Chapter Five
~ S ~
There’s another party at Queen’s mansion. This time, the invitation comes courtesy of Swatch, who is standing in the Green Room when Ramb leads Spamton to it. “[[Easel]]!” Spamton says, unable to hide a warm smile. “What brings you all the way [Before A Live Studio Audience!], huh?”
Swatch is… well, Spamton hesitates to say that they’re friends. He wants to think that they are; whenever he stops by the Cafe and it’s not busy, they end up talking sometimes for a good half an hour at a time. Swatch is a damn good listener. But they never really talk outside of that; Swatch is 100% dedicated to being Queen’s head butler. Regardless, Swatch nods coolly at him, hands folded behind his back. His mohawk has gotten shorter, but it’s still immaculately styled. “Hello, Mr. Spamton. I came to extend an invitation directly from Our Lady Grace.”
“Another [Life Of The Party], huh?”
Swatch tilts his head slightly. “Yes, although for you and your partner, it is also quite a lucrative business deal.”
“A business deal?” Spamton turns to smile at Tenna, who’s adjusting his tie as he enters the Green Room.
“Ah, good.” Swatch nods to him in greeting. “Hello, Mr. Tenna. Given that you’ve capitalized on her most successful businessman, Our Queen wanted to extend an invitation to be the live entertainment at a party next week.”
Tenna’s antennae straighten up. “Wow! I, uh, well—”
Spamton presses his hand against Tenna’s leg and gently interrupts, “We’d just need a bit to figure out what segments to do. You’ve got a contract drawn up already?”
Swatch snaps his fingers, and a digital contract appears in the air. There’s nothing too special about it: provide two hours worth of entertainment, the first drink and round of appetizers are free, and if they get too boring, Queen will dunk them in the acid pool. All standard stuff, really. Swatch lowers his hand, offering the contract down to Spamton. “Do let us know by the end of the day, if possible.”
Spamton swipes the contract, downloading it for his personal use. “Sure thing! And hey, good to see you again.”
“Likewise.” Swatch bows courteously before departing.
Spamton turns to wink at Tenna. “Don’t you love when opportunities just fall in your lap? We’ve got this in [The] bag.”
Tenna glances down at him for a long second before he smiles brilliantly. “Absolutely, partner.”
~ T ~
They work out a deal with Queen: they’ll provide live entertainment if they can treat it like a fundraiser. All the changes to the studio aren’t coming cheap, after all. Luckily, Queen agrees, if only because it “Seems Cool”. Cyber City’s crowds are a bit tough at first, and Tenna’s never more thankful to have Spamton as a co-host. If his jokes fall flat, Spamton immediately props them back up, fine-tunes them, and gets the crowd laughing easily. Eventually, he doesn’t even need to do that as, apparently, some of the people in attendance at this party find ‘retro’ cute.
In the break between segments, Spamton’s had a martini and a shot of some neon green concoction, and he starts to pull away to get another drink before Tenna grabs his arm. “I know this is a party, but we still have a show to do,” he reminds Spamton gently, adding some force behind his words. He’s had a drink tonight, too, mostly because it was part of the contract that they both got a freebie, but he sipped it slowly, ensuring he’d only get a mild buzz.
“Damn!” Spamton curses quietly, covering his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Damn. [Right]. Not usually in charge of these things. Alright.”
“I’ll get you some water.” Tenna pulls back, carefully working through the crowd to the bar. He gets passing compliments and even swears someone whistles at him? This crowd is so strange. When he returns to Spamton’s side, his cohost is chatting up a strange, triangle-headed man who leans in to dramatically whisper that he’s a ‘hacker’, whatever that means. But Spamton waves him off, then grabs Tenna’s wrist and points towards their little stage setup. They’re settled at just over $19,000 so far. “That’s a lot of zeroes,” Tenna mutters in awe.
Spamton snickers, gesturing for him to lean down. “I got an idea on how to boost those numbers even more,” he says with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “But only if you’re down for chicanery.”
“Is that the same as shenanigans? What’s the idea?”
Spamton pulls him down further, something acidic on his breath. “How about… if we hit 20,000, I kiss you [Right] on [The] [Mouth].”
Tenna’s screen goes black for a second. There’s no way that he heard that right. “Right on the mouth?”
Spamton reaches up to tap his screen. “Right on [The] [Mouth].”
Maybe it’s that mild buzz that wears him down, because Tenna laughs. “Alright. What the hell. But you’re assuming that we can even hit 20,000.” Spamton grins at him knowingly.
It takes all of ten minutes for them to hit the goal. When Spamton had grabbed the mic and announced his gambit, offering to ‘sweeten the pot’ for the audience, they’d reacted with cheers, laughter, and clapping. But the segment otherwise goes on all according to Tenna’s meticulous planning. He’s been mildly accused of being a bit controlling, but he prefers to think of it as running a tight ship.
But Tenna is just starting to explain the rules of the last physical challenge when the crowd bursts into gregarious cheering. He turns to look at the ticker board above them, which now proudly declares “$20,108”. Spamton jumps up from his chair, pumping a fist as he yells, “Hell yeah! Here we go, [ladies & germs]!” Tenna laughs as well, clapping his hands in front of his face. That’s a huge number. God, he didn’t think they’d actually—
He’s yanked downwards suddenly. Spamton’s wrapped his tie around his fist, pulling him down with that same mischievous look. Tenna is leaning down a bit awkwardly, but he doesn’t have much time to consider the position before hands grip the sides of his head and lips press against his. There’s a quiet ‘zzip!’ in the air of static electricity passing between his screen and… well, whatever it is that Spamton’s made of (data? Is that right?), nearly drowned out by the sound of the audience cheering even louder.
Suddenly, he’s pushed back, released, and he watches dumbfoundedly as Spamton raises his hands in victory. “Give it up for Mr. Ant Tenna’s TV Time!” he yells over the crowd, grinning over at Tenna.
~ S ~
The party wraps up pretty quickly from there. To Tenna’s credit, he bounces back quickly from Spamton’s gambit and they get through the physical challenge without issue. Once he wraps up, thanking everyone for coming, he beelines to the bar, Spamton following right on his heels. “Damn, Ant! What a turnout!”
Tenna laughs again, a bit softer this time, and gestures for a shot from the bartender. Then he pauses and gestures for two instead, sliding one over to Spamton and raising his glass. “Cheers,” he says. “For the show of a lifetime.”
“Cheers!” Spamton clinks their glasses together and knocks the shot back, coughing at the burn of battery acid. There’s a weird buzz at this side and, when he glances up to see Tenna’s screen has switched over to color bars, he can’t help but laugh. “Oh! Yeah, should’ve warned you. Queen loves her battery [burning] acid, but it sure does give drinks a kick.”
Tenna clicks back on and coughs. “C-clearly.” Spamton reaches over to pat his back. Tenna glances at him with a strange smile before turning back to the bartender and gesturing for some water. “So…” He starts, shoulders rising a bit. Is he… embarrassed? “How did you know that would work?”
Spamton shrugs. “[ladies & germs!] are [Fellow Freaks], Tenna. I dunno [[WHY]] they wanna see guys kissing so badly, but they just do.” Tenna shakes his head with a soft huff and, once the water arrives, chugs half of it in one go. “…I can see about getting you [A Ride around Town] back to [The] studio if you want.”
“Just for me?” Tenna tilts his head slightly. “You’re not coming?”
“Sorry, Ant. After tonight, my bed’s calling my name.” Tenna lowers his head and keeps sipping his water, and Spamton finds himself glued to the bar stool, unsure of what to do. It’s not that difficult to commute between TV World and Cyber City, really; he’s been spending more time in the former, but he still comes back when he gets tired of sleeping on a couch. His room here is pretty nice, aside from the fact that it faces the heart of downtown and sometimes the sound of traffic screeches in the distance like a metallic lullaby.
But his bed more than makes up for it. A Queen-sized mattress (of course it is), firm yet plush enough to feel like he’s floating. Of course, he’s not exactly a big guy, so the mattress is huge to him, giving him plenty of room to stretch out—
An idea pops into his head. “…Or… you could crash at my place instead.”
Tenna freezes, water dribbling from his mouth. “Oh—jeez—” He grabs some napkins to mop it up. “You can’t just throw that on a guy, Spammy! Besides, TV waits for no one! I still have shows to do tomorrow.”
“They can’t just do some reruns [in the morning]?”
“I… well…” Protests start and stop as Tenna stares at the bar top, his antennae bent in the way they do when he’s thinking really hard about something. It’s cute. “I… suppose… the Dreemurrs don’t usually watch first thing in the morning anyway. Especially if they’re going to service.”
Spamton nods. He has no idea what that means—although an image of himself with little angel wings pops into his head and he thinks he gets the idea—but he leans forward with a sly grin. “I’ve got plenty of room. [bed] should be big enough for you, and I can, uh… take [The] couch.” The thought negates the smug satisfaction of getting Tenna to spend a night in Cyber City, but hey, it’s a minor sacrifice.
Tenna muses for a second before he knocks back the last of his water. “You know what? Sure.”
~ T ~
Spamton leads Tenna through the halls of Queen’s mansion. The walls are lined with photos of herself, painted regally in Renaissance style. In the distance, he hears something crash, and a flood of Swatchlings screech and race down the hallway in such a number that they have to press against the wall to keep from being run over. “Someone didn’t [Respect The Pottery],” Spamton explains, shaking his head.
Tenna nods, not questioning it. Eventually, Spamton stops at a door on the third floor, which opens with a flourish of a card against a key pad. When the lights bloom on, Tenna is stunned; the place is lavishly decorated in tones of red and gold. One of the walls is entirely taken up by a window, giving a gorgeous view of the City below them. “Wow!”
“Queen’s crazy, but damn if she doesn’t know how to decorate.” Spamton locks the door behind him and shrugs off his blazer while Tenna is taking in the view underneath them. “But hey, we’re even [Right now!]. I know your studio inside and out at this point, you might as well get to see where my [Magic] happens.”
The walls have a few promotional posters stuck on them—Tenna’s heart swells when he recognizes their collaboration poster, still fresh and crisp, right above a sturdy wooden desk—and a few awards line a shelf by the front door. “Does everyone here have a room like this?”
“Well, only [The] [high roller(s)!] get these views. But if you want a place here, I could probably put in a good word for you.”
Tenna feels more heat escaping from his vents at the thought. “Haha. I think my dressing room is just fine, but thank you.” He raises his hands, twiddles his thumbs, and finally turns with a sigh, unable to hold back anymore. “Hey. So… about what happened on stage.”
Spamton pauses, having been in the middle of unlacing his shoes and kicking them off. “…On stage…? Oh. Hey, you said you were up for that.”
“I know, I know. I just…” Tenna glances aside, his synthetic heart thumping in his chest. “I guess I didn’t expect that to be how… I mean, that you’d…”
Spamton starts laughing, covering his mouth. “How you expected it to happen, you mean?!”
“Stop laughing at me!”
That just makes the salesman laugh even louder, but he does manage to calm himself down after a second. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I mean, I am, but not like...” He sighs, jumping up to sit on the edge of the bed. “[The] drinks made me a bit bold, I’ll admit. But… well, you remember. [3 for One Special] martinis, barely [$3] days into knowing each other, and you had me falling for you.” He winks.
Tenna would roll his eyes if he could. As it stands, his antennae do a lazy circle above his head, instead. “Haha, very funny. I just figured that’s how you were with people! You’ve got that charm.”
“Aw, thanks, partner.”
Tenna twiddles his thumbs some more. “…Would you do it again? Without the fundraising incentive?”
The room goes deathly silent. Spamton’s still smiling impishly, but his eyes have widened. Tenna’s kicking himself, but the question needs to be asked. “…Do you want me to?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question!”
Spamton raises his hands. “Ant, I mean it.” His voice grows softer. “Do you want me to?”
Tenna’s shoulders relax as he forces himself to take a breath and think about it. And the more he thinks about it, the more he can see the anxious energy creeping into Spamton’s shoulders, the way his smile twists into something sincere and, damn, maybe even excited? Does Tenna want him to? He sees one of Spamton’s hands reach towards him, and he obeys the silent call. “I think I do, actually.”
Fingers grip his tie and yank him down. “Well, then,” is all he hears before Spamton’s lips are on his again.
It’s hard to think about anything else after that.
~ S ~
The wires whine and [Sing] under his fingers.
…What sounds like a loud click followed by a strange buzzing sound that reverberates through his entire body startles him awake hours later. “Geez. Way to give a guy at [HeartAttack],” Spamton grumbles, pressing against pliable plastic casing.
“Sorry. Degaussing. A necessary evil.” Tenna sounds apologetic enough even as he yawns, stretching idly before pulling him closer. “Mm. Always feel like a million bucks after, though.”
“Just a [million]? After [The] [[On A Saturday Night]] we’ve had, you should feel like a [billion].”
Tenna’s voice turns coy. “Well... a little, maybe.” They lie together for what feels like hours, enough for Spamton to start drifting off again… until Tenna suddenly jolts upward. “Oh! What time is it?! Shoot!”
“They can play reruns, Ant,” Spamton calls, turning onto his back while his co-host scrambles out of bed.
“It’s almost noon! They’ll be coming home from the diner, and then Asgore will want to catch up on golf—agh! Why didn’t I set an alarm?!” Spamton finally opens his eyes to see Tenna reaching up above the dresser, pulling his tie off the top. “How did you even manage to throw this up here?”
Spamton reaches over to grab his cigarettes, lighting up while Tenna scrambles to gather his things. And when he bends over to put his pants on, Spamton unashamedly ogles his ass and decides that the Queen-sized bed is, in fact, perfect.