Chapter Text
Spamton sighs, “Tenna, [Sweetheart, Baby, Darling] just let me do the talking for this one, ok? I know you like to have input, but this guy’s very modern. He’s not gonna wanna work with an old [Hunk of Junk] TV like you at all.” He presses his hands down the front of his suit, checking his reflection in one of the giant windows that line the front of the building. Tenna frowns, one of his antennae flicking in frustration.
“I know that Spam, but won’t you let me get a word in for once? You always say these guys are too modern, but they haven’t been that bad so far,” Tenna reasons, putting a hand on his hip and glaring down at Spamton.
Spamton barks a laugh. “Oh, they’re just peachy in person, but you should hear the things they say when you’re not around,” He practically snarls, shooting Tenna an irritated look. Tenna flinches, and looks away. He feels himself wilt, shrinking just a little at the comment. “Really though, it’s nothing to worry about, [Babycakes],” Spamton reassures, plastering a warm smile on his face. He pats Tenna’s leg in a comforting gesture and turns to enter the large double-door entrance to the office building. “As long as I control the [Flow of Information!] and you sit there looking [Hot Rod], I should be able to secure this deal,” He finishes, his tone signaling Tenna should not argue further. Not like he has the chance to anyway, as he’s forced to follow Spamton into the building's lobby. Spamton would leave him on the spot if he started a fight about this right now, especially in public.
Spamton waltzes his way to a large desk, a secretary picking lazily at a computer with a monitor (much thinner than Tenna’s own screen, he thinks self-consciously). Tenna trails after Spamton feeling woefully out of place. He’s already shrunk himself a decent amount to even fit into the building, but he still feels too large. He knows he must look strange, look a little too old to be in a place like this, a little out of style. But that’s why they need this deal, to bring him one step closer to being relevant again, to being a big shot.
Spamton’s a little short for the desk, and the secretary’s not really paying attention, so Tenna has to tap on the counter to gain her attention. She snaps out of her daze and shoots Tenna an annoyed look.
“Whaddaya want, big guy?” She snarks.
“Oh, uhm,” He points down at Spamton sheepishly, not sure what to say. He can’t even recall who they’re supposed to be meeting, as Spamton had been cagey about the information for whatever reason.
The secretary leans a bit forward to look down at Spamton who's grinning up at her, charm turned up to a hundred.
“Hey there, [Sweetcheeks]!” He punctuates with a wink, “We’re here for a meeting with Mr. Blacefook, should be scheduled for a few minutes from now.” The secretary hums and shifts backs, focusing on her computer again, tapping away at the keyboard.
“Name?” she drawls.
“Spamton G. Spamton,” Spamton announces proudly, puffing his chest and leaning as best he can against the counter. She glances at him, unimpressed, and he flashes her another charming grin. She types his name into her computer without acknowledgement. Once she confirms their meeting, she phones up to Mr. Blacefook to let him know his meeting is there before giving them the correct floor info. Spamton thanks her and turns to the elevator, Tenna walking alongside him with much less confidence.
As Spamton punches the correct elevator button Tenna leans against the wall and crosses his arms, looking down his nose at his partner. The doors shut and Spamton makes his way to the wall across Tenna, leaning against it much the same.
“Nervous, [Big Shot]?” Spamton grins.
“Why would I be? Not like I get to talk,” Tenna bites back. Spamton laughs at him and shakes his head, choosing not to respond. Tenna feels a knot of frustration build in his stomach as he pointedly looks away from the little mailman. After this meeting, he’s sure they’re going to get into a fight. Tenna’s anxious about it. He wants to prevent it, not sure if he can handle any more silent treatment from Spamton, but he doesn’t know how to have a civil conversation with his partner these days. His train of thought ends there as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. A broad man, closer to Tenna’s height than Spamton’s, welcomes them, introducing himself as Mr. Blacefook and shaking both men’s hands.
Mr. Blacefook welcomes the two of them into his office, Spamton taking the lead with Tenna stalling behind. Spamton converses easily and lazily with the man as he shows them their seats. A large deep mahogany desk sits in the middle, with a large leather rolling chair behind it. Mr. Blacefook doesn't move for the desk, though, opting to sit in one of the two large cushy chairs that face it. There’s an expensive looking table between the two chairs, empty glasses and a bottle of some sort of alcohol next to an ashtray sitting atop it. Spamton helps himself to the chair Mr. Blacefook isn’t occupying, a little small for the seat but he doesn't show much struggle as he clambers into place. Tenna looks around for a place and fidgets awkwardly, the two other men still conversing as if he wasn’t even there. Neither of the two notice he’s without a seat, so he slinks over next to Spamton’s chair. He gingerly rests some of his weight on the arm, sort of half sitting half standing, hunched over watching Spamton.
Spamton and Mr. Blacefook launch right into their negotiations, Tenna watching silently from the sidelines. As much as he hates to admit it, for once Spamton was right, this man being particularly difficult to persuade. But if there’s one thing Tenna knows, it's that if Spamton wants a paper signed, he’s going to get it signed however he has to.
“Listen, I know it’s a bit of a risk, but I promise I can make it worth your while,” Spamton says smoothly, pulling a cigar from his pocket. He offers an extra to Mr. Blacefook, but he declines, apparently not a smoker. Spamton fishes in his pocket for a lighter, but Tenna’s already pulled his out and flicks it to life. Spamton makes a sound of acknowledgement in his throat as he brings the cigar to his mouth, leaning in to light it with Tenna’s offered hand. He takes a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He leans back and exhales, pointedly blowing most of the smoke at Tenna. Tenna wrinkles his nose and waves away the smoke with his hand, Spamton flashing him a lazy grin.
“Thanks, doll,” He purrs before turning back to Mr. Blacefook and jumping right back into conversation. Tenna feels his face flush as he grimaces, shoving the lighter back in his pocket and avoiding looking at Spamton.
Mr. Blacefook and Spamton talk for a few minutes, Spamton explaining in detail what the terms of their agreement would be and the benefits for both parties. Tenna itches to chime in, but almost as if he could sense it, Spamton shoots him a look that shuts down any ideas of piping up Tenna had. He still listens intently as the two talk as if he’s not there, Mr. Blacefook bringing the conversation to the topic of Tenna himself. He apparently has no qualms with voicing his apprehension and dislike for old tech like Tenna right in front of him. His stomach turns a little and he looks away, feeling insecure.
“I hear you, but I can promise he’s not a [liability lawsuit waiting to happen]. He does his job well, [Holy Heck], I’d even say there’s no way I’d be where I am right now without him! He’s a fantastic actor and I can assure you, in this arrangement, he’d be the least of your [worry your little head],” Spamton crows. “And look, if it’s a little [Sweet like Sugar] talk you need, I can vouch for some of his other capabilities, too,” He adds with a wink, making a lewd gesture alluding to giving someone head. Mr. Blacefook laughs heartily and Tenna’s fans whirr, a gush of steam pillowing out of him as he stammers and gives Spamton an incredulous look.
“I- S-Spamton! Are you crazy?!” He hisses, leaning into Spamton’s space furiously. Spamton tosses him a nonplussed look, chewing slightly on his cigar. He glances in Mr. Blacefook’s direction, gauging the man’s interest, before a sly grin crawls across his face. Spamton hooks an arm around Tenna’s neck and hops up, dragging him away from the chair and towards the door they entered from. Tenna’s head whips around wildly, looking from Spamton to Mr. Blacefook worriedly, but all he receives is amused smiles.
“Just a moment with my associate, [My Dear Pal]!” Spamton chirps cheerfully. As he pulls Tenna into a huddle his chipper demeanor drops, grabbing a fistful of Tenna’s tie and yanking him even further down with a grimace. Tenna practically crumples onto his hands and knees in front of his partner. Tenna starts before Spamton can, hoping to jump in first and shut this down before it gets any worse.
“Spamton!! you can't just say stuff like that? Are you seriously suggesting I- I blow this guy?!?! Just for some lousy deal?” His face burns with embarrassment. Spamton looks furious.
“Some lousy deal? Are you [Joker] me?! You really don't listen to a damn thing I tell you, do you, [Trash Heap]? This “lousy deal” is a deal with one of the biggest high traffic websites on the web, meaning all the eyes are gonna be on this site. We need this deal. You need this deal. Did you hear what I told that sucker over there? I wouldn’t be here without you? Yeah, that was a [Big Fat Lie]! I could get all the way up here and more without you dragging [my strings] down. I’m putting a lot of work in here to get you places and I'm gonna need you to cooperate. If I tell you to blow some guy, you’re gonna blow that guy, capiche? or I can [Waltz Right Away] and leave you to pick up the pieces, see if you can secure a deal with a guy who can barely even stomach talking to me, let alone some [Hunk of Junk] like you.” Spamton finishes with a growl, his eyes brimming with rage as they bore into Tenna’s. The smoke from the cigar grinding between Spamton’s teeth makes Tenna’s eyes water as he trembles.
Tenna feels weak, his hands shaking and his stomach turning. He really can’t believe this is happening. He really doesn't want to blow this guy, but he thinks if he refuses, Spamton's really going to walk out on him. For real this time. The idea of Spamton really truly leaving makes his mouth go dry. He already got a taste of the loneliness when Tenna had tested Spamton’s patience while back and he stormed out, giving Tenna radio silence for two weeks. Tenna damn near lost his mind, wracking his mind constantly for every little detail he could’ve changed to make Spamton happy. And the idea of Spamton walking out now? When they’ve worked so hard already? Tenna feels like he’s so close, so close to finally getting Spamton to sign his deal, to give him his secrets to being a big shot. He just needs to last a little longer, give Spamton whatever piece of Tenna he wants until they make it. He can’t lose him. Not now.
So, he swallows thickly and hangs his head, refusing to meet Spamton’s eyes. He doesn't have the energy or will to argue about this right now when he’s in no position to win. Spamton’s scowl slowly slips away to a self satisfied and sleazy grin. He lets go of Tenna’s tie and lets his hand wander under Tenna’s screen, lifting his face to rub it in.
“So? What’ll it be, [Big Shot]? Ready to [Face Those Lights!]” Spamton coos, knowing he’s won. Tenna doesn’t dignify him with a response, miserably collecting himself from the floor. Spamton places a hand on Tenna’s lower back and shoves him back to their seats, where Mr. Blacefook has poured himself a drink and sips at it lazily. Since Tenna didn’t have a seat in the first place he idles awkwardly in front of the two chairs. He feels Mr. Blacefook’s eyes on him and he looks to Spamton anxiously for guidance.
Spamton’s already climbed back into his seat leaning over the table to pour himself a drink and tap the ash off his dwindling cigar when he catches Tenna’s gaze.
“Well?” Spamton drawls expectantly, “[Down, Boy!]”
Tenna wilts at the command but shuffles forward anyway, dropping to his knees in front of Mr. Blacefook, face burning with humiliation. He glances up at the man to inspect his flushed face and lidded eyes, but quickly looks back to Spamton. Spamton finishes pouring his drink and sips it with a grin, looking at Mr. Blacefook with a glint in his eye.
“So? Whaddya say, [Hotshot]? Care to [sample my wares?]” he snickers. Mr. Blacefook looks down at Tenna almost apprehensively, but Tenna can tell his answer from the tension in the man’s body, looking eager and excited for what he’s been promised.
“Well, how can I turn down such an offer?” Mr. Blacefook replies smoothly, chuckling together with Spamton as the little mailman offers his glass to toast. As their glasses clink, Spamton looks down at Tenna and nods his head. Tenna takes that as a sign to go and reluctantly shifts closer to Mr. Blacefook, placing his hands on the man’s thighs and bringing his face toward his groin. He’s terribly nervous but tries not to look as miserable as he feels. He doesn’t want this experience to be so horrible that Mr. Blacefook refuses to work with them in the future.
He starts by mouthing Mr. Blacefook’s dick through his pants, gauging his excitement and size. He’s bigger than Spamton, and already a little hard. Must be easily excitable, or perhaps he just doesn’t get a lot of action and got worked up by the possibility. Most of Tenna’s experience sucking dick is with Spamton, not that he hasn’t sucked others, but since he’s… elevated his partnership with Spamton, he hasn’t had much experience elsewhere. Spamton’s not small for his size, but he’s always been smaller than Tenna, so he can’t help feeling anxious about dick of a different size. He hopes whatever tricks he pulls that Spamton likes work on this guy, too. As he continues to work Mr. Blacefook’s cock through his pants, Spamton resumes casual conversation with the man, like Tenna isn’t even there, laughing and idly sipping his drink. He grinds his cigar into the ash trash tray to put it out, Tenna feeling a tingle go through his body as Spamton’s eyes rave over his body. He feels an antenna twitch in annoyance, thinking of all the nasty things he’s going to call Spamton later when they’re alone.
Tenna undoes the man’s belt and unzips his pants with his teeth, Mr. Blacefook’s breath catching in his throat, a lull coming to his and Spamton’s conversation as they both watch Tenna work. He again licks at the man through the fabric of his boxers, but he quickly pulls them down so his cock can spring free. He’s fully hard already and Tenna can’t help the way his mouth waters at the sight. He can hear Spamton snicker quietly before starting conversation back up. Mr. Blacefook seems to be having more trouble engaging now as he stifles a groan by taking a sip of his drink, but Spamton continues as if nothings the matter.
Tenna pumps Mr. Blacefook’s cock slowly, feeling the way it jumps at his touch. Once he feels it start to slick up he leans in and tentatively licks the head, precum dribbling out and onto his tongue. He continues, licking up the shaft and wrapping his lips around the head. He sucks lightly and Mr. Blacefook lets his head fall back with another soft groan. He takes more into his mouth before pulling off. He mouths at the side of the dick as he feels Mr. Blacefook run a hand along the side of his head, the other coming up to grip onto both antennae and pulling him closer. He whimpers at the touch, shifting on his knees to rub his thighs together, body growing warmer.
“His antennae are very [Sensitive Skin],” Spamton says, grinning from behind his drink. He knocks it back, emptying his glass, before placing it back on the table to refill. He refills Mr. Blacefook’s as well, gingerly placing the bottle back where he got it. Mr. Blacefook grins as he reaches for his glass, tightening his grip on Tenna’s antennae. Tenna lets out a loud whine, face flushing even further as he begins to sweat. In an attempt to silence himself, he pops his mouth back onto Mr. Blacefook’s cock, using one of his hands to stroke the base as he works his way further along. It’s not too big to give him any trouble, he’s realized now. He begins sucking his dick in earnest, bobbing on it and hollowing his cheeks, preening as Mr. Blacefook moans his approval. As he works his dick, the man begins to thrust forward lightly to meet each bob of Tenna’s head.
When Tenna finally swallows up his whole cock Mr. Blacefook sets his glass down to grip the side of Tenna’s head again, fully yanking on his antennae. Mr. Blacefook’s dick is shoved down Tenna’s throat and he moans around it, looking up at him through watery vision. Tenna lets Mr. Blacefook have full control, the man fucking his face now while using his antennae to pull him onto his dick. Tenna moans and gags as he slurps on cock, reaching a hand down between his legs to grind against while the other braces against Mr. Blacefook’s thigh. He can feel Mr. Blacefook’s bush against his face with every thrust down his throat. He starts to get lost in the moment as his mouth is fucked, shamelessly grinding against his own palm as he lets himself get used like a whore. He faintly hears Spamton let out a low, appreciative whistle. His mind wanders to how hard Spamton must be right now, watching Tenna choke on another man’s dick, and he groans at the thought. Spamton palming himself through his slacks while Tenna sluts himself out however Spamton commands.
Mr. Blacefook’s thrusts get sloppy and he pants loudly, sweat coating his forehead. The man lets out a strangled noise as Tenna pulls himself back, popping off his dick with a wet noise. He flashes the man a lazy grin with spit dripping down his face, putting on a show with Spamton on his mind. He strokes Mr. Blacefook’s dick lazily at first before he jacks him off quickly, the wet noises it makes filling the room. Mr. Blacefook throws his head back and groans, his hips twitching as Tenna brings him to his finish.
Tenna presses his arms together as best he can, smooshing his tits together in that way he knows Spamton likes, and sticks his tongue out. Mr. Blacefook looks at him breathlessly as he cums, spurting out all over Tenna’s face and onto his waiting tongue. Tenna lets some of it slide off his screen and dribble onto his chest. He continues to stroke Mr. Blacefook until he’s sure his dick is spent, before he grinds reverently against his palm, chasing his own finish. He cums in his pants with a loud whine, relishing the taste of cum in his mouth as he swallows. He breathes heavily as he comes down from his high, tucking Mr. Blacefook’s dick back into his pants with shaky hands. He moves to wipe the rest of the cum from his face but he’s interrupted by Spamton making a tutting noise.
Tenna whips to look at Spamton, startled by his presence, having been lost in the moment. Spamton’s face is flushed and his eyes are half lidded as he beckons Tenna to him. Tenna stands on wobbly legs and makes his way over to his partner. He fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and Tenna leans over, his hands on his knees to stabilize himself while Spamton wipes his face clean. Spamton licks his lips, eyes raking over Tenna’s fucked out face and wrinkled clothes. Tenna notes Spamton’s obvious bulge but doesn’t comment, closing his eyes as his screen is wiped down. It feels somewhat domestic despite the situation and Tenna allows himself to bask in the feeling before the guilt and self loathing really settles in. Spamton smiles sweetly as he cleans Tenna up, attempting to scrub the small droplets of cum from Tenna’s front too. Mr. Blacefook pants next to them, still trying to recover from his orgasm.
“So, [Big Fella]? We have a deal?” Spamton asks cheekily, glancing at the man beside him as he finishes wiping Tenna clean.
The man is so spent he merely murmurs his agreement as he waves his hand at them.
---
After all the papers are signed and sorted, Spamton leads Tenna back out of the building quickly, waving dismissively at the secretary who barely spares them a glance. Spamton hurries Tenna to the car, the CRT still feeling disheveled and gross as he clambers into the passenger seat of Spamton’s bright red cungadero. He’s barely even settled before the car revs to life, peeling out of the parking lot like they’re in a police chase. Tenna’s always hated when Spamton speeds, but he can’t help the slight thrill he feels, especially with Spamton’s small hand reaching over to grab a handful of Tenna’s meaty thigh.
“God, you drive me crazy, you know that? Making such a fuss about sucking that guy off just to drop to your knees like a proper [Whore for Hire] and make a mess in your pants doing it. Fuck, babe, you’re [Too Hot to Handle],” Spamton growls, massaging Tenna’s thigh in his grip. Tenna’s face flushes as he shifts in his seat. He feels the anger from their earlier argument bubble up but can’t deny how turned on he is, peeking over at Spamton’s tented slacks. Spamton’s pressure on the gas increases, speeding them closer to their hotel. “When we get back in our room I’m gonna [rip you to shreds], you hear that [Big Shot]? I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember who’s wimpy little dick you just sucked. I’m all you’re gonna think of baby, [Me, me, me],” he hisses, leaning towards Tenna and giving him a wild look. The car swerves and Spamton snaps his attention back to the road.
Tenna’s head swims and he grins, mouth watering as his body starts to feel warm. He can save the screaming match for later, after tonight. He really doesn’t have any fight in him anymore.