Chapter Text
Spamton giggled as he partially missed his next pour of bourbon and some of the amber liquid splashed onto the table.
Tenna could listen to that giggle all night.
“Hey—uh, watch it, that stuff isn’t-hic-cheap,” he rebuked the other man gently, gesturing with his own glass and accidentally slopping some of it onto his hand. Whoopsie.
“Eahahhahahaha—hy-hypocrite,” snorted Spamton, pointing at him. Thankfully, he set the bottle down so he didn’t spill any more. Tenna felt his screen, which was already flushed, get hotter. They were both pretty drunk at this point, if he was being honest.
“Just… misjudged the… uh.” He shrugged and downed the glass, wincing. This was better than that nasty battery acid stuff Spamton had insisted on when they’d begun their partnership. Thank God he had Tenna here to introduce him to better booze. And thank God Tenna had unrestricted access to the bar after Ramb left for the night!
Wait, that might not have been official.
Eh, Tenna was the boss here, he could make it official! Yeah.
“Gimme.” He reached out for the bottle, ignoring the whine of “noooo, my booze” from Spamton as he carefully, carefully poured himself some more bourbon.
“Yuh want some?” he teased, waving the bottle a little. “I think…. I think you’ve had enough, so… nope.” He popped the “p” and set the bottle down next to him with a clunk. “An’ I’M the boss of-hic-TV World so… I get to decide! Ha.”
“Oh puh-leaaaase. You’re at least as drunk as I am,” argued Spamton, pointing at him. His nose wrinkled adorably. Tenna gazed at him, unaware of the dopey grin working its way onto his screen. His little mailman—he’d taken to thinking of him as his lately—was adorable when he was drunk. Or when he was making a sales pitch. Or working on his precious car. Or basically anytime.
Yeah, Tenna thought ruefully as the alcohol freed up the thoughts he normally kept shut away for fear of impropriety, I’ve got it bad.
“I’m fine!” he laughed, and then lost his balance and fell back against the arm of the couch, and laughed harder. “I’m tall, and it-hic-takes me longer to get drunk! Unlike you. Who is waaaaa~sted,” he singsonged, carefully holding his glass so it wouldn’t slop all over him and the couch. “So—hey! Watch it!”
Spamton clambered onto the couch and made a grab for his glass. He missed, predictably, since Tenna had much longer arms than he did, so he ended up just face-planting onto Tenna’s chest. Tenna burst out laughing again and set his glass down, propping up his poor mailman.
“Are you ok?”
Spamton rubbed his forehead. “Peachy,” he grumped. Then he paused, eyes widening, seemingly suddenly aware of how close they were. Tenna watched as his already flushed face turned a darker shade of red and he chuckled nervously, glancing away from Tenna.
Tenna didn’t want to scare him off. He wasn’t sure where to put his hands—definitely not on Spamton’s lower back for sure. So he sat there with his hands awkwardly frozen in midair behind Spamton. It must have been the alcohol making him feel so warm, he thought distantly, as his fans whirred.
He took a breath. “Spam—”
“I wanna kiss you so badly,” whispered Spamton, who’d apparently gotten over his shyness and clumsily grabbed the lower edge of his bezel. He was looking at Tenna in a way that no one had ever looked at Tenna before.
OH. Wow. “Ok,” he managed, and then Spamton was kissing him sloppily, and his circuits thrummed and sparked. Spamton tasted like bourbon… and the whiskey they’d had before… and battery acid… Tenna eagerly opened his mouth, letting Spamton explore like he’d wanted him to for months now.
His hands automatically found their way to Spamton’s backside, and he gave it a firm squeeze as the addison moaned needily.
“Tenna, more,” ordered Spamton before kissing him harder.
Oh fuck, he thought as his head spun from lust and alcohol. He broke from the kiss, a string of spit connecting them.
“Spammy,” he breathed, alternating wet kisses and bites to Spamton’s neck. His partner leaned to the side for better access, making noises that went straight to Tenna’s dick. Tenna moved one hand to the front of his partner’s suit in a clumsy attempt to unbutton the jacket—
Suddenly Spamton’s hands slammed into his shoulders and he reared back, looking panicked. The abrupt turn of events was like a bucket of ice water on Tenna’s lust.
“Spamton, what’s—”
“What the hell am I doing?!” yelped Spamton, backing out of reach. His lips looked reddened and swollen, which did not help cool Tenna’s desire in the least. His clothing was rumpled and he was gripping his hair, breathing deeply and looking like he was about to have a panic attack.
“Spamton, it’s—”
“Don’t you…mmph.” Spamton staggered back to the table, pointing at Tenna accusingly. “Dont you dare say, ‘Spamton, it’s fine,’ or some dumb shit like that. We’re not fuckin’... boyfriends or whatever shit. We’re [[business major]] partners. We got a pro-hmph-professional relationship, that’s it.” He swayed, still feeling the effects of the alcohol but clearly sobering up. “Fuck… this was a fuckin’ mistake. S-should never have agreed to [[drink your problems away]] with you. Goddamn… unprofessional.” He was glaring at Tenna now. Like it was his fault.
Tenna felt a flare of anger amid his haze of confusion and drunkenness. “Now hold on just a minute,” he snapped, pushing himself upright with a grunt and feeling his head and stomach swim. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to vomit, he met Spamton’s glare, or the next best thing, having no visible eyes. “You came on to me! You kissed me! I’m not the only one who was acting unprofessionally here, Spamton G. Spamton.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. Ever heard of [[beer goggles]], Mr. Tenna?” sneered the salesman, fixing his blazer. Tenna’s temper continued to rise.
“Bull-” Fuck, the censors. “That’s.. that’s bull. That wasn’t just beer goggles, and you know it.” He wanted to try standing up, but he was still drunk enough that he was afraid he’d topple right over, and that wouldn’t be impressive or intimidating in the least.
Did he want to intimidate Spamton? No, no… Spamton was his partner, his friend.
But this… this rejection hurt. The alcohol was probably making it worse, but Tenna’s ego had been pricked and he couldn’t let that slide.
“Keep telling yourself that,” replied Spamton coldly, smoothing his hair away from his face. He was turning away from Tenna, towards the green room door.
“And you begging me for more was just the alcohol talking, huh? And the way you looked at me, that was just the alcohol too?” challenged Tenna. Don’t go! he wanted to beg, but his pride forbade it.
Spamton froze mid-turn, and even in the dim light Tenna could see him swallow hard. Gotcha, you liar.
“This never happened. Understand? I’ll come to work [[tomorrow bright and early]] but if you bring this up, I’m outta here.”
“Fine,” spat Tenna, hurt spiraling deep inside him. “You can go.”
“Don’t need your [[permission granted]] for that,” shot back Spamton, making his way somewhat unsteadily to the door and slamming it behind him.
That little…! Tenna pressed his hands over his screen, groaning loudly in frustration. Why did Spamton have to be so… Spamton?? Goddamn infuriating, stupid, handsome, fast-talking… stupid addison! Showing up in his life and making Tenna have all these feelings and these urges…
Fuck. Tenna flopped back onto the couch, feeling a pounding headache coming on. He was going to regret this so much tomorrow. Spamton was right. It had been unprofessional.
And Tenna had never had a better kiss in his life.
Fuuuuuuuck. He was in so much trouble.