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To say Spamton G Spamton was grumpy would be an understatement.
There was a studio party going on, and he had expected to spend time with Tenna, because when he gets invited to these things, it’s because Tenna wants to be with him, but it seems the boss Darkner was busy chatting with Ramb of all Darkners for most of the night. The bigshot understood they were good friends, but seriously? Tenna’s out there, ignoring his one and only business partner!
So Spamton sits there, arms crossed and foot tapping, before he decides that he's done with this waiting bullshit. Shooting back his current shot and standing, the Addison turns sharply on his heel and heads to his dressing room.
It’s not like he enjoys these studio parties anyway. He only comes for Tenna, and if the boss is ignoring him? Well, he can go and get bent.
Tenna, on the other hand, loves studio parties. He loves his employees, and throwing these parties as a way of appreciating them means the world to him and more. He chats with everyone, but mostly with Ramb — who’s celebrating being at TV time for six years and counting! — so it takes him a bit to notice Spamton has gone. When he does turn to look at his business partner and friend, he’s a little sad to find that the seat Spamton had been sulking on is occupied with another Darkner, so, concerned, the Boss decides to go and see what his little mailman is up to.
Bidding Ramb goodbye, Tenna exits the green room, making a direct beeline for Spamton’s dressing room — if he’s not there, he’s probably in Tenna’s, waiting for him. The boss Darkner clicks open the door, poking his head inside.
“Spammy?”
He finds Spamton’s jacket discarded on a nearby chair; Spamton himself is sitting on said furniture, tie undone and hung around his neck; his feet are up on the table (with his shoes still on, Tenna notes dimly), smoking quietly. A few buttons on his shirt are undone as well, his fluff of feathers peeking out. Spamton knows Tenna doesn't like him smoking. Tenna pauses, assessing the situation, before he gives a smile.
“Was it too overwhelming out there?” He asks, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind him. He smiles, hands clasped at his sides. “I totally get it! Though, haha, you’re usually the life of the party, so I was a little surprised, I guess.”
"Couldn't have guessed that, Ramb was in the spotlight tonight." He says, flicking some ash in the ashtray he placed on the arm of the couch. "I'm fine, actually." He looks at Tenna, eyes slightly narrowed. "What about you?" He smiles then, sharp and dangerous. "I shouldn't ask, I could tell you were enjoying your time with Ramb."
Oh, he is so salty. Tenna bristles a little bit, confused and uncertain.
“Well… I mean. Yeah! Ramb’s worked hard to get to where he is. He started out as a custodian here, you know. Just a couple of years before you joined up with us.”the CRT tilts his screen. He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on with Spamton. He seems… upset? “You had a party recently too, remember? When you first started your guest appearances.”
Spamton groans, puffing out a ring of smoke, defiantly looking away. "Yeah, I remember. I guess I just didn't expect you down Ramb's throat."
“Down Ramb’s — seriously?!” Tenna’s screen flashes pink. He frowns, upset. “I wasn’t acting like that. I was being a good boss. Ramb’s my friend.” A pause. “I don’t want to get in his pants, Spamton, and you know that.” The Addison shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, taking another drag. Tenna stiffens. “Can you at least put that awful thing out when I’m talking to you?” He asks, voice edging on something angry and annoyed. Exasperated. “Seriously! I’m trying to have a conversation with you here and now you’re acting like — a child!”
Spamton snorts. "Me? Damn, okay, says Mr. Ass-Kisser." He puffs a ring in Tenna's direction, grinning.
“Ass — ass kisser?! that doesn’t even make SENSE! The only Darkner people ass kiss around here is me!”
"I'm perfectly fine,” Spamton interrupts, “but you wouldn't know that unless you asked.” He tilts his head. “Did you notice how long I was gone?"
Tenna can feel his temper growing more and more aggravated. He steps in, plucks the cigarette directly out of Spamton’s mouth, and tosses the damn thing in the ashtray.
“I quite literally DID ask! In fact! It was the first thing that I asked when I came in! And for your information, it was only a couple of minutes! But I wanted to respect your need for space. I trust you not to play these childish mind games with me, Spamton!”
"I'm not the one yelling and throwing a tantrum, hot stuff." He shoots back, on the chair and poking a finger on Tenna's chest. Once, twice. "Should I leave?" He tilts his head, scrunching up his face mockingly. "I could get Ramb, or maybe even a pippins." A mean spirited grin crosses his face. "I can find someplace else to smoke if you don't want me here."
Tenna’s screen flickers. He scowls. “You’re doing that thing where you try to act like I’m the asshole,” he accuses, voice going dark. “No! I don’t want to see anyone else but YOU. I came to check up on YOU. I was trying to be nice, why do you always — why do you always treat me like I did something wrong?!”
Spamton laughs a bit, grinning up at him. "When did I say that?" he skirts around Tenna to grab his pack of cigarettes. He's having a very good time, actually. Angry Tenna was hot, what can he say? The miffed television grabs the carton before Spamton can take another out, holding the cancer sticks high into the air. His fingers threaten to crush it.
“You’re inferring it, you miserable couth.”
Spamton just laughs again. "Big vocabulary day, huh? C'mon, Tenns, gimme my pack." He hops, trying to yoink it, failing miserably.
“No! You know how I feel about these,” he rattles the pack in his hands, “and you’re doing this whole — this — whole thing just to upset me and I very much don’t appreciate it!”
Spamton rolls his eyes, "I do not know what you mean," he snorts, flopping back onto the couch, digging between the cushions for a pack he'd hidden away.
“Yes you do! You always do this and it — it drives me crazy!” Tenna grows three inches. He squeezes the pack in his hand, crushing it with no effort. “I hate when you do this, Spamton! I wish you’d just TALK to me without making me feel like I’m being blamed for something!”
The big shot feels his fingers wrap around the carton and grins wider, hopping back off the couch and scurrying past Tenna. "You could've talked to me instead of Ramb. Do you like him more?" Just a little more badgering should do it –
Tenna explodes.
“What kind of question is THAT?!”
Bingo. The door slams shut as Tenna’s hand smacks into it, palm shaking in anger. Tenna snarls, fangs poking from his gums. He’s grown to fill the entire room now, which was just what Spamton wanted.
“Are you fucking serious?! You’re throwing a TANTRUM like a CHILD because you’re JEALOUS!”
"You're the one throwing a tantrum, big shot." Nonplussed, Spamton grins as he lights another cigarette, moving back before it can be swiped. "I'm not even raising my voice!"
“You don’t have to raise your voice to pick a fight with me!” Tenna is clearly near tears. He snarls, grabbing Spamton’s wrist and holding it up, just. Keeping him there. “You always do this! I hate it!”
The addison goes still, patiently waiting for Tenna to breathe; he doesn't wanna make the guy cry, he hates when people cry, but he does want a reaction. The two are locked in battle; Spamton glances over Tenna, af the way his chest heaves with each shuddering breath.
"Then do something about it." he finally challenges, voice even. Snarling, Tenna grabs the cigarette out of Spamton’s hand and crushes the still lit cancer stick in his glove, pushing forward and throwing Spamton onto the couch. The smaller Darkner yelps, just barely, scrabbling for purchase on the couch as Tenna tosses his much smaller and lighter frame.
“You know what? I think I will.”
Spamton feels his lips curl into a grin. "Just gonna toss me around?" he pushes more buttons.
“No.”
Tenna plucks Spamton up by the collar of his shirt. He pops the buttons of Spamton’s front, revealing more fluff and feathers. Then, he tosses Spamton back down into his lap again, pressing his palm against the big shot’s back so Spamton can’t squirm away.
“I’m going to teach you some manners.”
Spamton can feel his baser instincts screaming; he knows, logically, he should be terrified, but the horny little addison in his brain is cheering and whooping. He laughs, "You're teacher now?"
“Don’t you know?” Tenna grabs his other wrist, pinning it to the couch along with the first. Spamton can feel Tenna’s anger in the fizzling of his screen; in the way his fangs glint in the light.
“You can learn anything on TV.”
Spamton’s face is steadily growing red, and he's definitely wet, not to mention his tail is wagging at the speed of sound. He laughs a bit, trying to play off how much this is turning him on, looking away from Tenna's screen. He experimentally pulls his hands, nearly whining at the fact he can't budge them. Far from move them, in fact, the hands around his wrist tighten — though not enough to break, no, Tenna knows his limits even when Spamton pushes him over the edge — but the fact that Tenna’s single palm can hold Spamton’s arm from wrist to elbow is…
“No,” the television says, voice firm, “you’re going to listen to me. I’m going to teach you how to behave, since whoever RAISED you did a TERRIBLE job.”
Well, he's not wrong. was that Pink's voice in Spamton’s head? Whatever. He swallows. "Go ahead, teach,"
“Good.”
Tenna gathers both of Spamton’s wrists in one hand, the other one moving to snap off Spamton’s belt and tug down his pants. Tenna’s nose wrinkles at the sight, and he snorts.
“Of course you get off to something like this,” he states, before he turns Spamton over on his knee. He rubs at the addisons ass; tweaks at his tail. There’s a pause, and a moment of clarity: “We’re using the green-yellow-red system. Green means good, yellow slow down, red stop.” His knuckle probes at Spamton’s hole. “Color?”
"Green," he says briskly, ignoring the way his tail is wagging, ignoring the way that he's already so wet, ignoring the fact that he is about to get spanked for throwing a little fit to get Tenna riled up. Oh, what did he get himself into?
Exactly what you wanted, a helpful voice in the back of Spamton’s horny brain supplies.
“Good.” Tenna carefully raises his hand and brings it down. It’s soft, softer than it sounds; clearly, Tenna isn’t completely gone in his anger. “You do know how to count, right?” Spamton squawks in reply.
"Of course I know how to fucking count!" The hand on his ass is too gentle, and he's about to start acting up again if Tenna doesn’t put his money where his mouth is and commit to the bit.
“Then count.”
The next strike is harder, and on the cheek Tenna had already smacked to boot; Spamton’s ass jiggles with the force of it. Tenna exhales sharply, his other hand squeezing Spamton’s wrists. Spamton's feathers puff up and he gasps, but he doesn't count.
"You call that a spank?" he taunts. Tenna squeezes Spamton’s wrists in reply, the pressure sending heat straight down to Spamton’s nethers. He shivers, unable to help himself, even as Tenna frowns at him.
“You get a real spank when you count, Spamton.”
"Hmph." Spamton refuses the request; he lets his feathers calm down, though his tail still wagging gives away his true feelings. He's excited. But Tenna doesn’t move to spank him again. In fact, his hand moves to pluck at Spamton’s tail — aware that it shows Spamton’s honesty. Spamton lets out a gasping ah! as his tail is played with, blushing and waiting before turning his head and looking over his shoulder with a grin.
“You think this is a reward, don’t you,” the CRT accuses. Spamton doesn’t reply, and Tenna’s screen, which technically can’t show nearly as many emotions as Addisons, speaks volumes.
After a long pause, Tenna drops Spamton’s wrists, and promptly shoves him off his lap. Spamton’s cocky attitude immediately vanishes as his ass hits the carpet, and as he stands up, the CRT peels off his gloves.
“I can’t – I can’t do this. I – red. I can’t.”
"W-Wait, what?"
Oh, this is new.
“You heard me!” Tenna sounds genuinely upset. It’s not part of the game. He loosens his tie and tosses it onto the floor, moving on to unbutton his vest. It’s too hot. His vents are overheating. “I’m not comfortable with this scenario! I’m not going to play with you and reward you for acting so mean to me. I know that’s why you do it and I hate it!”
His screen is still inky black, except for the mouth curled into a frown that shows white teeth. Tenna looks down at Spamton, shoulders squared up like he’s trying not to cry.
“I don’t want to play your stupid game where I’m mean and you don’t listen and then you wind up getting off while I feel – while I feel so gosh darn awful about how you want me to treat you. So just – go ahead and sulk in here. I’m going to go find someone who actually likes me.”
"Wa-wait, no," Spamton stutters, panic rising as he stumbles up to stand. "I do- I do like you! I never said I didn't I- I like you a lot, Tenna! I do! I'm just,"
Oh, this went south fast. Spamton could be a lot of things. He could be self-deprecating. He could be mean. He could be happy… could be angry. But this? He has no idea how to handle it. Has no idea how to handle someone like Tenna. He never has, even if he puts up a good enough act to fool everyone. Tenna likes gentleness. He likes mushy. He’s so utterly different from every single darkner Spamton’s ever met, and that’s what attracted him to the television in the first place. But –
Spamton vaguely remembers something in one of his brother's voices.
One day no one is going to want to play your stupid games.
“I'm…”
“Do you?” Tenna’s voice still lacks the usual emotion, but underneath it is hurt. Tenna is hurt. Tenna has been hurt. “I like being rough with you. I like playing like this with you. But you always act like I’m a bad person or I’m asking for something ridiculous when I ask for you to be a little nicer or to listen to me when we’re doing a scene. You push me to act in a way I don’t like because that’s what you want.” His voice goes soft. “I … am I just a rough fuck for you?”
"NO!" Spamton surprises himself with how loud his voice gets, how desperate he sounds; "You're not just some rough fuck, I can find that anywhere!" — probably not the best way of phrasing it. He scrambles to recover. "Y-You make me feel good all the time, not just during sex. You're a good darkner and, a-and I know you're trying to make me better too but I'm shit at. At being nice. I don't care abo-ah-about others, it's just not how I'm built! I. I'm sorry! I … pushed too far." He sounds awkward apologising even to his own ears, proving he doesn't do it often.
Or, at least do it meaningfully.
His brothers voices in his head speaks up again:
You're not good for much, remember?
You've said it yourself.
You're either fighting or fucking.
How –
How childish.
Spamton hears layered voices, he hears the shrill ringing of a phone, and then, in a voice he doesn't particularly want to listen to:
Worthless.
“Shut up,” He snaps; not at Tenna, obviously at something else, but it's not clear what, and something in Tenna’s expression changes. His screen flickers back on, though his nose is still gone. Carefully, he takes a step forward, and takes Spamton’s wrist again; Spamton desperately scrambles for air, choking on what might be a sob. Cautious, the CRT presses his lips against where a pulse point would be, if they were beings made like Lightners. Tenna keeps his screen pressed against Spamton’s skin, and the gentle buzzing of his static slowly begins to calm the other down, pulling him back into the present from whatever space he’s been yanked into.
“Oh, Spammy,” he says softly. “Breathe. Breathe for me, okay? You look…”
like you’re about to cry, he doesn’t say.
Instead, his other hand moves to encase Spamton in his warmth. Rubs his thumb up and down Spamton’s side, until the addison’s breathing has gone back to normal. “You’re not bad at this,” the CRT says softly. “You’re a good Darkner. I know you are. You’re kind and thoughtful. You have the greatest ideas. I wouldn’t want you as a business partner if I didn’t see the good in you.” Tenna hesitates. Swallows dryly. “I’m sorry. I got angry and hurt and I took it out on you.”
"It's. My fault." Spamton responds, haltingly. "I wanted something that I. Should've just asked. For." The big shot breathes, eventually. He hugs himself, very aware of his nakedness. "I'm fine." he lies.
“You’re not,” Tenna replies, simple. He reaches out, gathering Spamton in his arms and settling the Addison in his lap. The boss Darkner exhales softly, curling closer. His fans are whirling in his chest, vents pouring out steam to keep him from overheating.
“… hey. Do you feel that?” He asks softly after a moment. The warmth of his screen, the sound of his fans. “You do that to me, all the time. And it wouldn’t happen for someone I didn’t like. Someone who I didn’t think was good. That’s all you, Spamton G Spamton.”
Spamton doesn't cry. Spamton G. Fucking Spamton doesn't cry. Crying is weak, it’s emotional, and it’s vulnerable. He wasn't any of that. But he gently places a hand on one of Tenna's chest vents, feeling it. He stares for probably a bit too long, before closing his eyes as the tears slip down his face.
"I'm sorry." He admits.
“Thank you,” Tenna replies, just as soft. He’s not crying — though it’s only for Spamton’s benefit, and they both know it. “Like I said,” he adds, “I like playing these games with you. But sometimes… It feels like I’m just a means to an end. I want to enjoy it as much as I want you to enjoy it, Spamton.”
The addison nods, his tail wagging just barely, showing it made him happy to hear that. Spamton dares to lean into Tenna, feathers puffed and eyes opening finally. "I... uh. I was jealous." he admits. "It was stupid, I know you don't like Ramb like that, but sometimes I can see how hard you laugh at his stupid jokes, and that stupid smug look he gets, and it makes me angry."
“Oh, Spamton. Ramb’s my friend. He’s always been my friend, but it’s never been like that.” Tenna soothes, rubbing up and down Spamton’s back, knuckles brushing against his tail. “I think you two could get along if you put aside your petty differences and actually talked. You don’t have to be jealous of him.”
He nods. Glares down at the ground. "Right."
Spamton has never had a friend like Ramb, before, so maybe that's why he's so jealous. Maybe he wants friendship too, but he knows he really only cares about Tenna. He's always going to be the only darkner he cares about.
“Do you not believe me?” Tenna asks. His fingers spread, scratching gently against Spamton’s feathers. He knows this is a way to get Spamton to relax, and he feels relief when the smaller darkner chirps, feathers puffing and tail wagging. Spamton looks less angry, which is good; Tenna has always known the best ways to soothe him. “I mean it, Spamton. There are so many people here who are willing to be your friend. You just have to give them a chance.”
"I'll… try." Spamton finally says, after a long moment of struggle. "But don't expect me bein’ buddy-buddy with everyone."
“Oh, I’d never expect that,” Tenna says warmly, smile pulling up in one corner. He rubs a thumb across Spamton’s shoulders, before pressing his lips against the addisons neck. Spamton’s head rolls back a bit at the kiss, shivering. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I promise.”
Usually, the fluff makes it a little difficult to kiss, but Tenna somehow perfected it. Sure, it took some time and a lot of mouthfuls of feathers, but Tenna persisted. They kiss like that for what feels like a long time, before the feeling of his body slowly comes back to Spamton. And he realizes, with an uncomfortable shift, the wetness between his — he's wet, oh, Angel, Tenna's-
"Your pants--" he croaks, trying to pull away. Tenna’s hand finds his back, though, and keeps him there.
“Shhh. Don’t worry about all of that, now.” Tenna is hard, if the tent pressing against the seam of his zipper is any indication, but he doesn’t move to relieve himself. Instead, he kisses more — down Spamton’s body. His neck, the clavicle of his collarbone, the cup of his breast. His fuzzy static lips make way down, down, down, until Spamton is numb from pleasure.
“Let me show you how I like to play.”
"T-Tenna-" he gasps, body twitching and reacting beautifully at the CRT's affection. He's blushing a soft pink, and his tail has begun to wag once more.
“I know you like when I’m mean. And being mean is fun sometimes.” Tenna slides Spamton down his leg, leaving an absolutely sinful trail of wetness behind on his pant leg. Spamton is pressed against the couch, and one finger presses against Spamton’s opening. The bigshot lets Tenna move him how he pleases, and at the pressure his legs twitch open a bit more.
“But I like when I do this more.”
Spamton covers his face with one arm. It's so soft and he feels dirty, not good enough for this attention. But, somehow, he wants to beg for more.
Tenna hums.
And then, without warning, he pulls his finger away, and replaces it with his tongue. He doesn’t even let Spamton adjust to the change before he starts to suck against Spamton’s tentacle, encasing the entire thing in his staticky mouth, to the very hilt. Tenna hums, the noise reverberating upward, and sucks.
Spamton gasps, high and drifting to a moan. "Fuck," he curses. "Fuck, T-Tenna-" Please he wants to say, but he has his dignity to keep. A small part of him reminds him it isn't bad to be needy, but he doesn't want to be weak, to be broken open.
Tenna laughs, the noise muffled against Spamton’s sex. He sucks again, hands moving to spread Spamton’s legs even wider, making that burn of muscle feel good. Tenna doesn’t acknowledge the swear, and maybe that’s a good thing. His tongue darts out to press against Spamton’s hole with the tentacle still inside of his mouth, before he hollows his cheeks as he moves his head further down. Spamton has nothing to hold onto and he feels completely at Tenna's mercy. He is a mess of swear words before he gives in-
"T-Tenna, please-" he begs. "I-It feels- fuck-fuck Tenna, please-"
Tenna pulls up. He’s smiling. It’s the very same smile he gives when Spamton pushes him over the edge.
“Oh?” He asks, finger coming to stroke up Spamton’s tentacle — watching with delight as the little thing curls around his finger — and moves to press a kiss to the head. His screen is dark, the only thing illuminating him being that wide-toothed grin. “I think you need to learn your manners, Spamton,” he coos, “you need to be more specific about what you want.”
Spamton whines; his hips twitch and his cunt is slick and wanting. His tentacle is trying hard to pull Tenna in, wanting that finger in him now or he's going to riot. "Fuck," he gasps, “Fuck.”
“Yes, Spammy. That’s what we’re doing.” Tenna doesn’t move his finger. He watches, almost enraptured, the smile on his screen growing impossibly large. “You have to tell me what you want~~” he adds in a sing-song tone. “Otherwise, I don’t know! Come on, Spammy. Be more honest with me.”
The bigshot blushes darkly. "Y-You can't be seri-aah, fuck – serious--" he hiccups, unable to keep his voice in anymore. "I-I n-need you in-in me-" he looks away in embarrassment. "Pl-Please," he adds quickly.
“Oh?” Tenna’s smile grows. He moves to kiss against Spamton’s cunt, tongue darting out to explore the muscle for just a second. He pulls back, looking delighted. “Like that?”
Spamton nearly sobs, "Yes, y–yes, like that, I—" Spamton's cunt aches, practically; he can't even press his legs together to give some form of friction, they're splayed out for Tenna.
“Now, now…” Tenna strokes the tentacle, watches in delight as it thrashes desperately, “You remember what I said about manners, don’t you? What do we say when we want something?”
Oh. This might be worse than Tenna being mean, actually. He’s getting genuine enjoyment out of this. Spamton musters up the meanest look possible, but underneath he's actually considering begging. It feels so good when Tenna kisses and licks and sucks his tentacle and cunt, but Spamton's pride can't take this hit.
"J–Just do it already—"
“ah-ah-ah,” Tenna tuts, pulling his finger away. He’s still smiling as he raises his hands into the air, out of Spamton’s reach — wiggling his fingers with more than a bit of glee. “No please? Then you don’t get anything.”
Spamton wants to murder him. He's embarrassed, and that curls delightfully with the heat in his gut. He opens and closes his mouth before: "T–Tenna please. I need yo-you in me, yesterday." A sob, before he whimpers, "Ple–please fuck me."
“Good boy!” Tenna makes a show of it. He coos, one hand sliding underneath to prop Spamton’s opening up, the other pressing a single finger inside of his cunt. It’s warm and delicious, especially with Tenna’s glove out of the way. He giggles, watching Spamton writhe. “What a good boy,” he chirps, finger swallowed up greedily by Spamton’s cunt, “oh, you needed that, didn’t you? Look at you. You’re so pretty when you say please, Spammy!”
The Addison whines, high and loud, a sound he's only ever made at home into his pillow. The praise, the compliments, he's not used to it. But fuck, is it getting him even hotter under the collar.
"P–Please," he gasps, "M–Move, it. please, I ne–need more—" He's covered his face with both hands, his hips moving to try and get more of Tenna's finger.
Tenna laughs in reply, clearly delighted. He’s never seen Spamton stripped down so vulnerable, but he could get addicted to it. The CRT hums as he leans down to suck against Spamton’s tentacle again, pushing his finger into Spamton’s cunt just a little more. He’s going to have to be stretched if he wants anything else — and he’s going to have to ask.
Tenna hollows out his cheeks, sucking hard against Spamton’s tentacle, and in response the Addison gasps, hurrying to push at Tenna's casing.
“W–Wai–wait, if you do that I'm g–gonna–!!"
Spamton pushes over the edge with everything going on; the teasing, the begging. He needs Tenna, more than just his mouth and hand. He feels like crying, because frankly he's never come so quickly and it's embarrassing, but at the same time he needs more. He doesn't want it to end.
Tenna, mercifully, doesn’t comment on how fast Spamton’s orgasm came and went. He doesn’t tease, or poke or prod. Instead, he takes Spamton’s tentacle all the way to the hilt, nose brushing against the downy feathers at his crotch. White is such a pretty color on Spamton. His hand continues, a second finger squeezing in to press with the first, as he gives another suck. Spamton shakes, head thrown back as he keens, hips moving to chase the heat of Tenna's mouth, the stretch that makes him want to sob with pleasure. He's being spoiled and he knows it, he's going to get addicted to this kind of treatment.
Tenna laughs, muffled against Spamton’s dick, as he presses a third finger into his cunt. It’s a tight fit, and Tenna’s attempts at scissoring are met with the ring of muscle’s resistance. That doesn’t seem to stop the boss Darkner, though — in fact, he only seems encouraged. Tenna swallows down against the tentacle in his mouth, trying to get his lover to relax more. Spamton gasps as the push-back Tenna is receiving, the stretch hurts and he forces himself not to make too embarrassing of a sound; still, he sobs a bit, unable to hold himself back as he comes, again, busy arching his back to try and get more. Tenna pulls back up, licking his lips of any wetness there as his fingers pull out of Spamton’s cunt. He laughs softly, palm cradling Spamton’s neck.
“See! That wasn’t so bad, was it? How do you feel?” His screen flickers. “Do you want more, Spammy?”
Spamton can feel the heat spreading across his face. He’s heaving air, struggling to get his mind to focus with... all of everything going on. He’s already cum again, and yet, he burns, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Seeing this, Tenna’s mouth quirks up. He’s smiling. Heat radiates from his body; it’s clear to anyone with eyes that Tenna is thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Spaaaaam~~ ton,” he sings, finger rubbing against the feathers at the base of Spamton’s neck, watching in delight as they puff up at the touch, “you didn’t answer me. You remember your manners, don’t you?”
Swelling his spit, the Addison nods. "Y-Yeah. Yes." he waits, before remembering. "Please."
“Please what?”
Tenna doesn’t move. He watches, enraptured, as Spamton reacts. He’s waiting for the words.
"I-I want... more." Another pause. "Please." Spamton’s voice wavers; he's desperate. He could whine and beg and Tenna would probably give him what he wanted, but he still has to have some sanity left that keeps what little of his composure is left.
“Oh, what a good boy you are,” Tenna praises. He lifts Spamton up by the ass again, giving a chaste kiss to the top of his tentacle head. His fingers move down to press inside Spamton’s hole, and he pushes up. “Isn’t it so much nicer to just be nice?”
Spamton gasps in response, loudly, back arching and covering his face in embarrassment. "Y-Yeah! Oh, fuck-!"
“Manners! Spamton, you don’t need to be crude,” Tenna scolds, adding a second finger as his tongue moves to glide against the slit of Spamton’s tentacle. He’s not slowing down in the slightest, fingers pistoling in the exact right spot. He’s so hard right now that it hurts, but he’s having too much fun with Spamton to try and switch tracks.
He whines, "S-Sorry! I'm- ahh, Tenna, please-"
He's slowly losing it completely. His earlier mission to rile up Tenna so far gone from his mind.
“I’m glad you know how to say sorry now! I’m very, very proud of you.” Tenna beams, leaning in as his screen darkens, leaving only that tooth-filled smile.
“Let’s try to get you to say thank you, okay?”
And then, he pushes a third finger into that tight ring of muscle, before promptly spreading them.
"Ahh-- !" He cries out, biting his hand as he comes again, not even able to process the feeling as it happens. "T-Tenna, fuck- I mean, ah, Tenna-"
“Say it,” Tenna commands, gleeful, “Say thank you.”
"Thank yo-you thank you-" he sobs out.
“Thank you for what?” Tenna asks evenly, twisting his fingers. He rolls his thumb against the base of Spamton’s tentacle. His other hand hovers against the length. waiting. Spamton is suffering in the best way possible. He had no idea he would be ending up here.
"Th-Thank you for-- fuck, Tenna, please, I-"
Tenna’s fingers stop. He keeps the smile on his face, but he’s absolutely still.
“Thank you for what, Spamton?”
"Th-Thank you for m-making me- for fucking- for-for fucking me and making me c-come--" he feels so embarrassed but at the same time it's turning him on so much how Tenna is treating him.
“Good boy.”
His fingers begin to move again without warning, this time twice as fast. His mouth moves to swallow down Spamton’s tentacle, hollowing his cheeks and pressing himself to the hilt. He feels the tentacle squirm as it hits the back of his throat, but Tenna doesn’t even so much as gag.
"Oh m-my fucking Angel-" Spamton sobs, trying to find purchase with his hands on this stupid couch. And Tenna, the sap that he is, offers the hand that’s not occupied. He squeezes at Spamton’s palm gently, almost comfortingly, as he laps the underside of the tentacle with his tongue, fingers abusing Spamton’s g-spot. He’s already reached his peak again already, maybe even twice, he can't even logically think about numbers right now he knows nothing but pleasure, but Tenna—
Tenna only pulls away when Spamton is boneless. When he’s babbling nonsense. When he doesn’t know up from down, or even where they are. Popping his mouth off the tentacle, removing his fingers, Tenna sits up, proud of himself. He squeezes Spamton’s hand.
“You did so good,” he soothes, “I’m so proud of you. You’re my good boy.”
He's trying to catch his breath; he doesn't know when he started crying. Spamton has been fucked thoroughly and he's unsure where to go from here as he shakes. Tenna gathers Spamton up in his arms, cradling him. Spamton’s hand brushes against Tenna’s hard-on, begging for release against the seam of his pants, but Tenna barely flinches.
“That must have been overwhelming. I might have gone a little over the top.” He’s smiling, a little flower blooming from his nose. “I’m sorry, Spammy.”
"N-No you're fuckin’ not." He gasps, hiccuping.
“Haha. Well, maybe I’m only a little sorry,” he admits, still grinning. “But how do you feel? Was…” a pause. “It wasn’t bad, was it?”
"Fuck, it-it was great." He laughs a bit. "But- what about y-you, Tenns?"
“Mmm. What about me?” Tenna pauses. Glances at his hard on. And then… he shrugs. “It’ll go down, don’t worry. Let’s get settled taking care of you first, right?” He moves to stand, still cradling Spamton. “Do you need help in the shower? Your bones must feel like jelly.”
"M-Maybe." He swallows thickly, brain slowly getting screwed back in. "Yeah, probably."
He looks at Tenna's hard-on. "You're sure? It-it looks like it hurts, honestly."
“It’s…” Tenna pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Taking care of you is more important than something like this.”
He groans. "Come on, what's t-the hold-up? Are you okay?"
“I’m fine!” Tenna huffs. “Just. You’ve — I put you through a lot just now. I’m not going to push the envelope here by trying to do anything else.”
Besides, nothing will feel as good as Spamton sounded in that moment. Spamton grumbles, but doesn't fight; obviously fucked out. Tenna giggles as he walks to the connected bathroom. Only his and Tenna’s own dressing room have their own showers built in, specifically for purposes like this. Settling Spamton in the tub, and making sure he can sit up, Tenna turns on the faucet and lets the water run.
“There we go. Can — do you want help with washing everywhere?”
The big shot waves a hand. "I'm okay. D-Do you even remember how to wash my feathers?"
“Of course I do! It hasn’t been that long. Besides, I recorded your instructions.” Tenna flips the channels of his screen, and Spamton’s tinny voice can be heard on the screen as he’s telling Tenna exactly what feels good. “Are you sure?”
Spamton pauses. "I wouldn't mind help." he finally settles on. Not too vulnerable, but not rejecting entirely. He still can’t be entirely honest, even after all of that, it seems.
Another flower blooms on Tennas nose. He unbuttons his pants and pulls them down — to give himself at least a little relief — before dipping his hands into the water, gliding them against Spamton’s feathers. The big shot chirps happily, tail wagging as Tenna works on him, cleaning his feathers of sweat and generic dust from the day.
There’s silence, for a long moment, before Spamton decides to speak again.
"You're better than me at this."
“Yeah, I know. That’s because I like you more than you like yourself,” Tenna replies easily. He covers Spamton’s eyes as he dunks a bucket of water atop his head, working out the conditioner with his fingers.
"Jeeshh! Hah, you don't gotta hit me with the hard ones."
“Believe me, that was a softball,” Tenna chuckles back. He rubs his fingers against Spamton’s back, making sure the feathers there are all in order. He grunts slightly as his cock rubs against the floor, but Spamton is polite enough to not comment on it; clearly, Tenna’s more focused on getting Spamton clean than getting himself off.
Bathtime finishes in relatively comfortable silence after that. Tenna uncorks the drain, letting the water run clear, before he stands up. He’s still fairly hard, though he’s doing his best to ignore it.
“I’ll get you a spare set of clothes, if you just give me a second.”
"Sure." Spamton replies, shaking himself dry like the little freak he is. Tenna laughs sweetly, before disappearing into the attached room.
The party must be over by now. There’s no more echoes of chatter or music coming from the green room. They’ve probably been at this for a while. Spamton sits at the edge of the tub, looking down at his damp feathers, feeling the chill of the room settle in.
Tenna hurries back in, a sweater vest and pair of pants draped over his arm, along with a pair of boxers. “Here you are, Spammy!”
He takes the clothes with a soft Thanks, Tenns, before getting dressed. He stretches, some of his spine cracking neatly. He has never been fucked like that before and honestly will not forget it for a while. Tenna smiles.
“I’m sure there are still some stragglers at the party. Maybe you can get in a good Ramb ribbing if you want,” he jokes. “I’ll, uh. Hang back for a while yet.”
“Ehh…” Spamton makes a face, before leaning into Tenna’s chest. His feathers puff up as the static electricity emitting from Tenna’s screen runs through his body.
It feels… good.
“If you don’t mind, big guy,” he murmurs, “I think all I’d like in this Dark World or the next… is just laying with you for a little while.”
A flower blooms from Tenna’s nose. The television laughs softly, plucking it, before gathering the addison in his arms.
“I would like nothing more than that, Spammy.”