah, of course! Go uh, do your thing! See you onstage in an hour! Glad you came by!” He dipped into a deep forward stretch, palms touching the floor. “I’ll just be here, limbering up! Heh…”
Holy fuck. Spamton couldn’t look away from how the pose exposed the entire length of Tenna’s toned back, his ass pointing up into the air, legs spread temptingly…
What the fuck is this DOOFUS doing to me?? He wondered to himself frantically, turning around and practically jogging all the way back to his dressing room. Yeah, his pants were uncomfortably tight now.
***
Damn. One of these days.
Tenna rose up slowly from the pose as he heard the door shut, sighing a little in disappointment. He knew Spamton wouldn’t be able to look away from him in this outfit and had been wearing it every morning during his exercise routine for a month on the off-chance the little mailman would need to come talk to him.
He could see how much he affected Spamton, he wasn't manufactured yesterday. He supposed he couldn’t blame the little guy for wanting to keep things at a respectful, professional distance but come on! They had chemistry for the ages! Chemistry of the kind only found on the silver screen, in the greatest of TV romances! Couldn’t Spamton feel it?
That was the problem. He knew Spamton was feeling it and not acting on it. That had to be it.
Well, Tenna was a patient CRT. After all, the slow burn, the chase, wasn’t that what made the reward all the sweeter? That very special episode when the two characters finally confessed their feelings and kissed, and the studio audience applauded, that was worth waiting for.
The memory of Spamton’s red face as he took in the sight of Tenna in his workout garb made him smile.
I’ll get you yet, Spamton G. Spamton.
***
Spamton slammed his dressing room door and after a moment, locked it. So much for not sweating through his suit, he knew he had sweat patches under his arms, not to mention how… hot and sensitive everything felt down there.
Fuck. Fucking dumbass idiot box.
Throwing down his notes, he flopped back on his slightly shabby couch—he should really prod Tenna for a nicer one—and furiously unbuckled his belt. He had enough time, he thought, wriggling his pants down to his thighs and squeezing himself through his boxers. He was hard as a rock and leaking right through them. Great. Just great.
How embarrassing was that, to be so turned on by Tenna in his stupid workout gear that he felt like steam was coming out of his ears? That stupid CRT was scrambling his code or… something.
“Fuck… you stupid smug asshole…” he groaned, squeezing himself, relief burning in his gut at the touch. He needed more. Shoving his boxers down, he got to work, trying not to make it go too quickly…
“Oh, Spamton… please… I NEED you!” moaned the TV, looking over his shoulder with a sultry expression from his perfect split in the floor. Except he wasn’t wearing anything this time, and he was prone on a thick red shag rug instead of shiny linoleum. He leaned forward on his elbows, arching his back, round ass presented for Spamton. Steam was curling from his vents as his antennae arched into a heart. “Please, ~take me~, I’m all yours!”
“That’s right, you are, baby,” said Spamton, suavely unbuttoning his suit jacket and tossing it away, leaving him somehow completely naked. The light gently glimmered off his pearly white body and slick black ‘do. Tenna whimpered needily at the sight of his cock, heavy and flushed between the addison’s thighs. “Daddy Spamton’s gonna take care of you now.”
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this is finally happening,” gasped Tenna as—
Spamton frowned briefly. “Gosh?” No, no, he just couldn’t picture Tenna swearing.
Ok, back to jerking off.
—as Spamton pushed his perfect asschecks apart to reveal his—
What did CRTs have down there anyways? Some kind of hole, probably. Right?
—his hole, already open and slick and ready for him. “‘Well, someone’s eager,” teased Spamton, kneading that thick silicone ass meat with both hands.
Tenna blushed prettily, his screen filling with rainbow bars. “I wanted to be ready for you. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he sighed.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either—”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you, Tens, everyone wants a piece of the Big Shot. Lucky you, huh? Now keep ‘em spread for me, babe. Let me see that beautiful body.”
Tenna moaned like a whore as Spamton pushed into him. “O-oh Angel, Spamton, you’re so bi-hiiig!”
“Gawd, you’re tight as a virgin,” groaned Spamton, bottoming out, his inner thighs growing slick as his cunt twitched needily, stimulated by the pressure.
“I-I’ve never let anyone see me like this before,” gasped Tenna as Spamton began pounding into him, the slap of flesh on silicone filling the room. The air seemed to swirl with pink steam and soft, romantic light. “I’ve never been with anyone like this! Only you! I only want you!”
“Oh, fuck, oh, Tenna—”
Spamton curled two fingers deep into himself, the movement of his hand on his cock growing faster and rougher, slippery with precum. He thrust steadily into his hand, the heels of his shoes digging into the couch cushions.
“Ngh… ohshi—oh Tenna—”
“SPAMMY!” wailed Tenna in ecstasy as his body clenched tight around Spamton, each muscle trembling as he came hard. Spamton followed him over the edge—
“Fuck, fuck, T-T-TENNA!” he cried, feeling his face burn with mortification at the volume of his voice, overlapping with sheer bliss as he made a mess all over his hand, streams of cum decorating his thighs and the dark green couch as his pussy squeezed and fluttered around his fingers. He was making a mess but couldn’t bother to care as he came down much too soon from cloud nine.
He was shaking. He’d never come that hard from fantasizing about Tenna.
Fuck it, he needed more. He pressed a third finger into his soaked, softened cunt.
The fantasy began to change…
“Come on, Spammy, I wanna see how flexible ~you~ are,” purred the CRT playfully, pushing his legs apart—how did they get back to Cyber City so fast? Spamton felt the CRT press him deeper into his soft mattress back at the mansion and swallowed hard as his pussy was exposed to the cool air, aching to be filled—
Was that what he wanted??
—filled in a way he knew only Tenna could give him. He’d seen the shape of that cock under the TV Darkner’s shiny, tight pants, and now he could finally see it in its full glory—
How big would it be? Bigger than Spamton’s toys? God, he was so dumb, he should have brought one of them here for times like this!
He pushed a fourth finger in, panting, stretching himself gently—it wasn’t enough but it was something. He wished it didn’t require him to hold his wrist at such a weird angle.
—in its full glory, it hung heavy and—purple? Grey? Silver? None of those? Dripping fluid of—of some kind, probably, as Tenna pushed the head of it against his swollen slit, teasing him. Tormenting him, really.
“You don’t think I’ve seen how you look at me, Spamton? Of course you do, everybody wants a piece of Mr. Ant Tenna. Aren’t you lucky?”
“Yes—” gasped Spamton, squirming with anticipation, desperate for friction. Tenna pushed his legs further apart, his grip firm on his thighs.
“Do you LOVE TV?”
“I—I—”
“Come on, Spammy, you can do it,” teased the CRT, his screen black, his fangs showing in a lustful grin—
Spamton pumped his fingers inside himself, whining in the back of his throat. Tenna didn’t like to show his fangs; he thought it made him look “dangerous” and “at least TV-14!” but Spamton had been enchanted the first time he’d seen them. It was somehow so… refreshing. A crack in that perfect TV host persona. A little sign of danger, of unpredictability.
How would it feel to run his tongue over them?
“I love TV, I love it, please, Tenna, please!”
“That’s what I want to hear!” He thrust into Spamton and the addison shouted at the stretch. It was everything he’d dared to imagine, filling him perfectly, the heat making his back arch and toes curl.
“~WOW~ Spammy, you’re more—haaa—flexible than I thought!” praised Tenna, fucking him into the mattress, driving the breath from his lungs with each impossibly deep stroke.
“K-kiss me, Tens, c’mon!” he sobbed, clenching fistfuls of his bedsheets, and Tenna obliged, bending down and devouring Spamton’s mouth. Like he was devouring the rest of him—
Tears leaked from the corners of Spamton’s eyes as he pushed his fingers in as deep as possible. It stung, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted one of his toys and cursed himself again for not thinking to bring one here. But, fuck, he was close—!
His cock slapped against his stomach as he fucked himself, biting into his lip as he focused his imagination.
“You fit so perfectly around me, it’s like you were made to take my cock!” Tenna bottomed out once more and then Spamton felt it.
“Let’s see how much you can s-stretch—oh Angel I’m c-c-coming!”
Spamton cried out as Tenna pumped him full of cum—he was a huge Darkner, he probably came buckets—so much it gushed out around the base of that fat cock, so much Spamton thought he’d burst—
“NNGHH, F-FUCK!” he shouted, coming even harder this time, jerking himself off furiously and trying to draw it out as long as possible with just his hands. His eyes rolled back with the intensity as he squeezed around his fingers, wishing more than anything he had something thicker in there. It was so good, it felt like he was weightless—
His skull thumped onto the floor. “Ow.” He had slipped backwards off the seat from the intensity of his masturbation. He stared at his room dizzily from his upside-down position. His lower half was still draped on the cushions, soaked with his own fluids. God, he was a mess. He panted, wishing he’d thought to just strip off his suit altogether—at this rate, he would need a shower before rehearsal.
He checked his watch. Fuck. He would be late. What the hell was he doing?? This was getting ridiculous—he really needed to get laid if the sight of Tenna in that dopey outfit got him so wound up.
That’s what he kept telling himself as he checked his re-styled hair one more time after his shower. He was just overdue for a good fuck and it was making him think ridiculous things. That was all. He told himself that his flushed cheeks were just from the heat of the shower.
Determined to not look at Tenna during rehearsal more than was necessary (in his STUPID tight pants and his STUPID perfectly tailored coat), he missed Tenna’s slight, knowing smile.