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The theater is quiet.
Not silent, never silent. It breathes just like anything else, after all, but there is a particular stillness to it in this moment. It has been hours since the show and subsequent after party. The cheering crowd is gone. The confetti has all been swept. The bar’s shut down and the last of the stragglers have long since meandered away.
Everything is once again a blank slate.
Tenna stares into the flickering bulb of the ghost lamp left on the stage. If he stills his cooling fans, he thinks he can hear the filament buzzing.
That may just be him though.
It’s not that he hasn’t always made sure it was there. Traditions exist for a reason. Far be it for him to dictate why: don’t say, ‘good luck,’ never mention the Scottish Play, and when the theater goes dark, leave a light on for the ghosts. It is just one of those things. People can call him superstitious if they like- he won’t argue it.
It just… means something different now.
Tenna shakes himself from reverie, casting a look about the blackness. A shiver ripples through him. The subtle blush of a test strip tinges his screen. Suddenly, with unwarranted urgency, he unbuttons the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket and strips his gloves from his hands, tucking them into his back pocket.
He presses his fingertips to one another, then laces them together, before ultimately rubbing his palms with a huff. Almost aggressively, Tenna buries a hand in his pants pocket, digging through empty wrappers until he finds his last piece of butterscotch hard candy. The sound of him unwrapping it feels heinously loud. He holds it between his teeth first as he tucks the trash back in his pocket. Only once that’s done does he finally allow himself to enjoy it.
Tenna sighs as he idly rubs the side of his neck. With a flick of his tongue, he runs the candy along the insides of his teeth. The clacking feels as though it echoes in his head before the butterscotch nestles itself between two grinding molars.
Almost hesitantly, almost too slowly, he lets his fingers trail down. They slip along struts and smooth tubing, the crisp edge of his shirt collar. Tenna swallows as he dips a finger down and into the knot of his bowtie to loosen it. It stays there, hanging by that finger, before his whole hand wraps lightly around his throat. The claws of his middle finger and thumb drag along the ridged edge of the black cable tie that has been neatly hidden for far, far too long.
Never let it be said that he isn't a patient man when he wants to be.
Somewhere backstage, a door opens. Tenna stands at attention, head snapping towards the sound as antennae strain. For a moment, the stillness returns, building, thick and waiting. Then, the familiar sound of knee-high boot heels on marley moves towards him.
The hard candy is crushed between his teeth with a huff as he fully turns, smiling into the blackness. Despite his best efforts, he can’t help the way his antennae twitch.
“There's my star.”
Mettaton’s soul shines through the dark like an apparition. Brilliant magenta, it burns against the impenetrable black of backstage, sashaying as it floats closer. The rest of Mettaton doesn't so much as appear as he does form out of the darkness, as if it wants to cling to him. Every curve and angle of him teases the light and the dark in the room, and not for the first time does Tenna feel a twinge of jealousy towards those shadows. There, curling around his eye. There, in the hollow of his neck, the rounding of his hip. It’s even more pronounced by that wicked number he’s wearing, all sleek angles and spikes and black. The only breaks in the design are the window through which his soul peeks and a strip of colors. It runs from one bristling shoulder down the side of him, down his waist, his hips, until ending on the asymmetrical hem that sits at the waterline of what Tenna would call modesty and Mettaton would consider a challenge.
Mettaton practically preens under the glow of Tenna’s blush, the pitch of the empty theater parting like a curtain for him to bask in the rainbow spotlight of his lover's gaze. He reaches up a bare hand. No doubt, he could extend his arm, but he does love how Tenna stoops to greet him, putting his face right where Mettaton wants it.
“Darling.” It's so sweet it feels sticky. “My apologies in keeping you waiting.”
Tenna doesn’t say anything. Frankly, with the way Mettaton is running his thumb back and forth over the edge between the hard plastic case and the screen, he can’t. Instead, he just sighs and sinks into the touch.
Mettaton tuts. “Oh, my poor man.”
That gets a huff of a laugh. Mettaton leans into it, wrapping his other arm around and around and around to squeeze his lover tight as the hand on the side of his screen shifts and starts to run fingertips along the slats of his vents.
“My poor, beautiful, put-upon man,” Mettaton pouts playfully as Tenna shutters. “It has been such a long day. A stunning job, darling, really. The speeches, the performances - you organized every bit of that, I know you did. And you had every viewer’s full attention.” He leans in close. “I don’t think I’ve seen such an artistic use of explosives and chainsaws in my life, and that’s saying something.”
Tenna’s chuckle is low and vibrates the paneling of his chest. “There was no way in hell I was going to give you anything less,” he finally mumbles, turning so his face rests against Mettaton’s hand, lips grazing his palm, “Congratulations again on the win. Very well deserved.”
Tenna’s trying to be suave. It doesn’t work. The flutter in his voice and the silly little curl of his smile give him away.
Mettaton grins. “Call me conceited, but I’m inclined to agree.”
“Evidently, so are the viewers.”
“Speaking of…”
Mettaton takes a step back, enjoying the way Tenna whines at the loss of contact. He does a spin to show off the dress. It does not go unnoticed by him how Tenna takes a second to tear his eyes away from the gap between the hem and the tops of the tall, black boots.
Mettaton puts his hands to his hips as he gives a high kick. He traces the toe of one boot up the calf of the other and revels in the response that gets. “Reviews say this is one of my best looks yet.”
“Isn’t that what they said about the suit you pulled off last season’s gala?”
“Always have to push the envelope, darling.” He winks. “Though for all the chatter, I haven’t heard a word from you about it yet.”
Tenna knows what’s being asked of him. A smile flashes across his screen before it cuts to a recording of Mettaton stepping out of his limousine. Mettaton, sipping champagne. Mettaton, award in hand in front of a standing ovation.
“Stunning,” Tenna says as his face comes back on screen.
Mettaton smirks as he tosses his bangs. “I finished it an hour before I arrived.”
“Wondered what kept you.”
“I am, if nothing else, a slave to the whims of fashion and my own ingeniousness.”
“Well, it would be nice of them to let you show up as scheduled next time instead of thirty minutes late.”
“And yet,” Mettaton takes a step closer as he took his fingers for a walk up Tenna’s chest, “somehow, it always works out.”
Tenna raises a brow. “You are something else, you know that?”
“So you’ve said.” Mettaton bites his lip, looking up through his lashes. “In fact, Tenna, dearest, would you be so kind as to humor me and… remind me again as to what that ‘something else’ might be?”
Tenna hums a thoughtful tune. It’s a little pluncky thing, ever so slightly slipping out of key when Mettaton puts his hands to his hips and cocks an eyebrow. As the last note peters out, a blinding grin splits Tenna’s face, and he scoops Mettaton up into his arms as he twirls.
Mettaton gasps as Tenna comes to a halt facing the empty theater. In the dim light, he can see the twinkle of velvet seats and gilded balconies.
Tenna’s voice at full volume shakes the very dark.
“And the winner,” he cradles Mettaton to his chest as he surges towards the ghostly audience, “for this year’s Ant Tenna Entertainment Audience Choice Award goes to-”
Mettaton’s cackle pops like a sparkler in the dark as he’s thrust into the air, soul burning so bright that for a moment, Tenna has to wonder if he doesn’t in fact have a live firework in his hands.
“Mettaton of MTT studios!”
Mettaton strikes a pose that would make parental controls weep. He doesn’t have to turn to know Tenna is blushing as he bursts into laughter. He can see the glow of it on his skin, feel the warmth of that screen even at an arms distance, or at least, that’s what it feels like. Perhaps it’s his own heat, CPU surging with the thrill of it all.
As Tenna sets him safely back onto the ground, Mettaton turns, lifting his face to meet his lover’s flushed and adoring gaze. He reaches up, hands cupping either side of that lopsided grin.
“I would like to thank television’s most auspicious executive producer and tonight’s marvelous host,” he purrs.
Tenna’s knees don’t even hit the floor before his lips meet Mettaton’s. There is a hum of electricity and delight as they form a circuit. It sends a shiver down their spines, makes fans kick off into high gear, makes Mettaton’s hair lift and Tenna’s hands tingle. Every kiss prickles with charged heat. It rolls over their faces in waves, settling in the deep copper of their wiring and entwining in their own current. Mettaton soaks it all in, relishing every point of contact as he’s taken into Tenna’s massive, warm embrace. He moans when Tenna nips his bottom lip. The man is so conscientious, even with those wicked canines of his. It makes it all the more delicious when he runs his tongue along the bite before locking lips again. Mettaton shifts, deepening the kiss, and they both groan at the sudden extra voltage rushing through them. Tenna presses his face closer with a whine, gripping tighter, as if he could somehow absorb Mettaton into himself. His hands are everywhere. They’re in his hair, down his spine and thighs, before slipping back up and under the dress to grab his ass and pull him into his lap as he sits on the floor. Mettaton jerks. Something between a huff and low laughter drips from his mouth and into Tenna’s as he admires the artwork of his lipstick against his lover’s face.
Biting his lip, Mettaton pushes down the back of Tenna’s dress pants and untucks his shirt.
“Oh come on,” Tenna grumbles, but there’s no bite to it.
“Whaa~aat?”
“Why do you insist on-?”
Tenna’s words are cut off by a small gasp as Mettaton opens the tiny compartment at the base of his spine and slowly starts to unspool his plug.
“Because I like it,” Mettaton bats his lashes, the picture of sacrine innocence, “And I want it, and I get what I want.”
Tenna huffs, but the beautiful blush and silly smile Mettaton loves so much are spreading across his face as that tail-like plug of his sweeps lazily across the floor.
It’s times like this, when he’s sitting here, in Tenna’s lap, that he feels like a king.
Of course, in retaliation, Tenna swipes a thumb across the glass of Mettaton’s soul, making him shiver.
“Impatient, are we?” Mettaton drags his nails gently up the sides of his lover’s face.
Tenna’s soft laugh comes through sharp teeth. “You know why.”
“Do I?” Mettaton blows a kiss into a vent as he wraps his legs around Tenna’s waist. “Why don't you enlighten me?”
Tenna shutters. He wants to tear that dress off, dip his tongue into USB ports, finger his CD player, bite down on his volume dial, but he hasn’t gotten permission yet. Instead, one hand coaxes Mettaton’s hips to move as the other holds his head to the side of his face. He whimpers the first time he feels Mettaton grind into him. The flexible plastic that covers Mettaton’s pelvic floor gives just a little, and the sound his lover makes sends Tenna’s internals spinning and tripping over themselves.
“Been thinking about you all day.” It comes out as hardly more than a breath.
“Really?”
Tenna doesn’t have to see Mettaton to know he’s smiling. He can hear it in the way the words curl around the lips, can feel those lips pressing into the side of his head. He nods, and is rewarded with Mettaton’s nails digging into the tab for the panel of his chin. It’s popped open, and the next thing Tenna feels is those nails ghosting around the scroll wheels tucked into that compartment.
His grip on Mettaton’s ass tightens as he forces him to grind harder into him, eliciting a gasp laced with laughter.
“And what of the rest of your beloved audience?” Mettaton whispers. “Shouldn’t you be paying attention to them?”
Tenna shakes his head, shoulders shuttering as he shrugs.
“Use your words, darling.”
He whines, licking his lips as he swallows, trying to remember how his speakers work. “If I make you happy, I know I’ve ma-ade them happy.”
“Is that so?”
“Yessss!”
“Why?”
“You challenge me, in the best way.”
“Goodness gracious,” Mettaton sounds practically breathless. “You better be very careful how you phrase such confessions. They’re liable to go to my head.”
It’s Tenna’s turn to chuckle as he runs his hand through Mettaton’s hair. “What if I like that?”
Mettaton brushes a finger tip against one of the wheels, and it takes a moment for Tenna to register that it’s part of the controls for contrast. The air in the room starts to feel cooler while every point of contact Tenna has with his lover grows warmer. His body curls around Mettaton, his groan turning into a deep moan as he feels fingers start to comb through his antennae.
Mettaton’s giggle in his ear is distorted by his intake fan working overtime. “Oh, you do, do you? You like giving me that much control? Lord of the Screens, his scripts and budget and contracts dictated by the whims of one magnificent, avant-garde artist? You make us sound like a love story straight out of the history books.”
Tenna shivers.
The access compartment is closed with a click, and Mettaton’s fingers drift to thread through RCA and AUX cables where Tenna’s head meets his neck.
“The tabloids would have a field day,” Mettaton whispers, “and what would the censors think?”
Something about the image of it sends Tenna’s voltage through the roof. The hand in Mettaton’s hair curls into a fist. His lover’s yelp is cut off by a kiss that is tongue and teeth and need. It’s all Mettaton can do to hold on as he’s pinned between Tenna’s chest and forearms.
“Fuck the censors,” Tenna snarls. “You are more important.”
Well that does it.
Mettaton snaps the wires taunt with a flick of his wrist. The sound Tenna makes is nothing less than wanton. His grip is bruising. Mettaton can feel the prick of those claws Tenna works so hard to keep hidden dig into the rounding of his ass in the most delightful way. The canting of his hips stutters for a moment as he takes a deep, sharp breath through his teeth, pressing himself further into those massive hands with a groan. He twists his fingers deeper into the wires, careful not to pull them out, but only barely, and again the sound that comes out of his lover is filthy. Mettaton collects his thoughts just enough to enjoy the sight of trembling, shoulders jumping, vents beginning to steam. Slowly, with every roll of his hips, Mettaton places a kiss. First, the corner of his mouth, then the side of his head, his chin, lower-
He stops.
“Darling,” his grip relaxes as he drums his fingers against the back of Tenna’s head, “what’s this?”
Tenna just groans. Mettaton rolls his eyes with a click of his tongue. He untangles his hand, chuckling at the whine of protest he’s given, to dip a nail behind the knot of the cable tie. It’s sitting neatly in the groove between the two struts of Tenna's neck, right at the fade point between sunkissed plastic and his dark, natural grey.
Tenna shivers. A drunken giggle slips from him before it organizes itself into some semblance of what Mettaton recognizes as the prize jingle from their show. Tenna lifts his chin and bears more of his neck to his lover.
“Ladies and gentlegerms,” it comes out in a semi-coherent slur, “kindly avert your eyes. The following material is not suitable for a family audience, as this is the part where I get rewarded for my excellent behavior.”
Mettaton cannot help his snort of laughter. “Very cute, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
There’s a pause. Tenna lifts his head to look Mettaton in the face properly. “It- it’s- isn’t this what you asked for?”
“Tenna dear, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.”
Tenna’s screen flickers with a technical difficulty card. His brow furrows. “When I came to see you at your apartment this morning, you waved around a box of cable ties and told me if I was good, then there would be a surprise.”
Mettaton’s eyes go wide. “You took my ties.”
“You gave them to-”
“I did not!”
Tenna sputters. “Well then what were you talking about?”
“This dress-!” Mettaton points to himself, “was the surprise!”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
“It’s made of cable ties!”
If Tenna was blushing before, he is positively flushed now. The hazy glow of the test strip that had dusted his screen is replaced with a deep pink. “What?!”
“The main sponsor for the event was that zip file compressor! I thought it fitting!”
“You’re in- this is- what?!”
“Oh stop. You and your conventional sensitivities- I keep telling you, the whole point of camp is to push them! Frankly, I’m offended you didn’t even notice!”
Tenna fumbles an objection, hands waving on either side of his face, only for Mettaton to grab them.
“Stop. It. You are being exceedingly dramatic, and you’re not even the wounded party. Do you have any idea what sort of panic I was in, sending my assistants running around town trying to find another box of ties when I just about already bought out the whole city!”
Tenna makes a strangled sound. “What you told me was the dress was black!”
“Yes?”
“And you said you wanted to match!”
Mettaton gestures between himself and Tenna’s face. “Yes!”
It dimly dawns upon Tenna only now, after staring at that man for who knows how long, that the colours rolling down Mettaton’s shoulder are his, from his display. Mettaton had used gold instead of yellow, because of course he would, but the rest of them were all there; cyan, green, magenta, red, and blue, in that order.
Tenna feels a little zip of electricity run through him. Static snow crowds out any room for expression on Tenna’s face, seeming to crawl in agitated circles under his flushed screen. He folds in, his plug curling close as if to make himself even smaller.
“At least you got the memo to wear your tux. Honestly, where was your head this morning?” Mettaton doesn’t wait for an answer; he knows already. Instead, he just sighs. “Using a cable tie as a little choker is a very striking wardrobe choice,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “but you better have a good reason for taking my things. I mean, what did you even do with the rest of them?”
Tenna lets out a burst of audio feedback as he drags a hand down his face.
A thought wriggles at the back of Mettaton’s mind. Not even a full concept, merely an inkling, but it’s very much there. He takes a slow and steady breath as he watches Tenna. Carefully, he runs his hands up the arms and across the shoulders of his lover, before cupping his face and lifting it.
Tenna wants to give him a surprise? Well, who is he to deny him?
Besides… all this fussing and blushing has him very curious.
“Tenna, Ant, darling,” Mettaton tactfully clears his throat. “I would like to see… exactly… what you thought I meant."
There’s still no expression that Mettaton can discern, but the pink glow burning through the snow on his screen makes it so that one isn’t required. If Tenna was trembling before, it’s nothing in comparison to now. His hands hover, unsure, before fumbling over buttons. Mettaton stays still. It’s a combination of building anticipation and a genuine desire to keep his finger joints from inadvertently being snapped that makes him keep his hands to himself. The tuxedo jacket comes off first. Then it’s the waist coat. It’s only when his body wracks with shudders like an abused washing machine and he cannot undo his bowtie that Mettaton finally steps in. He carefully places his hands on Tenna’s, waiting for the shaking to subside as he pushes them gently to the side. Then, he unknots the tie. His hands run down from Tenna’s shoulders to his broad chest as he flattens the points. It’s as much to sooth him as it is to get the fabric out of the way.
They stay there, staring at one another with Mettaton’s hands on Tenna’s chest. Mettaton rubs his thumbs back and forth slowly. He can feel the whirring underneath. It sends a subtle vibration through his lover’s alitrunk, warming the first set of pecs beneath Mettaton’s hands.
Tenna’s shoulders slowly relax. Only then does Mettaton finally pull back to wait.
After a moment, Tenna starts to tug at his dress shirt, pulling it out from where it tucks into his trousers. Mettaton cannot help but lick his lips at the little peak he receives of branded heart print boxers against that flexible PVC that stretches across his abdomen. What a silly man. What a beautiful man. Tenna sees it, of course he does. He’s watching Mettaton’s every movement, gauging each minute reaction of his favorite audience of one, and he knows he likes what he sees.
It’s as good an indicator as any that he hasn’t absolutely ruined this.
So. Ah ha. Okay then.
A salacious showman’s grin slowly starts to spread across his screen as he undoes the bottom buttons first.
Mettaton feels himself start to get lost in watching Tenna’s fingers move. It’s methodical, formulated and timed out like a meticulous cue sheet. When the shirt is about half way unbuttoned, there’s a whirring noise, and his second set of arms, now free from the burden of fabric and family-friendly broadcasting, unfold themselves from their confines. They are just as large and sturdy as the ones he uses everyday; upper arms all metal and thick coiling cables, forearms that delicious sunkissed plastic dusted with a few stray wires running across them. Mettaton admires the way the actuators in his shoulder shift, tensioners flexing as Tenna lets those secondary arms hold his weight so that he can lean back.
Mettaton never can understand how he keeps them hidden all the time, but then, perhaps it’s just that movie magic Tenna always seems to have in spades. A trick of the light, a part of the performance.
And he is most certainly putting on a performance.
The shirt parts like a curtain for the broad metal plates of secondary pectorals, then primary pectorals. Each is faintly ribbed in a corrugated pattern that meets along his sternum. Mettaton itches to touch it. He loves the way it feels under his fingertips and on his cheeks, but he doesn’t want to ruin this show.
Finally, the last buttons are undone. Tenna sighs. He rolls his primary shoulders, and the dark plastic that caps them shifts, briefly flashing the weld scars underneath. That pristine, pressed white dress shirt now slouches down to rest on his primary elbows.
Mettaton’s mouth is watering by this point. He leans in slowly, and it is all he can do to behave. As it is, he has to clench his hands into fists in his lap.
“You don’t have your screws in,” it’s less something spoken and more something breathed.
Tenna chuckles, lifting his chin ever so slightly. “Nope.”
“All of this… just being held in by snap fits.”
“Yup.”
Mettaton shutters. He tries, and fails, to keep a low moan in check behind pursed lips.
Tenna gestures to the all of him with a hand, a clear invitation. “Would my favorite contestant like to see what’s behind door number one and claim his prize?”
And suddenly, something clicks for Mettaton.
“You didn’t.”
Tenna’s grin only grows.
Mettaton has never ripped open his lover faster. Pectoral cover plates go flying into the dark. It’s a problem for later to figure out where they vanish to. Now, right now, all he is preoccupied with is getting his hands inside this man.
What greets him in the low light is nothing less than obscene.
“Ta-daa~!”
Black cable ties twinkle in the dark, illuminated by the magenta of Mettaton’s soul. As Tenna shifts to loom over Mettaton, so too does the light of his face, mingling with the yellow tinge of the ghost lamp still flickering behind them. Wires that had run pell-mell through Tenna's torso sit wrangled into tight bundles. Cables that thread through audio and video lines are cinched neatly. Servos cords are snuggly bound. Mettaton can see straight to Tenna’s convergence adjuster. Fuck, his transformer is visable. Even the VHS and DVD player, tucked just above Tenna’s lower abdomen, are wrapped. Each have a tie around it, not so much preventing access to the loading doors, but presenting rather a cheeky little obstacle that would not take much to get around.
And there, over the large battery in his upper right quadrant, he had made and hung a little magenta cable tie heart, the same colour of Mettaton’s soul.
Mettaton’s CPU goes straight to overdrive. His processing overwhelms and just about shutters to a halt. Commands override commands as tasks crowd his brain. Touch. Bite. Grip. Grind. The pinging of each need fills his ears as his teeth dig into his bottom lip.
The little heart moves every so slightly as Tenna shifts, and the mixture of lights caress the curve of it. For a moment, Mettaton is tempted to ask a million questions. The cables Tenna took from him were a pack of solid black. When did he pick up pink ones? Not even pink- magenta, specifically. Mettaton knows first hand how hard they are to find. How long had he had them?
What else had he done with them?
Questions for later. Right now, the most pressing thing in Mettaton’s mind is finding out what it’s going to feel like when he has it in his mouth.
“Ooooh my…”
Tenna chuckles. He brings a hand up to run along Mettaton’s spine as another moves to rest upon his thigh. Tenna watches Mettaton’s face closely, how his gaze darts about, how his lips and cheeks twitch, and god, just how hungry he looks.
Oh, Tenna’s been good. Tenna’s been very good. He’s gonna fucking get it. The tremor that runs through him this time is from sheer delight.
“Who knew you had it in you to be so scandalous,” Mettaton whispers, leaning forward. “All this. Not even a bolt and wingnut to keep you decent-.”
Tenna digs his thumb into the space between Mettaton’s shoulder blades and relishes in the way he shivers.
Mettaton’s lips curl in a smile. “You’ve had this on all night.”
“All day.” Something between a laugh and a moan shutters through Tenna. “I took those cable ties, and as soon as I got back to my trailer, I got to work.”
“Ffffuck.” It comes out as a tight squeak as Mettaton gasps. This man, this giant of a man, all tied up for him. Mettaton couldn’t begin to imagine the feeling of all those tight little cords, wires rubbing together with every movement, copper filament running hot on friction. “Oh, and anyone could have just put their hands on you and popped you open to see.”
“Anyone?” Tenna arcs a brow as he shucks the dress shirt fully. “You think this is just a daytime broadcast?”
He brings the hand that had been resting on Mettaton’s thigh up to his chin. The intention had been to lift his face so that his gaze would be on him, but the spark that jumps from his fingertips does it on his behalf. Mettaton snaps his head up with a gasp. Tenna isn’t immune to the surge either, his grin and voice warbling with need.
“No, star. This is a performance for just us two.” He leans close. Even without touching, he can feel the static tingle of anticipation. “How are we feeling about the setup?”
Mettaton nods, almost dumbly. “Beautiful.”
“Scene is set how you like it, even with the hiccups?”
“Yes.”
Tenna sighs, lips pulling into a nervous smile. “Then I’ve done good?”
“Oh, my darling,” Mettaton’s impatient fingers trace along the edge of his chest, “So good.”
Tenna’s teeth part as he gives a breathy laugh. Mettaton can see his tongue behind them, running back and forth along the inside of his lower teeth like a beast waiting.
Every wire feels as though it can blister at any moment.
“Stage is yours, then.” He kisses Mettaton’s cheek, breath warm in his ear. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
The request does not need to be given twice.
Mettaton does not dive in. He’s a professional, thank you very much, and if this is his stage, then he’s going to work it for the maximum runtime. Mettaton keeps his eyes on Tenna as his fingers curl around the edge of the cavity and grip tightly. He takes a moment as he leans in to appreciate the sheer warmth radiating from his man, the invisible resistance of the electromagnetic field and the faint ringing in his ears that comes with it, the smell of warm wire with the gentlest hint of charged ions. Mettaton blows a cheeky burst of cool air into the compartment, giggling as Tenna flinches with a curse.
In the glow of his lover, he is immaculate.
Mettaton kisses the cable tie heart first at the top, then at the bottom, before licking a hot strip in the space between and taking the point into his mouth to tug on it. The whole battery moves when he does.
Tenna’s has a small fit of those breathless, horny giggles Mettaton loves so much as his plug twitches and sweeps along the marley.
It makes his every anode sing.
Mettaton moves to kiss the cable tie that wraps around the VHS player, the flap shuttering at the pressure, and Tenna groans. He keeps going, licking and sucking and nipping, slowly tracing out buttons with the tip of his tongue as he delves further in. One hand slips past his face to brush against the battery compartment while the other reaches up to thread its fingers once more between his lover’s antennae and tug. Tenna's hands wrap around him. There’s one that grips the whole of his leg, a second wrapped around his waist, a third stroking his hair. Mettaton can feel his lover shutter. Wimpers and sighs echo in this space.
Mettaton traces a finger along the inside edge of the little cable tie heart. He can feel heat building beneath his fingers.
Stealing a breath, he traces thick power lines from the battery out. They extend to the motors of his joints, down arms and legs, up his neck, and they hum in Mettaton’s hands as he strokes them over and over again. Tenna’s legs below him jerk as another curse echoes in his ears when Mettaton gives one an experimental tug, right as he runs his tongue along the inside edge of the VCR loading door.
He’s greeted with the look of a flushed and drooling wonder as he sits back in his lover’s lap. Mettaton feels his own blush prickle as he winks, hand slipping down to trace the edge of Tenna's face. Tenna gives another high pitched giggle, antennae sparking and twitching, only to fall immediately silent as Mettaton presses two fingers into his bottom lip.
Mettaton tilts his chin down ever so slightly. Try as he might, he can’t fight the curl of his smile.
“Be a dear,” he whispers, “and help me help you.”
He’s done this before. They both have, multiple times. That does not stop the way he shivers at feeling Tenna’s breath on his fingers right before he takes them into his mouth.
Mettaton lets his eyes shut as he allows himself to get lost in the feeling of Tenna’s tongue wrapping around his fingers. The hand in his hair traces down his arm to hold his hand in place against his lover’s mouth. As he sucks, he runs the tip of his tounge between Mettaton’s fingers, then under the nails before running up and around the second knuckles. Mettaton swallows. Breathing in, he rubs thumb gently across the part of Tenna’s screen he can touch.
When he goes to pull his hand back, Tenna whines. Mettaton chuckles as he pulls again, but it slips into a sigh as, while Tenna relents and lets his fingers slip from his mouth, he does not let go of his hand. Though the grip on his wrist is ironclad, the chaste pecks Tenna places on each fingertip are gentle. Even the open mouthed kiss he lavishes on his palm is soft.
Mettaton finally opens his eyes and is greeted with a look of nothing short of adoration.
“Beautiful.” It comes out as a soft gasp.
Mettaton slowly pulls his hand from Tenna’s grip. Again, the whine that elicits is almost heartbreaking to hear, right up until he dips those fingers into the VCR and brushes them against the motor in the far back.
The sound Tenna makes is something straight out of a pay-per-view.
The grip he has on Mettaton gets painfully tight. He pulls him further in, and again, it feels as if he is trying to tuck his lover into his chest and keep him there forever. Mettaton has to brace against the edge of his open cavity to keep from falling in. Tenna's heavy petting bends his spine, drawing a groan out of him that leaves his teeth aching, and Mettaton can hear the man just about choke.
Mettaton can’t help but have a quiet laugh, only to moan and shutter as that broad hand moves down his back to curl around his ass, one errant finger slipping between his legs.
Tenna giggles at the way Mettaton’s sounds vibrate his hardware, the wince of his hand jerking and hitting him in the inverter board notwithstanding.
Tenna shutters, gritting his teeth as he feels Mettaton tug at the wires running up to and out at his neck. It’s slow, methodical, his fingers working and pulling between two cable ties. Tenna can feel the subtle stretch of the sheath, the way the insulation inside shifts as individual copper filaments grind against one another.
He can also feel the subtle graze of Mettaton’s teeth as he moves to kiss the power connectors prickling from his battery, and the way the electricity sparks and snaps with every drop of moisture that makes its way past that protective rubber.
Tenna rolls the tip of his middle finger, the one he’s nudged right up against Mettaton’s pelvic floor cover. He focuses on the way the placid plastic gives, on the resistance behind it, trying to figure out what Mettaton is hiding today. He can feel something towards the top, but the cover is too thick to make out exactly what.
Whatever it is, he’s looking forward to it.
Mettaton clearly is too, if the way he gasps and bucks back into Tenna’s hand is anything to go by.
Tenna giggles again, letting his thumb run over the rounding of his lover’s ass. He’s moved one hand back to Mettaton’s hair, where he’s tracing little circles with his fingers into his scalp. The other has a grip on Mettaton’s thigh that would bruise a softer creature. As it is, Tenna cannot help but selfishly hope, at least a little, that maybe there will be something there to remember him by.
Tenna used to be mortified by that. No, mortified was putting it mildly. The first time he had seen his own claw marks in the sleek metal plating of Mettaton’s legs, he was sure it was over. But Mettaton liked showing them off. He would frame them between too short shorts and high heeled boots, turning just so that the light would catch them and flash for the photographers and gossip columnists before they were buffed out. He’s made sure to send Tenna clippings from all the magazines after that, with his signature lipstick staining the corner of every one.
And something about that, that sass, that flirting with the edge of something more, perhaps a day in which Tenna is right next to him in such a photo, it sets a fire in him. It reminds him that his lover’s soul is right there, blazing through the key window in this fucking bondage dress he wore to the award show, right behind a thin pane of glass.
‘Mine.’ It’s the only word in Tenna’s head, circling it like the steam starting to pour from his vents as he takes the hand draped over Mettaton’s ass, the one currently fingering him, and shifts it so that his thumb can run between his lover’s soul and his crotch, over and over again.
A whine builds in his throat before turning into a full groan as he feels Mettaton hit that spot deep within VCR again. Tenna’s hold on his head tightens. He can’t help the way he bends as though magnetized by Mettaton’s touch. There’s a near painful amount of voltage building up inside. His very wiring seems to hum with the overcharge. It can’t be much longer now.
Tenna frantically taps at Mettaton’s thigh to let him know.
He can feel Mettaton’s groan as he pulls his fingers out from inside Tenna and removes his mouth from his battery box.
Tenna loves how debauched Mettaton looks. His mouth is still open, lubricant coating his lips and shining on his tongue, and his bangs stick to his forehead from humidity building within Tenna’s chest.
The way he moans as he presses himself into Tenna’s hand also certainly helps.
Mettaton takes a deep, shuttering breath, then another. The cool, humid air of a shut up theater has never tasted so good. He clenches his teeth, lips curling as he breaths in, only for his mouth to fall open in a shuttering gasp as Tenna presses his thumb against the window of his soul.
“I want you.” It comes out as a snarl.
“And you always get what you want, right?” Tenna has to pause to swallow. “Yeah? Isn’t that what you told me?”
Mettaton can’t help the coo that slips out of him as Tenna cups their head in his hand. The sound of his lover’s heavy breathing and the ringing in his ears fill the space around his brain.
“Tell me how you want me.”
“Inside.”
He’s close enough to Mettaton that Mettaton can hear him lick his lips.
“Tell me how badly you want it.”
Mettaton swiftly moves to sit upright. His legs sweep out to wrap around Tenna’s secondary forearms while he plants his hands on his primary shoulders. In one move, he both yanks the support out from under Tenna and shoves him backwards. The stage shakes as Tenna hits the ground, cursing as his head bounces off of the marley.
Mettaton is less than gentle as he climbs up Tenna’s frame to sit at his collar, legs settling on either side of his neck. He feels a prickling thrill settle across his skin as he digs his nails in and watches Tenna hiss. The command to unlock his pelvic plate is sent. In an instant, it retracts. Tenna has to crane his neck to look between Mettaton’s legs, but once he locks eyes with what greets them there, his smile returns.
“Yessss.” It’s more of a growl than anything else. Tenna’s grinning so hard it hurts, taking in the shining folds and swollen knob that greets him. He’s getting absolutely spoiled.
Mettaton relishes that look on Tenna’s face. He takes a moment to settle himself, real himself back in. If this is going to be a feature length presentation, then someone has to make sure it doesn’t get cut short, especially after that fun little change bomb in the first act. That doesn’t mean Mettaton can’t stretch his lover to his limit, however. Besides, a little punishment for foolish hubris and theft feels appropriate. Tenna gasps, laughing breathlessly as he arcs into Mettaton’s gentle touch on his antennae. His primary arms rest above his head, fingers twitching, as his secondary hands slowly creep up Mettaton’s legs.
“How are we feeling?” Mettaton idly pops a protective cover on the side of Tenna’s head and traces the edge of a dial.
Tenna huffs, thumbs slowly drawing circles into Mettaton’s calves. The singing of the circuit humming between them swells beautifully in his head, the vibrato of it making something in his battery box quiver. He swallows, antennae twitching in his lover’s grip as he tries to catch his breath, but he can’t.
Mettaton tuts. “Don’t tell me you’re giving out on me now…”
The light touch Tenna has on Mettaton becomes a vice grip.
“No.” He bears his teeth.
“You’re gonna treat me right?”
“Yes - better than a-anyone can. Better than you’d ever dream of.”
“Oh darling,” Mettaton gives a quiet laugh, “that’s a high standard to set.”
“I promise- you know I will- I-”
Mettaton turns the channel dial.
Electricity snaps through his brain as a flurry of clicks echo through the space. The entire world shifts as a new frequency sings from the inside of his head to the very tips of his antenna. Gone is the empty theater and stage. Now, they’re on the bank of a midnight lagoon.
Tenna swears, but rather than jerking away, he twists into Mettaton’s touch. It’s impossible to miss his lover’s gleaming grin shining through the dark.
“I’ll be so good to you-”
ClickClickClickClick.
A silent highway. Mettaton brings the antenna down and drags his tongue along the edge of it.
“Let me be good-”
ClickClickClickClickClickClick.
A dimesized rooftop lost somewhere in a city skyline. Teeth grace the aluminum element.
“Please-”
Mettaton snaps the dial in reverse. It sounds almost like a small buzz saw with how fast he jerks it back to the theater, to their private channel. The whole end of the antenna is in Mettaton’s mouth now.
Tenna wails. He’s shaking. The arms above his head flex as his hands form fist, legs kicking. The only thing grounding him is Mettaton. He can feel sparks arcing in his overcharged system, pinging off of sensitive diodes and soldering points. Tenna swears some of the connector pins to his power supply may very well be melting by this point.
But he’ll be fucking damned if he discharges now, not with the gates of heaven manned by its hottest angel a hair’s breath away from his face.
Mettaton lets the end of the antenna slip from his lips, a strand of lubricant connecting them before he pulls away.
“Oh you are so good.” Mettaton presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Look at you, holding out for me, my beautiful, beautiful man.”
A sob escapes through Tenna’s gritted teeth as Mettaton caresses the side of his face.
“Don’t break on me now, darling. Last I checked, you’re made of sturdier stuff, aren’t you?”
Tenna nods. He purses his lips as he breathes heavy through his nose and prays that his cooling fans don’t fly off their bearings.
“Well that’s a relief.” Mettaton stands, stretching lazily. He watches Tennas’ face as he does so, enjoying the way the burning blush on his screen lights him from below. He can’t resist rolling his hips just to give him more of an eye-full. “I can’t very well put all this on an OLED, now can I?”
Tenna breaks out laughing in the way Mettaton loves; open mouthed, head back, loud enough to shake the rafters. He can feel it rattle him down to the struts and vibrate his soul. Mettaton swears he can see a swirling, shimmering something drifting down from above in the glow of Tenna’s face.
It’s pure and simple magic.
Mettaton lets the moment sink in, sighing as he feels Tenna’s fingertips brush his ankles before moving up his legs.
“You’re-,” Tenna stumbles through the last dregs of giggles, “You’re really something else, you know that?”
“And you are incorrigible. I think that makes us a pretty good pair.”
Mettaton bends at the hips to place a chaste peck just next to Tenna’s mouth, but Tenna moves faster, lips catching his with a hunger. He melts into the kiss. As Mettaton’s hands come up to caress Tenna’s face, so too do Tenna’s hands move to support Mettaton, letting him relax into those warm, broad palms.
They stay there for a while, the sound of kisses, sloppy and slow, filling the silence.
Mettaton sighs and lets himself lean into the gentle thumb rubbing his cheek. The subtle pop of the kiss breaking makes him shiver as he pulls back slowly.
“I can still taste the butterscotch in your mouth,” he mumbles.
Tenna’s lips brush Mettaton’s as he smiles.
“Well, you did ask me to quit smoking.”
“The candy I gave you has been helping?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Mettaton gives Tenna the lightest of kisses. “That’s good.”
Tenna chases the kiss again, catching Mettaton once more, if only for a moment, before letting his head fall back onto the marley with a quiet chuckle. He breaths in as if to speak, then falters. Tenna sets Mettaton back down on his chest, fingers drumming against his lover's thighs. Mettaton watches him chew his bottom lip for a moment before trying again.
“I, uh-,” he clears his throat. “You have to tell me where you got it. I polished off the last one just before you came.”
Mettaton cocks a brow. “I have something stronger for that oral fixation of yours if you need it.”
Tenna smirks. “Oh we’re going to get to that, but- well, I mean- long term, can’t very well have you joy riding my face all over town like it's your personal hot rod.”
Caught between a snort and a laugh, Mettaton ends up turning his head to cough. “This is unfortunately true,” he says, trying to salvage some semblance of composure as he leans back. He traces his hands up the sides of his body, canting his shoulders as he bats his lashes. “You’d never get any work done.”
Tenna flashes a grin, chuckling. “I’d get work done, you better believe it, just not any pertaining to my job.”
Mettaton watches as he sighs and settles into a content smile.
“But I-… it’s kinda like having you with me.” The words are low, meant for Mettaton’s ears only, even in a room where there is no one else to listen. “And I like having you with me.”
Oh.
Mettaton can feel his soul flutter.
This man. Whatever he did to deserve him, Mettaton hopes he can keep it up.
A giddy expression bleeds across Tenna’s screen the longer he stares.
“What?” Mettaton has to work very hard to keep his voice even and his gleeful screaming internal.
“What’s that look for?”
“What are you talking about?”
Tenna chuckles. “The one you’re giving me right now.”
Mettaton tosses his bangs, buying himself a chance to fix his features. He can feel his CPU fan kick off again as something in him flushes with heat, and he’s sure it’s visible on his face. It’s more than just that, though. There’s something else.
He’s nervous as to what it might be.
But Mettaton, of MTT studios, does not get nervous.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. Perhaps all that candy has clogged up your brain.”
Something flickers across Tenna’s face, something too fast for Mettaton to catch, but it makes that same part of him buried way deep down ache all the same.
He lifts himself up off of Tenna’s chest and moves closer, hands brushing along the sides of his face. Mettaton focuses on the way Tenna shudders, on the way he whimpers even at the smallest touches, on the way his antennae quake and his plug thumps in anticipation.
Everything, anything, to dispel the cool weight that has settled on his soul.
“Let me give you a change of pallet,” he murmurs, “Are we ready for round two?”
It takes a second, but then, there’s that showman’s smile, bright as ever. “I’ve been looking forward to this physical challenge since we started.”
Tenna tugs on Mettaton’s legs with his secondary arms, coaxing him to sit as his primaries finally lift themselves from the floor above his head and wrap around Mettaton’s whole abdomen. Mettaton jerks with a shuttering curse as one of those hands brushes a thumb across the window of his soul, and he realizes that even if he wanted to get up, there’s no way he can. Glancing down at Tenna, he’s almost rendered dizzy by the look of adulation he’s greeted with.
The feeling inside of him flickers again. It courses through his wires, arcs through his brain.
“My turn to take care of you, star,” Tenna mutters softly from between Mettaton’s thighs. “Relax and enjoy.”
The next thing he does is lick a hot strip straight along the entire length of him.
Fuck, but isn’t he delicious?
Tenna shivers hearing Mettaton gasp above him. He delves in, running his tongue flat along the folds and flicking it over that lovely, throbbing batch of synthetic nerves. His tongue is flat, the edges curling from the pressure he applies. The tip presses up and teases the entrance as he drags it, stroking along the rim before planting an open mouthed kiss into the folds.
Tenna knows what Mettaton likes, and Mettaton likes a good show.
He also knows what Mettaton loves, and-
Tenna squeezes Mettaton’s legs, keeping him in place as he runs his tongue under the folds that surround his knob before sucking. He feels his lover jerk in his hands as he curses breathlessly overhead. Mettaton’s nails dig into the top of his head, thighs tightening on either side of him as his hips grind into his face.
Oh yeah. Mettaton loves that, and there’s more where that came from. He’s got a whole list. He’s been taking notes.
And if Tenna stepped over the line by asking what he shouldn’t ask for, if he tripped and made a fool of himself by reaching for something more, please, let Mettaton forget it. Give Tenna the ability to make him forget it.
He’ll find a way to be content with what he can get. Just don’t call it a wrap now.
Tenna hums and runs his tongue back and forth along the head of the knob as it swells in his mouth. He pulls his lips back, leaving a gap where the cold air rushes before brushing his thumb along Mettaton’s soul right at the same time he dips his tongue into the slit of the head.
Mettaton cries out. He slumps, almost falling to his elbows on top of Tenna’s face were it not for the fact he’s being held up.
“How’s that for a teaser trailer?” Tenna murmurs into Mettaton’s knee before kissing the joint.
Mettaton takes a shuttering breath. “Divine.”
“Yeah?” His fingers dig into Mettaton’s spine, running up and down the length of it as he nips at his thighs. “I told you- I promised you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”
Mettaton nods.
It’s not good enough.
“Say it.”
He gives a soft, choking laugh. “Yes, you did.”
Tenna plants an arc of kisses along the juncture of Mettaton’s thighs, from where one leg meets the hip all the way around, lavishing special attention upon the crowning jewel. “And when I promise you something, I mean it,” he says softly.
Again, Mettaton nods. His hips twitch in Tenna’s hands, and his brow furrows as he licks his lips. “Yes,” he whispers.
“Yes,” Tenna echos, and with that, he plunges his full tongue deep into his lover.
Mettaton gasps. His whole body clenches, jerking, but Tenna’s grip holds him fast. If he opens his eyes, the room looks like it’s spinning, and despite how he scrabbles for purchase, he can’t get a good enough grip on Tenna to make it stop.
Tenna’s tongue curls in and out. It’s a brutal pace, and every time he pushes in, he just keeps pushing, his tongue pressing to find more room inside. Mettaton swears his lover is making space where there shouldn’t be, stretching the capacity of his system to near breaking. Tenna’s tongue is thick and hot and rolling against every single angle in a way nothing else can, and oh, he’s so loud. Synthetic neurons fire and receive almost to the point of overload. His lover’s panting and moaning, of wet conductive silicone and eagerness, resound in the openness of the stage.
But something is still different.
A moan slips out of Mettaton as he goes limp. That curling cloying static is filling every bit of space in his skull, making it difficult to think, to do anything, but he knows this isn’t the same. The way Tenna holds onto him, with all four hands, pinning him in the way he is-
Mettaton gasps, a hoarse cry shaking his throat as the tip of Tenna’s tongue traces cruel circles at the very peak of his stretch, and he looks down.
There’s a bulge forming in the flexible steel plate on the underside of his soul container. It’s nothing huge, but it is most certainly there. Mettaton’s eyes widen as they focus on what they’re witnessing. The design of the canister is to bend rather than break, so as to protect the soul. It’s not like his lover could actually do anything to hurt him anyway, but-.
There’s a grunt from Tenna as he thrusts in, rolling his tongue with a moan, and it’s all Mettaton can do to not scream as he watches the metal flex in front of him. Tenna’s mouth, his lips, move along the sensitive silicone. Mettaton can’t tell if it’s just noises or actual words, but he can feel certain patterns, repetitions. There’s a sort of rhythm in the mumbling and moaning. He goes to move and find some reprieve, but he can’t. On the periphery, Mettaton watches as one of those large hands gripping his thigh shifts, thumb moving to roll his swollen batch of synthetic nerves.
Mettaton grits his teeth, but it’s not enough to prevent the noise that slips from him. His nails finally catch on Tenna’s vents and he tries to hold himself steady. Once more, his hips jerk, desperate to move, and once more, Tenna’s massive hands hold him down.
He feels his lover’s gaze on him. The warmth from it caresses Mettaton’s thighs, his chest, his face from below. It’s the sort of feeling that settles into every seam and lingers. There, in the rivets of his chest, the panels of his cheeks. Mettaton has to take a moment before he finally remembers how to focus his eyes and look down.
In an instant, his breath is taken away.
Tenna is watching him with unadulterated reverence. The heat of it is like that of a center stage spot light. It’s a heavy feeling, palpable as it sears into his skin and rolls over him. He’s not a star, he’s the star - the only star - shining on this silver screen, and he's burning in the glow of that light lit just for him.
The intense heat coming off of Tenna only seems to increase. Steam slips from his vents as he presses himself further into his work. Tenna’s grip tugs at Mettaton, pinning him to his face, but the strength he’s applying- there’s an edge to it, as if Mettaton still isn’t close enough. Once more, Mettaton can’t help but think Tenna’s trying to pull him inside of him, melt him into his very wiring, burn him into his screen.
He realizes that his lover’s grip, sturdy as it is, is trembling.
Mettaton’s mind snaps to that magenta cable tie heart strapped to his lover’s battery box directly behind him.
Everything in him clenches and throbs. “Tenna!”
Tenna hums, and Mettaton can feel the edge of teeth as they brush against his folds. Mettaton shudders, nearly crumpling. That tongue traces circles around him again. When it presses inside, he can feel the bend in the bottom of the canister brush his soul.
“Tenna!” The name breaks around his gagging.
Tenna withdraws with a sigh. Mettaton allows himself a gasp of relief. He extends an arm to tap Tenna on the side of the head, to let him know that he was content to stop here, but then his lover wraps that wicked thing around his throbbing knob and sucks again, hard.
Mettaton’s body seizes, joints locking. Another warning ping goes off in his brain as a breathy moan slips from him. Tears start to burn in the corners of his eyes.
He keens, “Ant!”
The moan that reverberates out of Tenna is nothing less than agonizing. The grip he has on him flexes. Mettaton can feel his teeth graze his folds one last time, lips finally parting to allow himself to gasp for air, breathless and needy.
For a moment, Tenna doesn’t move. He doesn’t delve back into his work, but he doesn’t relinquish his hold on Mettaton either. He just lays there, still, with his head still between his lover’s thighs as though trying to crush himself between them. The static of his screen and the feeling of him breathing are almost too much when finally, mercifully, Tenna lifts his head.
His face is absolutely soaked and he’s grinning vent to vent.
“Wowzers…” It’s said more as a breathless laugh than anything else. “Haha, hoo…”
Tenna licks his lips as he turns and kisses Mettaton’s knee again and hums a blissful little tune. He stays there a moment longer, lips just grazing the joint, until he finally looks back up at Mettaton.
“And how did our contestant perform today?” he asks with a smile that is far too sweet to be a smirk, though it’s clear he’s trying.
Mettaton has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent from changing his mind and thrusting himself onto Tenna’s tongue again as he clenches around nothing.
Good god, what is going on with this man tonight?
Mettaton lets his eyes close for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Exceeded all expectations,” he says with a sigh, “Perfect scores across the board.”
Tenna’s smile only widens. He perks up, antennae bobbing happily as he finally relinquishes his grip on Mettaton to run his fingers gently over him.
“Really?” He’s practically giddy. “Well, I mean-” he clears his throat, winking as he eases Mettaton into his lap to rest against his raised thighs. “Only the best treatment for my star.”
The way he says it makes something in Mettaton’s misfire. He covers it with a click of his tongue, rolling his eyes as he watches Tenna wipe his face with his discarded dress shirt. “You cad.”
Tenna nods as he runs his fingers through his lover’s hair. He bends forward and pulls Mettaton in for a kiss. It starts slow, almost chaste. As soon as Tenna runs his tongue along Mettaton’s lips, however, he’s met with a hand against his mouth, and he leans back once more with a happy sigh.
“At least I’m an honest one.”
“This is true.”
Tenna chuckles. “Speaking of being an honest cad-”
“Where the hell is this going?”
He only laughs harder. It makes Mettaton bounce a little where he’s seated.
“I- it’s just I gotta tell you, the way you called my name at the end there- woo!” He shakes his head. “Makes a guy reconsider his occupation.”
Mettaton gives Tenna the side eye. “In what way?”
“In the way of finding out how to attach wheels to himself so you can ride him until they come clean off. That kind of way.”
Mettaton actually presses his hands to his mouth as if he can stem the laughter. It doesn’t work. All it succeeds in is making Tenna laugh along with him, his thumb running along his lover’s cheek. Mettaton can’t help how he sighs and leans into the touch. His eyes flutter shut, relishing in the warmth and texture of Tenna’s hand.
When he opens them, Tenna has that goofy smile on his screen.
“You’re doing it again,” he says.
Mettaton doesn’t even speak. He just makes a noise in place of a question.
“Looking at me like that.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tenna quirks a brow.
“I’m just making a mental note to myself to clean everything thoroughly, since you no doubt packed it full of sugar from all the candy you’ve been eating.”
“Oh well that shouldn’t be a problem. You swap those parts out at least once a week anyway.”
“Yes, but I still have to clean them.”
“Just put it in the dishwasher or-.”
“Abso-fucking-lutly not.”
Cheeky snickers fizzle from between Tenna’s teeth. “It’s just silicone.”
“I am not putting my genitalia in the dish washer.”
“Why not?”
Mettaton gapes at him. His hands wave between them as if he can just show Tenna the very obvious reason why. “Because! Oh my god, what if someone saw?!”
“You have that many people rooting around-?”
“That’s not the point!”
“I mean-”
Tenna bursts into laughter as Mettaton playfully, albeit dramatically, slaps his shoulder. He holds up a protective hand once he sees his lover reeling back to strike a second time.
“Okay, alright, I get it.” Giggles punctuate his words, shaking his shoulders. “Can I propose a simple solution?”
Mettaton huffs, eyes narrowing as he raises his hand higher. It only makes Tenna laugh more, even if it becomes wispy and light. Once again, there's a span of seconds that stretch as Tenna just stares.
Does he do this?
Does he bet everything here?
Tenna swallows, and it’s only now that he realizes he’s been grinding his teeth, what with the way his molars hurt.
He can’t stand the way Mettaton’s looking at him like that and just…
Do nothing.
Maybe the candy line wasn’t enough. Maybe the indirect suggestions weren’t right. Maybe fifty million things. Who knows. Not him. He never knows, but he’s been trying. His lover may be all coy glances and turns of phrase that could mean anything or everything but that’s not him. He doesn’t do subtle. He doesn’t do indirect. He doesn’t do- whatever the fuck it is he’s been doing, because that just feels like nothing and it’s driving him up the wall for what seems like an agonizing eternity, and, okay, the record can show that an ‘agonizing eternity’ is probably, to everyone else, a painfully small amount of time, but they can go to hell.
Tenna can be a patient man when he wants to be, but he doesn’t want to be, not anymore, and despite the very real fear that grips him, that stupid wild spark he’s too nervous to name is stronger.
Tenna takes a deep breath.
“Let me come home with you,” he finally says.
Mettaton blinks. That feeling deep within his soul swells as Tenna sits up a little more.
“We can-” Tenna casts about for his words. “Well, we can either take your ride if it’s outside, or I’ll drive- you know I don’t mind driving. We don’t have to do anything. You do whatever you need to- I can stay out of your way. Next morning, bright and early, I’ll-” a nervous grin tugs at his face as he huffs, “-take care of emptying your dishwasher and-” under the deep glow of blush flickers with static. “I can even cook you breakfast! Been told I make some amazing pancakes. Can even do them with extra glitter and sequins, just like you like ‘em. I’ve been practicing. What do you say?”
Oh.
Mettaton says nothing. He doesn’t even breathe. He just takes Tenna in, all of him. The genuine and open affection burning on his face, the anxious tick in his bent antenna, the hum of his body, the phantom sensation of his staticky lips.
Oh.
Mettaton’s gaze shifts, landing on the cable tie heart, the idol this man made of his soul, swinging lightly next to his own.
It seems to shine in the glow of the ghost lamp.
The longer Mettaton says nothing, the faster the smile slips from Tenna’s face.
His antennae droop, falling like the snow that settles heavy behind his screen. His shaking hands ball into fists on the floor.
Ah.
He did it again, didn’t he?
Got too invested, read the cues wrong, and-...
Of course he got it all wrong. He’s prone to do that, isn’t he?
After a moment, Tenna nods.
“Okay.” His voice is painfully small. “Okay. I- I uh- I’m - Sorry. I’m sorry. I overstepped-.”
Mettaton cannot kiss Tenna fast enough.
This man.
Sweet everloving god this man.
Teeth clack. Mettaton’s lip gets caught on one of Tenna’s canines. There is way too much tongue.
None of that matters.
It feels like an age before Mettaton finally pulls back with a gasp.
“Yes.” He holds Tenna’s head in both his hands, their foreheads pressed together.
“What?” Tenna’s face is empty, blank.
Mettaton nods. “Yes, darling, I would love that.”
There’s no reply, Mettaton’s breathing deeply, trying to get cool air into his system so his head stops feeling like it’s spinning, so he can speak clearer. “Come home with me. Spend the night. We’ll do breakfast in bed, and then I’ll show you that delightful little place I found that butterscotch for you. That would be- that would be a dream.”
There’s a pause. It stretches the soul.
“Really?”
Tenna’s voice is so quiet, the question so fragile and brittle in its hopefulness. Mettaton has to take a slow breath to steel himself as he leans in to kiss Tenna again, gently this time.
“Yes.”
Tenna’s tail thumps once against the marley. “You want-?”
“You.”
Again, a kiss.
“I want you.”
A kiss.
“And you are not going to argue with me.”
Kiss.
“I want you.” Mettaton finally sit back to look Tenna full in the face. He smiles. “And don’t you remember? I get what I want.”
Tenna just stares.
To put it mildly, he’s fucking gobsmacked.
It starts low, just a rumble way down. As it builds, it settles in the struts, then all the rest of his frame. Finally, as he throws his head back and laughs, he feels it light up every piece of conduit in his body.
Joy.
It grips him, shakes him, makes every part jump and quake and holy fuck Mettaton is still in his lap. His hands slap onto Tenna’s shoulders to prevent bouncing around. Tenna also realizes Mettaton is laughing with him. He wraps his arms around his lover, all of them, and just relishes the feeling of having him there.
And he loves the way Mettaton holds him back, laughter echoing in the cavity of his chest.
By the time the giggles peter out and he can actually see again, he’s greeted with a flower at the end of his nose and a Mettaton who is still laughing.
When Mettaton plucks it and tucks it into his hair, it takes absolutely every fibre of Tenna’s being not to just melt on the spot. Instead, he kisses his star, a much better alternative.
Chaste, giggly little kisses are followed by content sighs, then the running of tongues against lips and open mouthed moans. Hands run heavy and smolder across skin. Fingers get twisted in cords and in hair. The humidity between them causes their thighs to stick together. With six arms all tangled, it’s hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Maybe there isn’t such a thing. Maybe, like the circuit between them, it’s a closed loop.
Mettaton shifts and kisses along one of the struts along Tenna’s neck, and Tenna sighs as he leans to give his lover better access, only to break into a fresh peel of bubbling laughter as Mettaton’s teeth tug at the cable tie around his neck.
“I don’t know about you,” Mettaton smiles into Tenna’s shoulder, “but I’d like to continue where we left off, and maybe… finish up.”
Tenna is practically vibrating as he runs a hand along Mettaton’s back and pulls him closer, burying his face in his lover’s hair. His reward is a low hum and fingers tracing along his primary shoulder blades. It takes a minute to collect his thoughts, but eventually, Tenna shuffles, pulling back ever so slightly as he does so, though not without pressing a kiss into Mettaton’s temple.
“I-” His voice cracks, so he swallows before clearing his throat. “I, uh…”
Mettaton just runs his fingers along his lover’s antennae. “Yes?”
Tenna tries again, and this time, all that comes is a frequency warble. Mettaton just chuckles.
“Why don't you be good and show me what you want?”
Oh… yes, yes he can do that.
Tenna fishes a hand between them and into his chest cavity, feeling about as he nods.
He almost misses seeing it, his hand is shaking too badly, but the thing he can’t miss is the way his body reacts as he ghosts over it. With a sigh, he follows a power cable from where it is plugged into his battery down to the spare servos in his hip and unplugs it. He twists his wrist a little as he pulls the connector off, and his legs below him jerk as another giggle echos in his ear.
When he looks down, so does Mettaton.
It's large, sheathed in black rubber and sitting heavy in his palm. The rubber clings to Tenna’s fingers. It's impossible to not feel the hum of electricity surging through it as he moves to take it in two hands.
With one set of fingers, he holds the base of the connector, and with the other, he carefully rolls the rubber sheath back. A thick barrel of conductive metal with a single pin gleams in the light as it comes into view.
Mettaton’s breath catches.
Tenna swallows. His hand is still shaking as he slowly lowers the connector between them. It lands to rest on his pelvis, the barrel pointing towards Mettaton’s own swollen tip. His grip shifts, fingers flexing their hold. It’s Mettaton who moves next, reaching out to settle on Tenna’s hand and coax him forward.
They both jolt at the first touch. It’s hot, just on the edge of pain as electricity sparks against damp silicone. The feeling runs up their spines and straight to their brains at a voltage that makes them dizzy. Any time one of them shifts and the connection is broken, an arc of electricity jumps between them, as if determined to keep them together.
Mettaton takes his thumb and wraps it around his knob, bringing it flush against the length of the connector as he moans.
He rolls his hips slowly, over and over.
Arcs zip around the chamber of his soul much in the same way as they do the cavity of Tenna’s chest. Little pops of power burst and sparkle- one could swear there were stars. Mettaton’s hair starts to lift with the static charge, and Tenna’s screen crackles with it. They both are breathing heavy. Mettaton’s free hand has a death grip on the back of Tenna’s neck. One of Tenna’s own hands rests at the base of Mettaton’s head, one on his thigh.
The third slowly reaches around and grabs Mettaton’s ass. He gasps as he’s lifted ever so slightly, and with that extra space found, Tenna bucks into their combined grip.
Mettaton holds him tighter. He bites his lip as he takes a deep breath and sends the command for the window to his soul to recede. The effect is immediate. The little bolts of lightning within him now mingle with the lightning inside Tenna.
Tenna all but whimpers.
They start rutting. The hand holding the connector plug bounces against Tenna’s pelvis as it grinds against Mettaton’s throbbing batch of nerves. The sounds that tumble from them are echoed by the thrum of electricity.
Mettaton’s grip tightens. “Ant…”
Tenna’s hips stutter.
Mettaton sets a new pace, a brutal one. “Ant!”
The buzz of an overcharge is audible now. It vibrates at the back of their teeth as sparks skitter across their skin.
“Tell me.” Tenna’s words are hardly coherent, fuzzy and distant as they slip through gritted teeth. “Please. Again. I need it. Please. Please!”
Tenna feels Mettaton’s head nod against his, and he shifts just enough so the head of his knob makes contact with the connector pin.
“I want yoo~ooou~ooh!”
The surge is blinding. They cling to each other for dear life as they ride through it.
It takes a while for the snaps of wild electricity to slowly dissipate. They’re panting, arms still wrapped around one another, relishing breathing in the same air. The arcing lightning sparking between them settles back into the filament of their wires with a hum that wasn’t there before.
“Oh,” Mettaton sighs. “Oooooh myyy~…”
Tenna’s face twitches into a smile, an errant zip of electricity darting up his antennae. There is not a single thought inside his head at this moment. It’s just fuzz and bliss.
Mettaton lightly scratches the space between Tenna’s shoulderblades. “That was… positively showstopping.” He has a quiet, lazy laugh as he watches Tenna’s tail swish happily along the floor.
Tenna gives a hum of contentment. “Good?” It takes all of the energy he can muster to say just that word, and it’s static to all hell as he tries to readjust his signal and get his brain on straight.
Mettaton slowly unwinds his arms from around Tenna, falling back limply with a groan. “I demand we do that again.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Tenna’s voice shakes with tired giggles. “Well, it’s not like I can say no to you about anything…”
A dazzling smile spreads across Mettaton’s face. “Now you’re starting to see it.”
They take their time untangling themselves. It’s light banter, quiet jokes and laughter, until finally, Mettaton is retying Tenna’s bowtie. He looks as put together as he walked in. A quick brush down, a reapplying of lipstick, and he is set. The only noticeable difference is the flower tucked into his hair. Tenna, however-
“What’s the point?” he sighs, gesturing to the rest of him as his plug thumps the ground by his ankles. While his shirt is on, it’s rumpled and stained with lubricant, his tuxedo jacket and waistcoat hanging draped from his arm. Frankly, the only thing he doesn't have a problem with is the lipstick smeared across his screen.
Mettaton arches an eyebrow at him before dipping his finger behind and under the collar to tug at the cable tie around Tenna’s neck. “Because this is for my eyes and my eyes alone. Nobody else gets the privilege.”
“Who the hell else is up at this hour?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Tenna chuckles, running a hand down his face before sighing and letting it clap against his thigh. He shakes his head before pressing a kiss to Mettaton’s cheek.
Mettaton catches Tenna by the chin before he can withdraw and kisses him softly on the lips. As Tenna goes to hold him, however, Mettaton slips from his grasp with a light laugh.
He steps back, turning towards the theater. The dark is there, still, not silent. It echoes with the click of his heels as he moves to the front of the stage.
Mettaton stands there looking at a sea of quiet seats. Then, after a moment, he raises both arms and takes a bow.
Tenna chuckles. Mettaton whips to face him with a hand on his hip.
“Hey, hey now.” Tenna holds his hands out placatingly. “I just think it's endearing.”
Mettaton hums, and there, there it is, that soft smile dusting his face, the one where his eyelid droops just a bit, his brows twitch upwards while his chin tilts down. That one. That's the look.
Tenna can’t help but feel giddy over seeing his lover look at him like that, and how, holy shit, he’s going to be seeing it a lot more often.
“Let’s go,” Mettaton slips his hand into Tenna’s as they walk toward the door back stage, the combined glow of Tenna’s screen and Mettaton’s soul lighting the way. “There’s a bed that’s calling us, and an MTT-brand apron with your name on it in the morning.”
Tenna grins, then paused, “I don’t think-”
“It’s not going to fit. That is by design, and you better not wear anything underneath it.”
The ghost lamp burns on even after the echo of laughter peeters out in the dark.