Chapter Text
When Tenna floated the idea to Spamton, the initial response was deafening silence.
“…or we can just not do that,” Tenna adds, trying not to sound too much like a kicked puppy.
“I didn’t say no,” Spamton says. Tenna glances at him. His face and voice are perfectly composed. Tenna’s not sure what to make of it.
“So… are you… saying yes?”
Spamton eyes flit away.
“…”
Tenna huffs, half-frustrated, half-amused.
“…I’m waiting.”
“What else would I be saying?” Spamton replies. His facade cracks. He huffs, crossing his arms. “I just don’t get how you got this idea.”
Now it’s Tenna’s turn to fluster
“I just… My favorite part was how you got at the end, when you were, um, when you were relieving yourself.” He cringes at his own prude language. He expects Spamton to start snorting with laughter, to get purposefully crude to make him squirm. Instead Spamton just goes red, still silent. “I thought maybe I could get you like that quicker this way.”
“…by pissing a little at a time.”
“Yes. That.”
Spamton is notoriously difficult to get to and then keep in subspace, it takes time and effort and usually too much planning for either of them to be able to make it happen amidst their schedules. For whatever reason though, when he’d really have to pee, it seemed to override all his usual walls and make him into a whining mess. It’s great. Tenna loves putting his fingers in Spamton’s mouth and finding that he’s sucking them instead of biting them. It’s cute, it’s hot, it’s fun.
“In cups?”
Tenna feels his patience start to wear thin.
“Are you just gonna keep repeating everything I said to you like it’s outrageous?” He points to him accusingly. “You’re the one who started all this to begin with!”
“I-“
“You can say no! You’d have said no ages ago if you weren’t at least a little interested!”
“Tenna-“
“You took so long to get it last time, I thought maybe I should just come out and say it directly, but if Spamton G. Spamton is too prim and proper for a little piss play-“
“I get it!” Spamton hollers, red-faced. “Fucking hell, you’ve made your point! I’ll do it! I want to do it! Obviously!” He collapses onto himself, head in his hands. “God.”
”So when-“
”Next week,” Spamton interrupts, voice still strangled. He’s pulling out a cigarette as Tenna opens his mouth to say- “Don’t ask what day. As long as I’m not live.” He digs into his pocket and brings out a faded lighter plastered with Tenna’s own face. It takes a few clicks for his smoke to ignite. Immediately the tension in his shoulders seems to ease away. “You did well enough last time.”
Tenna perks up at this. In fact, he grows a foot taller.
”I did?”
Spamton sucks a little too hard on his cigarette. Tenna watches as he struggles not to cough. All his suave mannerisms seem to leave him at times like these.
”I’m not repeating myself,” he mutters.
”That’s fine,” Tenna says brightly. “I’ve heard enough.”
***
It’s early afternoon at the studio and Tenna’s trying hard not to keep glancing in Spamton’s direction. He’d cornered him that morning and made it pretty clear that today was the day. Spamton’s schedule was light, with only one shoot left, and nothing live of course. He did seem a little more fidgety than usual but it was hard to tell with someone as jumpy as him. Tenna exhales sharply. Just wait for his signal, he soothes himself, soon, soon, he likes to put things off.
“Hey.”
Tenna practically jumps through the ceiling, he whips around and looks down at Spamton who raises his eyebrows.
”Hi!” His voice is too loud, too eager. He clears his throat. “I mean- yes?”
Spamton shifts his weight. Tenna stares.
“You free?”
This is ridiculous.
”…yeah. I’m free.”
A long pause. Spamton shuffles on his feet.
“…never mind.”
He practically runs away from Tenna who feels somewhere between amused and irritated. He reigns himself in with a deep sigh. Spamton’ll come back soon enough, probably before his shoot even. Besides, he can’t have gone too far, and Tenna himself has a lull in his schedule which permits him to walk around the studio under the pretense of keeping an eye on everything.
He doesn’t follow Spamton. Okay, well maybe he follows him, but from afar, just to make sure everything is fine. That’s all. He was definitely starting to move a lot more than necessary. While it was pretty typical for Tenna to be bouncing in place, Spamton was more likely to lean back and get comfortable any moment he can. Now though, he’d seemed to have developed a restless leg that tapped and bounced whenever he paused. He still wasn’t on for a good bit but he was still very much needed on set, in charge of every ad and product placement slipped into their serials.
Tenna looks closely at him as he directs a Zapper and Shadow Guy duo to adjust the framing of a set just so, then swiftly walking away. His leg jerks too high on the third step and now he’s hunching over, shoving his hands deep into his pocket. Oh. Tenna smiles to himself, trying to keep his fangs from popping out. Spamton is absolutely squeezing himself through his pocket.
Satisfied, Tenna spins on his heel and leisurely makes his way towards his dressing room. He stops right outside the door, humming the TV Time theme to himself as he stops right outside the door and waits. It’s not even a minute before Spamton rushes into the hallway, bumping directly into him.
“Tenna,” he squeaks, sounding both surprised and relieved.
“Spamton,” he replies, so collected he even surprises himself.
”Are you- were you gonna go in?”
He gestures towards the door adorned with Tenna’s name, leading to his much more private dressing room.
”Yep!”
“Oh!”
”Unless you want to talk?”
”I-I’m okay-“
”Oh, alright I’ll see you later then!”
And Tenna opens the door, taking a step inside, then stops because Spamton has grabbed his coat tails. He lets go as soon as Tenna turns around, red-faced.
”Can I come with you?” he blurts
Tenna raises one antennae questioningly.
”Why?”
“Um,” Spamton says. It’s rare to see him both tongue tied and blushing. Tenna lets the moment draw out, savoring it. “Can we…?”
Tenna mimes confusion, tilting his head to one side.
”Mm?”
“You know.”
”Not, really no.” It’s hard not to start grinning manically. “Do you need something, Spamton?”
Another long, long pause. They’re alone, away from any potential eavesdroppers. Tenna waits. Spamton huffs, shuffles some more, growing progressively redder.
“I need a cup,” he mumbles eventually.
Tenna smiles.
“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
Spamton pointedly looks away. He keeps on staring down at his shoes, frowning viciously as Tenna shepherds him into his dressing room.
“Just a minute baby,” Tenna says, locking the door behind them.
He strides back to Spamton and presses a kiss on his still bent head.
“Okay?” He whispers.
Spamton gives a singular nod. Tenna notes his fidgeting and hurries to his desk where he’d lined up a few old cups that morning in preparation. Plain and mismatched but more or less the same size: not too big or too small for what they’re doing. He’s not even sure why he got multiple, considering the contents will be dumped out quick enough to avoid any lingering smell. Maybe Spamton will need two at some point? He can’t start thinking about that or he’ll stand there all day, fantasizing.
As casually as he can he picks one up at random and passes it to Spamton who takes it without a word. Tenna frowns
“Forgetting something?”
A pause.
“Thank you,” Spamton chokes out. It sounds like a whispered threat.
Tenna pauses.
“Sounds like you don’t want it,” he says softly.
“I-I want it,” Spamton says quickly. “I really want it, I do.” He swallows. “Um. Please.”
Oh. That was easy. Tenna is honestly surprised. He was expecting Spamton to take much longer to give in, to snap back at him witheringly, but instead he’s shuffling in place, biting his lip looking awfully anxious.
“…I know, I was just teasing,” Tenna soothes.
Spamton frowns slightly. His thoughts are written all over his face: you’re being too nice. Tenna tries not to roll his metaphorical eyes. He reaches and pokes a finger into Spamton’s stomach, right where his bladder is, making him flinch.
“You obviously can’t wait any longer and I don’t want a mess on my floor.”
He shoves the cup into Spamton’s chest and settles down into the loveseat behind him, crossing one leg over the other. Spamton blinks at him, red-faced.
“Now, Spamton,” Tenna adds sharply.
Spamton jumps. He fumbles with his belt one-handed for a few seconds, then huffs, glances around before his eyes settle on the coffee table next to him. He goes to set it down, presumably to get his belt off. Tenna tuts reproachfully.
“You put that cup down and you’re losing the chance to relieve yourself until after your shoot.”
Spamton pauses. He scowls. But he pulls the cup back to his chest and returns to fight with his belt. It’s cute watching him struggle, sweating with the effort of keeping it together. A few more seconds and he pauses, the hand at his belt rushing to his dick for what looks like a much-needed squeeze.
“Aww,” Tenna says loudly. “You’re almost there, baby.”
Spamton exhales furiously through his teeth. He lets go of himself quickly and tucks the cup under his arm to attack his belt with both hands. He gets it undone in seconds, nodding at Tenna triumphantly. Tenna doesn’t react aside from tapping his watch, a pointed reminder to stop wasting time. Spamton doesn’t seem to notice, busy pulling out his cock and pointing it down into the cup, giving another few squeezes as he aligns everything.
Tenna waits.
And waits.
Then, he smiles.
“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten shy?”
“Obviously not,” Spamton replies. He sounds unconvinced, hesitation coloring his voice. Tenna looks at his face and bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cooing and rushing over to squeeze Spamton in his arms. He was kidding, but it looks like Spamton actually has gotten shy. Tenna uncrosses his legs, spreading them apart.
“…come here.”
Spamton looks at him apprehensively, but approaches, lets Tenna pull him forward till he’s standing between his knees, Tenna’s hand sitting loosely at his waist.
“So tense,” Tenna comments softly. Spamton grunts in reply. He’s squirming. “You need it bad, huh?”
“Mmm,” Spamton replies vaguely.
He stiffens again as Tenna’s thumb swipes over his abdomen.
“Relax, cup’s right there, isn’t it?”
“I know that,” Spamton says through gritted teeth.
“Watch yourself,” Tenna says sweetly.
Spamton rolls his eyes so Tenna finds himself obligated to press two fingers into his stomach. Spamton bends at the waist, groaning. He dribbles weakly. It barely makes a sound.
“Nnnh-“
“Oh, you definitely have more than that!”
Spamton gasps as Tenna presses again, one hand slipping to the small of Spamton’s back to keep him standing straight, stopping him from shifting away. He starts to spurt erratically into the cup, huffing. His thighs press tight together. Tenna just smiles and presses again, easily overpowering and making Spamton gush noisily.
He doesn’t stop fighting for a second, groaning and tensing as Tenna circles his fingers against his lower stomach, making his stream burst and sputter. He angles his hips away, huffing, and actually manages to stop altogether.
“Impressive,” Tenna says brightly.
“Fuck off,” Spamton rasps.
“Don’t swear at me.”
And before Spamton can reply, he slips his hands back to his hips and presses hard into his bladder with both thumbs. This time, Spamton squeaks and shivers and some of his iron-grip control seems to tentatively loosen, a gentle stream starting to flow out of his dick.
“There we go.”
Spamton’s expression keeps flicking between fury and relief, eyebrows knitted together as he focuses his eyes on the cup. He really doesn’t need to keep track of how full it’s getting, that’s Tenna’s job really. All Spamton’s supposed to do is stop
without overflowing and to his credit, he does with room to spare.
Then he dribbles. Then he spurts. A three second pause and another spurt, a heavy one. Not so much room to spare now. Spamton bends at the waist with a low sound of distress.
“Use your hands, sweetheart,” Tenna prompts.
Spamton takes his suggestion, one hand flying to his dick to wrap snugly around it. He stops immediately but continues giving quick, successive squeezes for another ten seconds. Then he’s tucking himself in, zipping up, and once his belt is buckled again it’s as if nothing happened. Except for the glass full of urine that Tenna sets down on the coffee table. He waits till Spamton’s settled down a little before speaking up.
“Feeling okay?” Spamton nods silently. He’s wiggly but seems placated. “Are you good to film?”
“Yes,” Spamton replies. He shakes out his head then smooths down his hair. “Yes. I’m good.”
It would be more convincing if he weren’t hopping from foot to foot.
“Do you need to let a little more out? I have more cups-”
Spamton’s flush returns. His hand reaches down and squeezes his length through his clothes.
“No,” he growls. “I’m. Fine.”
“…you can’t go on stage with your hand on your dick sweetheart.”
“I know that!” His feathers puff out in his irritation. “I just need a second, alright?”
“…okay,” Tenna replies softly, trying not to stare.
It’s not rare for Darkners to have animal traits, most do in fact, some more than others. Cat-like features seem to be oddly common, Tenna himself has them, forcing him to clip his tail to his garters during quiz shows to stop it from giving away answers with its all-too-obvious tells. Some Darkners are definitely harder to pin down than others, Spamton in particular was difficult for Tenna to figure out. Most Addisons were obviously birdlike, soft feathered and excessively light on their feet. Spamton seemed much more… solid. Smaller, yes, but also a bit stockier (though that might just be his clothes, with their padded shoulders and stiff materials), his footsteps distinctively heavy even before he started distancing himself from the others.
He growled way too much for something purely birdish, and his claws were retractable like some of the Shadow Guys who purred when they huddled together in between shots. Whatever he resembled was mainly difficult to pin because of how good he was at hiding all of it. His fluff (which while Tenna often called fur or feather wasn’t exactly either) rarely raised or flattened or anything else, even if he was in a terrible mood or if it was freezing. Tenna wouldn’t have known about his claws if he didn’t catch him picking at his teeth with them one night. He’d gotten less furtive about it as time went on, at least when they were alone, but it was rare all the same.
It’s why it was so hard to tear his eyes away as Spamton grumbled, slicking his feathers back down again and again to no avail. Even once both his hands are free
he doesn’t make much headway.
“Damn it,” he says irritably. He turns to Tenna, goes pink as he sees his stare. “…I left some hairspray here, didn't I?” His voice is steady despite his flush.
Tenna nods silently, points at the half empty can sitting by his mirror. Spamton walks over to it, noticeably stiff, and completely ignoring Tenna as he picks up the spray and starts tending to himself. Another minute and Spamton’s fresh as a daisy, his hair slicked back and shining, feathers unruffled. He turns to Tenna, his expression unreadable.
”I should get back to it.” His voice wavers slightly now and he clears his throat.
“Gotta- gotta review some stuff before my shoot.”
”Sure.”
Spamton glances at him again. He takes a step towards Tenna, pauses, then gives an awkward wave, and dashes out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
***
Tenna unfortunately doesn’t get to watch Spamto’s segment, busy with his own shoots and incomplete scripts. It’s about two hours before he even sees him again, so busy, he’s almost (but not really) forgotten about the whole thing. It’s not difficult to remember when Spamton charges towards him, interrupting a series of instructions to a filming crew for more flattering angles.
”Need the big guy for a bit, sorry everyone,” Spamton had said, his voice even more thin and reedy than usual. He’d gripped Tenna’s arms so fiercely, he almost tore the fabric of his coat with his claws. Tenna’s so delighted he doesn’t even protest.
”So what’d you need the big guy for, huh?” He asks, letting Spamton drag him through the maze that is backstage and to his dressing room.
”You know what.”
His tone is clipped, his sound breathless. He bangs the door open, pulls Tenna inside, and locks it behind him.
“Spamton-“
”Just get the fucking cup!”
There’s a certain urgency to his tone that makes Tenna jump and comply. When he turns back with the cup, Spamton’s already undoing his fly and Tenna expects him to snatch it out of his hands but instead he stumbles forward and points his cock into it and starts spurting.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice straining in his mortification.
“You’re okay,” Tenna says, admittedly very distracted, prompting Spamton to start pissing properly, in a loud, hissing stream. He’s bright red but his eyes still roll back in relief. “Aw, baby.”
“Shut up,” Spamton hisses, but there’s no real bite in his words, just hot embarrassment.
“Okay, but you’ll have to stop soon.”
“What?” Spamton looks down. He’d been so pent up that the cup was already borderline filled. “Come on,” he whines.
He stops abruptly, fingers enveloping his tip as he twists away from Tenna who barely manages not to spill the overfilled cup all over the carpeted floor. Spamton isn’t as successful. While he did manage to cut his stream off, it’s not even a second before a gush noisily escapes through his fingers. Spamton squeaks, bends over, and leaks again, less forceful but longer, dripping down his slacks as well as the floor.
Tenna doesn’t say anything, just waits, while Spamton squirms and swears under his breath, and finally seems to get himself under control, shaking.
“Gross,” Tenna says, making a point of wrinkling his nose. Spamton bristles. “Clean it, please.”
Spamton snorts in shock.
“What?”
“I asked you to clean up your mess. Nicely.”
Spamton continues looking at him incredulously and then shakes his head. Tenna gives him a long look, a chance to rethink his answer maybe, then shifts his weight to one foot and moves his leg to give a gentle, but pointed, kick to the back of his knees. He crumbles to the floor, mouth falling open in astonishment, his eyes glittering. The expression is practically a physical stroke to Tenna’s ego. He bites the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from going, oh, you liked that didn’t you? That was impressive, that was good, right? Brought you to your literal knees, didn’t I, didn’t I? Better at this than you thought, see? See? Don’t ever stop looking at me like that, you hear me? Please? Don’t ever stop, okay?
Instead he flicks his coattails up to bend slightly on his knees and get closer to Spamton.
“Clean it,” Tenna repeats. He leans down, getting right into Spamton’s face. “Now.”
Spamton’s open mouth closes, but his eyes keep sparkling on and on as his face twists into an unreadable expression.
Then he spits right onto Tenna’s screen.
“You dirty little-“ His voice fizzles out in his anger so instead he grabs Spamton by the hair and pulls, making him yowl, arching back with Tenna’s hand. “Apologize.”
Spamton tries to spit again. Keyword tries. Saliva dribbles pathetically down his chin but he keeps on glaring at Tenna. He’s panting. At the edge of his vision, Tenna catches a glimpse of his erection tenting his slacks. He doesn’t comment on it, just stares at Spamton till the smaller man drops his gaze.
“Sorry,” he snaps, sounding the very opposite of apologetic.
Good, Tenna thinks, because now he can pull at Spamton’s hair again, shoving his head down to press his cheek onto the wet floor. Spamton wheezes in shock, reminding him to let up but only a little because his feathered tail has started wagging furiously.
“Apologize,” he repeats. His fangs are out, claws too, their sharp tips prodding at the soft digitized skin of Spamton’s scalp. “Apologize!”
Spamton’s eyes flick up to him and narrow as his mouth twists into a pained grin.
“No,” he chokes out proudly.
Tenna pulls his hair up till Spamton’s sitting on his heels then lets go.
“Don’t move,” he hisses at him through his teeth.
Spamton blinks at him, stunned into obedience. Tenna stalks away, trying to mind his footsteps and not stomp like a madman, and grips a clean cup off his desk in one hand and the pitcher of water that gets topped off twice a day per his instructions.
“Get up,” he says tersely to Spamton as he pours. He watches him stumble to his feet like a baby deer, all knock-kneed and shaking “For goodness’ sake- get on the couch.”
His tone is unusually scathing. Spamton’s face is flushed as Tenna steps over to him and grabs him by the arm, more so moving than helping him. He waits till Spamton’s fallen back onto the couch before giving him the cup.
“Drink,” he orders.
“Huh?”
“Drink, Spamton,” Tenna repeats, endlessly patient.
Spamton takes a singular sip. Tenna must look very unimpressed because he quickly swallows down the rest of it and wordlessly gives the cup back. Tenna takes it. He pauses. He considers. Then he decides to pour Spamton another glass.
“I-I can’t,” Spamton blurts as he presses it into his hands. “I-I’m-“ His voice dies in his throat.
“You’re…?”
“I’m- I’m already real full,” he protests weakly.
Tenna lets his voice soften.
“I’m sure you can handle a bit more.” His free hand goes to rest on Spamton’s waist. He makes a point of circling it, highlighting his current expanded size, fingers hooking round him. “Right?”
“…d’you think so?”
Spamton’s blinking slowly. Tenna rubs circles onto his middle with his thumb.
“Mhm,” Tenna affirms. “You talk so big and you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
Spamton had spat on him literally seconds ago, had tried to do it a second time even, but now he was relaxing in Tenna’s grip, practically turning into putty and letting Tenna guide his hand and bring the rim of the glass to his lips. He swallows more readily this time, but again slows down halfway through. That won’t do, Tenna thinks to himself, not after the show I’ve put on for him.
“All of it,” Tenna says. He puts a finger on the bottom of the glass and tilts it up so Spamton has to start swallowing thickly. “There you go!”
By the time the cup’s empty, Spamton is very obviously hard. He’s panting, staring at Tenna.
“Yes?”
“Can I fuck you?”
It takes Tenna several seconds to respond.
“Not now Spamton,” he says, trying hard not to sound too affected.
Spamton blinks up at him. If Tenna didn’t know any better he’d say that he looked about to burst into tears. Instead, he swallows loudly.
”Oh,” he mumbles.
He sidles up to Tenna’s side, pauses, then rests his head on his arm, rubbing his cheek against the sleeve of his jacket. He only needs to do this for a few seconds before Tenna melts and pulls him onto his lap. Spamton’s arms wrap around his neck tight, planting kiss after kiss on his lips, coaxing and pushing till Tenna’s on his back underneath him.
“Sorry.”
It’s so quiet, barely whispered by Spamton, just millimeters away from Tenna’s lips, immediately followed by another kiss, his mouth falling open all warm and pliant over Tenna’s. It’s a nice change of pace to Spamton’s unfortunate habit of using too much teeth. When he parts he sits up on Tenna’s lap, looking at him expectantly, maybe even a little anxious. Tenna cups his cheek, letting his thumb rest on Spamton’s lips which open readily. He groans as Tenna presses his digit into his mouth and against his tongue.
“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” Tenna says. He presses a little deeper before removing his hand entirely. Spamton pants. “You’re forgiven.”
Spamton swallows thickly.
“Now can I fuck you?”
“What?” Tenna’s baffled. “No!”
Spamton huffs, then makes an odd, chirping whine that makes Tenna’s wires light up inside his casing. That’s a sound he’s never heard before. Spamton’s fluff seems to be standing on end, his chest feathers curving up then back down in an appealing dewlap. He’s clearly courting him for all he’s worth.
“I-I said I was sorry,” he trills, pleading. “I’ll fuck you real good, promise.”
“Sweetheart, I’m on in ten.”
“I’ll be- I’ll be quick!” He grips Tenna’s wrist and shoves it between his thighs. “See? I’m already real hard.”
That does distract Tenna for a moment. He gives Spamton’s length an experimental squeeze and watches as his eyes close, mouth falling open in a groan. Then he swipes a thumb over Spamton’s bulging stomach and feels more than sees his cock twitch.
“It’s not enough time to make myself look presentable after, Spam,” Tenna says gently. “Especially if you don’t manage to hold it.”
“I can- I can hold it,” Spamton insists, squirming unconvincingly. Tenna tuts at him, gives his bladder another gentle press. “Guhh-“
“Get off,” he orders and Spamton reluctantly slides off his waist. It’s almost surprising how fast he complies. It gets Tenna curious. He gets on his feet and straightens his jacket, eyeing Spamton. “Sit up straight, baby.”
Spamton does, and just that is a treat. Usually, if he’s not actively conducting business, he’ll slump and laze all over Tenna’s furniture, manspreading for all he’s worth. Tenna grins.
”Lovely,” he says, and Spamton’s mouth twitches, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “Good. Very good.”
He leans down, pecks him quick on the lips, but when just that makes him jump Tenna can’t help himself and leans in for a proper kiss. Spamton’s fingers scramble up his jacket to grip at the lapel.
“Hey, hey,” Tenna stops, pulling away. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
”But-“
“No buts, dove, besides I should really get going.” Spamton looks anguished. “Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone, okay?”
“But-“
”Spamton.”
”…okay.”
***
After that, Tenna’s mood is excellent, but his performance is so abysmal that when Mike very delicately suggests that it might be a good day for reruns of old favorites, he nods, thanks him for his feedback, and accepts. It should be suspicious but it meant that a sizable amount of staff could take it easy, if not fully take off, and the excitement that generated gave him a good cover. It’s right after that happy conclusion that Spamton just happens to pass by and drag him backstage away from prying eyes.
“I really need a-a cup,” he mumbles as soon as they’re far enough, not even bothering to greet Tenna.
Tenna takes a good look at him. Spamton’s standing stiffly, legs together. His other hand is deep in his pocket, probably busy kneading his dick. His hips sway minutely as he presses himself into Tenna’s side.
“Can you wait?”
Spamton shakes his head vigorously.
“I-I waited already.”
“You did, didn’t you?” He pats him on the small of his back. It’s very gentle but Spamton still jolts and bends forward, biting his lip. “Oh, you really can’t wait.”
“Mmm,” Spamton says, pressing tighter against him. His body is warm. “Can we- can we go?”
Tenna nods, keeping one hand on Spamton’s back as they walk to and into his dressing room. He lets him go in first but as soon as the door closes, instead of reaching for a cup, he basically pounces on Spamton like a cat on a mouse. The following can only really be described as an undignified scuffle; Spamton bites whatever’s closest to him (Tenna’s forearm) and squirms out of his grip, then wails as Tenna catches him from behind by the waist, inadvertently squeezing his bladder, which makes Tenna shove his palm into Spamton’s mouth and, again, gets him bit. Tenna clenches his teeth to stop himself yelping, managing to grab Spamton by the torso, away from any sensitive areas, and push him against the wall at eye-level so
his feet are dangling. They’re both out of breath. Spamton’s pupils are huge.
”…color?”
“Green,” Spamton says immediately, so Tenna buries his face into the curve of his neck, presses a kiss as a preemptive apology, and bites. Spamton squeals. Tenna pauses to slip a hand down Spamton’s pants, making him gasp. He’s hard, predictably so, but he’s also totally soaked his boxers. Tenna’s felt him up while he was wetting enough times now to know that it’s pre, if not cum. He smirks then resumes nipping and mouthing at Spamton’s neck and lips till he starts pulling noises out of him, pleading, needy, demanding words that drove Tenna insane.
”Tenna,” he keeps whimpering whenever he’s not actively being kissed. “Nnghhh- Tenna! I’m gonna pee-“
“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” Tenna asks, determinedly ignoring him. “You’ve ruined your underwear.”
”Didn’t!” His voice comes out high. Too high. “I-I didn’t!”
Tenna parts, looks him in the eyes. Spamton holds his gaze, but just for a moment. His eyes flick to the floor.
“What’d you do, huh?” Tenna asks, smiling. “Come on, fess up.” Spamton frowns at him, resolutely silent. Tenna starts pressing kisses to his cheek. “Tell meeee,” he whines. More kisses, now down his neck, soothing his tongue over the bites he’d left. “Come onnn.” Spamton wiggles at his ministrations. He turns his head away from Tenna. “You better tell me or you’re not getting a cup.”
Spamton’s eyes widen.
”I-I didn’t touch anything,” he insists. “I just- I just-“ A noise leaves him, frenzied and humiliated. “I tried to tell you!” He whines.
“Tell me what?” He’s still kissing him all over, feeling him shiver. “Hm?”
This question obviously deeply irritates Spamton, who starts huffing, fluff standing on end.
“I need to piss,” he complains loudly and Tenna just tuts at him.
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
”You’re an asshole,” Spamton wails but he was cute enough earlier that Tenna lets it slide and waits till he speaks properly. “I tried to- I tried to ask if I could-“ His voice suddenly drops in volume dramatically. “If I could hold- hold myself but you wouldn’t listen.”
”Why wouldn’t you be allowed to hold yourself?”
Spamton growls at him. He’s furious.
”You said not to touch, how am I supposed to know it doesn’t count?”
”You could have… asked…” Tenna realizes mid sentence the conundrum Spamton had found himself in. He hadn’t let him ask, had he? “I’m sorry baby.”
”Can I have a cup now,” Spamton seethes in response, ignoring his apology.
Tenna almost says yes but something still doesn’t add up.
”But then how’d you get so worked up?”
Quiet. Spamton wiggles in his grip. He mutters something.
”Come again?”
“I fucking used your couch to help me hold,” Spamton gabbles so fast that Tenna barely makes it out. “Okay?!”
“I- the couch?”
Spamton’s wording is vague but Tenna isn’t stupid. In fact he can see it very clearly. Spamton, fidgeting and trying to find a comfortable position, hand unconsciously slipping between his legs just for him to whip it away and crack his knuckles in an attempt to keep them busy, standing up and walking in tight-legged circles before giving up, and apprehensively straddling the couch arm, pressing down on it for some relief, shuddering as it turns to pleasure when he leans forward and-
Spamton grunts, interrupting his daydream, and suddenly spurts with a loud hiss. It’s so forceful that it soaks his shirt. He throws his head back and whines.
”Right, you want a cup! One second!”
Tenna helps him down as gently as he can but Spamton still winces and spurts again. He whines harder but his voice dies in his throat as Tenna reaches down and squeezes his tip gently through the cloth.
”One second, love, you can make it.”
Spamton arches into his touch, heaving hot, sharp breaths as Tenna, thankful for his long limbs, grabs a cup off his desk and gets it in position. Spamton goes back to peeing hard as soon as he lets go of his cock, but it’s still nothing compared to the torrent he unleashes when Tenna lowers his boxers.
It’s only seconds till it’s about to overflow. Spamton whimpers when he gently warns him. Still, he complies beautifully, tensing and gradually waning his stream.
“Ha-ah, hah-“
He’s shaking as he stops, whimpering when Tenna reaches out to tuck his cock back into his boxers.
“Alright there, baby?”
“Yes- mmm-“ Spamton gasps as Tenna fondles his length gently through his underwear. He’s gotten hard again. His thighs squeeze around his hand as Tenna slowly massages the base of his cock. The lines on his forehead smooth out, his shoulders relax even as his core obviously tightens and spams as he tries to stay tense enough to hold it. “Ten-na-“
Tenna smiles. Spamton’s voice is distinctly softer, more muddled. He’s having a good time.
“Mhm?”
“C’n I have another cup?”
Oh.
“Now?”
Spamton nods. Tenna does have another cup, right there on his desk, but Spamton isn’t glancing at it surreptitiously, instead he’s blinking up at him, a pleading expression painting his face. He doesn’t seem to even notice it.
“Please,” Spamton mumbles.
“Okay,” Tenna says immediately. He is awful at this. Or maybe he isn’t because while Spamton’s expression doesn’t change his tail starts to wag gently behind him.
“Now, please,” he says huskily, a little more demanding.
“Yes, baby,” Tenna replies, swiping the cup off his desk. He’s too amused to scold him properly.
This time, Spamton doesn’t pull his cock out, he doesn’t even wait for Tenna to fully lower the cup, just gets up on his toes and slots his clothed erection into the cup and lets go.
“Unf-“
His hands dig into the front of Tenna’s shirt as the rest of his body relaxes. It’s loud, the stream hissing through his boxer to splatter into the cup. Spamton keeps choking out pleasured little noises, legs shaking with relief. It’s hard work keeping him standing straight. It’s so cute that Tenna might have let him finish emptying and just cleaned the floor, but when the cup is only halfway full, Spamton stops suddenly, grunting with the effort. Tenna blinks.
”Spam? You still have plenty of room left.”
“Don’t wanna spill,” Spamton mutters. “You’ll- you’ll make me clean it.”
Oh. Oh, cute. Cute, cute, cute.
“I did that because you were being a total brat,” Tenna giggles. “You asked nicely for a second cup so go on.”
Spamton doesn’t look convinced, but when Tenna gives his bladder a flick his control immediately wanes. He goes in bursts, anxiously checking after each one despite Tenna’s reassurances, and stops perfectly, leaving just enough room that Tenna can lift the cup and put it aside comfortably, even as Spamton clings to him.
”Tenna,” he huffs.
”Mhm?”
“Little- little more, please?”
It takes Tenna a second to get what he’s saying exactly.
“Baby, you’ve had two cups already.”
“Please Tenna?” He clings to him even tighter. “Please, I love you, please?” His voice climbs in pitch, getting frantic. “Please, m’being good, right? Tenna.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Tenna says without thinking, and thinking even less, he slips one hand into Spamton’s sodden underwear. “Just enough for my glove to soak up, alright?” Spamton nods. His mouth is hanging open as he breathes, hot and heavy. “I need you to speak up. You’ll go for barely a second, just enough for my glove to soak up, okay?”
”Okay,” Spamton echoes.
”Don’t make a mess.”
Spamton nods.
“Won’t make a mess,” he repeats back at him obediently.
His hand wraps tight around Tenna’s wrist, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind and pull away (which he should do, because how the hell is this not going to end up with both of them soaked).
Spamton goes still but tense, almost vibrating against Tenna in his focus. His breath stutters, then hitches, and warmth blooms over Tenna’s palm. Spamton shivers, digging his fingers hard into Tenna, then lets out a ragged sigh. To Tenna’s surprise (and relief) he’d done exactly as he was told.
“Good boy,” he praises, and Spamton ducks his head but his tail starts going. “Good boy, that must’ve been hard, huh?”
Spamton wiggles.
“Uh huh,” he says feverishly. “R’ly need t’pee, Tenna.”
“Yes, baby, I know.”
“When c’n I go?”
“Soon.”
“Tenna-“
And there’s that whining tone again, the one that means Spamton wants something and that Tenna is going to cave and give it to him in seconds if he keeps listening.
”No.”
”But-“
”If you can control yourself like that, then you can absolutely wait.”
”S’not-“
“Spamton,” Tenna says sharply. He grabs Spamton’s face with one hand, his palm slotting neatly under his chin, his fingers practically enveloping his skull. “You did very well but this isn’t up for discussion.”
He tilts Spamton’s face up to take a good look at it, because he’s started sounding a little frantic. Huh. The expression he’s making looks awfully familiar. His cock is twitching hard on Tenna’s palm and suddenly it’s warm again but not wet, well, not wet enough to be piss-
Oh.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Tenna cooes. “Aw, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice how riled up you got.”
“Cummingnnh,” Spamton rasps unnecessarily. “Nnh- guuhhh-“
He barely moves, just presses his cock tight against Tenna’s palm and shudders violently again and again, panting hard. His mouth hangs open, a jumble of high keens and half-coherent words spilling out of it. He slumps forward, gasping, thighs squeezing Tenna’s hand, and manages one weak, jerking grind.
“Wow,” Tenna says quietly, when he finally stills. Spamton is still holding onto his wrist but doesn’t resist as Tenna pulls his hand up from his pants, except to shudder as he brushes against him. “Wow,” Tenna repeats. “So much.”
Spamton makes a low, embarrassed sound, but it’s true. He’d come buckets compared to his usual load. Must have really been enjoying himself, Tenna thinks, trying hard not to start laughing delightedly. He would’ve too if Spamton hadn’t moaned, sharp and pained and pushed away from him. He takes one step, stumbles, would have fallen right onto the floor if Tenna hadn’t caught him. He wails sharply, making Tenna jump.
“What’s wrong- ow!”
He needs to talk to Spamton about his biting, it’s getting ridiculous. It wouldn’t be too bad if he weren’t so out of it he couldn’t F1 Tenna. Still, he realizes that he’d done the exact thing that had gotten him bitten twice earlier: jostling Spamton’s bladder.
Spamton doesn’t even glance at him, scurrying to the bathroom door and shoving it open with his shoulder, both his hands busy gripping his dick. Tenna closes his mouth, which had been hanging open and quickly follows after him.
He hadn’t quite made it, Tenna quickly discovers, leaving a trail of drips on the tiles of his bathroom. He looks up from them just in time to see Spamton, still fully clothed, straddle the toilet. Not sit on, no, he hadn’t turned around, just spread his legs to accommodate for the back and crossed his arms on the tank and dropped his head into them.
Tenna doesn’t even have time to say anything before Spamton is moaning lowly, pure pleasure, all inhibitions dropped, pissing noisily. Tenna’s not sure how long it lasts. A while, surely, clearly Spamton had been dying to pee (he knew that, obviously, but still), had clearly been holding a lot more than he was used to (he’d learned that Spamton’s matter-of-fact-ness about needing to pee was due to a smaller than average bladder that he was clearly, to a degree, embarrassed by though he would nevert verbally admit it), and was enjoying finally getting to fully let go (oh, how Tenna wished he’d managed to hold onto him so he could take a good look as his face as he did, maybe help him to a second shaky orgasm like last time).
His stream does stop, eventually, and Spamton, in all his wisdom, gets up much too fast and Tenna has to rush to keep him from cracking his head on the tiled floor.
“Are you okay?” Tenna blurts.
Spamton blinks slowly. Then his eyes narrow. Then he starts giggling. His laugh is objectively awful, juddery and halted and loud if you manage to actually get him going. Tenna’s seen many a people wince at the sound of it. Right now especially, as Spamton tries hard to stop, shoving his palm against his mouth, practically choking on his exhales.
”Spam?” Tenna asks again, bewildered.
Spamton nods, coughs in a poor attempt to mask some more cackling.
“Uh-huh,” he eventually manages, totally breathless. “M’okay.” One more giggle, almost bordering on cute if you don’t listen too closely. “Fuck, I-“ He heaves another laugh, then suddenly looks serious. “My legs-“
For what feels like the tenth time that day, Tenna catches him, just as his legs give out. He barely manages to not fall himself, righting himself up with one hand behind Spamton’s knees and the other at his back. He tries hard not to think about how this is a bridal carry. In his arms, Spamton snorts again.
“Sorry,” he says, seeing Tenna’s astonished expression. He clears his throat between a few giggles and finally seems to manage to calm down.
“We should go home,” Tenna blurts suddenly. There’s something possessive in his tone that catches him off guard. “Now.”
Spamton nods vaguely, still smiling widely.
”Mhmmm,” he hums.