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Tenna sighed deeply as he closed the door to his dressing room, immediately loosening his tie with a fading smile. Sure, tonight’s show had been a blast — a trivia segment that had truly come down to the wire. Tenna himself had been on the edge of his seat (figuratively, of course, as he rarely sat down while on air), voice candidly electric when contestant number 3 eked out a comeback victory that almost felt scripted. The applause had been deafening, ratings were through the roof, and a sizable afterparty was in full swing within the Green Room. It was a perfect night. Or at least it could have been, if Tenna wasn’t short one little mailman.
Spamton was on one of his many, all-to-frequent Cyber City business trips, leaving Tenna to host all on his lonesome. Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable of putting on a show by himself, he was TV after all, but, well, he’d gotten used to having the little salesman around. He worked here and while he might be a Cyber City native, as far as Tenna was concerned, Spamton belonged in TV World. At the studio. With him.
He grumbled as he plopped into his desk chair in a huff, the stack of paperwork he had used as an excuse to skip out on the party now rearing its ugly head. It occurred to him halfway through the third page of a new advertising contract that Spamton should be here for this, too, but no, instead he was off galavanting about in Cyber City doing Angel knows what. Probably out getting wasted at some flashy high tech bar, Tenna mused, annoyed, despite being intimately familiar with how much ratings went up after each and every one of his little mailman’s trips.
And truth be told, ever since Spamton had joined TV Time, Tenna had always hated it when he left - all his other employees lived in TV World after all! Why couldn’t Spamton just stay like the rest of them, and handle all this advertising remotely though that Internet thing he was always going on about? “Or maybe put that damn phone to good use for once,” Tenna muttered to no one in particular, tracing his pen through the fine print of some contract. But this trip had felt different, he was definitely more irate than usual; the number of Pippins he’d threatened to fire this week alone reaching record highs. And Tenna knew exactly why, of course, but was trying very, very hard not to think about it.
It had hardly been a week since his and Spamton’s relationship had become more…physical in nature, the deep claw marks marring his desk a constant reminder of the first time Tenna had lost control completely. After that afternoon, it was as if a damn had burst, each party finding every opportunity to explore the many fantasies they’d been dreaming up before Tenna had made that first move. It’s a miracle they hadn’t gotten caught, but if he was honest, Tenna knew anyone with half a brain probably knew exactly what was happening behind the closed doors of Tenna’s dressing room. Or Spamton’s. Or the supply closet. Or that one time, on set, after everyone had left, and oh, what a treat that had been, the threat of an audience looming as he ruined them both —
And okay, now he was thinking about it. Shame pooled in his gut as his mailman blurred into view on top of the paperwork beneath him, arching his back into Tenna’s touch, smug expression breaking as he pressed deeper into that weeping slit. Oh, and he knew Spamton would let him, wouldn’t he just, his sweet little interruptions giving him away; pliant, perfect, and all his. He squeezed his thighs together at the thought, a small whine escaping through his clenched teeth at the sensation. Hearing the sound did nothing but deepen his embarrassment (and, as he was rapidly discovering, his arousal - the two more linked than he was willing to explore at the moment), and, by the Fountain, was he truly this desperate? Spamton hadn’t been gone more than a few days, and here he was, wound up like he’d been edged for days. But hadn’t he though?? If Spamton was here, where he belonged, he wouldn’t have this, ah, problem, they’d just have handled it like they usually did.
And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t handled it on his own before! Truth be told, Tenna was already beyond insatiable, and finally feeling, tasting and, stars, fucking his little mailman had done nothing but make things worse. He’d lost count of how many times he’d relieved himself late at night, mind swimming as he lay awake recalling whatever debauchery they’d gotten up to that day. Tenna knew it was beyond pathetic, but he just couldn’t help himself, thoughts of his co-host’s fluffy little body dismantling his family-friendly image one by one. Claws sunk into his desk chair, screen tinting red as he made a mental note to replace the armrests before Spamton returned.
And - AND - it wasn’t as if they hadn’t already defiled his dressing room either! In fact, that was where it happened a majority of the time, so frequently in fact that the drawers were now stocked with unmentionables that would surely get Tenna fired if the studio had an HR department.
So, this should be fine right? If, well, everything else was fine, which it was. It had to be. And it was fine, it was just…different. Tenna huffed an exasperated laugh through labored breaths as he stared a hole through the tent in his pants. It couldn’t hurt could it? And if anything it wasn’t his fault. He’d be quick.
He clicked his screen off as he unbuckled his belt, shaking hands freeing his weeping cock at last. Tenna palmed it slowly, pushing down with enough force to replicate the feeling of Spamton’s weight in his lap; small, intentional movements making it all the easier to imagine his little mailman grinding upon his length. “Ohh, s-stars, Spammy…I’m already d-dripping for you,” Tenna muttered, entirely to himself, his thumb slathering an embarrassing amount of pre over his tip in stuttered circles. He brought his other hand to unbutton his shirt, fingers haphazardly digging into his abdomen to pull at neglected wires just like he knew Spamton would. If he were here. Tenna whined at the thought, his blacked out screen making it all the easier to conjure up an image of his tiny little mailman wrapping his lips tightly around his cock. And truly, as was standard at this point, Tenna could not help himself.
“You think you can take me, m-mailman?“
An empty threat, as Tenna very well knew Spamton could and had taken him, in every way he could. And as much as Tenna loved that little slit of his, there was nothing quite like watching his arrogant bastard of a cohost choke on his cock, with hair unkempt and tear stained cheeks and oh, Tenna was not long for this world. Hips snapped up at a frantic pace into a tight fist, an admittedly poor imitation of Spamton’s mouth, but it mattered little, not when he was so close, not when he could call every little detail of that perfect little body to memory, not when he was about to lose it with Spamton’s name on his lips —
A sharp burst of static between his antennas broke him from his stupor, a pathetic whine escaping his lips as he was denied his release. Oh, someone was getting fired, who could have possibly decided to call him at such an hour? It had to have been that useless dolt who’d forgotten to replace the spotlight bulb three days back, begging to keep his job no doubt. Tenna could have laughed, really, if his breathing wasn’t still labored and his hand wasn’t still tight around his aching cock. Another sharp buzz and he forced some composure, slicking his antennas back with his free hand and clicking his screen back to life. His office blinked into view, desk violently ruined. His gaze settled however, on an oddly silent rotary phone perched on the edge. It wasn’t ringing.
It wasn’t ringing.
Tenna whimpered despite himself, screen hot and hands shaky. This wasn’t a work call. No, this was a direct call to his personal line, something he would have noticed if he’d been thinking straight. Or thinking at all. Now, unfortunately, he was thinking. Thinking about how only five Darkners had access to this direct line. And how four of them were presently in the Green Room with no occasion to call him. And he shouldn’t, oh, he really shouldn’t but just the thought of that slimy little Addison on the other line, catching him, hearing him, oh, it was too much for a simple CRT to bear. Well, what Spamton didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him right? He’d be quick. This time for sure.
“Mr. (ant) Tenna s-speaking, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Spamton G. Spamton, but you can [call me] whatever you like.” Stars, his voice. Smug overconfidence with that degrading lilt, Tenna’s sure the fang buried in his lip would have drawn blood if he had any to spill. He began to fuck into his hand slowly, clearing his throat before attempting what he really hoped was normal reply.
“S-Spammy? How, nnh~ unexpected!” Yep. So normal.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t [don’t miss out on these deals!!] me, Tens.”
If only he knew, Tenna thought despite himself; his breath becoming short, small whines all but pouring through clenched teeth. He wouldn’t tell him, he couldn’t, and and yet, some tiny (and admittedly growing) part him wanted Spamton to know, needed him to talk him through this with that sweet, condescending tone of his. His hand squeezed tighter at the thought, a pressure divine and sinful all at once.
“Haah~ but y-you’re the one who called me, Spams!” He was fumbling this, somewhere deep within himself he knew it to be true, but it mattered little. Tenna needed this, needed him. The how of it all was irrelevant - he’d spin it later, he was sure.
“And you picked up, [Cathode]!“ Spamton laughed, a deep, cacophonous thing that went straight to his cock. “Saw your [lights, camera, action!] at the bar. You were so good out there, [Angel].”
Tenna could feel himself slipping, claws ranking up and down his the soft silicon making up his thigh. How was he supposed to keep this up, keep quiet, when Spamton praised him so sweetly? “R-really?”
“Of course! I’d never miss [once in a lifetime opportunity] to watch you shine, Tenna.”
The showman didn’t think he’d ever get used to his name on Spamton’s lips. It’s like he was made to say it, it felt so right, so good, he couldn’t help himself, he needed more of it, it didn’t matter, nothing else mattered.
“M-more, Spammy. P-please.”
Spamton snickered. “More of what, [ant-sized]? Come on now, be specific.”
“About the show. Tell me I did good.”
Thankfully, Spamton did not hesitate. “Oh, you really wanna know, [Angel]? Can you [shipping and handling] it?” Regrettably, he was still a tease.
“Y-yes! Spamton, please please I need-“ He couldn’t stand it anymore, Spamton made it impossible, truly, and a sharp whine finally made it’s way through clenched fangs, and Tenna could only pray Spamton hadn’t heard it through another bout of that arrogant laughter.
“Ah, don’t worry, Ant, you know how I [love the way you beg for me] to tell you what a star you are,” Spamton purred, the sound shocking his body alight. “Watching you perform for me is one of life’s [best I’ve ever had] pleasures.”
His little mailman always knew exactly what to say, didn’t he? Exactly how to say it too, just like he knew exactly how Tenna liked it each time they’d had the other. Somewhere in his lust-addled mind, he somehow made the realization that Spamton had completely ruined him, nobody else could possibly compare. He had to have him, have more, more of that voice, that praise, that perfect, practiced prose that brought him to his knees.
“And your voice, Tens, fuck, you really know how to work a room. I could listen to you [All Night Forever].”
Stars, how he’d love the sounds Tenna was biting back for him then. He almost felt guilty, to deny his mailman of something he clearly wanted so badly. To be fucking into his hand instead of his little co-host. What sounds would Spamton make for him, as he picked up the pace? How long would it take for him to break, for Tenna to rip that laughter from his throat, to make every last sound Spamton made take the shape of his name?
“Oh, and the way you handled the [three’s a crowd], I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
The thought of Spamton’s eyes on him, watching him, seeking him out even when he’s gone; it was maddening, he should be here, taking it, taking him, and yet even in absence he was more than enough.
“I mean honestly, [Cathode], what else can I say? I really do love TV.”
Filthy, disgusting sounds were surely escaping Tenna now - he wasn’t sure. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he needed more. Just a little more. He’d explain why later. Right? Surely.
“Almost, S-Spammy, need you-“
“Tenna, [Angel], tell me,” Spamton interrupted, cutting him off abruptly. His voice was no longer that sweet, saccharine drawl he was praising him with just prior, instead replaced with a dark whisper that demanded his full attention. “Does your hand feel anything like me?”
Tenna’s entire body seized up, a dizzying dread denying him his release for the second time that night. The answer, of course, was no. Not even remotely. Tenna couldn’t move his mouth.
“Oh, [please don’t stop] on my account, [Cathode]. You seriously didn’t think you were fooling me, did you?”
His cock grew impossibly harder, pre now dribbling steadily from the tip. Tenna, meanwhile, was very busy puzzling out which would make him come harder - the praise or the shame. Tongue tied, his screen continued to buffer.
“You did, didn’t you? Oh, [Ten out of Ten], that’s pretty pathetic, don’t you think? Even for you,” Spamton jeered, smirk audible through the phone. It was. He was. He needed Spamton to say he was. Again. With that alone he found his voice.
“S-Spam, please, I-“
“Please what, Tenna? Please [cash prize] you for fucking yourself without me? Talk you through it while you make a mockery of my mouth? No, [Angel], I don’t think I will.”
Tenna’s heart drops into his stomach. He’s really fucked it up this time, hasn’t he? Truly overstepped his bounds, the HR violation of the century, a career ending lapse. The headlines salacious, his fall predestined, but perhaps most importantly, the loss of his mailman. Spamton was as good as gone, wasn’t he, because honestly, who’d want to stay around a disgusting, outdated, useless piece of —
“Because you’re going [TODO] that for me.”
What? “W-what?”
“You heard me, [Cathode]. Tell me what you’re doing to the thought of me.”
Tenna…well, he couldn’t do that, could he? He shouldn’t. Did he want to?
“Now or I’m [going, going, gone].”
“I’m touching myself.” The words left Tenna’s mouth before he’d even really formed them. He should be embarrassed, and he was, absolutely, but even he knew he’d do anything to keep Spamton on the line.
“Details, [Cathode],” Spamton tutted in a sing-song tone, his voice a delicious mix of disappointment and delight. Tenna covered his face with his free hand, pixelated blush hot to the touch. Tears pricked at the contours of his screen, the shame beyond overwhelming. “I-I’m…” Stars, it was still so hard to curse. “…f-fucking my hand. Wishing it was you.”
Spamton laughed again, a cruel, tantalizing thing that shook Tenna to his very core. “Couldn’t even wait for me to [come for me] home, Tens, could ya? I’d say I didn’t [no] you were that desperate, but then I’d be lying.”
Wait for Spamton to come back? Hell, Tenna couldn’t even wait until he got home. And here Spamton was, degrading him like he already knew. It really should have angered Tenna more than anything, the dismissiveness with which Spamton spoke to him, his traitorous enjoyment of it all, and the fact that every word, every nasty little insult, was undeniably true. But how could he be mad? He finally had his audience of one, his little mailman’s attention undivided. And while Tenna would certainly prefer his praise, he knew he’d delight in condescension, so long as Spamton was focused on Tenna and Tenna alone. And if shame was what it took, then Tenna would bathe in it.
“I got s-so hard, just thinking about you. Couldn’t resist you. Never can.” His voice trembled as he snapped his hips forward once more, the hand warming his cock squeezing impossibly tighter as he continued to confess. “Kept my gloves on because t-they feel more like you.”
“Fuck, Tenna, you’re so pathetic. [So good for me]. Keep talking.”
“I was thinking about your, um, y-your mouth. Tears down your f-face as I push down your throat. Stars, Spammy, you’d take me in your mouth again right? You would, say you would. P-please.” Speaking it aloud made the scene so vivid, Tenna starting to see stars as he jerked himself faster still.
“Maybe. If you’re [good boy].”
Tenna nearly short circuits, now all he needed was to be good. He could be good right? He could be so good. All had to do was keep talking - that’s what Spamton wanted, right? “Yes, p-please, Spammy, I’m so close...! Wish you could s-see me right now, r-ruining myself for you.”
“F-fuck, you’re such a freak, [Angel]…”
And oh, that stutter, Spamton was just as fucked as he was. He had to be. He’d be just as desperate as Tenna, pushing tiny fingers into his dripping slit, wishing they were Tenna’s as his eyes rolled back. His imagination beyond overwhelming, Tenna let out a long, pained whine as he braced himself against his desk, chasing his peak at a pace best described as brutal.
“Oh but you like it S-Spammy, don’t you? I know you do, I can hear you, p-please, just t-tell me you love it, tell me you love —“ Spamton cut him off for the last time tonight.
“[I love TV].”
For a moment, everything stops - it’s just Tenna, Spamton and that wired connection between them, and it’s more than enough for Tenna to finally, finally lose it, coming to the taste of Spamton’s name. The surge of pleasure overloading his circuits briefly distorts the call, but Tenna’s had Spamton enough times to know that his sweet little mailman must be seeing stars as well. It took minutes for him to come down from his high, blush creeping up onto his screen as he surveyed the scene before him.
“You’re something else, [trash heap].” Spamton’s voice was hoarse, but there was a wonderfully genuine fondness behind it. Tenna felt his heart flutter. “Um, yes! I-you too, haha! Thank you. For, uh, well, you know!! All! That!!” He was somehow fumbling this even worse than he had fumbled the phone call. Spamton would later tell him in a moment of weakness that he had found it impossibly endearing. Which is perhaps why he spared Tenna another insult that would either deflate him or, worse, necessitate another round. “[CallMe.mp3] anytime, Ant.”
“Careful, or I might actually take you up on that. Also, uhm, Spam?” Tenna paused, hesitant. They say curiosity killed the cat, but part of him had to know. “When did you find me out?”
“The [sloppy seconds] you picked up the phone.” Spamton deadpanned, before actually, really laughing - a sound Tenna immediately committed to memory. There was no admission too shameful when his reward was so sweet.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep, that [down bad].” Tenna smiled despite himself. Down bad indeed.
“Listen, Tens, I gotta [hit the hay]. Early morning [alarming deals], you know how it is. I’ll see you soon though, yeah?”
And just like that, he’s alone once again, even if he’s decidedly more content. Said relief was not enough however to distract him from how utterly…quiet it was. Had the party ended? How long had they taken? How…loud had he been? Sweat pricked the edges of his screen. These were all questions Tenna could answer if he went outside. Which meant he was most definitely sleeping in office tonight.