Chapter 14
🔞This chapter contains sexually explicit content.🔞
It’s almost easier this time around. There’s so much of himself that he has to peel back, every sin and lie and con and cheat that he tried in a desperate attempt to claw back to relevance. Tenna, understandably, hasn’t appreciated a lot of it. There have been a lot of late nights, getting up and pacing, questions that rise in indignation, especially when it comes to how he tried to kill Kris. Which… yeah, fair. Tenna watched Kris grow up; of course, that would be a touchy subject. Although in his defense, he’s not proud of it, either.
It’s almost easier, but it’s also so goddamn terrifying. The last time he was this vulnerable with Tenna, he was bent in half on a couch, letting his ex-cohost see parts of him that he’d never let anyone see before. Because even then, sex was easy. They could give each other a little grace with fumbling around in bed, figuring out how to make it work with two very different body types. There’s no magic wire he can twist in his fingers to get Tenna not to shrink and get staticky at the thought of Spamton making his home at the bottom of a dumpster for the better part of a decade. Or swell in rage at how much Spamton had kept from him.
Spamton makes it very clear that he doesn’t want pity. “SAVE [The] WATERWORKS,” he says firmly the first time Tenna shrinks down to his size, head in his hands and static filling his screen. “[[Hyperlink Blocked]] OFFERED UP A BAD [Deal]. NOTHING WE CAN DO AB04T IT [Right now!].” But the whole situation makes going out into Castle Town a bit awkward. The Cyber City Darkners have no problems talking to Tenna, but if Spamton’s around, they keep more distance than usual. Swatch only allows Spamton into the cafe if Tenna is with him; he makes it very clear that Spamton is Tenna’s responsibility. Spamton still can’t look at the Addisons, though. He refuses to go anywhere near their stupid little stall where they sell stupid things to each other. Tenna respects that enough.
But even if their time together is fixed between Tenna’s room and the general outdoor area of Castle Town, he has to admit, it’s nice. Aside from the times when a particularly annoying ad decides to pop out of his mouth, he almost feels normal again. Normal enough that, when Tenna kisses him, he doesn’t fight it… at least, not until he accidentally bites Tenna’s tongue and remembers with startling clarity that he barely has lips anymore. He’s pretty much all teeth now. Tenna laughs it off, waving his hand. “Oopsie! It happens. No harm done.”
Oh. Right. The kissing thing—so, it only took three whole days for the whole “friends” thing to go out the window. Old habits die hard, apparently, even after a decade of lying at the bottom of a dumpster, cursing Tenna’s name to [Heaven]. It had been so easy for Spamton to tell himself that it was all Tenna’s fault. After all, this never would’ve happened if he hadn’t offered that deal. If he hadn’t made Spamton love him.
And damn it, he still loves him. The words still won’t come out, though. Originally, it was fear that kept him from saying it out loud, standing on the edge of a cliff and trying to trust that there’d be someone to catch him at the bottom. It feels strange to let go of a decade of convincing himself of the exact opposite. Of course, he’s not stupid. He knows that Tenna is just as angry at him for leaving. It’s something he appreciates about his ex-cohost; he wears his heart on his screen. But once they screamed out their frustrations at each other, it got a lot easier to coexist, to forgive each other enough for “friends” to turn back into “something else”.
Still, there’s a seed of doubt that branches off and sprouts whenever Tenna’s words turn into a frankly too-romantic font. There’s no way that Tenna can actually want him like this. Even when Tenna slides his hand up his back when leading him back to his room, even when he refuses to let him sleep on the couch, cuddling up to him in bed, even when Tenna’s screen shifts to black and he drifts off to sleep, Spamton stares at the ceiling, certain that the kissing and touching is a mistake. Surely Tenna is just getting swept up in the memories. But that doesn’t stop him from falling asleep in his ex-cohost’s arms.
They wake up together; while the sound of Tenna degaussing jolts him awake, it also strikes a surprisingly sore spot in Spamton’s heart. “Sorry, did that startle you?” Tenna asks sleepily, resting his head on top of Spamton’s.
Spamton can’t help but laugh, even as he stifles a yawn. “IT’S A BUILT IN WAKEUP [Call Now!].” Tenna chuckles sleepily, hugging him closer. They lay in silence, the hum of Tenna’s screen filling Spamton with warmth until he hears a ‘ping!’ from the corner of the room. “YOU'RE GOING TO W4NT TO [Kill] THAT BEFORE [they're multiplying...!].”
“Hm…?” He feels Tenna shift to look over. “Oh. Is that why I kept finding those around even after you left?”
“YEP. REPLICATING CODE.”
After a second, he hears a snap, followed by canned laughter and something cracking, and only then does Tenna settle back down. “Never did figure out what caused that, huh?”
“REPLICATING CODE,” he repeats automatically. He forces himself to clarify, “BUG.”
Tenna makes a humming sound like he doesn’t quite understand, but is willing to let it go for now, pulling away enough to smile down at him. “Data is so strange.” He lowers his hand, dragging his thumb down Spamton’s chest and catching on the neckline of the plain t-shirt that Tenna got for him from the Addison’s stall (much to his chagrin). “Come up here for a second?” Spamton makes a big show of rolling his eyes and sighing before shuffling up closer, to which he is awarded with a hand resting in his hair and a muttered, “Thank you,” before Tenna kisses him.
“Ant,” Spamton sighs, but Tenna just chuckles, his fingers sliding through loose waves. Spamton closes his eyes, resigning himself to this fate, except… when he does, his mind slips, and they’re not in a bed in a room in a Castle Town anymore. They’re in his bed in Cyber City, a lovers’ getaway from the grind of TV production, laughing and kissing and touching like they have all the time in the world. Automatically, his hands feel for the thick cables on Tenna’s neck, welcoming him closer.
One of Tenna’s hands settles on his waist, squeezing him gently. This is right. This feels right. As long as he keeps his teeth in mind, making sure not to bite down on accident, he can fully welcome Tenna tilting his head and, with a quiet hum, daring to slip his tongue into his mouth. He’ll even humor how Tenna pushes him onto his back, hands suddenly scrabbling at him like he can’t get close enough. “Mm, Spamton,” Tenna groans, voice thick as he pushes under his shirt, smoothing his hands over hard plastic—
Hard plastic. Not data and downy feathers. Spamton stops suddenly, coming to his senses and lowering his hands to push Tenna away. “[But Wait!]” he says, unable to hide the creeping panic in his voice. Tenna pulls back, antennas drooping in hurt, and it’s such a sad sight that Spamton can’t look. He turns his head. “YOU DON’T W4NT THIS.”
“What?”
“I’M NOT…” Focus, Spamton. “I’M. NOT. THE [Used Goods] I [Used] TO BE. WHAT YOU WANT—”
A hand presses against his chest, entirely encapsulating it and applying just enough pressure that he cuts off in a gentle wheeze. “You do not get to decide that.” Tenna speaks with something rolling in his voice, anger and sadness and yearning bundled into something quavering. “I’ve spent ten years wanting you back with me.” Spamton reaches up to put his hands around Tenna’s wrist, and that seems to give the TV host pause, letting him go but still lying on top of him. “Even if you have changed, I think I deserve the chance to get to know this you, don’t I?”
Spamton’s jaw opens, then snaps shut of its own accord. “[[CRT]]… Ant. IF IT—IF THIS DOESN’T WORK… DON'T FEEL [[Like]] Y OU HAVE TO—”
“Oh, shut up already.” Tenna leans over him. “Maybe I do want it, huh? How about that, Mr. Contrarian?” [Heaven], Tenna’s cute when he gets like this. As much as he used to insist that Spamton was a ‘brat’, he really is one to talk, especially when he gets impatient. It’s all a fierce reminder of how things used to be. Things have changed, certainly, but maybe some things have stayed exactly the same… For example, the bravado that starts rising in his chest with the knowledge of just how easy it is to fluster Tenna.
So Spamton grins widely and says, “YOU WANT IT, HUH???“ Tenna stares down at him, his antennas curving questioningly. “[Fine Print]. SHOW ME HOW MUCH YOU WANT IT.”
“…Oh! The nerve of you!” Tenna leans up, crossing his arms over his chest. “You left me high and dry for ten years. If you think you can just start bossing me around—” He cuts off, screen going blank as Spamton reaches down, pulling at the waistband of his TV Time-branded pajama pants. Wearing his own merchandise like a sucker. But while one hand slowly starts to pull them down, the other slides up, pressing into the seam of his chest panel.
“I’D BE [Right],” Spamton finishes smugly. He faintly hears a burst of heat push out of Tenna’s vents as he keeps pressing against his chest panel, settling his other hand on his hip. “[C’mon], GET TO KNOW ME.”
“You’re awful,” Tenna hisses. “Awful and evil.” With that, he leans down to kiss him again, pressing down into him as he digs his hands under Spamton’s shirt, feeling along the seams of his chest and waist. Spamton abandons his waistband, reaching up to feel around Tenna’s chest, making sure to press insistently against the panel. Time has been relatively kind to Tenna; aside from some extra bulk packed onto his frame and the scars from the Knight, he has barely changed in the ten years they were apart. Spamton feels him out reverently, throwing caution to the wind and letting Tenna feel him out in kind.
Fingers pause on the seam between his torso and his hips, and Spamton stops as well. He waits for it, the pull-away, the “what the hell is that” or some other exclamation of disgust. It never comes. Instead, Tenna gently pulls him up to slide his shirt off entirely and toss it to the floor, lowering his head to scrape his fangs against Spamton’s neck. Spamton repays the gesture by thumbing along the base of his antennas, mindful to avoid the actual wires. Tenna pulls back with a shudder and a quiet gasp, his screen flashing pink for a moment. “THERE YOu go,” Spamton mutters, forcing his voice to be quiet. “Is this what you missed?”
Tenna whines in the affirmative, digging his fingers back into Spamton’s hips. While he curls up a bit to make it easier for Spamton to reach him, the difference in their sizes is incredibly obvious now. Damn acid lake. Still, Spamton makes the most of it, feeling around Tenna’s hips, daring to reach back to grab his ass. “Oh!” Tenna pulls back to laugh breathlessly, his screen pink. “Hah—well, that’s the same as I remember it.”
“WhaT CAN I SAY?” Spamton’s voice cracks back to its default setting as he says, “IT’S VERY GRABBABLE.”
Tenna’s hands drift back, lifting him up to fondle him in kind, which earns a little surprised noise from the salesman. “So’s yours,” Tenna teases, kissing him one more time before pulling back with a grin, out of Spamton’s reach, to shimmy out of his pants.
[Heaven]. This, Spamton realizes too late, is what true [Heaven] is. Tenna’s already pressurized, and a sense of longing punches Spamton in the chest. He’s missed this. “NOW THIS IS A VIEW [You Won’t Want To Miss],” he says approvingly.
“Oh, go on,” Tenna purrs, setting his hands on his hips. “You owe me ten years’ backpay on compliments, mailman.”
Spamton laughs. “WITH A [handsomeGuy] LIKE YOU, THAT WON’T BE TOO HARD.”
Tenna grins wider. “Great. That’s two so far. Only 7,302 to go.”
“WHOA, WHAT???”
“It’s easy if you do two a day, every day. Well, four a day if you don’t want to pay interest.” Tenna leans down again, his hand settling on Spamton’s stomach and drifting down, his thumb dipping under the waistband of his briefs. “You should’ve read that contract a bit closer. Always read the fine print, Spammy.”
“[$!$$]. YOU GOT ME.” Spamton hisses as Tenna’s hand keeps moving dangerously close to his dick (which thank [Heaven] it still works), wriggling into the sheets to make himself more comfortable. “I MISS [Celebritties Swear By].”
Tenna’s smile turned sympathetic. “They turned on my parental controls after you left. December watched one too many nasty music videos. Good thing for you that Kris turned them off, huh?”
Spamton grins up, reaching to slide his hand down Tenna’s chest panel again. “I’M REAL [Lucky 1000th Customer].”
Tenna snorts, squirming a little both in laughter and at the touch. “Do people actually fall for that?”
“ONLY REAL [Idiot Box]ES. NOW. YOU WANT [Complimentary Service] OR NOT?”
Spamton regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, because Tenna’s screen goes black except for his smile, and he presses his hand against the hardening length between Spamton's legs. “Someone’s impatient.”
“YOU;RE THE [1] WAKING ME UP FROM A [Refr3shing n1ghts sleep] FOR SOME [One-on-One Action]!”
Tenna laughs impishly, drawing up to worm his fingers under the waistband of his partner’s briefs. “Okay, guilty on that count. But really…” His smile grows wide, his fingers dragging painfully slow along his dick. “Can you blame me?” Spamton bites back a groan, the sound coming out as a strangled censor bleep. Tenna snickers, dragging his fingers up and down, slowly but intently. “So, do you think I want it enough?”
Spamton laughs, and it skips a bit loudly, but he actually doesn’t mind. “I THINK SO!!” He clears his throat, pushing himself up on his elbows. “LOSE THE PANEL, [[CRT]]. I’LL TAKE IT. FROM HERE.”
Tenna tilts his head a little before leaning back, his fingers lingering under the waistband of Spamton’s briefs for a second before drawing back. “Only if you lose these.” Spamton obliges him, shuffling out of his briefs and tossing them aside in record time. “All this build-up just for you to want to root around in here,” Tenna says, carefully working his chest panel off.
“DON'T [Worry your little heart out].” Spamton grins up at Tenna, beckoning him closer. “YOU'RE GETTING A [2] FOR [1] SPECIL.”
It takes a second for Tenna to process that, but once he does, his screen flashes in little pink hearts. “Oh, Spammy, you’re really spoiling me here!” He giggles, shuffling back and forth to hover over him, wires just out of reach. “I’ll count this as… let’s say fifty compliments.”
“1 [Hundred] AND I SORT OUT Y OUR WIRES AFTER.”
Tenna hums, swaying his hips a little in thought. “…Seventy-five, and you sort out my wires after.”
Spamton rolls his eyes. “[82]—AT LEAST ROUND [Upsell].”
“Fine. Deal.” Tenna finally scoots close enough for Spamton to reach, antennas shooting upright in surprise when Spamton immediately hooks a finger around the yellow wire by his hip. “Ooh! Wow! You remembered that.”
“OF COURSE. I DID.” Spamton sucks in a breath as Tenna lowers down, feeling something wet slide against his dick. “JUST LIKE. I REMEMBER. THIS.” He tugs the wire gently.
Tenna moans quietly, pressing a hand over his screen as if to silence it. “W-wait. Before you get carried away, why don’t you, ah… get situated?”
“DON;T MIND IF I DO.” Spamton begrudgingly lets go of the wire to reach down. One hand rests on his partner’s hip; the other grabs himself (for the first time in like a decade, but [Heaven] he cannot think about that right now) and lines up. A little branch of doubt creeps up on him—there’s no way this is really happening, right? But despite it, he squeezes Tenna’s hip, urging him downward.
The doubt shrivels up when Tenna takes his cue and pushes down, taking Spamton down halfway in one motion. It’s abrupt enough to stop them both in their tracks, Tenna slowly leaning forward to lean against the wall above the headboard with a little purr. Which, thankfully, puts his chest cavity right within Spamton’s reach, so he reaches up to tangle his fingers in the wires again.
“Aah!” The purr turns into a gasp, Tenna’s entire body jolting a little at the sudden stimulation. “Ohh, god, I missed that!”
“MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM, [Ant].” He pinches a green wire, delighting in the way Tenna practically quivers in response. “READY WHEN YOU ARE.”
Tenna hums happily and, after a second to situate himself, grinds down, taking Spamton down to the hilt effortlessly; between being so wet and also so much bigger in general, it doesn’t take much, but it’s still enough to send Spamton reeling, head falling back against the pillows with a dazed mumble. “Mm. Feels like you missed me, too,” Tenna teases, savoring it for a moment before drawing back up, setting an easy pace.
Spamton had been pleasantly surprised when he’d found out that he and his business partner-turned-fuck buddy had similar anatomy; it had really opened up the door to possibilities neither of them had ever considered before. It’s just as pleasantly surprising how easily this starts to feel right. Like he’d never left at all. He shifts his hips up to meet Tenna’s, trying to push deeper—probably in vain, but it’s the thought that counts—and keeps twisting wires between his fingers. Residual light from Tenna’s heart casing makes the big red power cable glow enticingly, but Spamton has always liked to save that for the big finish. Today’s no exception.
A hand rests on his head, fingers curling through his hair and pulling him from his thoughts. “Mm,” Tenna moans quietly as hot air blows from his vents, now carrying the subtle smell of burning dust.
Spamton doesn’t mind, though. It’s worth it to hear these noises again, to wrap Tenna around his fingers, to fuck him unashamedly with a body he wasn’t sure could even work like that anymore. ‘Suck it, [[Hyperlink Blocked]],’ he thinks to himself right before Tenna grinds down on him just right and quivers around him. It snaps something in his chest, and he groans, anchoring himself down to try and push in as deep as he can go. “DAMN, [Ant]—[Just Like New]—LEAN BACK A BIT.”
Tenna laughs breathlessly and obeys, and it’s so worth it to hear him gasp in shock when Spamton’s memory serves him right again and he hits a good spot. “Aah! More like that!” He abandons leaning against the wall entirely, legs squeezing Spamton’s hips tightly when he hits that spot again. “Ooh, right there! More!”
Spamton obliges, but the angle’s a little awkward, even with Tenna leaning back like this. He supplements his failings by yanking that yellow wire by Tenna’s hip again, delighting in the way Tenna’s screen flickers between color bars and static. “IF I COULD REACH,” he hisses, brows knitting together in effort. “ID HAVE Y OU ON YOUR [Hands] AND [Knees], [[CRT]]. [%$#@] YOU. HOW YOU. REALLY. WANT IT.”
Spamton must hit the spot again just right, or maybe it’s the way he says it, because Tenna whines. “N-next time!” he gasps, riding Spamton so hard that the sound of their hips mashing together is loud enough to be noticeable. “God, you’re not leaving my room for anything today! Y-you have—aah—ten years of this to make up for!” Tenna always did get so needy when he’s on the edge. This is usually the go-ahead for Spamton to get really domineering; one more push, and Tenna will be like putty in his hands. His cock, having been steadily beading coolant, is starting to dribble now, dripping down onto Spamton’s chest.
So Spamton takes the plunge and presses his hand against the power cable, feeling it hum under his palm. “YOU;RE GONNA MAKE [A Big Spill] LIKE THIS. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? SAY THE WORD.”
Tenna squeezes around him, and it’s almost tight enough for it to feel right, like Tenna isn’t two times his size. “Ohh, please, please,” he groans, screen turning to flickering static.
Spamton grins. “ALRIGHT. BUT YOU’RE CLEANING IT UP.” With that, he hooks his fingers underneath the power cable and gently pulls. At the same time, he raises his hips, thrusting in as deep as he can. “[Come On] NOW, [Ant].”
Tenna moans at the stimulation, the sound filling the room as he grinds down against him. But he’s not there yet. Spamton frowns a little and pulls just a bit harder, watching Tenna’s body tense like a tightly-wound spring. “S-Sp…” he whimpers, leaning forward into the pull, which also changes the angle he’s riding at, and that seems to do the trick as he keens, and coolant spills over Spamton’s stomach and chest and around his dick, which Tenna starts riding with wild abandon; the goal no longer making him come, but now dragging out the wave of euphoria while it lasts.
Spamton rides it out, too, rising to a crescendo but not quite making it, hissing in a bit of pain at how sore he's starting to feel. He lets go of the power cable, tilting his head up to keep from getting a faceful of coolant, and rolls some smaller cables between his fingers to delight in the way Tenna’s body trembles at the added stimulation. Finally, the TV host slows to a stop, gasping for air. “Ah… that…” He sighs blissfully, dismounting Spamton with a wet sound and slumping over him. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“[But Wait! There’s More!]” Spamton tilts his head, grinning at the way Tenna looks at him with confusion. “I TOLD YOU. YOU’RE CLEANING UP. AND I’M. NOT. DONE YET.”
Tenna stares down at him as he processes that. “…Wow! So demanding.”
“I TOLD YOU. BESIDES. I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO GET TO—” Spamton swallows down the ad that nearly jumps out of his mouth. “KNOW. ME. CLEAN. UP. YOUR MESS.”
Tenna’s screen turns dark. “I hate you.” Still, he hesitates for only for a second before leaning in to lap up his own coolant.
“[There] YOU GO,” Spamton mutters, patting the back of Tenna’s head, only to pull away at how hot he is. So instead, he tucks his hands behind his head and watches Tenna lick him clean, screen tinged pink. Despite his embarrassment, though, Tenna seems to take his orders seriously, making sure to get every drop of coolant off his partner’s chest and stomach. Spamton pushes his luck by pushing Tenna’s head down, and he bites back a groan when his partner gets the hint and starts licking his dick clean, as well. “ATTABOY.”
But that bravado goes out the window when Tenna’s hand drifts between his thighs to get a better hold and presses up between his legs, which is how Spamton realizes that he still has that, too: a slit that’s wet and—now that attention is on it—burning with want. The slickness does not evade Tenna’s notice as he pulls back and, after processing for a moment, chuckles darkly. “Aah, are you sure you’ve changed? Because that feels the same, too.”
“A-[Ant],” Spamton groans, clawing at the sheets.
But Tenna’s found his in. His voice grows more confident, more teasing as he says, “All that talk about not being what you used to be, and for what? You’re a little more plastic and a little shorter now. That’s it! Geez, I thought I was—” Tenna cuts off when Spamton spreads his legs a bit to welcome Tenna’s probing hand, his finger dipping in effortlessly and spreading him wide, and he cries out, throwing his head back at the sudden intrusion, reaching down to grab Tenna’s wrist. “…Dramatic, okay, fuck it. Here we go, partner.”
With no fanfare, he feels a mouth around his dick, urgently sucking up the coolant which is quickly mixing with his own precum, and then the mouth moves down and the finger moves in and Spamton honestly thinks that he’s just died. Thoughts evaporate out of his head before they can even form, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, and he sees [Heaven]—not the fake one that he chased for a decade, but a real one that makes him feel weightless and fulfilled. Ten years of being denied this are catching up to him all at once—or did he deny himself? “DAMN IT, [Ant], I [Love] YOU!” The words rip out of his mouth in a scream he can’t hold back as he comes hard, and everything explodes in white.
“Spamton?”
He blinks untold seconds later, and Tenna is hovering over him. The pixels around his mouth are a bit discolored, but his antennas are drooping in concern. All Spamton can think to say is, “[[Ten Out Of Ten]].”
Tenna pauses for a second before huffing a laugh. “Damn right.” His grin returns, a bit more smug than before. “I think I missed a spot if you still wanted me to lick you clean.”
Spamton groans and waves him away, sitting up. “Y OU GOT [Guarantteed Winner]. [Lucky Reels].” Tenna helps him off the bed and guides him to the bathroom, where Spamton closes the door and rests his forehead against it. His pelvis is sore, certainly, and there’s still a slickness between his legs that’s threatening to become uncomfortable. He takes his time cleaning himself up, dragging his fingers through his hair to pull out tangles.
When he returns to the bedroom, Tenna is just finishing up changing the sheets. “Feeling better?” he asks as he smooths out a fitted sheet.
“[Yes].” Spamton’s legs feel like jelly, so he leans against the door with a sigh. He can't help but jab, “GLAD TO KNOW [[You too can]] STILL FOLLOW ORDERS.“
Tenna throws a pillow at him with a laugh. “Oh, stop it!” Spamton laughs, too, catching the pillow and clutching it close to his chest. Once the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence falls between the two of them, and Tenna fiddles with his hands. “…So… we’re okay?”
Spamton pauses, looking up at the hopeful curve of Tenna’s antennas. He takes a deep breath and focuses. “If you. Want. To be. I know I’ve… changed.”
“I think…” Tenna sits down on the now-clean bed with a sigh. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve changed all that much. Aside from being plastic now, but I’m used to that.” He pauses for a second, then confesses, “I do miss the fluff.”
“Yeah.” Spamton hops up to join him, surprised when Tenna immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders. “mY [Sincirist Gratittude].”
Tenna presses against him, his body buzzing and warm. “You’re welcome.” For a long moment, they sit together on the bed before Tenna starts hesitantly, “…Did you mean it? When you said… you love me?”
Oh. Spamton suddenly goes cold; he did say that, didn’t he? In the midst of everything—the thrill of being able to boss Tenna around, the newly-remembered way their bodies just work together, even now—he had screamed his feelings at the top of his lungs. He slumps a bit, squeezing his eyes shut. “…[Yes]. I JUST… didn’t know how to [Kiss & Tell] you. That’s why. I signed. Your [Deal].” Tenna sucks in a breath at that. “I wanted to stay. But if…” Spamton stops, refocuses. It’s getting harder to stay coherent. “It’s been too much. Time. Or you don’t feel the same—”
Tenna cuts him off with a quiet laugh. “Damn it, Spamton.” There’s something shaky to the sound, and Spamton looks over to see him shrink half a foot, screen staticky. “I… am an idiot. I tried to tell myself that it was just fun. That I was so angry you left because you ripped me off or something. But… now that you say it… I just didn’t have the words for it back then.” Tenna takes a deep breath. “I think I loved you, too. But… I also think I need more time before I can say it again.”
Spamton nods, strangely relieved and just a little dejected. “Okay. And no… Hard feelings. If you can’t.”
Tenna leans over. At his new height, he can easily rest his head on top of Spamton’s. “Want me to go get breakfast?”
At that, Spamton ducks away so he can start sorting out Tenna's wires. “CccccouLD USE A GOOD MEALDEAL.” He clicks the panel back in place, pauses, then adds slyly, “ESPECIALLY IF IM [not leaving] [Your] [room for anything today].”
Tenna shoots upright, hot air blasting from his vents. “I-I did not consent to recordings of private conversations!”
“DON;T WORRY, [[CRT]].” Spamton winks at him. “THAT’S JUST FOR [U+Me].”