Chapter 1: ...Planed
Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Spamton had a bad day—like almost every day. Maybe it was because he was shorter than the others, less colorful, or maybe because his only way to reach the Lightners was through email.
He didn’t care anymore.
He just tried to survive, day after day after day.
At least he had the other Addisons—his friends.
When a day was rough, he always met up with them and talked about it.
They helped him when life hit hard. Sometimes they gave him small jobs so he could earn a bit of money, and sometimes they all got drunk at the bar and paid him to do embarrassing “funny” things.
It was pathetic, but it was money—and money was hard to come by for Spamton.
That evening, Spamton was alone at the bar, sipping on his last drink for nearly an hour, hoping one of the others would show up so he could scrape one or two more drinks. He should’ve gone home.
If he were lucky, he’d sell something tomorrow and be able to pay his overdue rent. He didn’t want to ask Orange for help again.
He probably shouldn’t have bought so many drinks ether, but he really needed them today.
As he drank the last warm sip, a man in a suit sat down beside him. Spamton saw he was from Cyber City, but he didn’t really seem to fit in.
“Hey there, dollface.”
Spamton looked at the guy with the most disgusted expression he could muster. His voice matched his face as he replied, “Not interested.” He was about to leave when the man placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Please wait, I’m sorry,” the man said. Spamton paused. “Can I offer you a drink and we start over?”
The man wasn’t bad-looking—not Spamton’s type, but still better than some of the ugly trolls he’d met on the street. Cyber City was full of creeps.
He accepted the offer. At least it meant a free drink, and after nearly a week without any sales, he really needed more. Spamton sat back down next to the man, who happily ordered two drinks.
“You’re an Addison, right?”
Spamton nodded, waiting for the bartender to hand him his drink.
“You should know—I’m a salesman too.”
Spamton raised an eyebrow as he took his drink, already losing interest.
“And—uh—I’ll get straight to the point. I have a question. From one salesman to another.”
Now Spamton was curious. He’d expected small talk or flirting, not business.
“What’s your question?” he asked. Not that Spamton was the right person for advice—he was the unluckiest salesman of 1993—but the guy didn’t need to know that.
“How much would you charge for a fun night with you?”
(Holy shit, what?)
“What kind of fun do you mean?”
The man leaned closer.
“You know what kind of fun I mean.”
Of course Spamton knew. But what kind of fucking question was that?
He stood up, ignoring the rest of his drink. He was drunk, but not drunk enough for this.
The businessman followed and stopped in front of him. “How about I give you 500 Dark Dollars?”
Spamton laughed. “Are you kidding me? Oh, if you’re asking like that… I don’t know, 2,000 Kromer!” he said sarcastically, hands loosely in his pockets.
The man looked surprised. “You’re cute and not easy to get, huh, doll? How about I pay 1,000, throw in a nice motel room—and I’m willing to use a condom.”
“Are you kidding?”
Spamton exclaimed.
“Absolutely not. We’re both men who know how to make deals, and this is my final offer.” The man opened his wallet, showing Spamton the money.
“I have everything ready, and I made it simple for you. If you say no now, the opportunity is gone.”
Spamton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had no idea what something like this usually cost.
Seeing the money right there in the man’s hand made his stomach twist. The numbers were tempting…
but the thought of actually agreeing made his pulse spike.
He didn’t look like a creep; his suit and open body language made him seem like a normal guy.
And it was just this one time.
Spamton wasn’t a hooker, and one street deal wouldn’t send him to the Incogni-District. It was more like a one-night stand... with benefits.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the desperation. Maybe both. Spamton wanted to say no—but he heard himself say yes.
(Fuck it.)
Spamton tried to play it cool as they entered the motel room. There was even a TV. The man placed the money on the bedside table, got comfortable on the bed, and started undressing until only his open pants remained.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you, doll?” he asked, watching Spamton, who stood frozen by the closed door.
Spamton took a breath and began undressing, keeping his boxers on as a comforting barrier. He sat beside the man, stiff and unsure.
“One thing,” Spamton said. “No kissing.”
The man nodded, then leaned over and pushed Spamton down gently, he didnt resist but his body tensed.
It didn’t take long before Spamton’s protective wall—his boxers—lay at the foot of the bed.
The man looked hungry. Spamton looked away, pulling his legs in slightly, trying to close himself off.
“Is it your first time?” the man asked.
“No. Just… been a while,” Spamton replied, still avoiding eye contact.
“Aww, cute. Then you can prepare yourself while I put on protection,” he said.
The man leaned back, giving Spamton space. Slowly, Spamton touched himself, trying to get comfortable. He got lost in thought. Had the man said his name? He couldn’t remember. He looked at the man again, who took it as a signal that Spamton was ready.
He wasn’t.
But then again, he doubted he could really be prepared right now.
Nervously, Spamton spread his legs. He didn’t close his eyes—there wasn’t much to see in the motel room, but closing them made everything feel more intense.
He was a little bit afraid to enjoy this, or not.
That would be made everything more harder for him.
He felt the man enter him, inch by inch.
Now he was fully inside, moving slowly.
Spamton regretted it. It didn’t feel too bad, but still wrong.
It had been a while since he shared a night with someone.
Most People thought him as a cute and innocent little fella, he's small and thin, almost feminine stature didn’t help him change that first impression.
There was once this woman he tried to flirt with, only to receive the response: “Come back when you’ve grown up, kiddo.” With a pat on his fluffy hair, he was sent back to the other Addisons, who laughed at the whole scenario.
So yeah, it had been a while for Spamton, so it was no wonder his touch-starved body held onto the intruder of this tights.
“You have no idea how good you feel, doll,” the man said, his movements speeding up—not fast, but noticeably.
He showered the little Addison with compliments, but Spamton didn’t look at him. The businessman didn’t seem bothered by this, just speeding up little by little according to his own desire.
He didn’t want to give anything away — not a sound, not a glance, not a piece of himself.
But his body betrayed him. A quiet gasp. A shiver. A moment of surrender.
And with that, the man took more.
He started to touch Spamton. He didn’t need to — but he did, just to hear more sounds from this body that tried so hard to resist the overheating feeling rolling over him.
Spamton let another sound.
Then another.
One moan after another.
He felt the man smiling and hated himself for saying yes to all of this.
His expression is somewhat ashamed for a moment as his hips start roll against the mans trust in awful disgusting pleasure.
Spamton came; he couldn’t hold himself back and screamed from the ecstasy that rushed through his body.
The businessman smiled again, slamming into Spamton to reach his own high, ignoring the small body that was already well beyond its limit.
He keep the speed, and the Addison wasn't able to take any more.
His body can no longer cope with the stain and begins to cramp.
At this moment he realized this wasn’t sex—it was something worse. He was just a toy in the man’s hand, nothing more.
The only thing he was grateful for was the condom—at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the man’s fluids inside him afterward.
His own sticky mess on his body was already more than enough.
The man finally finished, looked at his 'work' for a moment. It wasn’t a work of art— more like when you hit a wall with a hammer and look happily at the chaos you made.
Then he got up and dressed.
He said something, but Spamton didn’t listen.
He was still lying on the bed, not looking at him.
Still trying to process what just happened.
After the man left, and his body was recovered, Spamton sat up.
He had never felt so disgusting and worthless as in that moment.
From that sitting height, he saw the money on the bedside table again—not completely worthless, but not better either.
Chapter 2: ...How it should continue
Notes:
Just a little more pain (im sorry) I hope that still counts under slow burn XD
By the way the businessman has no name and I don't describe his appearance so you can put you OC there or yourself or think of the murderer silhouette of Detective Conan lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After a few days, Spamton actually enjoyed himself.
The little money boost wasn’t bad at all.
It almost felt like a drunken one-night stand — just with a little extra, if you ignored the empty feeling he’d had back then.
He smiled.
It was amazing to sell things without the pressure of needing money to survive. He only got one deal, but he hadn’t lost his smile these days.
But after two weeks, everything was the same again. Fighting his old, never-ending battles.
The little salesman was about to close his street shop, packing up his goodies, when he saw him.
The businessman from the bar.
What was his name again?
They briefly shared eye contact.
The moment Spamton met his eyes, he began to hesitate, hoping he wouldn’t come over.
He came.
(shit!)
The man looked even sleazier than before, but he just stood in front of Spamton’s shop, glancing around.
Spamtons shop was more like a junkyard with price tags, everything seems second handed.
He picked up a bracelet — one that raised your armor — and placed it in front of Spamton, still looking around.
“Do you want something else too?”
Spamton asked.
But the man responded with a question:
“Were you about to close up?”
“Yeah—” Spamton started with his best business smile, “but you don’t need to hurry. Take your time.”
He was still a professional… somehow.
“Don’t your other deals have to wait?” the man asked.
“What other deals?”
Spamton’s smile twitched, growing a little more nervous.
Now the man looked directly at the white Addison.
“Deals like we had last time.”
Spamton tried hard to keep smiling.
“I don’t have other deals like that. You were the only one.”
He felt like a fly in a spider’s web — saying exactly what the other wanted to hear.
“Splendid. That means you’re free for me. Same deal as last time?”
He placed 20 Dark Dollars on the table.
“And this bracelet, please.”
This time, Spamton wasn’t drunk.
But he knew how good easy money felt.
And how disgusting it felt.
And how it felt not to worry about rent.
Not to beg his friends for help.
Not to risk getting kicked out of his tiny apartment and ending up on the street.
He hated that there were too many reasons against the feeling of being disgusting and used like a sextoy.
As long as it was just one guy, it wasn’t that bad.
A customer with benefits, if you wanted to call it that.
What was he thinking?
No.
He wouldn’t do this again.
He didn’t need… well, he didn’t want the… the Kromer.
The man looked at him, waiting.
“I want more,” Spamton said coldly.
“More money? Mhm...”
The man thought about it — not exactly pleased.
“The last time you used me...”
Spamton’s voice dropped, making sure no unwelcome ears were listening.
“You used me like a fucking worthless sextoy. I don’t want that again. It hurt.”
“Ahh, I understand.”
The man’s smile sent a shiver down Spamton’s spine.
“You want more time to prepare.
You want things to be more pleasurable.
No rough stuff and a whole night time, but!”
Spamton wanted to say something — anything — but the man leaned in close over the shelf, towering over the small Addison.
“I won’t pay more.
But I promise I’ll be more careful this time.
Take all the time you need.
You can even choose a safeword.”
Spamton held his head in his hands.
Thinking.
And said yes.
Again.
He was more pathetic than he’d thought.
It was almost the same game as last time.
Spamton prepared himself while the man undressed and put on the condom.
The only thing he kept wearing was the bracelet he’d bought.
During the whole act, Spamton didn’t look at him once.
It wasn’t as rough as last time — but it wasn’t soft either.
Spamton felt more in control, even though he had none.
The man’s empty compliments — how good he felt — only made Spamton feel more disgusting.
After the man finished and finally pulled out, he looked at the smaller man.
“You really don’t want to look at me while we’re doing this.”
Spamton looked at him now, but his face was blank.
“Your shaking and nervous behavior is very cute, but it can get boring after a while.”
“You don’t seem bored to me — especially not after you started touching me again.”
The man’s cock was still inside him, and Spamton started to feel uncomfortable with it.
“You’re right. Maybe I just like your sweet singing voice, my little doll.”
“Is that the reason you want to talk to me now?”
“Maybe.” He finally pulled out and was about to get rid of the condom.
Spamton sat up. They were now sitting in front of each other.
The smaller man closed his legs and wrapped his arms around them.
He just wanted the businessman to leave.
“You know, if you close your little shop and get more customers for this, you’d earn more money than just what you got from—” he glanced at the bracelet he wore.
Before Spamton could respond, the man kept going:
“They don’t pay as much as I do, of course.
But once you get used to it, they might give you a raise for extra treatments.”
This asshole didn’t know what he was talking about.
“The shop is just for Darkners,” Spamton muttered.
“The real deal is with the Lightners.”
If heaven looks at you, everyone knows you become more than just rich.
It’s like fulfilling your purpose.
The only way Spamton had a change to contacted them was through email.
He sent message after message to the Lightners —
and they all landed straight in the spam folder.
Never opened.
Never seen.
“Have you ever had a deal with a Lightner?” He didn’t change his arrogant smile. He already knew what Spamton would say.
“No,” Spamton said. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of. A lot of Darkners are never seen by them.
“Mhm. And you never will,” the man said dryly.
“How would you know?” The Addison didn’t care if he looked mad. He wanted the man to see he was on thin ice.
“Well, a big shot knows one of his kind.
And you, my little puppet, are not big shot material.
You’ll never be more than what you are now. This-”
he made a gesture with both his hands to pointed at to Spamton body and the whole situation he was,
“suits you way better anyway.”
“Fuck you!
You have absolutely no idea who I am or what I’m capable of!
Just because I opened my legs twice for you, I’m an open book now?
You asshole have no idea about me!”
He laughed. “I like the spicy version of you,” he began, leaning closer to Spamton.
“And you’re right — we didn’t have enough time together. Good thing I paid for a night of fun. Thanks for reminding me.”
He pushed his little toy back and spread his legs with his hands.
One hand was on the Addison's chest while the other one was on his way to the smaller mans entrance.
“W-wait!”
He didn’t stop.
And Spamton knew this was exactly their deal.
'the whole night time' lingered in his inner ear, he forgot to read the small print.
He didn’t want to do it again — not after those words — but he was a little afraid of being forced anyway.
So the only thing he managed to say was “Condom,” while the man’s hand was already halfway in him.
The man paused.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He stopped and began putting on a new one.
Spamton had a moment to breathe.
To prepare himself physically.
He didn’t want to focus on what was coming.
So his gaze faded — eyes empty again.
Until he felt himself lifted.
Too easily.
Turned around, his ass raised.
“If you don't want to look at me, the fine by me, have you will.”
The small man made a perturbed noise at the shift in position.
But he couldn’t do much either.
Pathetic.
A deal is a deal — so the puppet dances for his master.
Spamton was in the bar with Orange. They all called themselves by the colors of their feathery fur, because — apart from Spamton — their names were too similar and it got confusing quickly.
They sat at a small table near the exit.
“Are you sure, White? You don’t need to pay,” Orange asked when they got their drinks.
“Yeah, you helped me so often — it’s the least I can do,” Spamton smiled.
Orange was the kind one in their group. Always helping Spamton in his times of need. A friend who never let you down.
He sometimes used the smaller of his kind as a model for the dresses he made, because Spamton had the perfect body shape. He would never admit it, but sometimes he looked in the mirror and thought he actually looked cute in those dresses.
They sat and talked for a while. It was so, so nice to meet a friend without that nagging feeling of begging for something deep in his gut.
He knew it wouldn’t last.
But for now, it was fine.
Then, another feeling started to creep in.
Like he was being watched.
The predatory aura slithered closer.
And when Spamton finally turned his head, he saw him.
A smiling businessman — the businessman.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I have a blind date with a cute doll soon, and I told them I’d be sitting at this table.”
The man placed 20 Dark Dollars on the table and looked at both of them.
Orange smiled politely, not sensing the tension.
“Leave your money. We can take another seat, right, White?”
Spamton didn’t answer right away.
His eyes stayed locked on the man — cold and unreadable.
“I—” he paused,
“I wanted to go home anyway, so yeah. It’s okay.”
Orange nodded, still smiling.
He didn’t like sitting alone, so Spamton knew he’d head home too.
While Orange said goodbye and was already leaving, Spamton stood outside the bar and was about to light a cigarette. A bad habit he picked up from Yellow — and now this time that he could afford a pack himself without feeling guilty, it had become an even worse habit.
The man showed up, waving happily at his little doll. Before he could say anything, Spamton pointed a finger at him.
“Do not — never ever — talk to me in this bar again. Meet me at my shop or leave me alone.”
The man nodded. “Noted. And — keep that energy.” he smiled.
It happened again.
Spamton tries not to think about how this man was able to give him so much money. If he was rich, he could find someone better. Or… was Spamton exactly what he wanted?
He never saw his body as something someone would desire. Pink was the hot one — always getting love letters. Orange was the openly kind one — everyone loved him. Blue was kind of a butch. And Yellow was the cool one — as long as his wife wasn’t around.
And Spamton? He was the unlucky one.
Time flew by, but the businessman didn’t come again.
Another man did — maybe a friend of his, Spamton thought, though he never asked.
He didn’t pay as much as the businessman, but at this point Spamton just took it.
He paid less, but he could set more rules.
And that made him feel a little safer.
A ‘good’ decision, maybe.
Somehow, more people started asking Spamton for special deals at his shop.
He had two once a week, sometimes three. He didn’t know how some of the Incogni-District workers managed to have so many clients in a single night.
There were times he had to pay for the motel himself.
If he knew the client well enough, he even made house visits.
A car, the street, or even his own home weren’t options.
He never did it without a condom, and the no-kissing rule still stood too.
Once, a man tried to kiss him and earned scratches — luckily, he wasn’t into it and learned his lesson.
He did it way more often than he wanted. He moved more, started giving blowjobs, even riding a cock here and there.
He still didn’t want to look at them, but began closing his eyes.
The feeling didn’t matter anymore — whether it was intense or not made no difference. He hated it anyway.
It hurt sometimes, too.
It wasn’t sex. It was just a job he had to do for the lovely, lovely sweet Kromer.
Spamton lay in his bed at home, alone. Usually, he would be watching TV Time at this time, but now he just lay there in silence, thinking.
He’d been doing this ‘job’ for almost a year. Still breathing hard before each appointment. Still hating himself after every time he got used.
(If you hate doing this, why don’t you stop? ) he started thinking.
If it were just that easy, he answered himself in his mind.
(You can always find something better than this. Just find something else — anything is better than what you’re doing now. You can still change.)
I don’t want to do something else.
He loved being a salesman. Loved the feeling when he sold something in his shop. But unfortunately, the only thing Spamton was good at selling was his body.
(Is it really so hard for you to find a new passion?)
Passion? It’s not about passion. It’s in the nature of an Addison to sell. It’s like telling a bird: ‘Don’t fly south if you’re bad at flying.’ If it doesn’t survive the flight, it was meant to die.
But Spamton didn’t want to die. He kept flying with everything he had — even when his broken wings hurt and he’d lost his voice from all the inner screaming, from the fear that someday his friends would no longer help him keep going.
But Spamton wasn’t a bird on its way south. There was no finish line in his journey through life — only the long, hard path he had to fly, without any rest.
So of course he started letting himself be carried by the wind, even when it blew him in the wrong direction — there wasn’t a finish line anyway.
(Man does not live by bread alone.)
He fell asleep.
Notes:
I don’t describe Spamton’s genitals in this fic.
Personally, I’m a fan of the tentacle dick with the little slick where the balls should be — for the pipis.
Yes, I’m one of those sick ones. XD
BUT as I said, I let it to you imagination :3
Chapter 3: ...Friendship
Notes:
Its the last time I hurt him I swear poor baby!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 3
Back then, when he needed some dopamine or just felt horny, he touched himself. But now he was happy when his body was left alone.
He got uncomfortable easily when people—even his friends—touched him.
But it was worth it.
He wasn't proud of his secret second business, but he was finally stable.
No more worries about the rent, no more begging the other Addisons to help him out.
He felt more like part of them now, not just someone they pitied.
He even managed to buy himself little gifts sometimes.
And the best part of it was—he could fully concentrate on his shop.
He didn’t have more customers at his regular shop, but he felt more confident selling, not like his life depended on that one sale.
When he wasn’t thinking about what he did to earn all this, he felt happy.
That ‘happiness’ lasted for over a year, until—
His clients started coming less often.
Some of them he hadn’t seen in a long while.
Just some of his regular customers where still there.
It had been a while since his money started to run out—but he tried not to get nervous.
Instead, he sat with his friends at the usual bar, at a table, talking about all kinds of stuff.
Blue was talking about a customer he was close to punching in the face, and Yellow complained about his wife, while Orange tried to give advice.
Pink was very quiet today.
Usually, he’d tell them about the great deal he made since they last met.
And Spamton — it had been a long time since he told them that his sales were going down, but he was still on his own feet, so nothing to ruin the good mood.
So he just said my the question that sales going up soon again, no worries.
The evening was still young, but the topic had shifted to what was happening in Cyber City.
Plans Queen had, new restaurants to try, and what was going on in the Incogni-District.
Everyone turned to Pink, who had brought it up.
“Oh yeah, I heard about that too—they reopened the gate!” said Blue.
Orange paused for a moment before adding, “Gray and Purple had a really rough time while the whole area was shut down.”
Yellow looked confused, just like Spamton.
“I didn’t hear anything. What happened?” Yellow asked.
Blue was surprised. “A nasty virus. Don’t you remember the huge power outage? It lasted for like... a year and a half.”
Spamton didn’t recall a major blackout. But to be fair, back then he often didn’t have electricity anyway—he couldn’t always pay his bills on time.
Blue continued explaining. “After that mess, the virus hit.
Queen got super sick because of the crap the Lightners had done.”
He leaned back as everyone kept listening.
“Long story short, once things were fixed, people were terrified of the virus.
So they shut down the whole district—no one could go in or out.”
“And thanks to that quarantine,” Pink added,
“we got all the horny creeps dumped into this part of the city.”
Spamton stayed quiet, thinking to himself that this explained a lot.
Then Yellow seemed to realize something. “Damn, my wife told me some creeps tried to ask her if she’d sleep with them for money!”
It was Blue’s turn again. “Disgusting. What do they think? Who would sink so low to accept an offer like that?”
Spamton felt ashamed.
He was glad no one noticed how uncomfortable he was getting—except Pink, whose eyes were still on him.
For a moment, the group fell silent.
Then Orange broke it with a question:
“How much were they offering her?”
“ORANGE?!” Blue shouted.
But Yellow answered anyway. “Way too little. That bastard offered her 80 DD for a quick in-and-out.”
That’s way too little, Spamton thought. His wife was beautiful.
Orange and Blue teased Yellow a bit until Pink spoke again.
“Someone offered me 500 DD,” he said dryly, not looking at anyone—just staring into his drink as he took a sip.
“Whoa!” all three shouted, bursting into laughter.
“Expensive bitch!” Blue mocked him.
A almost normal price, Spamton thought.
A short fun was by him at 200 Kromer for extras it can rise to 800.
So his good average was by 400 Dark Dollar.
“Fuck you, Blue!” Pink just said, then continued:
“After I asked him what he was thinking, he said to me that he wanted to try his luck because—‘the little white Addison wasn’t free tonight.’”
Silence.
Spamton didn’t feel shame anymore—more like the world around him had turned much, much colder.
The colors vanished around his sign.
It happened so fast, like he’d been hit by a truck.
He felt that everyone at the table was now looking at him.
He held onto his drink like his life depended on it.
Orange was the one who broke the silence, just by saying Spamton’s nickname—soft, but still questioning.
(Keep it together, Spamton!)
“What, you guys really think it was me?” he started, hoping no one heard how freaked out he was on the inside.
“No, but...” Orange said uneasy.
“Say, since when did you start being stable?” Pink asked now, without looking at Spamton. He didn’t seem to focus on the others, fixing his eyes on something in the distance as he continued. “You stopped asking for help, or for us to get you some work for money, like what... a little bit over a year ago?”
“That sounds off indeed,” Yellow unnecessarily added.
“And now,” Pink kept going — too fast for Spamton, who was still trying to think of a good response.
“the district’s been open again for like a month, and coincidentally your sales have been going down this month, right?”
Spamton needed to save himself from this situation— fast.
“I—...” he got interrupted by Blue. “Why did you do this?”
It was too late.
Orange leaned toward him. “White, you know we’re always here to help you.”
Helping him—keeping him barely alive—was the better word.
Spamton didn’t know why, but he was going mad.
“Always help me? By what, giving me underpaid, menial work you don’t want to do yourselves? And that from time to time, just so I can survive a little bit longer? What grateful lifesavers you are.”
“We can’t give you money for free. The only one who’s that stupid is Orange!” Blue interrupted.
“Maybe I just didn’t want your pity anymore.
Begging. Hoping you wouldn’t let me down one day.
Living by the grace you gave me.”
His voice cracked, softened.
“I just wanted a break from this pathetic twirl I’m stuck in.”
He looked down at his drink.
“So yeah, I did it. Just to feel—just once in my life—how it feels not to worry about what happens the next day. And you know what? It felt so good that I couldn’t stop anymore.”
Spamton was shaking. He was mad, sad, overheated from the light alcohol in his blood.
Yellow, Orange, and Blue looked at each other, feeling bad for him but not knowing what to say.
Pink, who was now directly looking at the smaller man, he was the only one who showed no compassion in his face.
“Sooo,” he started—everyone, even Spamton, was relieved someone finally broke the silence—“how much if I want to fuck you?”
Spamton froze.
“This isn’t funny, Pink,” warned Orange, disbelieving what Pink had just said.
“This is no joke,” Pink answered dryly.
“Are you kidding me?!” Spamton screamed, not caring that he disturbed the other guests in the bar.
“No. If I can help you more that way, then how much? We’re friends, and I’m willing to help.”
Spamton was still mad, tears of wrath building up in his eyes.
He couldn’t take this humiliation any longer—without another word, just a disbelieving look, he stood up and left the bar through the exit.
“Why did you do that, Pink?” Blue gave him a light punch on the shoulder.
“Yeah, that wasn’t necessary,” Yellow said.
Pink stood up. “You’re right. I’ll go after him to say sorry.”
There was no real regret in his voice.
Outside the bar, not far away, Spamton stood still, trying to light a cigarette. His lighter was giving up.
“Do you need a light?” Pink stood behind him, reaching out with one. Without a word, Spamton took it.
“I want to say sorry.”
The white one ignored him, lighting his cigarette in silence.
“But you know... your customers will go back, and most of them will be gone sooner or later.”
Spamton kept ignoring him, took a deep breath from his cigarette, and was about to leave—only to be followed by Pink.
“You can go with them if you want. To the Incogni-District, I mean. And work there legally.”
He didn’t want to do that. And he really didn’t want to live there either.
“I mean, if you keep doing this here, it’ll be illegal. Queen doesn’t like things like that in this part of the city—especially not after what happened.”
He knew this.
Pink didn’t need to follow him just to tell him that.
“White! Can you please just stop for a moment and—”
He was cut off. Spamton stopped and turned to Pink, looking at him, hoping he’d finally let go.
“I mean, right now you still have the chance to choose. If someone reports you, you’ll be sent there—whether you want it or not.” Spamton stared at him, unsure whether Pink was warning him or threatening him. “What’s your deal, Pink?” Pink looked at him, eyes unreadable.
“My deal? I don’t know... depends on how much you cost.”
Spamton understood nothing. First in the bar, it sounded like Pink wanted him to fall. Then it sounded like he wanted to help. And now this? It made no sense.
“It sounds like you’re trying to blackmail me now. What do you want to get out of all this?” Spamton asked, still confused about what was going on in Pink’s mind.
“I just want to give you an offer. Take it—or leave the city by force, my friend.”
Friend.
He always thought Pink was his friend. He and the other Addisons.
Spamton wasn’t their responsibility. They didn’t need to help him. They did it because they were friends, right?
Or maybe they just wanted someone to look down on.
Or maybe he just felt so betrayed that he didn’t know what the real reason was anymore.
And maybe, Pink just wanted to fuck Spamton like every other customer he has.
“White?” Pink asked, waiting too long for an answer.
“5000.”
If Pink wanted to pay for the blackmail, then he should pay.
Spamton had actually wanted to say 10,000.
He wasn’t in the mood to fuck around with Pink — not in that way.
“Don’t treat me like we’re not friends.
Your regular clients pay around 500, right?
I was hoping for a friend discount.”
Pink was a salesman — even in his spare time.
“Not after you threw the blackmail card at me.”
“Fair.
So... 500 DD then?”
“800.”
Sharp. Still mad.
Seeing Pink as just another customer didn’t make it easier —
but it made it bearable.
“Deal.”
Pink smiled like Spamton had just lost the fight between two salesmen.
He paused, looked around, then asked:
“So we fuck right here in the alley or...?”
“I don’t do this in public.
At least I want a bed under me.”
“Then we go to your place. It’s nearby.”
“I don’t go to my place either.”
“Come on.
I know your place.
It’s not like I’m some stranger who’s never been there.
Give me at least that.”
(I should give you nothing), Spamton thought.
But he said yes.
He just wanted to get it over with.
Spamton made a lot of mistakes that evening.
The first was that he didn’t stay home and just watch TV-Time — he loved the host of the show, always bringing a smile to his face.
The second mistake was not going home straight after the escalation at the bar.
And the third mistake was entering his apartment with him.
Spamton lived in a one-room flat —
living room, bedroom, and kitchen all crammed into the same space.
There was a tiny restroom with a bathtub, barely enough to stretch in.
The kitchenette was barely used.
No table.
Just one lonely chair, buried under dirty laundry.
A bed.
A closed wardrobe.
A shelf with a CRT perched on top.
It was messier than Pink expected: dirty laundry lying around, dishes untouched for days, some pipis — the perfect place for the kind of activity they were about to do.
Spamton didn’t waste time. He grabbed his work bag — the one he used for his second business. Inside were condoms, cosmetic wipes, lube, and some other things. He threw it into Pink’s hands while starting to undress.
He lay down on the bed, waiting for Pink, who inspected the contents of the bag, understanding what the other Addison wanted from him.
Spamton didn’t move.
He just lay there with his eyes closed until he felt Pink crawling into the sheets, over him.
“Can I start?” he asked.
“Yeah, bring it on,” Spamton replied in a monotone, disinterested voice.
Carefully, Pink positioned himself at the smaller mans entrance. The wet and cold lube give him a shiver.
“Should I touch you too?”
“Did you never have sex?” Spamton answered.
“Of course I’ve had sex. Just never with something like you.”
Spamton ignored that.
“Just do what you need to do.”
Pink nodded and slowly pushed his whole length in. He stayed like that — far too long for Spamton’s liking.
“...Move!” Spamton commanded looking at Pink.
“Oh, sorry. I just wanted to give you a little time to get used to it,” he laughed quietly.
(Liar.)
What did he think the lube was for? And besides that, his stupid arrogant grin said everything — he just wanted to please himself.
Pink begin to trust slowly then he leaned in, trying to kiss Spamton’s cheek, but was stopped.
“Don’t.” Spamton looked away again. “I don’t want this.”
For a little moment it was quiet, the taller Addison was locking puzzeled but nodded shortly.
“I’m sorry.”
Spamton wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for — the kiss, or what he was doing after that.
Pink wasn’t slow anymore. He slammed into him — like he wanted it to hurt.
He got faster, and faster, and faster.
His cock thrust into his inner walls like a dagger, and the more Pink clenched his teeth to hold back a growling moan of ecstasy, the more the smaller one couldn’t breathe anymore to keep up.
His speed matched the frantic rhythm of the little heart in Spamton’s chest.
This didn’t feel like the usual customer sex.
This was worse.
Much, much worse.
Like he had said yes to being raped.
Said yes to being paid to be raped.
He was close to crying but kept himself together.
“Y-you know...” Pink started, still slamming into Spamton’s small body, not losing speed or force. “I—I didn’t want to do this!”
“–Why, ah-ahh” was all Spamton managed to say, trying to hold his breath and mind together as best he could.
“To see... if it suits you better.”
Something broke in Spamton.
He saw the businessman looming over him in his mind’s eye.
He had avoided looking at that man, and yet his face — that predatory smile — was burned deep into Spamton’s memory.
Because without him, he wouldn’t be in this situation now.
He started crying, trying to hold the tears back, but some of them ran down his face.
When his clients went back to the Incogni-District — if he lost them — what would he do?
Was that what Pink wanted?
For him to follow them voluntarily?
Because now, this whole thing he started was over here.
He couldn’t stop his tears anymore, and Pink slowed down.
“You won’t survive there. You know that.”
Was he reading his mind?
“They have more selection.
Cheaper.
Better.
With more offerings.
Whether you quit and stay here, or follow them — nothing changes.”
Pink wiped some tears away while holding Spamton’s face with one hand to calm him make the tearful eyes look at him.
“Nothing changes,” he repeated. “Everything turns back to how it was before. And you’ll be nothing more than a simple—”
(Dance, my little puppet.)
Spamton didn’t hear what Pink said at the end. He started crying even harder, hiding his face under his arms.
“Don’t cry, White. I paid for a good time, remember?”
Pink sped up again — this time without pause, without mercy.
Now he started to touch Spamton’s dick, moving it in rhythm with his thrusts, the grip too strong for the little one beneath him.
No one after the Businessman had ever made the effort to touch him.
Spamton wanted him to stop, but he had no energy or strength left to do anything.
It was too much.
His body burned.
His heart hurt.
His soul felt like it didn’t want to be in this body anymore — searching for a new and better vessel, because this one was beyond repair.
Broken.
Spamton was kicked out of the fuzziness his mind had tuned him into when he felt fluid being shot into his body.
He was in shock for a moment — They had forgotten the condom.
Pink pulled out.
“You’re not worth that much money, you know. Don’t follow them.”
Maybe some part of Pink wanted really to help.
Maybe he just wanted to taste Spamton once.
But in the end, he was just someone who had the power to take what he wanted and he took as much as he could.
The little Puppet didn’t move.
He just let the tears run down his face until they were gone.
Pink was already long gone.
The wind didn’t blow anymore.
He had lost sight of the way south.
The others — far, far away.
This bird was now falling under the heavy gravity of reality.
Everything was a mistake.
Notes:
To ask google what a hooker cost wasn't on my to do list this year but well, here we are XD
Chapter 4: ...the end?
Chapter Text
Chapter 4
Spamton lay there for he didn’t know how long, ignoring the wet feeling beneath him.
He sat up.
The air smelled weird, the whole atmosphere in his domain felt off.
The 800 DD Pink had left behind sat untouched on the shelf.
Spamton didn’t even glance at it as he dragged himself into the bathroom,
his steps heavy, his body aching in places he didn’t want to name.
After he was dressed again, he stood in the middle of the doorway between his living room and the bath.
The air still felt strange.
He didn’t want to be here right now.
Outside, the world seemed so normal.
The neon signs blinked in their usual rhythm.
Night walks weren’t really his thing, but now it felt good just to wander around.
It was still the middle of the night.
His feet carried him without thought, until he found himself in a small park.
He sat alone on a bench.
His thoughts were coming back to him.
That was bad.
He didn’t want to think about—well, everything.
There was a man behind a tree.
The little salesman got hit by panic as he spotted this strange-looking man.
The man looked strange — not like anyone from Cyber City.
Too smooth. Too quiet. Too... wrong.
He looked quickly to the left and right to see if any help was nearby, but the moment he looked back to the tree the man had stood behind, he was gone.
“AAHHHHH!”
Spamton screamed, voice cracking,
as he realized the man was now standing directly in front of him.
Like he’d teleported.
Like reality had glitched.
With calm and no sound, the man, looked down at Spamton, who still sat on the bench, frightened for his life.
He said something in a language that was beyond Spamton’s understanding.
Slowly, he raised his fist meaningfully, like he wanted to offer Spamton what he was holding.
Spamton was still in shock and fear but opened his hand to accept the “gift.”
He was now locking at his hand. The offering—a dark piece of... glass — felt weird but also special.
He looked up — but the man was gone.
No footsteps.
No sound.
Just absence.
Spamton’s gaze returned to the shard.
It shimmered again,
and instinctively, he held it up to his eye.
Through it, he saw something.
A laptop?
He leaned in, trying to see more —
but was interrupted by a sudden, sharp sound.
A telephone.
He turned.
A booth stood nearby, glowing faintly.
Had that been there before?
Like he was led by magic, he stand up and entered the box to pick up.
“H-hello...” he spoke.
The voice that answered sounded like... like it was from heaven.
It told him his future, a prophecy.
It told him so, so much—but not everything was in words, if there were words in the first place.
It was like he saw it through his eyes, like it was sent directly into his brain.
After the voice left his head, Spamton hung up.
He looked at the glass crystal in his hand again.
His life would change.
He just needed to follow the instructions.
OH HEAVEN—he couldn’t stop smiling.
It wasn’t the last telephone call for Spamton.
Many followed.
Sometimes two or three times a week, and sometimes he heard nothing for two weeks.
All depended on how he followed the instructions and lived his life.
And his life was great.
It was like he was in the spotlight of the Lightners.
Sales running high.
He opened up a car dealership for Cungederos—Big Shot Auto.
This company was everything to him—he loved selling these cars, driving these cars, and making ads all over the city for them.
The moment he began to become big, to finally be more than just a simple...
Well, he smiled into the mirror, looking at himself.
The face that looked back didn’t suit him anymore.
He needed to change something.
Coloring his white hair black and using hair gel wasn’t his first idea, but holy Cungedero—sales rise after that more than ever.
They saw in him more than just a simple Addison.
He felt more than a simple Addison, he was Spamton G. Spamton.
In the end, Queen offered him an apartment in the castle.
Everyone knew him.
Everyone bought his stuff.
He looked at the shadow crystal he always kept with him as a lucky charm.
Life had never been better.
One day, the telephone rang.
It sounded normal—when Heaven called, it sounded different.
But it seemed that only Spamton could hear the difference.
A Swatchling announced a visitor. He sounded unsure if Spamton really knew him, but when the name Orange was mentioned, Spamton allowed it.
It didn’t take long, and Spamton let Orange into his new apartment—big, clean, modern.
Wide windows stretched across the wall, offering a panoramic view of Cyber City — its lights blinking like distant thoughts.
A sleek built-in bar gleamed under soft lighting.
A large luxury sofa sat in the center,
its cushions untouched, almost too perfect.
But Spamton still had the habit of leaving his pipis lying around.
“It’s really you!” Orange hugged the smaller one, who was happy too but barely returned the hug.
“Wow, this place is huge,” Orange said, looking around while Spamton leaned his way to the gigantic couch, where both of them sat down.
“Long time no see, Orange. How are you and the others?” Spamton spoke while lighting up a cigar.
“Same as always for us. But you—you really made it.”
Spamton smiled and offered Orange a cigar, which he refused.
“How did you manage to become so big?” he asked.
“It’s a big shot secret—haehaehaeh!” he laughed.
“Looks like you never need to borrow money from us anymore, haha.”
Of course, that was the reason he was here.
Spamton always thought Orange was the nicest of all the Addisons, but that didn’t mean he was different from the others who wanted a piece of his great life.
The big shot took out his wallet, pulled out a lot of money.
“I don’t know how much you gave me over the years, but this should be enough.”
He threw it on the couch table near Orange like it was nothing.
“What? No —that’s not the reason I was visiting you!”
It was hard for Orange not to look at the money. It lay there like a frostbitten fruit.
“I don’t want your money.” Regret was audible in his voice.
“If you’re not here because of that, then why are you here?” Spamton asked, already having decided not to believe the answer.
“Well... to see you. To see if it’s really you. To see if life treats you well,” he explained.
Spamton laughed again. “I live in Queen’s fucking castle, Orange!”
Orange jumped at Spamton’s loud voice.
“Of course life treats me good! Better than good! If you want to see me, look at all the ads out there—my face is everywhere!”
Orange looked out the giant windows.
Yeah, his face was everywhere.
“That’s not the same. I want to see you like in the old times.”
“I hate the old times. My life now is better than ever. I don’t need your pity anymore. I’m happy the past is finally over, and I don’t ever want to look back at it.”
“White, I’m—”
Orange was cut off.
“My name is Spamton G. Spamton. I don’t want to be called like that anymore.”
Orange didn’t know what to say. He just stared at Spamton, puzzled if this was really him.
Was he always like this—or just now?
“I have deals to make. You know where the exit is. Take the Kromer if you want—for the ‘good’ old times. You earned it.”
After this, Spamton went to his telephone, ignoring Orange, who still sat on the couch, looking at the money again.
He didn’t want to take the money.
On the other hand... this was a lot.
If this was the last time these two saw each other, then... why not?
*Of course he took it.*
The others didn’t come to visit.
Once, Spamton saw Yellow on the street.
He pulled out a few Dark Dollars and offered them to him — just to clean his shoes.
Yellow didn’t even look at the money.
He just said, “Fuck you,” in his face and walked off.
Spamton didn’t mind.
He was someone better now.
Selling his own merch through Swatch in Queen’s Café in the castle.
Everyone wanted to buy a Cungedero car.
He even became the best salesman of 1997.
The past was long forgotten and over.
And his future, like the voice of Heaven said, came in the form of a television.
The Lightners brought the laptop to the house of the Dreemurr's.
Mr. Ant Tenna —
Lord of Screens, master of this new domain
was coming to Queen’s Castle to meet Her Excellence. And another path of fate was opening.
Notes:
I speed up that chapter, I didn’t want to write a 3000-word chapter just to show that Spamton becomes an asshole lol
Chapter 5: ...just a game
Chapter Text
Chapter 5
Tenna was one of his kind. The first time Spamton saw him, he was surprised. Spamton knew this man from TV-Time — he was none other than the host of the show.
A show everybody loved, and a show Spamton wanted to be part of.
And Spamton always got what he wanted now.
He held the little dark glass in his pocket and made a step into his new future.
Tenna was in Swatch Café in Queen’s Castle. First, he had talked with Queen, and now he was left alone by her decision to take a quick swim in the free pool.
A chance Mr. Big Shot wouldn’t let slip through his hands.
“Mr. Ant Tenna, right?” he said, now sitting in front of Tenna.
The Showman was much bigger than he tough.
His goofy smile gives Spamton the feeling that this would be a simple game.
“Ehhhm... Mr. Spamton, right?” Tenna answered after thinking he got the name right. He meet so much new Darkner that day it was hard to keep track.
“Right! I’m a fan of your show, and I want to make an off—”
“I’m flattered, but,” Tenna interrupted, “I’m not here to work.”
“Of course, work isn’t everything,” Spamton lied.
“While you're here, how about you tell me about your world? Mrs. Q5U4EX7YY2E9N was a little airheaded and I had some trouble understanding some words.”
“Mrs. Who?... Do you mean Queen?” How was he able to remember that keyboard-slip name? Spamton thought.
“Oh yeah, Queen. I think that’s way easier.”
“Yeah, no problem.” First small talk, then business — no problem for Spamton.
He often played that game. “What questions do you have?”
The smaller man tried really hard to keep eye contact.
That was harder than he thought with a TV-headed robot with just a pointy nose, mouth, and two antennas on his head.
Spamton tried to explain some things about this world Tenna asked him.
There were a lot of differences between their worlds, and Tenna seemed not to understand everything.
After a while, the questions became a little more personal — personal likes, dislikes, habits. They talked about all kinds of stuff, sitting there for hours.
It seems like the had a lot in common and even when Spamton didn't notice he had a really good time just to talk with the Showman.
“Okay, I just need to ask,” Spamton began, “where are your eyes? How do you look? Are your antennas your eyes?”
The TV Head laughed. “No, my antennas are for communication. I send things with them to Mike, and he can talk back to me through them. They’re like a telephone stuck to my head — but it seems to only work in TV World. I have no reception here.”
He made a little pause.
“My eyes... well, I don’t really have eyes, but I see through my screen.”
Spamton looked at Tenna’s face again. “Then I just look at your screen?” It was more a memo to himself than an answer to Tenna.
“That’s what every TV loves! But letting me run in the background so you can sleep better works too. I love to help.”
“When I don’t watch your show, I do that too. Sometimes.” Spamton smiled.
“Do you watch my show often?” Tenna asked.
Spamton almost forgot that this was the reason he spoke to Tenna in the first place. He was so distracted by Tenna’s personality that he almost forgot.
But now he was back on track — to become part of the show.
Some nice words, some tips, and some big shot magic, and soon he stood on the stage of TV-Time, making advertises on TV.
The plan took longer than Spamton thought. Some meet ups, smalltalk and tips later, he signed the TV contract.
First, he was just a sponsor, but soon thanks to some phone calls he got he stood with Tenna on the stage.
Everything as planned.
Spamton learned fast how TV World was built and learned much about Tenna too.
Usually, a stage man is backstage — not the same person. But Tenna was the same wherever he was.
He was energetic, worked with a lot of flattery, and got easily stressed when things didn’t work as planned.
When the man was happy, his body grew to a gigantic state, and sometimes a flower popped up on his nose.
A wonder he never broke the ceiling.
You couldn’t afford to have megalophobia around him.
On the other hand, when he was depressed, he could shrink his whole body and was even shorter than Spamton.
Spamton figured out soon that his defense was low — TVs were more fragile than he thought.
But then, the other day, one of Spamton’s Cungederos was in the wrong place, and Tenna lifted up the car like it was nothing.
When asked how he lifted it so easily, he just said, “What do you think the ‘Ant’ stands for in my name?”
Five minutes later, Elnina casually mentioned that when Tenna gets really angry,
he can grow two extra arms.
Spamton took note.
This guy had some terrifying perks.
No wonder he kept up the nice-and-silly act.
The kid-friendly TV didn’t want to be scary.
Spamton decided he didn’t want to be around if that side ever showed up —
or at least, he wanted to be the one holding the remote.
Besides that, he loved his audience — especially his Lightner audience: the Dreemurr's, and sometimes the Holidays too.
For Spamton, it was just a job like everything else — a way to sell more things and be seen by more people.
But the vibe was right.
He’d been here for a month and now tried slowly to get more time for ads, but Tenna refused every time.
“How about a bet?” asked Tenna.
“A bet? What kind?” Spamton sat on the couch in Tenna’s office, asking what Tenna had in mind.
The Showman smiled. “We play a game. Every time you win, you get one more minute of ad time. And every time I win, we play again — just a little challenging fun.” he explained.
Spamton thought about whether there were any disadvantages, but on the other hand, it was Tenna — not the Devil.
He probably just want to play one of his stupid games with him.
“Okay, I bite. What kind of game is it?” The dealmaker just wanted to know what he was dealing with.
“A video game the kids love to play!”
Great.
A video game.
Tenna didn’t know what he was getting into, Spamton thought.
He came from Cyber City — a digital world. He was like a video game character.
At the end of the day, he’d have three more hours of ad time by just playing a stupid kids’ game.
“Splendid!” Tenna jumped up, ready to play. “Follow me, the game room is this way.”
TV World was full of monitors, but the monitor on the stage and the one in the gaming room were the biggest Spamton had seen so far.
In front of it, a couch big enough for four people.
“What exactly do we play?” Spamton asked — not that he expected a challenge.
A kids’ game couldn’t be that hard, especially not against Tenna.
“Smashing Fighter!” Tenna said, handing Spamton his controller as he sat on the couch.
“Smash-ing Fight... this has nothing to do with that weird cartoon where muscular guys punch each other over some crystal balls, does it?” Spamton asked.
“You mean Dragon Wish X? No, this is something else,” Tenna explained and started the game.
Spamton was a little relieved.
He remembered the day when the protagonist was fighting against a pink demon thingy, and everyone — the two Lightner kids in front of the TV and everyone in the TV World studio — raised their hands in the air to give him their ‘energy.’
A stupid act Spamton didn’t understand.
“Do you need an explanation for the controls?” the taller man asked, pulling Spamton out of his flashback.
“Pfft, no. I’ll figure it out, no problem. We can start.”
Spamton knew how games worked — easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Spamton didn’t know what happened. He tried every character, even looked at the manuals — he lost every time.
After that, he told Tenna he should stop playing that Mr. Watch-and-Play character who looked like a shadow guy.
And even then, he lost.
“Are you giving up?” The TV asked the moment he punched Spamton’s character off the stage.
“No! I’ll win this time. I still have a life!” Spamton was really into it now.
Mr. Big Shot was on fire — he really wanted to win.
But on the other hand, he was having real fun with Tenna.
They talked alongside, about everything that came to mind.
It was just like their first meeting.
After two hours of game time, Spamton finally won a battle and celebrated like he’d won the fight of his life.
“Congratulations! You get one more minute for your ads, Spammy.”
Clapping his hands, a flower popped up on Tenna’s nose.
He was really happy that Spamton finally managed to win against him.
The small man sat back down, a little embarrassed by his cheering.
“You know,” Tenna began, now calmer, “you always seem like there’s nothing else than just your sales.
I know your work makes you happy — I know that feeling.
But sometimes it’s good to do something else, or even something new.
And it’s even more fun with a friend.
I’m happy you spent time with me today.”
Spamton looked at Tenna. He said they were friends.
Spamton had no friends. He had good partners — business partners.
They were all in an ocean full of weak fish and brutal sharks.
And Spamton?
He was a shark, just here for the good business.
The moment there’s nothing more to eat, he needs to keep swimming.
But...
He didn’t know why, but he felt happy that Tenna called him his friend.
“You sound like the evening is already over. I just have one minute — and now that I know how to win, I won’t stop. Now I have the steering wheel in my hand,” Spamton said with his usual smile.
“Haha, good thing I didn’t choose the kart game,” Tenna laughed, choosing his usual character again.
“Wait — there was a racing game and you threw this shit at me?!” Spamton yelled, playfully angry.
“When you give up, we can play that one just for fun, if you want.”
“Next time, Ten’s — and then I’ll be on the upper hand.”
At the end, Spamton had 3 extra minutes — and more fun game nights planned with Tenna.
Maybe it was okay to have one friend.
Notes:
I know kris and Asriel played the old Super Smash but Mr. game and Watch was the best character for Tenna and forgive me for the dragonball reference I needed to do this XD
Chapter 6: ...my true self
Notes:
Awww the slow burn, it burrrnnsss. I'm sorry things are moving so slowly right now, but I really want them to build a real relationship.
By the way, this fucking < em > thing is a pain in the ass. I don’t know why it doesn’t work. And if you see something in (shit like this), it’s in Spamton’s mind — whether it’s italic or not.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 6
Tenna was furious.
He was backstage after the show with Spamton confronted him with his latest mistake.
“What were you thinking?” Loud enough that no one wanted to get near their boss in that moment.
“It wasn’t that bad, come on — just a tiny slip, they probably overheard it. And anyway, it’s Mike’s fault he didn’t censor it in time,” Spamton tried to get away with it.
Tenna’s eyes narrowed.
“You know Mike had nothing to do with it.
You forgot to turn the censor filter on. Again.”
He had told Spamton so often to turn the censor filter on when they were on set. They had enough to do, the Pippins were most of the time useless, the shadowguy over dramatic, the water cooler is terrifying, and Mike — Mike was an angel.
He did so much, it was unnecessary to give him more work or blame him for something.
“And what if they didn’t overhear it like you said?” Tenna asked, now more frustrated than mad. “What if they start saying that word in front of Toriel, and then she asks, ‘Oh Kris, where did you learn that?’ What do you think would happen?”
“I don’t know... they’re not allowed to watch TV or that show for a while?”
Spamton still didn’t see the problem. If something really bad were going to happen, the voice in the telephone would’ve warned him.
But the phone had been silent for three days — that always meant nothing special was happening, nothing he needed to be warned about, and everything would go like it should.
The Screen was starring at him.
“And?”
And what? Spamton was thinking, unsure if he had forgotten something, so he just guessed the answer.
“Weeee~ have more time for adult shows? They bring the money anyway, so I—”
“Is that all you think about?” Tenna was back to being mad again.
Spamton knew that Tenna was never mad at him for long,
so he wasn’t really worried at all.
And Tenna knew that Spamton knew — and that made him even madder.
The fact that he'd forgive the little man so easily, let him slip out of trouble again, was infuriating.
“N-no, I care for the kids as much as you do!”
Spamton blurted out.
This wasn’t really a lie. Kids brought money too, but they were never his target group for sales.
Tenna was back to being frustrated. He wanted the Mailman to learn at least something from this — but got interrupted by Ramb.
“Boss, your meeting with the producer of that new kids’ show is here. He’s waiting in the conference room.”
Spamton was never so happy to see Ramb.
“Great. Okay, if Kris isn’t allowed to watch this show anymore, maybe this new kids’ show could save us.”
Tenna was still stressed over the whole situation.
“Sounds good to me.”
“How about you do the talking as a little apology? I need a break,” Tenna calmed himself.
“Fine by me, Doll. But you know you need to at least be with us in the meeting.”
“Yeah.” Tenna was still mad — but not for long.
Just a little yapping with a guy who was already ready to sign a contract, and Tenna would be happy again.
Spamton followed Tenna into the conference room.
His smile vanished the moment he saw who was waiting.
The Businessman.
Not just any businessman —
the Businessman from his past.
He was sitting at the far end of the table, hands folded, posture perfect.
Still dressed like success itself.
Still radiating that quiet pressure Spamton remembered too well.
Tenna gave his hand to the man and said hello, while Spamton still stood in the doorway like a deer in the spotlight.
The man looked at him directly, waiting.
Did he recognize Spamton?
Of course not — he was someone else now. He looked different now. Nothing to worry about.
Spamton gave him his hand, said hello — but as their hands touched, it was like something ran over his body.
The man made a strange expression, like he had heard something familiar.
Spamton’s voice.
His voice was the same.
He sat down quickly, trying not to show how tense he was.
His fingers gripped the edge of the chair.
His smile was a painful fake.
The man began to speak.
Spamton didn’t hear a word.
His voice was like poison in Spamton’s ears.
He didn’t want to hear it.
Tenna and the man were now looking at him.
There was a question Spamton hadn’t heard — he just needed to answer.
(What was the question again?)
It wasn’t important. He just needed to talk.
(There’s nothing to worry about.
Just talk like you always do.
You’re someone completely else now.
The Addison Spamton is gone.)
Spamton tried to calm himself in his mind.
He was Big Shot Spamton now.
He lived in Queen’s Castle.
He was Co-star of TV-Time, right next to Tenna.
No one was bigger than him — so why the FUCK was he still not talking?
He gripped his knees.
(Just start talking already, you idiot!)
He looked for a moment at the man — but then had to look away.
Away from...
For some reason, Spamton felt like a hundred hands were touching him everywhere.
A powerless feeling ran over him.
His body remembered things his mind had closed off deep down a long time ago.
A voice — not Spamton’s — finally spoke.
“Spamton, you good?”
Tenna laid a hand on Spamton’s shoulder.
The smaller one jumped at the giant real hand that now touched him.
With wide eyes he stared at Tenna like he had pulled him back into the present.
“How about you wait outside until you feel better?”
(Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!)
Without a word, he slowly stood up, avoided the face of the Businessman, and left the room.
Spamton stood alone in the hallway, the closed door of the meeting room behind him.
He really needed a telephone call right now... or something to drink.
Something strong.
In the lobby was a gift shop and a bar run by Ramb, and thanks to that man being in a good mood, he was giving Spamton the medicine he needed.
These two weren’t friends, but they didn’t hate each other either — it was a live-and-let-live relationship.
Spamton had no other friends here than Tenna.
He barely talked to the weather duo.
Elnina and her husband Lanino were sometimes fun to talk to, but nothing more.
Mike was... well, Mike was someone special.
No one was ever mad at him.
Everybody — even Spamton — loved this guy.
But Spamton couldn’t say they talked much or knew each other well.
Mike was just always there and did his job like a fucking magician.
And everyone else was just forgettable.
Spamton didn’t care for the little workers — they were replaceable.
He sat at the bar for about an hour, talked to no one, but had some time to calm himself down.
Tenna finally came, slowly waving as he saw his little Mailman.
That meant the meeting was over — and the guy was finally gone.
“Hey there, Superstar. Wanna drink with me and tell me how the meeting was?”
Spamton was thinking Tenna would say something like he was a hopeless idiot, but then take the offer and drink with him.
“We need to talk in my office. Now.”
“Y-yeah, sure...”
This was bad.
There was no gesture, no flawless emotion like Tenna usually acted with —
this was serious.
Tenna was silent while they were going. He never was this silent and Spamton doesn't feel safe. What if the guy recognize him?
Spamton was about to panic again, he was afraid, not of the Man but what he was, what he was for Spamton and what Spamton was back then.
When he told Tenna about him, when people found out about that one of the biggest faces of TV once was a fucking prostitute.
For a moment he worried a lot, he holds the Shadow Crytal in his pockets while they walked in the office.
And then it hits him.
Why was he worried, there was no prof.
Even if that fuckface told Tenna everything, he could just act like it was a lie.
(Yeah. Just deny it.
Call him a lying bastard. Problem solved.)
His smile crept back onto his face.
Because the big TV was still silent and serious, Spamton decided to sit on one of the chairs instead of his usual spot on the couch.
A little distance felt safer.
“Seems like you’re feeling better now,” the bigger one finally spoke.
“Y-Yeah.”
“What was wrong with you?” Tenna’s screen stayed dim. His voice was calm, but his face was serious.
“What do you mean, i just didn't feel well?”
“You suddenly looked like Noelle when we run a horror movie.”
Tenna paused.
“Our guest thought you were just sick, but I know something was off.”
(He really didn’t recognize me!)
Tenna wasn’t stupid. He probably already figured out that Spamton and the man had a backstory.
So the plan was to say yes.
Say the guy was all talk, no delivery.
Big plans, low input.
Bad at his job.
It’d be stupid to put his show on the programming.
Sad for the little ones — what were their names again?
Frisk and Togore?
Well, they’d survive.
Spamton hadn’t answered yet. He was too deep into scheming.
Tenna kept talking.
“You two have a lot in common.”
(Wait, what?!)
The words hit him like a slap.
“I was talking beside business with him and noticed that. Because of that, I had a good feeling at first—”
Tenna was cut off the moment Spamton shot up, his hands slamming onto the office table.
“I AM NOT LIKE HIM!”
The words exploded out of him — louder than he meant, sharper than he wanted.
Tenna flinched.
Spamton hadn’t planned to yell. Not at Tenna. But something inside him cracked.
The big TV looked at him for a moment, almost startled.
The maller man felt a brief sting of regret.
He hadn’t wanted to make a scene.
There was a pause — a chance for Tenna to say something.
“He shares your enthusiasm,” Tenna continued, voice steady.
“That soft smile to hide what’s underneath.
The way you look at people — like they’re part of the deal.
He’s just here for the business. Just like you.”
“I never said that.”
The TV head nodded.
“Not to me. And not when you’re sober. And that’s not even the point. It’s not wrong to be here for business,” Tenna said, his voice softer now.
But there was something in his eyes — like he wished it wasn’t true.
“Arrgh, the thing is...”
He tried to get back to what he wanted to say.
“I just see some parallels. And I noticed that you probably know each other and had some kind of business together.”
(Business... yeah, business...)
“This wasn’t business...”
Spamton’s voice dropped.
“I worked... for him.”
He sat back down, slowly.
The words tasted bitter.
Like something he’d never wanted to say out loud.
He thought about what the man once was — and what he still is.
“That arrogant asshole treated me like...”
(A sex toy? A worthless object? His doll who amused him for a short time. Thanks to him I...)
There were a lot of words Spamton avoided saying to Tenna, so he just said, “Nothing.”
A pause to check if he said the right thing.
“Didn’t even make the effort to remember my name. Always called me ‘Doll.’”
“You do that to a lot of people here too.
Even call me ‘Doll’ sometimes — and you know my name.”
“That’s...”
(True.)
It was true.
But the salesman was still in self-defense mode.
“That’s something else. I’m not a self-loving moneybag shithole who thinks he can exploit a poor guy by waving money in his face and getting whatever he wants.”
Spamton thought he’d made a point — but now it was Tenna’s turn again.
“Last week you gave that little plug boy 50 Dark Dollars when he cleaned your shoe in the middle of the street, because you accidentally made them dirty.
He cleaned it with his shirt.
And I was mad at you, remember?”
Silence.
“That’s not—”
“THAT’S THE SAME, SPAMTON.”
Now Tenna was the one who was loud and pushed the smaller one back to his seat.
“I’ve seen you act like this plenty of times. You’re not better than him.”
A pause.
“But also not worse... just similar, I think.
I don’t know what he did to you.
But I know what you did while you were here.”
Mr. Big Shot was just listening.
His glare was fixed on the floor.
“You scream at people. Fire them for the smallest mistake.
You act like exactly like a self-loving moneybag.”
Tenna’s voice wasn’t angry — just tired.
“Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
He understood.
And stayed silent.
Because Tenna was right.
“Spamton, you’re my friend. And I like you for who you are.
You don’t need to pretend to be someone better.
I know your dark side.
And I like your good sides.
If you try to remember who you were before you became a Big Shot, maybe you’ll understand that some of your behavior is bad.”
Something was now running in Spamton’s head.
“It’s not wrong to act like a boss sometimes. Or be a little bit glooby. We all—”
“Who...” Spamton cut Tenna off.
“Who were you before TV-Time?”
His voice was a little desperate.
In Spamton’s dim eyes, Tenna could see that this wasn’t just a distraction.
He was trying to understand something with this question.
The TV head folded his hands in front of his face and thought about where he should begin.
Tenna was one of those Darkners who had meaning to a Lightner — and became more than just a living object in the Dark World.
Just like Queen, who was a laptop.
All the other Darkners — like the Plugboys, Pippins, Zapper, and Spamton himself — were just part of the Dark World that was created around them.
In the basement of Queen’s Castle was an empty shell.
A dream a Lightner had made a long time ago.
Spamton was often down there, praying near this empty body — thanking Heaven for the help, asking for advice, hoping to be more.
He had so much, and still wanted more.
A normal feeling everyone has.
No one except him went down there.
They just let it be, because it was kind of part of their world now.
Nothing more.
Tenna was in direct contact with the Lightners.
He could see them.
He was a loved object by them and had his own way to talk to them — in some kind of way.
He was not just a simple TV.
He was the Dreemurr's TV.
And the Lord of this Dark World.
“A TV,” he simply said after his pause.
“One of many others in an electronics shop.”
(“Just a TV?...)
Spamton looked at the taller man — no emotion, just listening, waiting for something.
Whatever it was, he wanted to hear it. Or understand it.
“There were a lot like me. Some from another branch, but some looked exactly like me.”
His body language calmed a little.
“Back then I wasn’t known as the handsome and charming ‘Ant Tenna Dreemurr, Lord of Screens.’ Haha.
They knew me as Serial Number DEL-4N7-10A, Model CR7 of the AnoyFoxDog branch...
Still have the branch name on my body as a tattoo.”
A light chuckle came from Spamton.
“A tattoo? Where?”
“Nahh, it’s a little bit embarrassing.”
“A tramp stamp?” a glimp of his natural confident self was for a short moment back.
“No, it’s... large. On my chest.”
Tenna replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ha, now I want to see it,” Spamton said without thinking — and blushed lightly at the realization of his words.
The screen of the TV turned pink for a moment too.
Then Tenna started to untie his tie.
(NO WAY!)
And now he was unbuttoning his shirt.
The salesman stared at Tenna’s fingers like they were performing some magic trick.
After the first glimpse of metallic skin, Spamton felt like the room got a tiny bit warmer.
There it was — the AnoyFoxDog logo name.
But the Big Shot’s eyes weren’t fixed on the branch name.
They lingered on everything around it.
He had never seen this much of his business partner before.
Only the TV head — the rest was always hidden in his suit, fancy red blazer, and gloves.
Thinking about how he could see more of Tenna — and that a beach special would be a good chance for that — his blood started to run to another part of his body.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up.
And when his mind did catch up, it panicked.
This was a feeling he hadn’t had for a long time.
And it confused him completely.
“I was like the others. We all broadcast the same show,” Tenna began again, while he started to get dressed.
The smaller man was relieved — and disappointed — by that.
“The Lightners choose very carefully. Depends on how big or small you are in their world. The price, and how your screen shows things.”
Spamton was a salesman who sold all kinds of things in the Dark World — and by email, even in the Light World.
Tenna was a thing in the Light World who got sold by a Lightner.
It was kind of a weird paradox, how their worlds were connected.
It’s better not to think about it too hard.
“The Dreemurr's showed up and bought me.
I didn’t act better than the others, or show more...
I was just at the right corner of the shop, next to five others who were exactly like me.
It was luck. Nothing more.”
For a short moment, the other Addisons came into Spamton’s mind — and how different he was from them.
“And even when it was just luck,” Tenna kept going,
“I want to give them the best performance I can.
Still want to show them that I’m more than just a TV.
To show them that I love being part of this family.”
He didn’t know what else he should tell Spamton — or what Spamton wanted to hear.
But he smiled a little when Spamton was about to take a breath for the words he was about to say.
“I was nothing before all that.” He presented his body.
“I had a lot of luck too... But I don’t like to remember who… and what I was back then.
Maybe I was always like this... but didn’t have the ability to live it.
Not like I can now.”
“I don’t know about your past, and it’s okay if you don’t tell me — if you don’t feel comfortable with it.
But please, stop running away from it.
Even when it’s slow, the immortal snail will get you one day.”
Spamton laughed now.
“Of all the Internet things I ever told you, this is the only one you clearly remember.”
“Of course! I love that story. Toriel and I are big fans of snails.
We watch every documentary and cook every recipe with them.”
“It wasn’t even a story. It was a theoretical—
You know what, never mind.”
Spamton made a little pause.
“I-I... thank you. I’ll remember it.”
The screen caught the soft smile Spamton had.
He was really thinking about his behavior.
“Anytime, my friend.”
Spamton had never had a friend like Tenna.
Not even Orange had been like this back then.
A friend he trusted enough to tell him anything.
A friend he trusted enough to take off his mask —
But the mask had been on his face for so long, it was hard to remove.
He was about to leave the office, but got stopped by Tenna’s voice.
“One last thing.”
Spamton looked back.
“This guy... really makes you feel uncomfortable, right?”
(More than uncomfortable...)
“Right...”
“Then I don’t want him here either.
We cancel it.”
He didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t need to.
Tenna had already seen it — in the way Spamton walked out without looking back.
A grateful smile and a little pink blush were on Spamton’s face.
Maybe he wasn’t ready to take off the mask.
But for the first time, he thought about what it would feel like.
And that was enough for today.
Notes:
Tenna: "You cant cute you way out of this you little shit!"
Spamton: UwU
Chapter 7: ...my first kiss
Notes:
Sorry if my greyaromantic ass made this too cringe — but yeah, I’m a sucker for submassive Spamton. Just give the gremlin a hug… or his giant boytoy back.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 7
It’s two months since their conversation in the office.
Spamton really tries to be better — tries not to scream at everyone.
He even started talking to his coworkers, like the weather duo.
He tries to be a part of TV-Time, not just someone who runs alongside.
And the bond between him and Tenna grew stronger — not just on stage, but in the quiet moments in between.
When he’s on stage with Tenna, it feels like he’s close to heaven — Closer than he ever felt with the empty shell in Queen’s Castle.
Maybe it’s because Tenna is close to them.
Or maybe it’s because he’s close to Tenna.
In one way or another, the longer he’s in TV World, the more he feels like he’s home.
Every time the telephone rings and the voice of Heaven echoes in Spamton’s mind, he knows something big is coming — a new idea, a new deal, more Kromer, more Dark World audience.
And the Lightners — they sit in front of their TVs, in front of Tenna, with smiling faces, with sad eyes during drama, shock during horror nights — so many emotions.
And Tenna — he smiles.
He’s happy.
He asks Spamton how he does all this.
What’s this little man’s secret for being... a Big Shot?
He wanted to tell Tenna his secret — but even more, he wanted to be the reason for that smile.
Spamton is on the phone in his office — not with the voice of Heaven, but with a customer for his Big Shot Autos from Cyber City.
Someone knocks at his door, and when the salesman looks up, he sees Elnino — one of the weather duo — with a worried face.
He quits the call as fast as possible and turns his attention to Elnino.
“Elnino, what’s wrong?”
“It’s the Boss. Asgore and Toriel are fighting again — and they turned off the TV.”
Mr. Big Shot stands up, following Elnino to the Western set.
Asgore and Toriel have been fighting a lot lately — and turning Tenna off.
It’s a frustrating time, and Spamton hopes for a call from his connection soon.
On the set, there’s Tenna.
He’s big — bigger than normal.
But not because he’s happy.
Because he’s mad.
His blazer was ruined — his second pair of arms had appeared, and he was raging across the set.
The moment Elnino and Spamton show up, Lanina runs to them.
“Oh good, you brought him. Mr. Spamton, it’s bad. We tried to calm him, but he didn’t hear us and won’t stop destroying the studio. Please — try to talk to him.”
Spamton has never seen the TV so angry.
Normally when Tenna is stressed or mad he smokes but he never destroying things this was new.
Toriel and Asgore fighting more and more, turning him off again and again — it’s bad for everyone in TV World.
The small man walks slowly but with confidence toward Tenna, who is right now punching a train wagon over and over again — hurting himself with every hit.
“Hey big guy.”
It sounds careful, but still with Spamton’s usual flare.
The TV has his back to him.
But at the voice of his partner, he starts to take deep breaths to calm himself before facing him.
“How about we put the extra grabbers away and then talk?”
He gives the big man a moment — and to his relief, Tenna starts to retract his extra arms.
He also starts shrinking.
And shrinking.
And of course — he’s sad now.
“They turned me off again...”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to talk.”
Tenna is now the same height as Spamton, who magically conjures a little F1 helper for Tenna’s injuries.
A little magic trick in the image of himself — with the ability to heal a little.
He learned that along his Big Shot life.
The little helper pats Tenna on the head and heals him — but he’s still sad.
“The ratings are falling,” he says, looking for a short moment at Spamton.
“Can you not do something with your magic?”
His voice is desperate and quiet.
Spamton knows he doesn’t mean another helper or an email — he means the telephone.
But the phone hasn’t spoken much lately.
He doesn’t want to say no to Tenna — so he keeps quiet.
Tenna’s gaze is on the ground.
They both just stand there.
“Do you want to leave now?” Tenna asks quietly — like he doesn’t really want to ask it.
“Why should I leave?”
“The viewers get fewer and fewer.
The Lightners don’t really watch me anymore.”
He shrinks even more — and Mr. Big Shot is now taller than him.
Spamton has never seen an adult smaller than him.
And he’s never seen Tenna so sad.
The now small showman looks up at the big salesman.
“You were here because of the reach you got from TV...
Now that the viewers vanished, I become more and more useless...
I can understand.
You don’t need me anymore.”
That was the plan.
That was what Spamton planned when he made the TV contract with Tenna.
Leave the sinking boat before it sweeps you away.
It wasn’t the first time he did this.
But something in him doesn’t want to leave Tenna.
Doesn’t want him to think he’s leaving because of that.
He didn’t want to flee from the sinking ship.
He wanted to stay with the captain.
Even if the ship was falling apart.
Spamton hugged Tenna, who started sobbing at the contact.
Spamton had never hugged someone smaller than him.
It felt strange.
But it felt right.
But because it’s Tenna — it feels so good too.
He really doesn’t want to leave this pathetic idiot.
“I don’t leave, Ten’s.”
Tenna’s grip in the hug gets stronger.
“I can’t do things with my... ‘magic’ right now.
But I have some new ideas.
And I’m sure they’ll make sure your viewers — not even the Lightners — are able to turn away from your screen.”
He doesn’t lie.
He has some ideas left.
But he’s not sure if they’ll really help Tenna.
But to be a good salesman means to take risks sometimes.
And this stupid TV is every risk worth it.
“So you really don’t want to leave?”
“Of course not. We’re friends.”
Tenna grew back to his usual size — maybe even a little bigger.
Spamton, still in his arms, gets a shock for life by the action.
“OHHHH SPAMMY! Thank you! You don’t know what this means to me!”
A flower pops out of his nose.
The TV is happy again.
And his little Mailman turns red as he gets squeezed by his big fella —
Because the emotions rise in him too.
And because this man has strong arms.
Home sweet home.
Mr. Big Shot entered his apartment, followed by Tenna, who shrank a little to avoid destroying anything in his partner’s home.
“I think I’ve never been in your apartment,” he said, looking around.
“It’s... dirtier than I— no, if I think of your desk in your office, it fits you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Tenna had a teasing smile on his face.
It wasn’t that dirty, but Spamton was one of those guys who had no time for cleaning and often left things lying around.
Tenna was running around the apartment like a curious little puppy, exploring outside his small territory for the first time.
“Don’t forget why we’re here, Ten’s.”
“Yeah, yeah. Silent place to work, because of the loud renovations at the studio.”
He was half ignoring Spamton.
“What are these?” Tenna pointed at a blue, egg-shaped object.
“I remember seeing these in your office — never had the chance to ask you.”
“These are my pipis,” Spamton said without emotion.
Tenna waited for more, but Spamton just looked at him.
Nothing.
He just stared.
“That... explains not much.”
“Can we finally begin? We have a lot of work.”
“Yeah, the new projects. Can’t wait to see what you’ve got in mind.”
Tenna sat next to Spamton on the couch after bringing all the documents where his ideas were written down.
The two worked for hours — refining Spamton’s ideas for the show, planning new events.
“What about the beach special? Why did you cut it out?” Tenna asked.
“Just because. No special reason.”
Spamton wasn’t sure if he could handle it right now — that was the actual reason he cut it off.
“Let me guess — you can’t swim.”
“No comment.”
He really couldn’t swim, but that wasn’t the reason.
*I don’t need Tenna to see me flailing in water. I already drown in enough.
“No problem. Queen has that free pool — I can teach you if you want.”
Tenna seemed all in for this.
“Okay, first: believe me, you don’t want to swim in there.
Second: winter’s coming. A beach special seems a little out of place, don’t you think?”
The showman supported his head with one hand and looked a little disappointed.
“You’re probably right but if you ever change you mind — I'll bring the floaties.”
Spamton ignored that and shifted both their attention to another idea.
It was exhausting — and a lot of fun for both of them.
It was exhausting and a lot of fun for both of them.
Through all the planning, they saw how much of a team they’d become — and how much love they poured into their work.
“How do you manage to get so many unique ideas? Sometimes it feels like you can see the future.”
The big TV leaned back on the couch, his screen black like someone closing their eyes for a break.
“Maybe I can. And maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
“I’d like it if you told me now. Would spare me a lot of sleepless nights.”
“But then you wouldn’t need me anymore — and I’d become sad.”
Spamton said it with no seriousness in his voice and smiled at Tenna.
He was teasing him.
And for a short moment, when Tenna leaned his head away from Spamton, he could swear the screen turned pink.
But then Tenna looked back directly at him.
“Ohh, don’t you worry. You’ll always have a special place in my metallic heart, my little Mailman.”
His Mailman knew that was a poor counter to the mockery — but it worked in another way.
The room felt warmer again — not from heat, but from something softer.
“We should keep working.”
After most of the work was done, Spamton was chilling on the couch with a cigar, while Tenna didn’t say no to the invitation to serve himself at the bar Spamton had in his living room.
He made a drink for Spamton and himself when he saw a picture lying on the bar table that caught his attention.
It lay between some empty glasses that were there for — Tenna didn’t want to know.
The picture was crumpled and straightened again.
It was old and seemed like a part of it was missing.
On the picture was a little white Addison.
He lifted the picture to show it to Spamton, who was still on the couch.
“Who’s that cute little girl? Is that your sister?”
The salesman was surprised by Tenna’s find and hesitated for a moment.
“That’s... me.”
Now Tenna was the surprised one, instantly looking back at the picture.
“Ehh... well... you were a cute kid, haha.”
Another pause.
“I was already an adult in that picture.”
To Tenna’s defense, Addisons didn’t give you much.
Whether they were male or female, their polygon bodies all looked like fruity twinks.
Another reason Spamton was special — his small stature wasn’t really common.
But now he looked less like a typical Addison — something he wanted to achieve with his current appearance.
“Well... you were a cute adult...”
The screen was still on the picture.
“Are you sure that’s you? You look so sweet and innocent in it.”
Tenna held the picture up again so he had both Spamton and the photo in view.
“And now you look... less like people need to be afraid they’ll get arrested if they hit on you, hahaha.”
“Ha ha, very funny. A lot of people wanted to...”
A stitch inside.
He needed to look away.
“You know... if you like the photo so much, keep it.”
“No. If I want a photo of you, I want one of the current version.”
Tenna put the picture aside and took both drinks to bring them to the couch table.
Spamton was still not looking — not because of what he almost said, but because he was red again from Tenna’s words.
This current feeling that rolled over him every time Tenna said something cute was becoming more and more annoying.
“Why did you have the picture there anyway?”
Tenna sat back next to Spamton on the couch and already drank from his glass.
“Do you remember our talk about the past? I just wanted to... it isn’t so important.”
Tenna was sitting again, and they were face to face once more.
Spamton didn’t want to talk about it.
He was too afraid to say too much.
But Tenna had something that made Spamton talk about himself.
He liked talking about himself — but in a different kind of way.
“I have the feeling you don’t like how you looked back then.”
“It’s not my appearance... I don’t know.
It just feels like another person.
But a person who’s still a part of me — and I can’t get rid of it.”
“Because you can’t.
It’ll always be a part of you.
To ignore and forget it means to hurt yourself even more than to let it be part of you and work it out.”
There it was again — Tenna’s soft smile.
The one that made Spamton feel like he could talk about anything with him.
“How can it be that you always have such smart-ass shit at hand?”
He rubbed his neck.
“Well, you can learn a lot from TV — a Dr. Tennavill guarantee!”
Spamton gave a little laugh at that.
“Dr. Tennavill? Don’t make up new nicknames.”
“It’s not made up. They called me that.”
“Who? And why?”
And there was Spamton again — With his mockery and carefree self.
“Okay, keep up — because this one’s a long story.”
The big TV began with a smile.
The two of them just talked about anything for a while, made more drinks, and became more comfy next to each other.
At the late hour of the day, they ended up in a half-cuddly position.
Tenna was leaning back on the couch, and Spamton leaned next into his side.
The arm of the TV was on the top edge of the couch, above Spamton.
At some weird point, the salesman hoped that the arm would drop and start holding him closer to Tenna.
None of them pointed out their position or said anything about it.
It was silent for a while — a good silence.
The only sound was the quiet buzzing from Tenna’s screen.
It was a calm sound.
Spamton leaned closer, closed his eyes, and was slightly on his way to drift away — dreaming, thinking how good the moment was, how good it was with Tenna.
“I wish we could stay like this forever...”
Spamton didn’t realize he’d said something until his pillow answered.
“But the show must always go on. The characters must develop, and the story needs a straight path — or else it becomes boring.”
Spamton was half awake again, thinking about the answer.
“Which way... should the story go?”
It felt hard for him to ask this question.
He hadn’t planned for this kind of scenario.
He’d never even thought about one like this.
“There are a lot of ways a story can go. I like horror a lot, but I like a good mystery too.”
The screen was looking at Spamton, who didn’t notice his gaze.
“But now... I think romantic would fit best.”
“Are... are you talking about our story?”
Spamton’s question was so hopeful and gingerly.
Tenna moved, letting Spamton sit alone on the couch while he knelt in front of him, changing his size to be eye to eye with the little man.
“Yeah,” he took Spamton’s hands in his. “Would you like that plot?”
Spamton was melting from Tenna’s words.
This man made things with his heart.
“Yes, I would like that,” he said with a shy smile.
Tenna slowly leaned in, carefully placing his lips on Spamton’s.
It was soft — almost shy.
And Spamton felt so much in that moment, it overwhelmed him.
He couldn’t move.
They broke the kiss.
Fascinating how this little contact of their lips made Spamton go half-crazy in his mind.
One part was afraid, another confused — and one part wanted more.
He heard it — faint, almost imaginary. An audience cheering. Like a sitcom laugh track stitched into his thoughts.
Did Tenna accidentally play the tune over his speakers?
Maybe it was his imagination.
Or maybe Tenna really tried hard not to ruin this moment between them.
“I can’t wait to have ten more seasons with you.”
He kissed Spamton again — still soft, still cautious.
The smaller man let it happen again.
They broke faster this time.
Spamton glanced at Tenna’s smiling screen.
The TV placed one of his hands on Spamton’s face, and the salesman had a hard time resisting the urge to lean in too much.
He didn’t want to say anything — just let the moment happen.
Tenna stood up again.
It seemed like he wanted to crawl onto the couch as he leaned in again toward Spamton, softly pushing the smaller one into the fabric of the couch, slowly taking up more space.
A pile of mixed emotions built up in Spamton — the need for touch and lust was in him.
But stronger than both was fear.
He knew how strong Tenna could be — and how helpless he would be under him.
The flight instinct took over.
“Tenn-a...”
He didn’t manage to say more.
His mind was fighting with his stiff body, trying to find a way to flee from the 'danger'.
The bigger man, who wanted to give his little partner another kiss, realized the struggle of his companion beneath him.
He was too fast.
A perplexed look appeared on his screen.
He hadn’t thought Spamton was the kind of man who wouldn’t take the first chance at something like this.
Always so confident, direct, strong.
And now — nervous, lost, and afraid.
Mr. Ant Tenna pulled back slowly, like every inch of distance cost him something. Sitting next to Spamton, giving him space to recover from the speed — and trying hard not to shrink into an actual ant.
After his break, Spamton finally had the ability to speak again.
“I’m sorry.”
He hated himself for what happened.
Spamton looked at Tenna, who still had his soft smile.
He hadn’t shrunk too much — which was a good sign.
“It’s okay, Spammy.
We don’t need all the plot in one episode.
We can build it up slowly.
How about we end the commercial break and finish our work?”
Spamton nodded, and Tenna was about to give his attention to the paperwork on the table.
Spamton didn’t think the TV was really able to work again — because he wasn’t.
There was too much in his tiny head.
A soft touch was on Tenna’s side.
Spamton nuzzled carefully into him.
“Could... we perhaps stop... working?”
Oh, he hated to be so submissive.
To have no control over his feelings.
To be so nervous, so weak, so out of character.
He didn’t want this to be.
But Tenna accepted this side — always gave him an understanding, soft smile when a part of his mask cracked.
Spamton felt safe enough to show Tenna a side of himself not even he wanted to face — and that meant something.
“Of course.”
He leaned back on the couch, returned the cuddle by carefully taking the little man in his arms.
Half lying on the couch like this — silently, simply being together, feeling the warmth and closeness of the other — the two of them became tired.
Spamton carefully lifted himself up to Tenna’s screen.
It was black — not the usual black when he didn’t want to show his face.
It was deeper.
He was asleep.
Spamton gave the edge of his monitor a soft kiss.
He lay back against Tenna’s chest, listening to the soft hum of circuits and comfort — until sleep took him too.
Notes:
looks like I dropped something - IT WAS FLUFF!
Chapter 8: ...something i had ever felt before
Notes:
YES Finally the last (and longest) chapter - i mean i was planing on chapter 9 but.... maybe i post it as an extra fic just because its a little bit extra (yes i plan some eggpreg shit - don't judge me)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 8
It was morning, and Spamton was already on the phone complaining.
Tenna was waking up on the couch.
Good thing it was Monday — the Lightners never watched TV on school mornings.
He saw Spamton already smoking, clearly in no good mood.
“Morning, Spammy. Tough start?”
Spamton looked at Tenna, knowing he wasn’t the reason the bigger one was now awake.
He came over.
Coffee?” he simply asked.
“Yes, please. What’s wrong?”
Tenna sat up, curiosity outweighing sleep.
Spamton exhaled sharply, waving his phone like it had personally betrayed him.
“Nah, that was Swatch on the phone.
The fucker says he has too many Big Shot Bowties in stock.”
He was now in the kitchen, followed by Tenna, who inspected the new room like he did yesterday with the others.
“He was whining again. Sales are down,” Spamton muttered, reaching for the coffee machine.
“I told him they’ll bounce back by Christmas — like they always do.”
Tenna leaned against the counter, just listening.
“Just because it’s a slow season, he acts like my Big Shot days are over.
Stupid idiot.”
“Sounds rough,” Tenna said gently.
“If you need help, I’m your guy.
You’ve helped me so often — I’d be glad to return the favor.”
“Ha, thanks, Tens. But no.”
Spamton waved him off with a flick of his wrist.
“I’m a big boy. I can handle my shit.”
Tenna snorted quietly.
“I heard that.”
Spamton raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t know what you mean, Spammy.”
“Mhm.”
That was all Spamton said as he sipped the freshly brewed coffee.
“Wasn’t that my coffee?” Tenna asked, a little perplexed.
“Yes.”
Spamton smiled at him, unapologetic.
“You know where the coffee machine is now. You figured it out.”
Tenna made a low sound of protest — somewhere between a groan and a sigh.
He hated these new machines. Too many buttons.
Spamton raised an eyebrow.
“Need a ride to TV World?”
“Yes, please.”
Tenna’s voice came out softer than intended — especially as he accidentally pressed the button for automatic cleaning.
The machine beeped. Steam hissed.
Spamton snorted into his cup.
The two sat in Spamton’s Cungedero, parked in front of Tenna’s studio — his window to the Light World.
Spamton had a few things to take care of in Cyber City, so they were about to part ways until evening.
They lingered for a moment, the silence stretching just long enough for Spamton to notice Tenna fidgeting with his fingers — clearly wanting to say something, but not quite ready.
“What’s wrong?” the driver asked, eyes still on the road ahead.
“I was thinking... because of yesterday.”
Tenna paused, searching for the right words.
“Would you mind if we... kissed goodbye?”
It almost looked like steam was rising from Tenna’s screen — and Spamton would’ve done the same if he had a robotic head, because his own was burning up.
“Yes... I mean no... I mean... I’d like that.”
This TV was killing him.
The kiss was careful, small, and quick — not much, but still there.
A smile on both their faces, and the urge not to get separated.
The new ideas worked — in their own quiet way.
Toriel and Asgore were still fighting, but there were moments when they sat together on the couch, sometimes with the kids, watching TV.
While Asgore and Toriel were drifting toward an end, Tenna and Spamton were at the beginning of something.
A slow beginning.
Whenever Tenna wanted to kiss Spamton, he always paused — like he was asking without words.
And Spamton liked that.
As Spamton grew more comfortable, the silent asking faded.
Surprise kisses, happy kisses — they became part of the daily menu.
Spamton didn’t mind, as long as Tenna didn’t overwhelm him.
Kissing became natural.
Spamton had even started leaning in first.
They spent more and more time together — curled up on the couch in Tenna’s office, or tangled in blankets on Spamton’s bed, not for anything more, just to sleep. And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.
Spamton didn’t know what season they were in.
But he hoped it wouldn’t get cancelled.
The longer they stayed like this, the more Spamton felt it — the quiet pull toward something deeper.
He was sure now.
Tenna was the man he wanted to give himself to.
He just needed the right moment.
And the courage to begin.
Because this man was waiting for him.
Today was the day.
Well — technically, it was day fifteen.
Spamton had told himself that line again and again.
Every time he wanted to tell Tenna he was ready for more, he swallowed the words, cracked a joke, or let the moment slip away.
They were both sitting on Spamton’s bed.
Ever since they’d become a couple, they’d started working more often in Spamton’s apartment.
It was quieter, more intimate — and far more comfortable than the studio.
Spamton had never seen Tenna’s actual home.
It was somewhere inside the studio, technically.
But it felt like Tenna lived in his office.
They weren’t tired, but Spamton had asked if they could go to bed anyway.
Tenna was a cuddler — he didn’t say no.
Spamton stood up, facing the seated Tenna.
Without a word, the mailman reached for Tenna’s tie and pulled him down into a kiss.
There was no resistance from the bigger one.
The kiss didn’t break.
Spamton’s fingers moved to the knot of the tie, loosening it slowly, then sliding toward Tenna’s blazer — undressing him with quiet intent.
“Are you...?” Tenna asked softly.
“Yes.”
The kissing grew deeper, more intense, as Spamton continued.
Eventually, Tenna sat there with only his pants remaining.
His robotic body was exposed — and Spamton took in every inch of it, eyes wide, heart racing.
Spamton began kissing every screw, every button on his way down to Tenna’s pants — slow, deliberate, reverent in his own strange way.
Tenna stopped him gently, cupping Spamton’s face and guiding him back up into a kiss.
The TV’s tongue tasted like sparkling water — crisp, electric.
Spamton loved that taste.
Big hands moved slowly, undressing the smaller one with care.
Deep down, Spamton didn’t want this — not yet.
But he felt like it had to happen, or else it might slip away again.
Tenna was efficient.
Spamton was quicker than he’d expected — now left in just his pants.
Strong hands lifted him up.
A surprised chirp escaped as Tenna laid him gently on the bed.
Tenna looked down at him, waiting — not pushing, just present.
Spamton smiled.
Then reached for his own waistband, showing Tenna that he really wanted this, this time.
Another kiss.
Still no words.
And then — the loss of his pants.
Spamton was nervous. But he wanted this — not just the act, but what it meant.
He ignored the cold shiver that ran down his spine as his body was completely exposed to the air.
Tenna’s touch was soft, gentle, as his hands moved slowly toward Spamton’s thigh.
Spamton’s fingers curled into the sheets.
His breath stuttered.
He wasn’t cold — but he trembled.
“Are you alright?” Tenna asked, noticing the tension in every inch of him.
“Y-yeah... keep going.”
A pause.
Not long — just enough to ask.
“This... this isn’t your first time, is it?” Tenna asked carefully.
Back when they first worked together, Tenna had assumed Spamton was the kind of guy with a different partner for every day of the week.
But he’d never seen him with anyone.
“No, hehe, definitely not... it’s just been a while. I’m fine.
This wasn’t even a lie — since the night he had his magical phone call from heaven, he hadn’t had sex.
He’d barely touched himself.
Tenna placed his hand near Spamton’s — close enough to feel, far enough to choose.
He kissed Spamton’s cheek.
Then his shoulder.
His chest.
His tummy.
Lower.
Spamton’s legs were spread, but the moment he felt the kiss at the top of his dick, they turned to jelly.
Another kiss.
Then Tenna’s tongue — gentle, patient, working with every kiss.
“Y-you don’t need to do this,” Spamton stammered.
“Just... just take lube and do your thing.”
Tenna paused.
He looked up at Spamton’s face.
“Just take...” he repeated, trying to process what the smaller one had just said.
“Spammy... I want both of us to enjoy this.”
There was no anger in his voice — just confusion.
And a quiet heartbreak.
Spamton was acting strange.
Tense.
His body was shaking, and he tried to hide it by breathing slowly, playing it cool under Tenna’s gaze.
Tenna wanted to say something.
He saw it — something was off.
But the silence stretched too long.
“Then can... can you please keep going?”
Spamton tried to flash his usual sleazy, full-of-confidence smile.
But Tenna saw right through it.
All he saw was how uneasy it really was.
It must have been a really long time, Tenna thought, as he decided to just keep going for now — hoping Spamton would tell him if something wasn’t right.
“Of course — just try to relax. I’ll take care of you.”
Soft words, but with no effect.
Spamton accepted Tenna’s slow work.
He just lay there and let it happen — melting with every kiss, every lick, every breath against his skin.
He could envelop his thigh completely with his tongue.
The sucking and playing with the wet organ was a completely new level of feeling for the little body.
One moment, Tenna’s tongue surrounded his now-hard member.
The next, he was at his entrance.
It was too thick to go inside him, but the tip of it was already too much for Spamton — and he was so, so close to losing it.
He had never had a partner the size of Tenna — or someone like Tenna, who gave the soft, breakable body of Spamton so much tender attention.
Attention he hadn’t even given himself for a long time.
Spamton looked away — not once at Tenna.
He was fighting against overstimulation, holding back every sound his voice box wanted to release.
His mind was blank, his body slipping further out of his control.
He was so close.
Tenna was close too — the feeling building up in his pants made it hard not to swallow Spamton whole.
Every twitch and stretch of his own hard member, screaming for attention, gave the man a hard time not to bite into the flesh.
As the bigger one noticed the maximum limit of his smaller companion, who was stretching with every movement, his breath uneven, his gaze distant.
Tenna stopped.
He didn’t want this to end too soon.
Spamton lay there, his legs spread wide open, while the hot saliva from Tenna’s tongue was all over his intimate places.
His breath was unsteady, and his gaze was somewhere else.
He had too much in his mind — memories he wanted to ignore flashing up like light from a camera.
His body desired more touch, and as he tried to concentrate the flashes away, the stronger he fought, the stronger and clearer they became.
He didn’t notice that Tenna was looking at him — seeing how much his lover struggled to recover from his actions.
He reached forward to Spamton’s face and kissed him on the lips.
“NO KISSING ALLOWED!”
He pushed Tenna away.
His heart stopped.
“Oh... eh... I-I’m sorry...”
Tenna was shrinking — he was as much in shock as Spamton.
(NO NO NO NO NO!!)
He didn’t want to do this.
This was Tenna — not an...
*Not an...
He lost the fight
“You... looked like you were struggling. Zoned out. I just wanted your attention,” Tenna said softly, trying to explain.
And in that moment, Spamton realized:
He hadn’t looked at Tenna.
Not once.
Just like he used to... back then.
He was fighting so much with the past that he forgot what was in the present.
“I’m... sorry... I—”
He tried to find a good explanation for his actions, but the panic in his voice swallowed every word.
“Is everything alright? You’re halfway to crying.”
Tenna felt a sharp pain in his chest — knowing he was somehow the reason for those tears.
Spamton was close.
His eyes were glassy.
He slowly closed his legs and sat up.
Tenna gave him space.
Moved away — just a little.
They were still close — but for Tenna, it felt far, far away.
Spamton was still breathing heavily, mixing words in his mind that wouldn’t come out.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Just breath.
Just panic.
So Tenna decided to speak again.
“You know — we don’t have to—”
“I want!” Spamton cut in, too fast, too loud.
“I... I really, really want to do this with you.”
Tenna tilted his head slightly.
“Are you sure this isn’t your first time? There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Spamton looked like a lost puppy — Tenna couldn’t help but find it almost cute.
Almost.
If it weren’t so worrying.
“No, it’s just... I was surprised, okay...”
He didn’t know what to say to make that worried look on Tenna’s screen go away.
He tried to look calm, to stop the shaking, forcing a self-conscious smile at the screen — lying to Tenna, and to himself, that this was no big deal.
But Tenna was a showman.
He knew when someone was acting.
And Spamton wasn’t even acting well.
Tenna leaned down and gave him a shy kiss on the cheek.
Even that small touch made Spamton shiver.
“Spammy,” Tenna said gently, “you look like I’m hurting you with every touch.
You can’t fool me.
Something’s wrong — and I’m not going any further until you tell me.”
With one hand, Tenna gently turned Spamton’s face toward his screen.
“I trust you — with every inch of my body.
And my body’s really big sometimes.”
A soft smile flickered.
“I want you to be able to trust me too.”
Spamton listened — more with his heart than his ears.
“Whatever the problem is, you can tell me.
You can tell me everything.
And nothing you say will change how much I love you.”
Spamton was still fighting the tears.
Tenna’s words felt warm.
Safe.
He trusted him too — and hoped, hoped so much that his words were true.
The big TV looked at him with so much understanding — for whatever he was about to say.
“I have... a bad memory about it.”
His body winced as he said it out loud.
They weren’t the actual words he wanted to say.
He wanted to say so much more — but this was all he managed to get out.
Tenna jumped up like a dramatic shadow guy and started to panic.
“Were you—?!”
He didn’t dare say it out loud.
“NO.”
Tenna froze.
“No... not like that. Just... somehow.”
“S-somehow? Why somehow? Spamton, just tell me clearly.”
There was more than just worry in Tenna’s face.
He really didn’t want to hurt Spamton — and now he was a trigger of trauma.
Spamton hesitated for a moment.
It had never felt so fucking hard to find the right words.
Tenna was the only person since his Big Shot era who managed to leave him speechless — in a good way, and now, in a bad way.
But Tenna gave him all the time he needed, waiting with patience.
“It was more that...”
(Just tell him.)
“I worked. Like this... this, I mean... sometimes.”
“You... worked. This?”
Tenna’s voice softened, trying to piece together what his mailman had just said.
“For... money, yes.”
“Oh.” He said then — nothing more.
Spamton couldn’t hold the tears back anymore — the first rolled down his cheeks.
He didn’t want this to happen.
He hadn’t realized how broken he still was from his past.
He felt like the poor, small Addison from back then.
“We really don’t need to do this. I’m happy with you, and I don’t want you to do things you’re not comfortable with.”
The tears kept falling, and the crying salesman got lost in the warm hand reaching for his face, wiping the tears away.
Showing him that he understood.
That this was okay.
That there was nothing to be ashamed of or to worry about.
That Tenna still loved him.
After the tears stopped and the little Addison calmed down, Tenna stood up and reached for their clothes — just as Spamton finally found his voice again.
“I... I really want to do this with you.”
“I know.”
There was no disappointment in his voice — just safe understanding.
“I want... I mean, can we... try again? If you still want me?”
Unsure if he’d ruined everything, Spamton looked up at Tenna, full of hope.
“I love you. And I want to make love with you.”
Tenna couldn’t hide his feelings — a flower popped out of his nose.
It was the first time Spamton had said he loved him.
Not just the TV — him.
“I love you too, Spammy!”
He let the happiness settle before sitting down again at the edge of the bed, in front of the still-seated Spamton.
“And if you really want this, we can try again.”
“I really do.”
Tenna opened his belt, freeing himself from his pants.
“Oh. My. Fucking. Cungedero! That thing is huge! I change my mind.”
Tenna laughed softly, happy to see Spamton almost back to normal again.
The big TV crawled back onto the bed.
“Don’t worry — I’ll shrink down for you.”
And just like he said, he carefully pushed Spamton onto his back.
He was now in a more manageable size above him.
“I just have one tiny request,” he said.
There was a pause, followed by a kiss on Spamton’s forehead.
“Look at my screen.”
Spamton did as he was told.
“I’m a TV — you should always keep your peepers on the screen, or else you’ll miss all the love I want to show you.”
“I hope I won’t need glasses in the future from watching too much TV,” he laughed.
Tenna leaned in for a kiss on Spamton’s lips, just to feel his laugh.
“You’re the boss here, Spamton. The only thing I want from you is to look at me.
But for everything else — you say what I need to do, how fast things go.
I want you to feel safe and loved.”
Spamton nodded.
This time, there was confidence in his movements.
The TV gave him small kisses — and after each one, he looked up into his lover’s eyes to see if he was still paying attention.
He was.
And he smiled.
Spamton spread his legs again, ready to make his first command.
“You can start. Again.”
The heat between them hadn’t cooled. Tenna’s body responded instantly, as if it had only been waiting for the signal.
He lifted the smaller one slightly for a better position and placed himself carefully at Spamton’s entrance.
One last glance at his face for permission.
His eyes were nervous again, but he kept them on Tenna’s screen — a soft smile, followed by a nod.
Tenna pushed his length slowly inside his smaller partner.
He was big — even in this shrunken version of himself, still one of the big ones.
Or maybe Spamton just wasn’t used to it anymore.
Whatever it was, he was grateful that Tenna was as slow as possible while entering him, so he could get used to it somehow.
Spamton felt himself stretching — with hot, searing pain the further Tenna went.
A pain that would soon turn into pleasure.
He just needed time.
He was now completely inside him.
Tenna placed soft kisses on Spamton’s face, as if each kiss whispered: take your time.
“You good, Spammy?”
“Yeah... you can start moving.”
It was harder than Tenna had thought — the sensation of their bodies together made it difficult not to take Spamton whole.
Slowly, he started to move.
A gentle push, then back.
Push — and slowly back again.
A slow dance, with their breaths and heartbeats as the music.
“Ahh—T-Ten—”
Spamton grabbed at Tenna, trying to hold onto something.
“Spamton, are you—?”
“I’m—I’m fine... p-please don’t stop.”
Tenna trusted him.
His eyes were still on the screen, so Tenna kept going with the slow rhythm he’d built.
It wasn’t easy for the salesman to keep his eyes open.
He caught himself closing them here and there.
Every time he did, the lights of the past came back.
And every time he opened them again — there was Tenna.
He closed his eyes — and there was the past.
He opened them — and there was Tenna.
Then the past.
Then Tenna.
Then the past.
Then Tenna...
He felt Tenna’s movement stop.
He opened his eyes again.
Tenna gave him a soft kiss.
“Pay attention, my little Spammy Mailman.”
He looked at the TV — seeing his own reflection in Tenna’s love-drunk face gave him a warm feeling. A grounding one.
He closed his eyes — and now, there was Tenna.
Just Tenna.
“Don’t stop... keep going. Y-you feel so good, please.”
Tenna trusted him.
He started moving again, watching Spamton’s face every time his eyes began to close.
But all Spamton saw in his inner eye now was Tenna’s screen.
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Tens... at this point, I don’t think — ah — that you’re even capable of hurting me.”
He leaned up to kiss the TV screen.
Maybe he wasn’t looking at Tenna’s screen anymore — but Tenna felt that he was still looking.
Looking with his heart.
And that was more than he’d ever asked for.
With closed eyes and Tenna’s warm smile in his mind, Spamton felt static running through his body.
He’d never felt such sensitivity during sex.
He’d never felt so safe.
This didn’t feel like sex — and absolutely didn’t feel disgusting.
It wasn’t just a release of horniness.
He felt good.
Loved.
Not like an object being used — but like the recipient of Tenna’s love.
He wanted to give it back.
To be good for Tenna too.
But for now, all he could do was show Tenna that he felt safe and loved under his movement.
He started to move with the rhythm of the TV — to show him how good he felt inside him.
It was hard for Tenna to keep going at this slow pace.
He was fighting his own desire not to grow, not to take the little body whimpering under him and use him like a fleshlight.
He needed to stay in control — to stay at a size that brought pleasure, not pain.
But the moment Spamton started moving his hips with him, he almost lost it.
“Spammy, ca—can I—”
Tenna couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Faster... please g-go faster!”
The bigger one didn’t need to be asked twice — and sped up.
His body built up heat with every thrust.
He was close — but he didn’t want to release himself before Spamton.
Tenna held his new speed, giving his mailman messy kisses on every reachable patch of skin.
Spamton was in heaven.
Feeling his climax build inside, he clung to Tenna like his life depended on it.
“Ahh—T-Tens, I’m close!”
The warning was unnecessary.
The moment Spamton said it, he felt a rush of warmth flood his insides.
Tenna’s last messy kiss turned into a bite — one he didn’t mean to do, but his instincts took over.
With it, Spamton’s own climax hit.
His stamina was gone, and he felt his limbs go numb.
Tenna collapsed half over the little Addison’s body.
He didn’t want to crush him — but he had no energy left to hold himself up.
Spamton kissed Tenna, holding him tight — telling him with that gesture that everything was alright.
Tenna pulled out, and Spamton immediately missed the feeling.
His body felt empty without him.
The bigger one straightened up.
“Can you... stay?” the little Addison asked, still exhausted from his high.
“I didn’t plan to go.”
They found a comfortable position, tangled together, recovering in silence.
Tenna pulled the blanket over them, wrapping his arms around Spamton.
“At the end, you were a virgin after all,” he teased, voice low and warm.
“I was not a virgin,” Spamton mumbled, face buried against his chest.
“Of course — a virgin of love.”
He kissed him on the head.
“You’re an idiot,” Spamton whispered.
But he held him tighter.
There was a pause. Then Tenna spoke, quieter than before.
“And I wish I’d met you sooner... before you had to do such things.”
He didn’t want to ruin the mood — but he needed to say it.
“I told you I was nothing back then. You wouldn’t have even noticed me.”
Spamton shook his head gently.
“I leaned my screen atyou the moment I first saw you — not because of your appearance, but because of you. I don’t know... your aura, your soul. The you in whole.”
Spamton snorted softly, wonder from what sappy love movie he got this.
“Yeah, right...” Spamton smiled
“Why do you think I didn’t send you away the first time we met? I knew you just wanted to do your business thing with me. I saw it in your sleazy smile. But there was something in you that hypnotized me — and I didn’t want you to go.”
Spamton looked at him. Wanting to believe every word.
“Maybe someday I’ll have the chance to prove it.”
Notes:
The end …. yes I wanted a happy end – we all know what happens next. I mean if you like my fanfic maybe I write a 'after chapter 3 and 4 timeskip' fanfic but i'm afraid not to complain against “beyond repair” (didn't read it yet) and this super cute master-post comic from coolfireguy73 from tumblr.