Chapter Text
One full season together really was something. A milestone in their blooming partnership that could finally be defined in a nice, clean-cut way.
Tenna was as pleased as could be, of course. The host had already been in the habit of rousing his crew with encouraging speeches, but the excitement was especially apparent in the days leading up to the final shoot. Morale had lifted significantly with each swish of his coat, every satisfied click of his heels in the studio halls.
The enthusiasm rubbed off on Spamton, as to be expected. Sure, the finale would be a great show to kick off the post-season break, however brief Tenna decided to schedule it. He didn’t mind a bit of elbow grease. More time in front of the camera was a win in his book, after all.
It was the principle of the thing, really. The mark of their first full season as partners had a satisfying weight to it, and Spamton couldn’t help but join in Tenna’s excitement. Eagerness like that was contagious.
Finishing up the big shoot roused a smattering of applause from the film crew upon the final cut, and polite congratulations were exchanged among the green room and in the studio halls. The eventful workday eventually dwindled to an end with a humble wrap party.
No doubt, the larger studio staff would be having their own celebration after-hours. Spamton couldn’t care less about these parties, however wild they got. Without the looming authority of their boss present, the studio’s population of pippins, zappers, and shadowguys alike flung their parties into a breeding ground for excessive drinking, heavy gambling, and occasional workplace hook-ups. So long as they kept the alcohol costs low and the property damage to a minimum, he had no problem keeping his mouth shut to Tenna. He had his own plans for the night, after all.
Cyber City had no shortage of bars, by any means. The two of them had their choice of countless nightclubs, dives, and lounges of all shapes and sizes. Compared to the single bar counter manned by one irritatingly observant plug boy back in TV World, any establishment would be a decent spot to celebrate with a co-star.
The place that Spamton ended up dragging Tenna along to was by no means luxurious, but the atmosphere was spiked with a certain eclectic charm. The air crackled with synthetic dance music, pounding rhythmically over the shouts of bitcrushed laughter from the bar’s cyber patrons. Countless glass bottles of all shapes and sizes decorated the walls, glinting with the cool blues and violets that the lights pulsed and shifted through all night.
It was one of the more energetic venues that Spamton had sampled in his time– not one built for the gentle relaxation the other was accustomed to. Tenna, he found, used to prefer slow drinks and familiar company, although Spamton had begun to wear that habit down with his endless zeal for social drinking. Relaxation wouldn’t do for tonight– tonight was for celebrating!
The music shook the club as Tenna finally began to cut loose– really, truly cut loose. The corporate edge that shaped most of their after-hours interactions smoothed out with each downed cocktail.
Every drink shared in the green room at the end of a workday, every ride around the city browsing, every silent smoke break– it all had a certain air of professional restraint. An invisible line that neither dared to cross, much less draw any attention to, in fear of spoiling the delicate moment. Spamton found himself teetering on the edge constantly– dipping into flirty remarks and quips in an attempt to keep up with Tenna’s on-screen wit. All in the spirit of the charismatic persona that made TV Time special, of course. After all, where would a show be without a playful rapport between the hosts?
It was all part of the act, the smirks at Tenna’s over-the-top delivery, the way Spamton’s hand occasionally brushed over Tenna’s just a moment too long. It meant absolutely nothing– definitely not when Tenna’s grin lingered too long when Spamton spoke, or how his own pulse jumped when their fingers tangled over unfinished script drafts. Just business. Obviously– all part of the illusion. Part of that grand plan his benefactor dangled over him, whatever it may be.
“Ah, what a party, Spammy–!” Tenna’s booming voice fought to compete with the pulsating music, catching Spamton’s attention once more.
The CRT towered over the crowd– as he tended to do anywhere he went– his shoulders and screen rising well above the other partygoers' heads. Regardless, he shimmied politely past them, weaving through the club’s guests to Spamton’s side.
The minute size of the colorful drink pinched in his hand was downright laughable. Still, apparently, the various gaudy cocktails that he’d consumed throughout the night had taken their effect regardless of size. The bar’s pulsing lights didn’t hold a candle to the filmy shimmer of Tenna’s brightly hued screen, which flushed deeper and deeper as the hours went on.
He’d found his way to the bar counter and leaned down to come nose-to-nose with his partner. Spamton had taken a rest to sip at the humble highball mix that he’d been nursing for the last hour.
The addison chuckled against the rim of the glass as Tenna barreled into his personal space. The whisky burned his throat in the familiar, welcome way he loved. Enough of the ice had melted to water it down significantly, but the taste refreshed him all the same. He would have loved to have another– and another after that– but Tenna had made it clear early in the night that he’d need to be the one to take it easy, as they still needed to make it back to TV World in one piece. Spamton wasn’t commonly the sober one between the two– apparently, the special occasion had elated Tenna more than he thought.
“Heh– I’ll say!” Spamton barked with a grin, raising the glass in a feigned toast. “You’re in rare form, Cathode– gonna lose that superstar voice if ya keep shoutin’ like that.”
“Hehee, sorry…!” Tenna’s slurred laughter rolled with a fuzzy drawl as his volume bar lowered a few notches manually. “But why should we slow down now?? The party’s finally getting to the level the season finale deserves, after all!”
The CRT leaned heavily on the bar, the polished surface creaking gently under his weight.
“Last season was WONDERFUL– of course it was, I mean, it always is…! But you really brought the house down this year! Really gave it some of that BIG SHOT sparkle!!”
“Alright, alright, big guy…” Spamton snorted, swirling the watery remains of his drink around the glass. Of course, he was right. His additions to TV Time had really boosted ratings, and it was something to be proud of for sure. “Layin’ it on a little thick, eh? Save some of the mushy stuff for the reruns, at least!”
“Nooo, no, no, I mean it, every word! You’ve really made the show something special, something to write home about!” The alcohol stretched the man’s words as they spilled out uncontrolled. “Everything’s just… gone so well! And– and you make it more fun to go to work every day! It makes me happy– YOU make me so happy, every day!! Hehee… M’always smiling when I’m around you, I can’t h– can’t even help it!! Haha…”
As Tenna rambled on, Spamton felt a strange twinge at his collar. The CRT’s drunken sway pulled his attention in despite himself. Tenna’s usual carefully practiced bravado had gone crooked, looser around the edges. His gestures were wide, broad, and careless of taking up space. It was rare to see the man without that flicker of self-checking behind every action– unfiltered and unafraid.
That… drew him in. It stirred something in Spamton that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
The words themselves weren’t what got to him– Spamton was used to praise, of course! But the babble had unraveled into something too thick, too sincere to be purely the product of heavy intoxication. No hamming it up for the camera, or keeping it professional to avoid damaging an opportunity. It made his throat tighten unfamiliarly when the realization crept over him that underneath the alcohol, Tenna really did mean every word.
He couldn’t stand to listen for another second– the churning in his chest was already gripping him tight, that unwelcome pull that he’d willed himself to ignore every time he could feel himself getting too close. Too attached. He’d never let himself linger on it– he couldn’t, it was too dangerous. There was too much weight behind the burn, too much to examine and sort through in the middle of a celebration like tonight.
Spamton upended the glass to his lips, slamming the remainder of his diluted drink in one gulp before his vice grip on the cup could become painful.
“Mnh– think you’ve had too much, cathode…” He mumbled, wide-eyed and avoiding contact with Tenna’s flushed screen, as he carefully coaxed the CRT’s glass from his hand as well. “Let’s split, I gotta get you home.”
Tenna didn’t bat an eye, or lack thereof, as Spamton cut his incoherent ramble off.
“Ah, okay–!” He pulled his weight from the counter– unsteadily at first as he attempted a straight stance. “Sounds like a plan, Spammy– lead the way!!”
The addison grumbled and shook the red tinge from his face as he shrugged on his suit jacket, slapping a few bills on the bar and ushering the oversized darkner towards the door.
Spamton had parked a few blocks out– because if Cyber City parking was one thing, it was a lost cause. The walk back was… about as smooth as he imagined Tenna could be while drunk– fuzzy CRT static, soft hiccups, and his massive frame leaning just enough to be annoying. Steering him was the only way to get him moving; Spamton only had to nudge his wobbly gait back on course, tank controls style. Miss a turn, and Tenna would’ve happily walked straight into a wall.
The hood of the Cungadro was a welcome sight, glossy red and waiting. His pride and joy– a ‘93 hardtop model, maintained solely by his own hands. Tenna loved to poke fun at his constant adoration for the thing, but any playful jabs slid off easily.
Getting into the car was the real task. Much moreso than the walk over. Luckily, Tenna had gotten into the habit of shrinking to fit inside, so the man’s muscle memory of ducking under the roof saved Spamton the hardest part. But every grab and poke at the CRT’s limbs to guide him into place earned another giggle, his size flickering and undulating erratically. By the time Tenna finally slumped down, wobbly with laughter, Spamton’s shoulders ached, and his face was heated with irritated fatigue.
Jesus, the guy was real ticklish when he was wasted. Not the time to dwell on it– but noted.
Cyber City had the most infuriating traffic Spamton could imagine out of any dark world. Cars piled onto the roads at the setting of the sun and didn’t retreat until it rose once again. All those lightners– home from work, watching videos after school, tucked into bed on their phones– really clogged up the networks that made up the bustling city streets.
And so it was that Spamton found the Cundagero practically boxed in on all sides for the past– he glanced down at his watch– 25 minutes, crossing a distance that ordinarily could be sped through in 10.
God, they should have bailed earlier. For a few reasons.
A cacophony of beeping car horns of every pitch imaginable rang on and on, only adding to Spamton’s stewing irritation. His lips were stretched thin, his thumb rapping idly against the steering wheel without any discernable rhythm.
The car finally scooted forward… only to brake yet again, just a few feet further than before. Spamton blew a flat raspberry.
“Should’ve taken the long way,” he muttered, more to the windshield than his passenger. “That way moves, at least…”
Tenna hummed in agreement, his head nodding lazily. “Mm- hmm… places to be, people to see, I suppose!”
Spamton huffed, drumming on the wheel monotonously. “Dunno… seems like the middle of the damn freeway’s the only place to be tonight.”
The CRT’s brows lifted in an unmistakable half-lidded smirk. God, that man thrived on the addison’s exasperation. “Heh hee… Sounds like someone’s cranky~.”
His teasing earned a sideways glance from Spamton, lingering on Tenna’s slack posture against the leather seat before focusing back on the road with a listless grumble. Silence settled once again, heavier this time. They sat in the thick hum of the engine, car horns blaring behind the windows.
The unease hung for a moment before Spamton felt Tenna lean over the center console. No clumsy spill to the side as on the journey to the car; this time, Tenna eased over slowly, testing the distance between them. The CRT’s broad shoulder lazily nudged Spamton’s a few times. The light from his screen flickered at Spamton’s periphery as he pointedly kept his eyes on the road ahead.
Tenna drifted closer, head lolling as their shoulders bumped together once more. The back of his hand grazed Spamton’s where it rested in his lap– and stayed there, light but deliberate.
Tenna blinked lazily at the blurry vehicle lights ahead; his antennas drooped weightlessly downward. “Wuh– wow….” he sighed, stretching the sound just to find something to do with his lips. “W’re really not getting anywhere, huh?”
The way that Tenna’s hand brushed against Spamton’s sent a bead of sweat rolling down his hairline. His touch was feather-light enough that it could be considered an accident. If he tried hard enough, Spamton could almost convince himself that that was the case. Almost.
He was forced to abandon that idea once Tenna moved to readjust himself, reaching to grip the fabric of Spamton’s shirt sleeve with purpose.
“Y’know, we’re always good at…stopping.” The CRT’s words tipped from his mouth without much precision. “Like holding somethin’ back. It feels like that a lot, right??”
Spamton’s breath sputtered restlessly in his chest. “Heh… you’re really out of it, eh, Tens?” He wheezed out, his voice more of a squawk as he attempted to quell the thudding of his pulse.
Tenna’s screen tilted his way, the flickery light flaring bright enough to drag Spamton’s gaze away from the traffic he’d been pretending to study. His wobbly grin remained, his cheeks glowing with the reminder that alcohol had a heavy hand in his boldness. Still, there was nothing false about his childlike beaming.
“...’ve just been thinking about it, y’know?” he nodded blearily. Spamton was horrified as he felt the weight of Tenna’s touch drifting up his forearm, caressing the fabric of his shirt as he hooked his fingers around Spamton’s elbow. Feeling up his arm with all the affection of a hovering admirer staking a claim. “...What we don’t get to do when we stop. Stuff we’re… uhm…” Tenna waved his other hand dizzily, attempting to pull the right words from thin air. “...just... nice about! Stuff we’re polite about!”
The free hand dropped back in his own lap, thumping against his slacks as his voice dropped to a lazy mutter. “It just… all feels like a waste, doesn’t it, Spammy? It’s a lot of time. A lot of time… and there’s so much tonight!” He huffed out a small bark of laughter. “Here, in the middle of the damn freeway—!”
Tenna’s palm found Spamton’s shoulder, thumping it once before giving a long, firm squeeze. A grip that thrummed with a willful pleading.
“We don’t need to stop tonight…” His lips quirked with lilting suggestion; the words themselves left him jittery. Like the very fact that the thought left his lips was exciting enough. “I… I don’t wanna stop here.”
Spamton couldn’t move.
The world narrowed solely to the press of Tenna’s hand on his shoulder. The CRT’s fingers fidgeted mindlessly with his collar, fiddling with the fabric before dragging– caressing– his hair that dangled over the nape of his neck, clammy with sweat.
Was… was the man suggesting what he thought he was??
Tenna had never— Spamton couldn’t—
The weight of Tenna’s proposition pressed in on his chest until it ached, any desperate rationale scattering uselessly. All he knew was that Tenna’s fingers were in his hair, and the terrifying clarity that—
… that he wanted this. He wanted it badly. That’s what he was afraid of.
Spamton’s left hand shook on the wheel, locked in his grip as if it were the last thing in the world that wasn’t falling away. But the weight of Tenna’s hand on his shoulder– steady, assured– cut straight to his center.
As fingers toyed with his hair, something in him gave way. Not all at once– but enough. He let out a shaky breath that felt more like an admission than anything.
Tenna caught his reaction. Of course, he did– even shit-faced, he was too perceptive for his own good. His screen cocked gently to the side, thumb halting in Spamton’s hair.
Spamton knew what he was waiting for– an encouragement. A go-ahead, an enthusiastic yes, a lean in, something.
A restrained shiver climbed his spine, goosebumps prickling under Tenna’s touch. Heat crept up his collar, thick and breathless as his lips parted in a silent stutter. Just as good– he wasn’t sure he could trust whatever words he could choke out.
So he didn’t bother speaking. His chin tipped in a faint nod– small, dazed but cautious. It was the closest he could get to giving the words aloud.
Keep going.
Tenna’s screen dimly flared with excitement, his antennas swaying as he adjusted himself in the passenger seat. With a distinct click of the undone seatbelt, he hooked one foot beneath the opposite knee, pivoting his body sideways to face Spamton fully. The new angle allowed him to lean his chest fully over the center console, close enough that Spamton could hear the electric buzzing of his screen.
“S’ okay…” Tenna’s breath was intoxicating– the scent of the colorful appletinis he had indulged in lingered as he sighed, soft and lilting. The warped glow glinted in Spamton’s wide eyes as the TV leaned in to close the distance. “...’ve got you.”
The warmth of Tenna’s nose grazing his cheek was enough to cinch Spamton’s throat tight. But when the man’s lips found the edge of his jaw, gentle and slow, it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
It wasn’t even a real kiss– just a feathery graze along the bone– but it hit Spamton like one. The little nuzzle, the barely audible hum from Tenna, almost brought a wet shine to his eyes.
Christ, it was pathetic how little it took.
Tenna’s lips brushed lower, settling right above his collarbone. Spamton’s shoulder hitched reflexively, the protective curl of his neck quelling a sniff of laughter despite himself. Spamton hated being tickled– but the fact that it was Tenna’s touch that brought out the warm tingle made it worth it.
He bit back a whine as the kisses prodded deeper against him, suckling the sensitive skin against teeth. Not quite hard enough to bring a stubborn purple spot to the surface– stopping just short of leaving proof behind. The idea that Tenna, even in this impaired state, held Spamton in high enough regard to not tarnish his skin– it made his ribs ache.
The TV’s massive head occasionally obscured his view of the road as he mumbled affectionate nonsense into each open-mouthed press of his lips. Not that there was much to look at during stand-still traffic like this, anyway. Spamton’s foot thankfully only had to lift lightly every few moments to keep up with the slow crawl of vehicles ahead.
It must have been a ridiculous sight– the short addison stiff in his leather seat, being doted on by the disproportionately large TV darkner. Spamton’s free foot tapped and jittered anxiously as heat stirred through his body under Tenna’s touch.
He could thank the angel for the dim tint of the Cungadero’s windows. Spamton wasn’t normally one to strictly enforce the rules of the road, but even he could admit that this was reckless.
“Sp’mmy…” Tenna’s lips clumsily slurred into Spamton’s neck, the words losing shape as soon as they left. “You’re…mm, you’re so warm…”
The CRT’s free hand delicately traced along the collar of his shirt. He stopped to playfully tug at the fine gold chain dangling on Spamton’s chest, grazing his adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat.
Spamton had elected to undo his top buttons earlier in the night, leaving a faint shadow of cleavage on display. His fashion choice was being used against him now, as Tenna lazily brushed across his chest, caressing the wisps of white hair peeking from his collar. As fair and soft as his natural hair once was– nearly invisible against his skin, but sensitive all the same. It prickled as Tenna thumbed through it.
Tenna padded down his chest, stalling at the first fastened button. For a moment, Spamton wondered if he’d unsheath his sharp, hidden claw and tear his way through— but Tenna only traced the hem of the fabric. Slow, savoring the expensive material as he drifted lower. Down his sternum, then over his stomach.
Spamton's breath caught as Tenna’s hand found its place firmly against the front of his slacks, his palm pressing flatly against his crotch. The pressure sent a slow, drudging heat stirring in the addison’s gut as his spine jerked stiff against the leather. He bit back a desperate groan as his restrained cock twitched against the solid weight pressing into it.
The warmth of Tenna’s lips disappeared, traded for the weight of his forehead against Spamton’s shoulder. The angle left Tenna free to tilt his head and study Spamton’s lap as he squirmed.
“Mm… seems like you’re enjoying yourself, Spammyyy~” He crooned giddily, drinking in each subdued reaction. One rolling finger traced slowly and teasingly along the sturdy, stiff seam down the middle of the slacks. The fabric strained painfully at Spamton’s erection, finally pulling a strangled gasp from his lips as his stomach tightened with heat.
“W- well…*ahem* You ain't exactly making it easy on me, are ya?” He hissed, his words breaking into much more of a whine than he intended.
Another sharp breath rasped out as Tenna’s palm pressed hard against the clothed bulge without warning. The sudden pulse sent a spasm down Spamton’s leg, lifting his foot just briefly from the brake pedal. The momentary parting sent the vehicle inching steadily forward for just moments.
The abrupt surge of alarm sent Spamton’s foot slamming back down on the brake, the urgent snap forward rocking the car around them as it narrowly avoided contact with the vehicle ahead.
Spamton whipped his gaze down to Tenna, his eyes wide and stupefied at whatever THAT was supposed to be.
“Christ, Ant! Don’t fuckin’ d—gnh–!”
His yelp of disbelief was frozen in his throat as Tenna, seemingly unfazed by the near-collision, squeezed again at his bulge with unhurried insistence. Spamton didn’t need to see Tenna’s screen to know he was grinning behind that dim light. That wide-toothed, wobbly leer that he got when he was up to something.
“Tens–”
“Shh…” He mumbled liltingly. “W’re okay~.”
He could feel that grin behind each shifting of his fingers as Tenna unbuttoned the tight slacks, pausing to pet the moist spot on his underwear before gently tugging the fabric loose and pulling Spamton’s aching cock free with a pleased hum of enthusiasm.
Spamton sighed as his length slipped free, damp and heavy with arousal. Tenna’s hand left only for a moment, but the brief absence of touch made him throb and stir with need. In the open air, the desperate anticipation shivered through him and twinged down to the tip of his cock.
“Yeah… there you go, Spammy, that's it…” Tenna cooed at the drop of precum pooling from Spamton’s slit, indulging a swipe through the fluid as his palm caressed down the shaft.
He gave the thick base of Spamton’s cock an affirming squeeze before pumping upwards again, reveling in the barely-audible whine that the addison attempted to stifle. Stopping at the top, Tenna’s thumb pressed teasingly down on the head of his cock, wiggling around in a tight circle before pumping his palm back down with rhythmic slowness.
That broke the brittle moan free from Spamton’s throat. “MMF—! Tennaaa…” Spamton breathed as the CRT’s large hand played with his cock, a calm infatuation driving each shuck up and down its length.
Spamton’s knuckles clung to the steering wheel like a lifeline, his shoulders hitching as he attempted to control his breathing. A bit of a lost cause at that point, seeing as how he had already visibly rocked his hips upwards once or twice, rutting into Tenna’s fist.
Driving in this circumstance was a stupid idea. He knew that. If he could just keep his lungs steady, maybe he could keep the damn car straight while Tenna actively jacked him off.
And sure– it wasn’t only the car that he needed a firmer handle on right now. Wanting control came to Spamton as easily as breathing; it was a reflex to need to be the strongest presence in the room.
That instinct had been wearing thin the longer he stayed on the show. Stretching and fraying at the seams every time Tenna got too close. He hated how easy it was to let his control slip away when they were together.
But this? This was dangerous. Going pliant in Tenna’s palm– lying back and letting the TV have his way with him? He couldn’t let it go that far. He needed something, some sense of balance to steady himself before he slipped any further under.
After all, he was a big shot! He didn’t bend to anyone; he decided who touched where, how far it went, how good it felt. He got what he wanted.
He could get used to this. He could get used to receiving handjobs in the car without it meaning anything at all.
Just breathe. Normal.
Spamton finally— finally— began to release each breath in step with Tenna. He could almost relax into the rhythmic tugs up and down his cock.
But of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Whatever fragile crumbs of control he’d scraped together shattered before he could process what had changed.
He watched, stunned, as Tenna shifted in his seat to fully double over the center console at his middle. There was nothing idle about it, no testing for the right time. Even as the darkner’s height sank lower to a more manageable size, he crowded into Spamton’s side with quiet certainty. He moved with the confidence of a mapped-out position; only bothering to follow through now that Spamton had gotten somewhat comfortable.
“Mmn, Spammy, you– you’re gonna love this…” Tenna uttered, his nose grazing Spamton’s lower abdomen and tickling the path of hair past his navel with a hot rush of air. His fist never left Spamton’s cock, pumping unevenly as he dragged himself closer. His head dipped low with a grunt of effort, the exhale ghosting over the tip of Spamton’s cock.
Fuckkk, the staticky heat of Tenna’s breath on his exposed cockhead was almost enough to make him cum right there.
Tenna’s mouth hovered for a few more torturous moments over the addison’s twitching cock.. Then, his lips sank to wrap around the weeping tip all at once.
“Mhn–AH—!” Spamton moaned out as the buzzing warmth of the CRT’s mouth easily engulfed the full length, sucking it down with a grateful hum.
The ease with which Tenna took the whole thing pulled a breathless whine from Spamton’s chest, higher than he intended. Tenna’s sheer size, shrunken as he may have been to fit over the center console, still overtook Spamton by several feet.
Of course, he would be able to swallow up the whole of his cock. It wasn’t a matter of anatomy, just scale— nothing to take personally, obviously. The spark of recognition that he didn’t immediately jump to cover his pride wasn’t lost on him. It hit a little harder than he cared to dwell on in the moment.
Not that he had any time to process anything, as Tenna’s tongue rolled a tight circle around his cock in a way that made Spamton’s gut twist with pleasure, a cry escaping sharp and keening.
“Ngah—hah, fuckkk~” He choked out, his hand darting from the wheel to scramble helplessly over Tenna’s hunched shoulders. His foot on the pedal was shaking dangerously, and he had the troubling realization that traffic was steadily picking up on the freeway ahead.
As the vehicle finally started moving again, Spamton balanced the wheel with one hand while the other fisted in the fabric of Tenna’s jacket. It was as if he were more panicked to let that jacket go than the car. It didn’t help that as Tenna’s tongue dragged up and down the length of his cock, his fingers had begun squeezing gently at the base with each plunge of his lips downwards.
Traffic dispersed further as the Cundagero rolled down the freeway. The highway hadn’t yet returned to its everyday breakneck speed, but the flow of traffic was accelerating enough that Spamton struggled to shift his focus to the road and not the TV’s tongue between his thighs. His back was damp with sweat, shirt clammily sticking to the seat.
He stomped the gas pedal a bit more forcefully than intended as Tenna rolled the tip of Spamton’s cock along the roof of his mouth, shuddering along each ridge.
“Hmm– mph–!” Spamton’s throat caught in a groan as the engine roared, vibrating Tenna’s mouth around him. The acceleration rocked him further down Tenna’s throat, sending pleasure rippling up Spamton’s spine in a rush of goosebumps.
“Hgah– shit, shit, shit—!”
Spamton was getting close, his nerves blinking with an urgency that screamed ‘KEEP GOING, PLEASE KEEP GOING’. He couldn’t force the plea out even if he tried– his mouth just stalled uselessly as overwhelming sensation drowned out any coherent thought.
And yet, as though he’d felt the demand through the addison’s desperate writhing, Tenna shifted and realigned himself to do the exact opposite. Spamton nearly sobbed as Tenna’s lips lifted from his cock, the open air sharp and cold without stimulation. His hips rolled pitifully in the air, willing Tenna to please, please, come back, please don’t leave him like this.
The pause as Tenna left Spamton’s cock untouched stretched on for an eternity as the TV shrank himself down even further.
Small enough to clamber over the center console and down the driver’s footwell. Small enough to snake his hands to Spamton’s knees and pry them as far apart as he could go without losing control of the car, and small enough for his boxy head to emerge from beneath the steering wheel as he knelt before Spamton. His lips slurred with something that could have been dirty talk, but Spamton’s vision was too fogged to register the words.
Another lift of his hips to feebly beckon to Tenna was met at last with his familiar lips. Tenna groaned out unintelligibly, a chuckle rumbling in his throat as his tongue swirled wetly around Spamton’s cock. He sucked loosely at the sheen of saliva and precum alike as it seeped down the shaft, dragging out with a purposeful slurping noise as he kissed up to land on the tip.
Tenna’s open mouth returned to its place around his cockhead with a newfound— what was that? Reservation, perhaps. Restraint. The new diameter of Ant’s lips was noticeably more strained as it was stretched around the girth of his tip.
He waited until Spamton’s lips parted to let out another pleading gasp, lilting the noise upwards by sucking him swiftly down his throat.
“Haa– AAUGH–! Ngh… Ant, ANT—!”
Spamton’s cry strained, tight and thin as he fisted at Tenna’s head, gripping his antenna desperately. The TV seized up and shivered with a muffled whine. The weak sound was cut off as Spamton snapped his hips forward into Tenna’s mouth.
The addison whimpered in suit as the tip of his cock smacked the back of Tenna’s throat, then again and again as CRT’s head bobbed up and down. He could feel Tenna swallow as he struggled around Spamton’s girth, the squeeze of muscles constricting his cock in a way that sent electricity through him.
Tenna’s new size, as he knelt in the pedal well, was a good deal smaller than it had been just minutes before. If they were to stand side-by-side, the TV would likely only reach up to Spamton’s chin. That was the closest they’d ever been to even footing, if the addison had to guess.
Spamton wasn’t hung like a horse, by any means, but the hefty thickness of his cock wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, either. There wasn’t much need to pay attention to his average inches when he’d gone to bed with anyone else in Cyber City.
But now– now– Spamton hadn’t ever felt so goddamn grateful for the humble length in his life. Mr. Ant Tenna, the big boss, the head honcho of TV itself, flushed red-hot and struggling to choke Spam’s cock down his throat.
The sight was intoxicating. He felt more powerful than he had all night, looking down on him.
God dammit, he was gonna cum…
An uneven cough rocketed hot air around Spamton’s cock, the sound catching in Tenna’s swollen throat. The rush of sensation nearly sent Spamton over the edge.
“God– ghAH—! Fuckk…”
That’s it, he needed to pull over. He was gonna be pissed if an orgasm cost him his life– and his car.
The Cungadero lurched around them as Spamton’s foot slammed down on the brake, swerving into the fastest lane change of his life. A stray car beeped irritatedly at the reckless turn, eventually disappearing down the freeway as the red vehicle shot down the exit ramp.
Tires screeched painfully as Spamton veered into the nearest turn lane and into a parking lot off the exit. The headlights lit up the desolate lot as the Cungadero screamed to a stop, jerking its occupants roughly.
Spamton slammed the car into park, not taking even a moment to breathe before he undid his seatbelt and seized the small of Tenna’s neck in one yanking motion.
“Mh–Spam– GLK–!” Tenna made a yelping sound of surprise before gagging once more as Spamton’s hips bucked deep and forcefully down his throat.
More desperate than purposeful, Spamton’s back arched up from the seat as he thrusted upward with feverish haste. He fucked the other’s mouth like an animal as ragged grunts racked through him.
“Hhgh– ngh~ ehrrh– c’mon, cm’n—”
With each snap of Spamton’s hips, the CRT’s hands squeezed and scrambled over the other’s thighs to anchor himself in place. Not that he needed it– Spamton’s hands were braced around the nape of his neck, pulling his head down as he rutted into his throat deeper. The jolting stung and stirred in Tenna’s throat, his neck visibly bulging with each thrust.
Spamton’s vision went white with a hot shiver, heat rushing up from deep in his gut and shaking free ruthlessly. It tore his orgasm from him, heavy and powerful like a hurricane.
“Aghh—… fuck, fuck, fuck, TenN–AH—!”
He pulled Tenna’s head tighter in his lap, gripping fiercely as he finally came down Tenna’s throat. The TV squirmed and whined as the hot liquid expelled forcefully down his windpipe.
Once Spamton’s grip slackened at last, his cock slid free of Tenna’s lips. His twitching, fatigued length dragged loosely down the other’s tongue before a rasping cough wracked through Tenna’s heaving chest.
“My– mmnh… my god, t-that was…” Tenna uttered breathlessly, staring up in awe as Spamton’s head dropped bonelessly back against the headrest. “You– you’re really something, mailman…”
Spamton didn’t have it in him to respond, his chest stuttering as he steadily came down from his high. He could only produce a weak hum of affirmation. That was enough for Tenna, apparently– his face split into an easy grin as he admired the sweat shining in a halo at Spamton’s hairline.
Tenna shifted himself, grunting with quiet effort as he hoisted himself out from under the steering wheel and up to Spamton’s chest. He settled his face fondly in the crook of Spamton’s neck, curling his legs to cradle against the addison’s lap.
Spamton simply let it happen– every inch of his body felt pliant and set to slip into a contented rest. He didn’t have the strength to lean away from Tenna’s affection.
Not this time. It was rare that Tenna made himself small enough to be held like this.
The freeway roared along somewhere beyond the quiet parking lot, the traffic blowing past fading into a droning buzz. The humid air inside the Cungadero reeked of lingering sweat, but its warmth settled snugly around the two of them like a blanket as they basked in the silence.
The two of them were stuck for the time being— Tenna was in no shape to drive, and Spamton wasn’t any better off. His focus had thinned to something heavy and uncooperative, leaving him fighting to keep his eyes open.
Not that he minded. He was content to lie back until the cloudy satisfaction pulled him to a bleary rest.
Who knew if they’d ever speak of this again? If this brief, selfish indulgence would echo to somewhere dark and unseen behind the receiver. Catching the notice of something– someone, patiently listening.
Then again, who the hell cared right now? Let that voice keep its prophecies.
For the moment, Spamton was happy to stay suspended in that lightheaded haze indefinitely, serene in his place while the rest of the world continued.
– – –