Chapter Text
You step up to the double-doors of Studio C, hearing the thrum of loud, bass-heavy dance music coming from inside. Despite the fact that the noise clearly indicates that you’re in the right place, you check the invitation one more time.
You’re invited to the TV Time Monthly Office Party!
Drinks, snacks, music, dancing, and more!
Location: Studio C. 500 point cover. Doors open at 8PM.
You showed up at 9, leaving a comfortable amount of time for things to get started. You had recently begun your third week as executive assistant, and although you don’t know what to expect from a studio office party, you’ve been yearning for a way to let off some steam.
In the short time that you’ve been working there, you’ve already developed a persistent ache in your upper back and a lingering pain in the wrist that you suspect is the early onset of carpal tunnel. And then there’s the chronic migraine that goes by the name “Mr. Ant Tenna.”
Working directly under him is, to put it simply, nightmarish. No amount of his friendly banter or silly quips can offset the ridiculous amount of work he hoists on you, nor do they make his fragile temper any easier to deal with. Apparently the position of executive assistant has one of the lowest employee retention rates in the entire studio, and that’s accounting for both production and administration. The fact that you had made it to the third week means that you’ve outlasted your previous five predecessors, and you know that you’re not bound to last long unless something changes.
At the very least you’re being presented with a good opportunity to get drunk enough to not think about him. Grounding yourself with a deep breath, you enter the building.
Despite the noise emanating out of the closed metal doors, you’re completely taken off-guard by the wall of sound that greets you as they open. The space is almost completely dark save for roving multicolored spotlights, and the dance music is so amped-up that you can feel it affecting the rhythm of your heart. Your mouth hangs open as you step inside; with how wild things already are, you’d have thought the event had been going on for hours. Whatever you were expecting this party to be, it absolutely wasn’t this.
You feel a small hand tap your shoulder; “500 points,” you just barely hear over the thrumming bass. You briefly turn your attention away from the revelry and yank out your wallet, handing the attendant the cash. As you’re handing it over, you’re nearly knocked off your feet as a pair of drunk co-workers clip your shoulder as they force themselves out of the doors, neither of whom are able to take their hands off of each other for even a second.
You collect yourself, receive an inky black X on the back of your right hand, and wander the main hall of the studio. Just a little beyond you is a packed dance floor; you had no idea enough people worked here to fill that amount of space, and all of them are going absolutely wild. As you try to shuffle through the crowd to get to the bar, it dawns on you that these parties must be the keystone of the studio’s fragile ecosystem; give the employees a good enough outlet for their stress, and they’ll put up with way more than they would otherwise.
You approach the bar, failing to conceal your shock as you stare out at the crowd. Plastic tables have been repurposed into makeshift go-go dance platforms, and the amateur performers are giving it their all, to the whooping cheers of the onlookers. Couples, and occasionally groups of three, four, or five, behave with shameless hedonism. Within a single glance you can count five separate couples making out, and there in the back corner… Are they just dancing, or are they—
“First time, huh?” shouts a voice over the music, snapping you out of your nosy voyeurism.
You turn your head to see your associate, a friendly acquaintance from the accounting department; you laugh nervously and clear your throat. “A-ah, uh… Yeah. Is it that obvious?”
Your co-worker smiles at you mischievously. “You just had that look on your face,” she says, sipping her drink. “Everybody’s shocked the first time they show up. Even if they’re expecting it to be wild, I don’t think they ever expect it to be this wild.”
“I— I mean, yeah, no kidding.” You briefly pause the conversation to order a drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party this intense in my entire life,” you say, returning your attention back to her.
“It’s the only perk of working in this shithole, so people will take advantage to the fullest. Just have a few drinks and cut loose! It’s the only night of the month where you can just go crazy and no one will judge you.”
“Ah, uh… Sure,” you say, accepting the drink from the bartender. You scan the crowd again as you take a sip, nearly choking on your cocktail as you see a familiar, glowing face towering over the other guests. “Oh my fucking god, HE’S here!?” you shout incredulously.
Your co-worker follows your gaze and cackles as she sees what you’re reacting to. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about him. Tenna knows better than to get people in trouble for the shit they get up to at these things. He’s just happy to be included.”
“Ugh,” you groan, rubbing your face. “If I knew, I would’ve just stayed home.”
“Aw, c’mon, it’s not so bad,” she says, nudging your arm. “Just avoid him. And if he tries to talk to you, just nod at him ’til he gets bored and goes away.” She smiles encouragingly, attempting to counter your exasperation. “At least get your fill of the free drinks before you call it quits!”
“…Fine.” You sigh, chug the remainder of your drink, and turn back around to order another.
Just as you think you’re getting tipsy enough to lose focus on his looming presence, the lights go up slightly and a booming voice projects out over the fading music. “And now for tonight’s entertainment, your host with the most, Mr. Ant Tenna!”
You turn around to see him striding up onto a small stage, microphone in hand, greeted by an even mixture of halfhearted clapping and boos. You do neither, frowning sourly in his direction. “How are we doing tonight!?” he asks the crowd.
The audience responds with some cheering, some groaning, and one heckler shouting “A whole lot better before you showed up!” Tenna chooses to not acknowledge him.
He launches into a stand-up comedy routine, but his choice to get on stage just as people were getting into the music means that he’s automatically lost the crowd. “I’ve just got to thank the studio C crew for setting this whole thing up, and especially Bob, our event organizer. They do so much for us, so don’t be too hard on them for hogging all the booze!” he jokes, to very little reaction from the audience. Bob, sitting at the bar a few feet down from you, puts up his middle finger.
Tenna hesitates for a moment, reconsidering his approach. “You know, the other day I had the unfortunate experience of meeting the biggest asshole I’ve ever seen in my life. A real piece of work, this guy. And you know what I said?” He pauses. “‘MIKE! How many times have I told you to get this mirror out of my office!?’”
That one actually gets some laughs, and you react with a quiet snort. He beams at the warm reception to his self-deprecating joke, relishing in the fact that he’s managing to be entertaining even if it’s at his own expense. He continues a little longer with himself as the butt of the joke, and this tactic works until the crowd once again starts to lose interest. The audience becomes sparse as most of the attendees file out towards the patio or over to the bar.
For whatever reason, you’re compelled to remain watching, although you’re soon too distracted by your own thoughts to pay much attention to his set. There’s something about him that’s pitiably pathetic, debasing himself up on stage like a dancing monkey. And yet, he has a quality that’s oddly enchanting. His unshakable confidence combined with his clear self-awareness of his unpopularity fascinates you, but soon you find yourself honing in on the way he looks.
His outfit is stiflingly tight as usual, but he has the physique to pull it off. It’s clear that he’s extremely—perhaps excessively—proud of his looks, but you suppose you would be too if you looked like that. His broad shoulders wrapped in the shiny rose-red fabric of his tailcoat cut an imposing, masculine figure contrasted with his relatively narrow hips. You can’t help but wonder what he would look like if he took all of it off. As soon as that thought properly registers in your mind, you shake your head disgustedly and turn around to order another drink.
Not much later, the audience has finally had enough. A chant of “MUSIC! MUSIC! MUSIC!” starts up from the back corner of the space and gradually overtakes the entire remaining crowd.
Tenna looks flustered and disheartened by this unanimous rejection, smiling in an ineffective attempt to conceal his disappointment. “A-ah! Well, I— I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome!” He gestures over at the sound booth. “DJ, give ‘em what they want!” The loud dance music resumes and the light once again dims, heralded by a wave of enthusiastic cheering as Tenna slinks off the stage. You feel an impulse to give him a hug. As your drink arrives, you immediately order another.
As you step away from the bar after chugging four drinks in less than twenty minutes, you’re feeling remarkably more prepared to match the energy of this event. You spend a while dancing, getting lost in the music among the crowd.
During a lull between songs, you take stock of your surroundings. Things are only getting more debauched and heated as time goes on; a couple of your co-workers are getting so wrapped up in each other’s touch that it’s like they’ve forgotten they’re still in public. As you pull your eyes away and try to focus on the music again, it dawns on you that it’s been way too long since you got laid. The ambient eroticism of the party is making you feel hot and bothered and more than a little envious of the people who have already paired off.
Failing to find anyone in your vicinity that you deem worth approaching, you decide to just wait for somebody to come to you, feeling distinctly disadvantaged by your short duration of employment. People tend to gravitate towards those who they already know, and are less eager to give a chance to a newcomer like you. As you once again visit the bar, you spot one of the most eligible bachelors in administration grinding against and grabbing someone you don’t recognize.
You scowl and sigh as you sip your drink. It’s not like you actually had a crush on him, but the sight made you acutely aware of your odds getting slimmer and slimmer as more time passes. As you finish your drink, you make your way over to the bathroom.
“Uggggghhhhhh,” you groan, rambling to yourself as you sit down on the toilet. “Maybe I really should just go home. Nobody knows me here, and it’s just going to get more depressing the later it gets.”
You quietly chuckle, shaking your head. “I can’t believe one of the only people at this party who knows me by name is Mister-freakin-Tenna. What a goddamn disaster. Well, I guess it could be worse… I can’t imagine how humiliating it would be for everyone to know you and for no one to give you the time of day.”
You ruminate on that thought a little longer; what if he actually did find somebody to pair up with tonight? Surely some people here have gotten drunk enough to forget how much they dislike him. The more you think about it, the more sick you feel. Not that passing annoyance you felt when you recognized your co-worker, but actual jealousy, directed towards a hypothetical person who probably doesn’t even exist.
“Ugh. What the fuck am I thinking?” you murmur, flushing the toilet.
As you finish washing your hands and exit the bathroom, you wander over to a relatively secluded and quiet corner of the studio, sitting down on one of the leather couches as you contemplate whether it’s time to give up on your aspirations of getting laid. The atmosphere in this corner is fairly restrained; the other seats are mostly populated with chatting groups of friends.
You consider trying to assert yourself into one of the conversations when a familiar voice sends a chill down your spine. “Well! Would you look who it is!”
You turn your head to see Tenna approaching you somewhat unsteadily, two drinks in hand. Some time over the course of the night he ditched the jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. Your mind clashes with simultaneous thoughts of Oh dear god, not him, not after the night I’ve already been having, and Holy shit he looks hot like that.
“And here I was starting to think that you just didn’t show up!” he says, projecting his voice despite the fact that his normal volume would be entirely audible over the loud music. “So? What do you think? Having fun?”
“Yeah, uh… Yeah. I am. It's great,” you reply somewhat insincerely.
“Honestly, perfect timing! I just happened to accidentally get served two of the same drink.” He grins as he offers you the glass in his left hand. “It’s yours if you want it!”
“A-accidentally?” you laugh skeptically, accepting the glass.
He gets flustered at your obvious disbelief, looking off to the side and laughing nervously. “W-well, sure! These things happen sometimes, y’know, just a bit of miscommunication after they took my order.”
“Uh-huh,” you reply, grinning as you take a sip.
He clears his throat as he attempts to pull himself together. “But hey, I think it all worked out in the end!” He takes a seat next to you on the couch; it’s not built for a man of his stature. He’s so heavy that you feel your center of gravity shifting towards him, and his knees stick up awkwardly as if he was seated on a little step-stool. He adopts a confident pose, one elbow propped up on the back of the couch with his drink in the other hand. “I’m a little surprised, I was thinking that maybe this kind of shindig wasn’t your style.” He glances down slightly. “And I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look incredible.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “W-w-what!?” you giggle incredulously.
“I said you look incredible!” he repeats slightly louder, assuming you hadn’t heard him. “And I’m not just saying that. It’s nice to see you in something other than business-casual for once.” His confidence falters at your shocked expression. “I— I mean, that’s not to say you don’t usually look nice! I— I just…” He wheezes quietly. “U-um… Uh, how are you liking that drink!?”
“It’s great,” you respond, still wearing a bewildered grin.
Tenna relaxes slightly, interpreting your smile as a sign that he hasn’t made you uncomfortable. “Glad to hear it!” He takes a sip of his. “I admit, I was kind of hoping that you’d show up. Just wanted to give you an opportunity to see that I’m not always a hard-ass. The way I act in the office is only one side of me, you know! I’m multifaceted! Last time I counted, I’ve got at least five sides!” he says, pointing at his head.
You cackle. “W-what the fuck?” you say quietly between your laughter.
He doesn’t catch your mumbled comment, feeling yet further emboldened by your positive reaction. He shifts his drink into the opposite hand, freeing the one closer to you. “See? I still know how to be fun! And if you can believe it, I threw parties even crazier than this back in the day!” As he finishes his sentence, he places his hand on your shoulder.
You silently stare forward for a moment before bursting out into hysterical laughter, reaching up and grabbing his hand to confirm that it’s actually there.
He immediately blushes at your reciprocation of his touch, but doesn’t quite know what to make of your reaction. “I— Uh, did I… Did I say something funny?” he asks, confused.
“Mr. Tenna,” you gasp as soon as you can restrain your laughter enough to speak. “What the hell is this?”
“What the hell is… uh, what?”
“I mean what is this entire thing you’re doing.” You giggle for a moment longer before continuing. “You strolled up with an extra drink that you just happened to have, and then you complimented my looks, and now you’re getting handsy. Are you actually hitting on me right now?”
Tenna immediately draws his hand back, waving it defensively as he scoots away from you. “H-hey, woah, woah, WOAH! I— I’m not— I’m just… H-hey, I’m just trying to be friendly! I— I mean, what’s wrong with a little pat on the shoulder? What kind of person do you think I am!?”
“A little pat? Is that what that was?” you cackle, rubbing your face. “Well, now I’m thinking you’re the kind of sleazy creep who would hit on his secretary. Am I wrong?”
His entire screen glows pink as he stammers in open-mouthed humiliation. “T-that’s— that’s not…! That’s… I promise that’s really not what I—”
Not buying his denial and increasingly tickled by his reaction to your teasing, you decide to crank it up a notch, shifting forward to close the gap. “You know, I think this move works even better,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it on your waist. He immediately falls silent save for a heavy exhale as his screen turns from pink to red. “Still plausibly friendly, but infinitely more effective. Linger just long enough to give it a little squeeze before you pull away.”
As if commanded by your words, his grip gets tighter as he lets out another trembling exhale. His hand is so massive that he grabs quite a bit more than just your waist, and the pressure is firm and satisfying. He’s clearly just as strong as he looks, if not stronger. As he squeezes just a little tighter, you can swear that you feel something sharp digging into your back from the tips of his fingers.
For the first time, it occurs to you that if you’re really serious about wanting to get laid tonight, this is your opportunity. It would be easy. It would be so fucking easy.
He pulls away from you again, laughing nervously as he sets his drink down, quickly crosses his legs, and folds his hands on his lap. “You’re a real jokester sometimes! Hahaha! Y-you really know how to keep me on my toes!”
“Jokester?” you repeat. “Do you really think I was joking?”
He looks away from you, slouching over so that his forearms cover up the front of his pants. “I— I guess I don’t really know! I’m, uh… feeling a little woozy. M-maybe I’ve been hitting the drinks a little too hard!”
You’re suddenly overcome with an unshakable determination to make him even more lightheaded. “C’mon, just be honest with me,” you say, nudging his arm. “Were you flirting with me or not?”
“Hahahahaha!” he laughs, sounding more pained than delighted. “T-that would… that would be…” He briefly glances at you, his blush once again intensifying as he looks away. “R-really unprofessional of me.”
You cackle. “Way to dodge the question. And yeah, you’re right, it would. It sounds like you’re only realizing this now.”
“That’s not true!” he insists firmly. “What, do you think I’m some kind of idiot?”
“Oooh! That one didn’t sound like a lie!” you tease, getting up on your knees beside him. “So you knew the entire time but decided to do it anyway?”
He stammers out a few syllables, failing to answer you.
“Ahahaha, theeeeere we go,” you laugh, making him go rigid as you put your hand on his shoulder. “I won’t hold it against you if you were, you know. Although I already know you were just based on how hard you’re blushing.”
“H-hey, I—” he chokes, adjusting the collar of his shirt before quickly covering up his crotch area again. “I-it’s… It’s normal for me to get a little pink in the pixels when I’ve had a couple drinks! C’mon, it happens to everybody!”
You laugh; his cadence changes drastically from when he’s being honest to when he’s lying, and he’s clearly slipped back into dishonesty. You cross your arms and look at him with a smug grin. “Okay, here’s my best guess: if I wanted you to be flirting with me, you were. If I didn’t want you to, you weren’t. Is that what’s going on?”
“Haaaah…!” he wheezes, doubling over and looking down at the floor.
You lose yourself in a little fit of giggles as he covers his screen in flustered humiliation. Not wanting him to get too down on himself, you tap his shoulder. “What if I said I did want you to?” you ask teasingly.
“W-what?” he gasps, peeking over at you. “Is… is that… Are you serious?”
“Maybe I am.”
“M-maybe!?” he repeats, brushing his antennas back as he sits up and uncrosses his legs. “Goodness gracious, you’re killing me! I haven’t gotten this many mixed signals since they retired analog broadcasting.”
You laugh at his comment, as well as the absurdity of the entire situation. “Sorry, sorry,” you gasp, “It’s just that you’re really cute when you’re flustered.”
He wheezes again, still clutching his hands tightly on his lap. “Y-you… you really think…?”
“C’mon, you didn’t even answer my question,” you insist, leaning closer to him. “Just be honest. What if I said I did want you to flirt with me?”
He lets out another nervous laugh, looking away from you as his screen tints the black leather couch in a faint shade of pink. “I— I, um… I… I guess I’d… be… p-pretty pleased about that.”
“Finally!” you laugh. Right as you’re about to make your next move, you freeze. What the fuck are you doing? asks your inner voice. Are you really so desperate that you’re actually coming on to him? HIM, of all people?
You remain quiet for a moment as you look at him, accidentally causing an awkward silence as he waits for you to continue speaking. You look at his arms, the artificial musculature cutting an imposing silhouette through his well-tailored sleeves, trembling with nervous agitation. You look at his chest, broad and toned and firm. You look down at his hands clasped on his lap, desperately trying to hide the evidence of his obvious excitement.
You turn around and quickly down the remainder of your drink to silence the dissenting thoughts, and then you face towards him again. “Just thought I’d reward you for your honesty,” you murmur, climbing up onto his lap and straddling his thighs. You try to ignore the way that the surrounding conversations have suddenly gone silent, a task made gradually easier by your slowly-increasing drunkenness.
“Aaaa-ahahaha…!” he reacts, a noise somewhere between a laugh, a moan, and a terrified whimper. “I— I—” His stammering tapers off to silence as he looks down at your body. “Wow,” he whispers.
You laugh at how stunned he looks, reaching up and adjusting his collar. “I get the feeling you didn’t expect to get this far.”
“Sure didn’t,” he whispers in a brief moment of unfiltered candidness. “I— I mean, well, I’m ready for anything! Gotta be adaptable when you’re in my line of work, hahaha!” His laugh fades into a shaky exhale as he looks down at the spot where your bodies meet. “I— I just… w-wasn’t really expecting… this side of you!”
“Yeah, well, neither did I.” You giggle as you run your hand along the side of his screen, eliciting a quiet, whimpering moan. “The thing is, I kind of hate your fucking guts. However, you’re extremely hot, and I guess you caught me in a good mood.”
He lets out a desperate whine at your compliment, shivering hard enough that you can feel it against your hand. “Y-yeah, uh… y-you’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself! Um, so to speak.”
“Well? What are you gonna do now, Mister Adaptable?”
He stays silent for a moment, breathing heavily as he’s shot into a similar hesitation to the one you experienced before you sat on his lap. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispers, frozen in place by his sense of shame.
“Oh, no. I’m completely certain that it’s a terrible idea,” you reply, running your fingertips along his chest. “And yet… I don’t really want to stop.”
He moans quietly, raising his hand toward your body before it falls back down. “B-but, I mean… Just think about this for a sec, would you? I— I mean, you…" His protest trails off as he finds himself unwilling to verbalize anything that would be too likely to ruin his chances. "U-um... Are you really sure about this?”
“I think I’ve made myself clear. Are YOU sure about this?” You grab onto his shirt and pull yourself forward, connecting your hips with his. As soon as you do, you gasp as you feel what he was trying so hard to cover up.
It’s fucking gigantic. You can feel it from your crotch all the way to the middle of your thigh, hard and thick and pulsing and needy. He can no longer restrain himself from grabbing your body, clutching your waist with one hand and your ass with the other, pushing you down harder as he presses his hips up.
Any hint of smugness is gone from your expression as you look up at him in awe. “W-wow, you’re… y-you’re pretty big, huh?”
He nods silently, his grip on your body tightening as his expression shifts from meek bewilderment into borderline-feral lust. You just stare at each other for a moment, breathing heavily and processing the inevitability that was about to ensue. And in a single, synchronized motion, he bends down as you tilt your head back, eagerly pressing your lips together.
You let out a quiet, thrilled giggle as you feel the static from his screen tickling your lips. His warm, glassy tongue meets yours as the passion of the kiss escalates rapidly; you slowly roll your hips against his, and he reacts by thrusting up to match, rocking your body in a slow, needy grind.
You moan into the kiss, and he moans louder, squeezing your ass so hard that it nearly hurts. The more his huge cock rubs between your legs, the more you feel single-mindedly certain that you need that thing inside you by any means necessary. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never taken anything of that size, or anywhere remotely close. It doesn’t matter if it’s going to hurt, because the only feeling your mind can process in this moment is lust.
Your hand travels down to grab the tip of his cock, making you whine in intimidated excitement as the size of it properly registers on your palm. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, letting out a broken moan as you feel the head through the fabric of his pants. “F-f-f-fffuuuuck,” he whispers before urgently pressing his lips against yours again.
Unfortunately for you, even with all the partygoers engaging in far more lascivious behavior than a heavy make-out, there is no way to be subtle about the act of heavy petting with a man twice your height, especially when he has a glowing face that sabotages any potential anonymity. Both of you are too consumed by each other to notice, but the two of you are currently the main source of entertainment in this corner of the room, and the onlookers are watching more intently than the entire collective audience for his bungled stand-up set.
Someone standing on the edge of the dance floor notices the scene playing out in the corner of the room. “Holy shit, look at that!” he says, tugging on his friend’s sleeve.
His friend turns to look with a gasp. “O-oh my god, is that… Wow, Tenna’s getting some action!”
“You know what? I’m happy for him. And hey, maybe he’ll chill out if he actually gets laid for once.”
His friend snorts. “Very optimistic.” Their expression turns concerned as they continue to watch. “Who’s he with?”
“Not sure. But boy, I sure hope they know what they’re getting into.”
“Bet you anything that they don’t.” Their eyes shoot open. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, is that—”
An identical look of recognition crosses the man’s face. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”
“His new—”
“Secretary. Yeah.” The two friends observe you in stunned silence for a moment longer before awkwardly shuffling away.
The small crowd of onlookers try to appear nonchalant as you break away from the kiss, but you wouldn’t have noticed them regardless. You look up at him with a shaky smile, your eyes gleaming with lust. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if we just did it right here?”
“O-o-o-oh my god,” he groans, squeezing your waist. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Why not?” you tease. “We wouldn’t be the only ones.”
He chuckles quietly, brushing your hair back. “No offense, sweetheart, but do you really think you can handle this with no prep?” he asks as he pushes his hips up.
You moan quietly, leaning forward and kissing his chest. “You’ve got a point.” You look up at him, stroking his arm and biting your lip. “Guess that means we’ve got to get out of here.”
He lets out a low, shaky exhale. “That’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs.
Just as you try to lift yourself off of him, he hoists you up by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, dashing out of the studio-turned-party venue as quickly as he can.