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Tenna doesn't remember the walk home, though he knows it must have been quite the sight—an ex-lord and an armful of feral puppet making their way through Castle Town. He only remembers seeing Spamton curled up at the bottom of a garbage bin, with quiet, glitching, stuttering syllables falling from his mouth while he trembled in his loneliness. The next thing Tenna knows, he’s sitting against the door to the room Ralsei gave him, blocking the exit while Spamton stares from where he’s pressed himself against the opposite wall.
So much for playing at ignorance. There’s no way Tennan can deny that he knows who that puppet is, now.
Tenna sniffles, weepy and excited, chest buzzing with emotions that are too much for him to handle. His body aches with the effort of keeping himself one size. His nose blooms, then drops the well-watered, salty flowers to the ground erratically as his body rapidly switches between happiness and grief.
Tenna opens his mouth to apologize, to cry, to scream, to gleefully call out Spamton’s name, but it hangs open, uncertainly stealing his words.
It’s Spamton who eventually breaks the silence.
“YOU [[I CAN DO ANYTHING]] YOU WANT EXCEPT [killed] ME,” Spamton offers hesitantly, chin lowering as he looks at the carpet of fallen flowers. “ IF YOU PAY.”
In the past, Spamton had never quite known what to do when Tenna had a fit, except offer bribes and his company. Presents and his presence had done the trick often enough, Spamton had once admitted while sharing a cigarette with Tenna, that he had decided to rely upon them most.
Is this a present, offered to make up with him, and to keep Tenna from crying? Or does Spamton think that Tenna will hurt him if he doesn’t make an offering?
Tenna’s bloom dies again, spotting with brown and drifting to the pile of crushed petals at his feet.
“DISCOUNT!!!” Spamton tries, cowering, like he thinks Tenna might kill him even after carrying him to safety. “YOU BROUGHT ME [home sweet home]! YOU WANT SOMETHING! YOU’LL GET A [doggy] DISCOUNT!”
Maybe Spamton isn’t wrong to be concerned. Tenna isn't sure. He might lash out if despair doesn’t get to him first. He can’t tell. Everything’s getting to be too much.
“I missed you,” Tenna sniffles, his voice coming out in a whine.
Spamton regards him suspiciously. “Then WHY. ARE YOU [I'm not crying!]??”
“I don't know!” Tenna hides his face in his hands for a few seconds, but finds that he can't bear to look away from Spamton for too long. “… If I pay you?”
“WITH CASH, YOU CAN GET ANYTHING FROM [spam] TON! SOUND LIKE [%*#$]!? NEVER DPOUBT ME. EVERYBODY WANTS [those are my things!] FROM ME!<! YOU CAN [beat] ME, [kissed] ME, [hurted] MY [Nose?] [The Original Magic Bullet] or [#%€£] ME, OR—“
“Fuck you?” Tenna blurts, “You’ve let people fuck you?”
Spamton freezes and then laughs, hysterical.
“How could you?” Tenna asks, voice breaking. Had their time together meant nothing? Or—
Spamton abruptly stops laughing, glowering at Tenna through those strange, mismatched lenses. “I HAD TO EATS OMEHOW!!!!!”
Tenna swallows. His mouth feels dry when he imagines Spamton hungry, begging people to fuck him in exchange for food. He won't smell like you anymore, his mind tells him, loud and echoing in his brain. He sobs again. “Would—would you let me?”
Spamton's mouth clicks shut.
Tenna lunges away from the door and toward Spamton, who shrieks and darts away, ducking beneath Tenna's bed. Seeing his scurrying fear sparks something animalistic and clingy in Tenna’s hindbrain. He wants to chase. He wants to catch. He wants to fix.
“Come out,” he demands, crouching down and peering into the darkness under his bed.
“MONEY 1ST,” Spamton begs, screaming the plea with all the fear of someone who has been taken advantage of and left starving. The words come out as a physical attack, smashing into his screen.
A hairline crack in the corner of his screen, leftover from his near-death experience, widens slightly, stinging and crackling as it hits the air. His HP goes down a few measly points, but Tenna can't find it in himself to care because someone didn't even pay Spamton after fucking him. Or hurting him. He doesn’t know which is worse.
Tenna wants names. But he wants to fix Spamton more. He can worry about finding whoever hurt his Spammy later.
“I'll pay,” he promises, because he has to. He has to overwrite whatever has happened to Spamton. He has to reclaim him. “…But, uh… I only have Points.”
Spamton’s face emerges from the darkness as he finally comes close enough for Tenna to see him again. And, after a moment, a holographic window opens before Tenna, claiming to convert Points to Dark Dollars, with an amount set for Spamton’s services that Tenna doesn’t bother to read in his haste to figure out how the screen words.
“IT TAKES A FEE TO TRANSFER,” Spamton brags, watching as Tenna fumbles with the window before he finally figures out where to wire in the money.
“Good,” Tenna breathes. As quickly as he can, before Spamton can change his mind, Tenna scrounges up as many Points as he can—most of his bank account, and all of the hidden and unclaimed Points in minigames. He skims some off the top of his employees' yet-unexchanged credits, and even dips into Ramb’s account, because nobody has seen him, and it makes Tenna feel sick, and—
Spamton gives a strangled sort of gasp, stumbling and reaching up to catch himself on the underside of the bed. He looks a little less skinny and a little fuller in his rosy, porcelain cheeks.
“Is that enough?” Tenna asks, wanting nothing more than to feed the poor thing, to hold him close and slip him dollar after dollar, coin after coin, placing them on his tongue and watching him turn that money into much-needed nutrients before he spends the rest on a meal bigger than his body.
Spamton doesn't answer. “[Ten percent off] CAN DO ANYTHING TO ME NOW.”
“Anything?” Tenna’s hands twitch.
“ANYTHING EXCEPT [game over].”
That doesn’t sound like his picky little Mailman. “No limits?”
Spamton’s smile looks more like a grimace. “YOU PAID ME.”
“Good,” Tenna decides. He sits back on his heels and holds out his arms. “C’mere?”
After a moment, there's shuffling, and Spamton emerges from under the bed. Tenna scoops Spamton up, stands, and places him down in the TV Time branded covers in the middle of his cushy bed—right where he belongs.
Undressing Spamton comes first. Tenna yanks off his shoes and fumbles with the buttons to open his coat—the disgusting, sweat-soaked, garbage-scented thing that it is—and tosses it aside. He has less patience for the pants and claws through them, grinning darkly at Spamton’s fearful yelp at the feeling of Tenna’s claws so close to such a delicate place. The grin fades somewhat when Spamton quickly gets over his fear and starts screaming about tacking on prices for ruined clothing, as if Tenna isn’t going to dress Spamton in something completely new and clean after this is all over. He’s going to spoil Spamton rotten.
Of course, getting Spamton naked, besides his askew glasses, doesn’t mean that he can start fucking him yet. First, Tenna has to bat through about a dozen pop-ups that hover above Spamton’s naked groin, hitting the X and minus and every other button that Spamton had once taught him, except accept. He mutters his frustration and hovers with his hand over one, trying to read the text, trying to parse the words to find out if there’s something he’s missing, only for something to eagerly break through the screen for him, shattering it into digital pixels and wrapping around his arm, cool and wet.
Spamton has a tentacle between his legs, stretched out to meet Tenna's wrist. Tenna moves his arm closer so it can wrap more tightly around him, all clingy and sweet.
Tenna can't help but coo at the new feature. If there's any good that came with Spamton's strange transformation, it must be this. He shuffles down his bed a few feet and briefly guides the tentacle to his mouth by lifting his wrist to his lips and greeting it with a kiss. With his other hand, he lifts Spamton’s legs to drape them over the back of his head. The wrist with the tentacle slots between the upper part of his screen and Spamton’s crotch as Tenna vanishes his nose and dives in, licking and sucking at Spamton’s cunt.
Spamton’s new body is something close to porcelain, all cold and hard except his hair and his cunt. The lips to his pussy are like velvet, except where his tentacle grows from the place that used to house his pretty little clit. His cunt is fake and clothy until Tenna gets his tongue inside and tastes something real and wet.
Despite the fact that Spamton is clearly covering his mouth to muffle any proof of his excitement, it doesn’t take long for Spamton to grow slick beneath his eager attentions with wetness dripping from the place between his legs and soaking his swollen, plush lips. Tenna is ecstatic to find that Spamton tastes just like he used to. Like this, he can pretend that the delightful stench of an unwashed body is from a long day of pacing about beneath the harsh lights of a stage, rather than because Spamton clearly hasn’t had the resources to actually wash himself in who knows how long.
Tenna is definitely going to brush his teeth after this. Hygiene is important! Though eating out Spamton takes priority.
There’s a slight buzz in Tenna’s mouth, static and unrealized popups being blocked by his mouth as Spamton’s body fights to keep Tenna at bay—to put up a barrier and hide away that perfect little cunt. Tenna delights in the familiar sensation of Spamton’s shame and merely thrusts his tongue deeper, growing inches larger so he can plunge further, curling and abusing Spamton’s inner walls.
He curls his hand and rubs the tentacle between a few fingers, stroking it from root to tip several times before he encourages it to curl around his fingers so he can rub and tug at it lightly. Then he gently pulls his fingers away, so it reaches after the warmth of his hand, cold and lonely, before he strokes the length of it again.
Spamton says something, but it’s so broken it sounds like garbage noise. Tenna can’t understand a bit of it, nor can he respond with his mouth so occupied. So he merely gets more aggressive, lapping and sucking and turning his head as much as he can to get better angles as he finds every single spot inside of Spamton that drives him crazy. He needs Spamton loose and wet and ready for what’s to come next.
Spamton makes more incomprehensible noises, apparently unable to hide them any longer, and his body creates more pop-ups that shatter into glittering pixels against Tenna’s screen. His hips jerk and his legs kick, thumping against the back of Tenna’s head like Toriel trying to pat the picture back into focus. His suffering is so delicious, Tenna needs to taste more.
He pulls his tongue out of Spamton, offering a few apologetic licks to the swollen folds of his cunt before he pulls his hand down and directs Spamton’s tentacle into his mouth. He applies suction and laves his tongue against the tip of it, rubbing and rubbing as Spamton’s cries grow in pitch. Spamton’s tentacle tenses, knotting tightly as it curls within his mouth, fighting against how he sucks at it so it can curl up like a scared animal against the inside of his lips.
Before Spamton can come, Tenna crooks his fingers on both hands and hooks them into Spamton’s cunt. His parting lips make a squelching sound as Tenna pries them apart as far as they can go and holds them open, stretching them so wide that Tenna feels a seam give way beneath his hold while Spamton tumbles over the edge and into an orgasm. Spamton’s hips buck desperately, stuttering into the air while Tenna holds his cunt open so Spamton can barely clench, the shallow pulses of his inner walls meeting air and dripping slick.
Despite Spamton’s hitched breath and moaning sobs, Tenna isn’t ruining his orgasm. At least, he doesn’t think he is. Because he’s still lavishing that perfect little tentacle with attention, sucking, lapping at it, and grazing his fangs over it as it spills a truly tiny amount of fluid into his mouth.
It’s wonderful. It’s everything Tenna has always wanted, and more. It’s so good that he can’t pull himself away, even after Spamton’s hips slow, even after Tenna stops pulling the lips to his cunt apart to let them weakly clench around his fingers, even after Spamton finds his voice and starts to make choked, overwrought noises.
Spamton used to be done with sex long before Tenna was. And Tenna’s relationship with him, at the time, had been uncertain enough that Tenna had (almost) almost acquiesced to Spamton's concerns, and had been ready with tears and promised air times for ads otherwise.
Tenna had too much stamina and was too excited to be satisfied by one or two rounds. Spamton used to have to cut their playtime short all the time, screaming and fighting and making sure all his demands were met. And then, when they shared a cigarette after, Spamton would make empty, teasing threats, and promise Tenna the world so long as he was patient.
But now, with Spamton paid for his time, Tenna had been promised that he could do anything.
So this time, when Spamton clearly crosses the threshold from pleasure to the discomforts of overstimulation, instead of snapping for Tenna to quit it, he bites down on his hand, chittering, stuttering jaw making it look like he's nibbling his porcelain palm, and sobs.
Given that his screen is pressed between Spamton’s awkwardly splayed legs, Tenna has to focus on switching his attention to one of the several overhead cameras that dot his room. This gives him a much better view of Spamton’s despair.
He almost wants to stop and tell Spamton that he can still say no, that they can stop anytime Spamton wants them to. That he doesn't have to take anything Tenna gives him without question.
But Tenna has paid him well, at least for the time being, and Spamton told him that he could do anything, and that word reverberates around Tenna’s head and makes him drool and makes flowers threaten to bloom despite his current lack of a nose. So he gives in to his selfish, terrible desires, and makes Spamton cry.
Tenna continues to torment the strange new oilslick of a tentacle with his tongue, sucking and lapping and teasing with his teeth while his fingers dip into Spamton's clenching cunt, stretching and petting him. He’s so tight, like this, and Tenna doesn’t know if it’s because nobody has been using his new cunt properly, or if it’s because of the new materials he seems to be made out of.
Spamton writhes, instinctively trying to run from the sensations, but Tenna holds him down. In the camera, he sees tears spilling down Spamton's glitching face, transparent blue pixels thrown to each side like the graphics in an old game.
He hears Spamton's muffled sobs and tries not to feel like an awful person when a particularly painful-looking stutter of Spamton's overwrought hips sends Tenna into an early orgasm.
He grinds into the bedding, rubbing his still-clothed cock sore as he rides out the delightful waves of pleasure, moaning and sucking on Spamton's tentacle while he listens to him cry, basking in the glorious sadistic pleasure for what seems to be forever, hips moving, thighs squeezing, body trembling.
Finally, when he begins to tip into overstimulation, Tenna pulls off of Spamton's tentacle with a wet, cartoonish slurp and wrestles with his too-tight pants.
Spamton collapses back into the covers, boneless, and thus, has absolutely no defense when Tenna picks him up and spins him around so he can hold Spamton's back to his lower stomach, so his newly nude, already hardening cock stands proudly between Spamton's dangling legs.
“[Cathode screams],” Spamton pants urgently, squirming uselessly in his grasp, weak as a kitten. “IT'S NOT GONNA [one size fits all] ANYMORE!!!”
Tenna peers down between Spamton's legs. His wonderful little Spammy had always been eager to take his cock, back when they used to do this, but that was before whatever transformation Spamton had undergone that had cost him a few precious inches and a lot of his stretchiness. Even back then, it had been difficult—something they had to work up to with time. Plugs and toys and stretching and lube and relaxation. And because Spamton tended to tap out so soon, it had been something they hadn't gotten to do very often.
“It'll fit fine,” Tenna assures him, and tries not to drool at the idea of Spamton breaking on his cock. He doesn’t even know if Spamton felt the seam Tenna had ripped into him earlier, or if he had been too caught up in his orgasm to feel it. He wonders if he could pop more seams, pulling or using his claw to rip them until his cock can fit between his lips.
He doesn’t have any lube in his room. He hadn't grabbed any when he left TV World, and sex seems to have been one of the few things Ralsei hadn't prepared their rooms for—which makes sense, considering his age. He could try to summon some, but he isn't sure how well that would work, now that he's out of his element. It isn't exactly a family-friendly thing to call upon, and it isn't the best time for a gag.
So he’ll have to get his dick wet some other way before forcing it inside Spamton's tight little hole.
“IT WON’’T,” Spamton begs hoarsely, perking back up. He braces his hands on Tenna's arm and breathes heavily, staring up at him pleadingly. “YOU'RE TOO BIG.”
The unintentional praise makes Tenna that much bigger, growing around his captive. The growth startles a helpless squeak from Spamton's mouth, and for a moment, Tenna feels as helpless as Spamton must.
He rocks his hips and prods Spamton's soaking, well-licked cunt with the tip of his dick.
“NO!!1!,” Spamton screams, jolting in place, only to let out a strangled, confused sob of relief when Tenna's cock merely slides against his lips instead of going inside.
Tenna laughs, face lighting up with florals with his nose back in place, and gives another slow, steady thrust, just to feel how Spamton tightens up in his grasp, instinctive anxiety making him clench as Tenna slides his dick along the outside of Spamton's cunt. His dick grows slick with Spamton's come and Tenna’s saliva, and glides more easily the second time.
The third time, when Spamton clenches and inhales tightly, but jolts less in Tenna’s hold, Tenna's cock meets Spamton’s tentacle. he gives a few shallow wriggles of his hips, letting his cockhead tap against the tentacle a few times in greeting as it writhes and happily greets him, before he pulls back to give another slide.
Spamton begins to relax, drooping exhaustedly in his hold as Tenna slides his dick between his thighs and against the lips of his fluttering cunt.
“I TOLD YOU IT [BIG! EXPENSIVE!],” Spamton mutters.
Tenna smiles, and can't do anything to will away his fangs. “I still love you,” he says.
Spamton inhales sharply, either at the words or at Tenna’s cock, once again meeting his tentacle.
“I missed you,” Tenna blurts, heart pounding, so, so excited for what he’s about to do. “I'm so sorry, Spammy. I didn't mean for this to happen. I want you to come back. I still love you. I think I always will. please, Spammy, Spammy, Spammy, I missed you so much, I need you, I—“
“I MI5S ED Yu 2,” Spamton tells the ground, slumping in Tenna’s hold, trembling thighs pulling tighter together, creating a hot, slick tunnel to squeeze around Tenna's cock.
Tenna squeals, takes a few more frantic thrusts, and grows two extra hands to pry those thighs apart. he yanks them back, and—
“[[Stop, please, help me!!!]]” Spamton screams out an old voice clip from a horror movie they had run once, cottoning on just in time to tense and tighten up with panic, and—
Tenna plunges his cock into Spamton's tight, tight cunt, and something rips.
Spamton screams, wordless howls, while Tenna pushes his way in, tearing yet another seam as Spamton’s body fights to accommodate him. And, once it does, and Tenna pushes further in with some serious effort—several swift back and forths as the friction battles the slick Tenna had soaked himself with, relubing as he forces his way deeper and deeper into Spamton's convulsing cunt—Tenna hears something crack at the same time Spamton’s screaming sharply cuts off. He reaches down, petting between Spamton’s legs and squeezing his ass until he feels a hairline fracture in the porcelain surrounding Spamton’s stretched, velvety lips.
He lifts Spamton and forces him back down while he keeps his finger pressed over the crack, and comes away satisfied that it won’t completely split on him. Still, it must burn. He’s going to owe Spamton quite the TVDinner after this!
Spamton's gone completely taut, back arched, jaw hanging open so wide it's completely disconnected and hovering in the air, somehow, legs and arms strained as his pussy trembles and clenches around Tenna, which only makes it harder to press his way in, bullying the paradoxical magic that fills the puppet’s body with the fascimile of life. Even his little tentacle has curled tightly around itself, as if searching for comfort.
Tenna can't tell if Spamton has reached another orgasm or not, but the sight and feeling of Spamton's shock sends him into maniacal giggles all the same. Tenna kicks his feet, jostling Spamton on his lap so he sinks even deeper onto his cock (and is that a bulge Tenna sees? He doesn’t know how, but Spamton’s otherwise hard stomach has a slight curve to it, right where Tenna’s dick would be pushing inside of him. The old Spamton never bulged around his cock!), and squeezes his hands around Spamton's hips while a bouquet of flowers crowds his vision so severely that he has to once again switch to a camera's view.
Tenna carefully rocks his hips, so he fills every crevice of Spamton that used to belong to him, reclaiming the territory that had been given up in times of desperation and need, and lets his imagination run wild.
He has Spammy again. His wonderful little Spammy. He’s so changed and different, but that only means that Tenna has to approach this a little differently. First things first, he needs to keep Spamton out of the trash. Preferably, he needs to stay in Tenna’s room.
Tenna imagines putting Spamton up on a coatrack, leaving him dangling by the scruff of his coat (which badly needed mending and a good wash) whenever Tenna leaves the room. The idea of Spamton waiting for his open arms, begging for a hug and support every time Tenna returns, makes him dizzy.
Tenna moves faster, sinking fully into Spamton with each thrust, snapping his hips against Spamton's.
Or—or maybe he can put a dildo up on top of a microphone stand in the middle of the room, and leave Spamton straddling it beneath a spotlight, like the star he is. His legs wouldn't ever reach the ground, so there would be no fear of Spamton running off and getting himself taken advantage of by someone else. It would have the added benefit of leaving him stretched and ready every time Tenna found himself needing his Spammy.
He imagines Spamton begging for his attention, begging for a hug so he could be lifted from the dildo, and then begging for Tenna's cock because he feels so empty and cold without it.
Spamton finally seems to come back to himself a little. His body relaxes a little, and his expression screws up with effort. He's so tight that it almost hurts, but he's trying so very hard, and it makes Tenna’s thoughts stray toward something kinder. He gentles his grip and traces a gentle hand over the curve of Spamton’s belly.
Maybe Spamton will stay of his own accord. Maybe he’ll see that Tenna can offer him food and warmth and money.
Tenna imagines a little bed beneath his own, pillows and safety and dark. And a fridge with a lock, for all the food Spamton wants! And a bank with a key, for all of his financial needs!
Kris needed a lock for their food, back when the Dreemurrs first took them in. It's important to give some autonomy and safety that nobody else can disrupt.
Can Tenna be safe for Spamton? Has he already ruined it by deciding to fuck him?
Tenna’s pace slows, and the orgasm he had been chasing begins to ebb away as his mind gets in the way. He sits inside Spamton and sniffles.
Spamton gives a long, drawn-out, staticky sigh and clenches effortfully around Tenna’s cock. “[10 of 10]?” With violently trembling hands, he reaches down to pat Tenna's hand, curled possessively around his waist. “YOU AREN'T [sup?] OPSED TO CRY!!!@“
“I missed you,” Tenna wails. He feels himself shrink, and he feels Spamton go slack with relief as Tenna’s cock goes from what must be unbearable to large, no longer threatening to break him open any further. “I messed up. You're gonna leave me again.”
“I DIDN'T LE AVE YOU!” Spamton snarls. He moves, shifting in Tenna’s lap as if he's roaring to turn around, before he lets out a punched-out moan when all it does is rock him on Tenna’s cock. “I—“
Tenna waits, but no further explanation seems to be forthcoming. So he sits and sniffles, feeling like garbage even though Spamton is right there with him.
“If you leave again,” Tenna heaves. “I'm not going to be able to live with it, this time.”
Spamton squeezes around Tenna with desperate pulses and makes an alarmed noise. “[cle/aved], YOU CAN'T JUST—DON’T!!! SAY THAT! YOU’LL BE FINE.”
“Not if you leave.” Tenna clings to him and whines. “Don't leave me Spammy. Anything but that.”
Spamton's mouth falls open for a long few moments while Tenna cries overhead, soaking his Spammy with wet tears, before he finally clicks it closed and shifts upon Tenna's lap again.
He reaches down, pressing his palms against Tenna's thighs. And, effortfully, Spamton lifts himself up from Tenna’s cock, leaving him inch by terrible inch, before he slams himself back down, limbs trembling, and eyes filled with a hypnotic, infectious static that drips down his face like tears while Tenna watches from above.
Spamton does it again, effortfully fucking himself on Tenna’s cock, pushing up in increments before letting gravity do the work of bringing him back down. He's wet enough that the slide isn't much of an issue, though the size of Tenna’s cock seems to give him difficulty, as Spamton pauses frequently, taking shuddering breaths before he continues to abuse what must be a horribly aching cunt, after everything Tenna has done to it already.
Spamton’s pretty little tentacle curls and winds around itself, slicking his groin and curling tighter with pulsing beats every time Spamton bottoms out.
Slowly, Tenna’s tears dry up. He knows what Spamton's doing—he's trying to make Tenna feel better. He's chosen to be an active participant, now, where he had mostly been reactive previously.
Is this a way of trying to reassure Tenna that he’ll stay? Tenna's bank account aches at the idea. As does his heart.
“GOOD [pup cup],” Spamton stutters out through his restrictive speech as he works himself on Tenna's dick. “SUCH. A GOOD [ ] FOR ME. THE BEST [man's best friend]. DON'T CRI PUPPY, YOU SWEET, SWEAT—“
Spamton's next word is cut off into a scream as claws sprout excitedly from the ends of Tenna's fingertips, curling around Spamton's hips so he can yank him back down from his latest push off of Tenna's cock. Tenna forces Spamton’s hips to meet his own, and holds him close while his cock grows larger inside of Spamton.
Spamton's eyes go blue and filled with rapidly moving words that Tenna can't read, and his back arches, legs and arms stiff and extended, toes and fingers curled. His body glitches, and slick drips from his tentacle as his cunt clenches painfully around Tenna’s girth as he orgasms again, filled to the brim.
Tenna squeals, digging his claws into Spamton's sides as he pulls himself out—just by an inch or so—and then pushes his way back in. He does this several times. As he chases his own orgasm, Tenna delights in seeing Spamton jolt and soundlessly scream with every movement, something feral and anxious in his chest as he follows his instincts to that heat low in his stomach.
Tenna leans forward and curls around Spamton when he comes, ducking and folding himself in half so he can push his nose into Spamton's greasy, sweaty hair. He squeezes his hands tightly around Spamton's front until it feels like he's squeezing his own cock.
Spamton was right—he's a good puppy! He's loyal and sweet, and he's going to keep Spamton forever and ever, no matter what! He doesn't even remember what he had been so upset about, riding out his true bliss while Spamton is so full he can't even react!
When Tenna finally rides out his second orgasm, he's embarrassed to find his coattails riding up in the air, and his tie winding its way up into his face. He lets go of Spamton with one hand, cradling him in the other as he softens his vice-like grip, and coaxes his accoutrements back down where they belong.
He’s sure he could keep going, given a minute to breathe, but he’s well aware that he’s already put Spamton through the wringer. For the moment, he feels satisfied to sit with Spamton speared on his cock, filled to the brim with Tenna’s come locked inside of him. He’s a little too sensitive to move, but basking in Spamton’s presence is hardly an ask.
Spamton’s cunt pulses weakly as Spamton shifts, kicking and squirming before he seems to accept that he won’t be going anywhere. He slumps in Tenna’s hold, defeated.
It’s wonderful, letting himself relax with the knowledge that Spamton can’t run from him (even if Tenna thinks he wouldn’t mind chasing after the little Big Shot), but the longer he makes Spamton cockwarm him, with Spamton slowly recovering, the more he worries that it will be temporary.
“How much longer do I have you?” Tenna asks. Given Spamton’s earlier reaction, he’s sure he must have overpaid, but he isn’t sure by how much. Spamton’s always been eager to mark up his prices depending on who he’s dealing with, and Tenna wouldn’t be surprised if Spamton had listed an absurd price in that print that Tenna hadn’t read before wiring him the Points.
Spamton hesitates, clearly afraid to answer. He’s always been clever, but it’s clear whatever he’s gone through in their years apart has forced him to wise up, as this is the first time he seems to peg Tenna’s question as a threat, rather than a clingy annoyance.
He's so smart, Tenna thinks dreamily. He should be afraid.
“It doesn't matter,” Tenna dismisses cheerfully when Spamton doesn’t answer him. “I'll pay you as much as you need every day, if you just stay with me.”
He isn’t sure how long he can realistically do that. Tenna doesn’t really have many Points left, given he’s been paying his employees with what he has left until he can wean them over to Dark Dollars (and get some revenue of his own!), but since he’s no longer in his own world, he can’t exactly summon as many Points as buying Spamton might take at the drop of a hat. His resources will dwindle at some point.
A hand reaches up, pawing at his chest. Tenna lowers his head so it can meet the base of his screen, fingerprints smudging the half-dried cum that Tenna’s face must be soaked with.
“Yes?” Tenna asks hopefully, nuzzling Spamton’s proffered palm.
Spamton seems to wrestle with himself for a long moment, face screwed up with unhappy thoughts. His other hand presses against the bulge in his stomach, as if he finds something comforting in the motion. Tenna rocks his hips slightly and watches Spamton go cross-eyed.
“Spammy?” he asks, hopeful, like he didn’t just purposefully fuck with him.
“... YU CAN BUY ME,” Spamton says strenuously, after a long moment. “4 A [Please? Do you have any leftover food?] A DAY.”
Tenna struggles through the sentence, swallowing at the soundbite of what sounds like Spamton’s old voice, hesitant and pleading. “One leftover a day?” he asks, quietly horrified.
Spamton’s eyes go wide with something like fear. “EVERY OTH ER [today]?”
Tenna whines in the back of his throat and licks at Spamton’s palm, over the segments that make up his palms, over the creased joint of his wrist, searching for a pulse point he doesn’t find in ceramic limbs. He feels Spamton shaking, clenching around his cock with something other than pleasure.
“I’ll feed you every day, Spammy,” Tenna promises, rubbing his face against Spamton’s saliva-soaked hand, trying to pet himself with it. Spamton catches on quickly and pets at his screen, scratching at the plastic casing. “Three full meals a day! And only leftovers when they’re delicious, and we couldn’t eat them because we already had so much!”
Spamton’s face lights up. “... BREEDING ME [like a rabbit!] IS EXTRA,” he says uncertainly, as if he thinks Tenna may argue.
“And snacks!” Tenna declares. “I’ll give you lots of snacks! How much to make you orgasm again?”
Spamton screws up his face. “BREAK FAST IN [bed and breakfast]!”
Tenna tilts forward, letting Spamton fall into the covers with a groan. He makes certain to move with him, so his cock only slides out by an inch or two. As he presses back inside of him, tilting Spamton’s hips up to meet his while his wide eyes and clacking jaw fall into the covers, he reaches around Spamton’s body to tangle his tentacle between his fingers.
“Do you still like pancakes?” he asks happily, before he plows Spamton into the covers anew.