Chapter Six
🔞This chapter contains sexually explicit content.🔞
The kiss lingers in Tenna’s head. He pushes it down for the sake of the show, but he can’t stop thinking about how easily it happened. That Spamton could just reach up, pull him down, and do that. And that the audience cheered for it; the mere promise of seeing the biggest salesman in Cyber City locking lips with the host and producer of TV Time was enough to offer up the most donations he’d ever seen in one night.
Cyber City is always a whirlwind. The lights, the sounds, the people—but something about tonight has his wires twisted up, buzzing with anxious energy that he doesn’t know what to do with. It’s different from the rush of going on stage. This is vulnerable, exposed. Intimate. And he can’t. Stop. Thinking about it. Not when Spamton joins him at the bar, not with the burn of battery acid settling in his chassis. Not when Spamton invites him to stay the night. Not when he asks if Spamton would do it again, without the audience, without the incentives. Just of his own volition. Not when Spamton asks if he wants him to, and when he can only say “Yes”.
Not when fingers grip his tie and yank him down. Not when Spamton says, “Well, then,” and although his smirk is smug, his voice has a lilt of excitement to it. He twists Tenna’s tie around his knuckles; his free hand settles on the side of his head, and he kisses him again. Tenna sighs, pressing his hands against the bed to support himself as he leans forward. It’s just as good as the stage kiss. It’s even better when Spamton’s hand wanders, hooking a thumb under his lapel and pushing his jacket down. Tenna laughs, downright giggles, and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto the floor. And, on second thought, he sinks down, too, kneeling to make it less of an awkward angle. “Lookit you,” Spamton mutters with a grin and a soft laugh.
Tenna replies by ‘helping’ him out of his jacket as well, undoing his tie and twirling the fabric between his fingers. “Look at you, you little mastermind.”
“Me?” Spamton pulls back, batting his eyes innocently. “A mastermind? Do tell.”
“Kissing me on stage like that. Winding me up.”
“Oh, you’ve been winding yourself up. Maybe I just…” Spamton tugs Tenna’s tie again, breathing against his screen. “Planted the bait.”
“Bait successfully planted.” Tenna leans back in, humming happily. Fiddling with Spamton’s tie, it slips loose from the salesman’s collar, flowing onto the edge of the bed and then pooling on the floor in a pile of silk. “Oopsie.”
Spamton pulls back to look with a scoff. “Well, now, that’s just sad.” He let go of Tenna, focusing both hands on undoing the knot around the TV host’s neck. He gets it undone in seconds, pulling the yellow fabric out with a flourish before holding it over the edge of the bed. Then, he pauses, pursing his lips for a second. “…What do you want to bet that I can get this on top of my dresser?”
Tenna turns just enough to see the dresser in question. It’s tall, more like a wardrobe than anything. “…I bet you can’t.”
Spamton grins again, shuffling backward to wad up the tie. With a bit of a flourish, he tosses it, and it unfurls midair, landing halfway on top of the dresser. The other half dangles precariously over the side. “Now that,” he says. “Was a certified [[Big Shot]].”
Tenna giggles again and pushes forward, kissing furiously and with so much force that Spamton is pushed back onto the bed. He laughs, too, breathless as he stares up at Tenna, which is enough for the TV host to regain his bearings. “Ah… is this okay?”
“More than okay, [Big] guy.” Spamton pulls him down to kiss him again, his hands drifting down, popping a button free as they do. “But only if that’s okay.”
Tenna feels hot air blow through his vents. “Y-yes.”
“Aw. You’re cute when you’re shy.” So Spamton keeps going. Each loosened button sends a jolt down Tenna’s spine, and he takes hold of Spamton’s face, kissing him eagerly. He feels the gel cast of his cohost’s hair crackle under his fingers, loosening the black strands underneath.
Once the final button’s undone, Spamton raises his hands again, resting them on the back of Tenna’s head. But his mouth… his mouth opens, coaxing Tenna’s to open right along with it. Once he does, he feels something against one of his fangs, long and twisting against it, and he can’t help but pull back. “Did you just lick my teeth?”
Spamton has the presence of mind to look a bit shocked at the question. Just one of the few cracks that show on occasion, letting Tenna see the real Spamton underneath. No posturing, no talking of getting big. But in a second, it’s gone, and he grins, flushing slightly. “How [The] hell can I resist when you’ve got those fangs?”
“Haha!” Tenna leans down, his own smile turning a big smug. “I always thought Shuttah was having me on about the fangs being popular.”
“Well, trust me, [Big] guy.” Spamton’s hands trace down to his shoulders again, slipping underneath his shirt. “They’re definitely boosting your approval ratings.”
“Mm. What a raving review.” Tenna pulls back and, only hesitating for a second, shrugs out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He doesn’t let just anyone see his chassis, hard-but-flexible plastic, dials and buttons splayed across the upper part of his chest. If his cohost reaches further behind him, he’ll feel the input ports, and, well… that’s something he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for. No matter how much his synthetic heart is racing at the thought of…
Oh. Oh god, he’s half naked and leaning over his cohost, dizzy and fuzzy and having been giggling like a giddy kid. It’s a sobering realization, and he feels his screen go blank. “Hey.” A hand drifts down his screen before settling under his head almost gingerly. “You wanna stop?”
“N-no. I just…” Tenna laughs nervously. “This is a lot.”
“Well—here.” Spamton pushes up underneath him, sitting upright. “On your back.” Another burst of hot air blasts from his vents, but he obeys, falling back onto the mattress. It’s comfy and plush, his legs dangling over the end as Spamton shifts to sit on his chest. “There we go.” Spamton licks his lips, staring down at him with impish glee. “Just say the word, [[CRT]], and I can take care of [Everything—].”
“What’s…” Tenna swallows hard. “What’s ‘everything’?”
“That,” Spamton says as he idly traces the dials. “Is up to you. However far you wanna go. But I’ve wanted to climb you like a tree since I first laid [Eyes] on you, [Big] guy.”
“Oh!” It’s Tenna’s turn to grin slyly. “That long?”
Spamton cracks again, very briefly glancing aside. “I know what I [[Like]].”
Tenna ponders for a moment. Then, he takes hold of Spamton’s wrists. “Move back a little.” Once Spamton obeys, Tenna directs his hands to the seams of the panel covering his chest. “…This is, ah… where the more intimate parts of my hardware live. We’ll start easy.”
Spamton follows his gaze, then glances up at him with a quirked brow as if to silently ask, “You sure?” When Tenna nods, Spamton hooks his fingers in, gently prying the panel off. And for a long moment, he stares down into the cavity and the neat lines of wires inside. His heart’s in its own separate chamber, but a dim red light bleeds through the top of the cavity.
“There are some shock absorbers…” Tenna starts nervously. “The important wires are soldered on, anything else is fair game. Just don’t pull too hard, don’t try to pierce the casings, and you should be all set.”
“Ant…” Spamton hesitates for a second before reaching down just to trace the edges. Even that is enough to make Tenna shiver, his fingers digging into the blankets. “Heh. Not the [Wires] I’m used to, but I think I can manage.” With that, he reaches in, hooking a finger under a winding blue cable and gently pulling it up. Tenna purrs quietly, his hands resting above his head as he arches into the pull. “That actually doing something for you, [Big] guy?”
“Mm. Like a little…” Tenna makes a ‘bzzt!’ noise and laughs softly again when Spamton lowers that wire and focuses on a yellow one down by his hip instead. “Ooh—that one’s good.”
“Yeah? Like that? How about…” Spamton tugs, a sharp but brief motion that sends a pulse of electricity through Tenna’s whole body, drawing a sharp gasp out of him. “Oh, there we go.” He twirls the wire between his fingers, carefully sliding up, gently pinching and squeezing the wire.
Tenna’s screen turns dark as he softly groans. His hands tingle from the currents that roll through him like a gentle wave. He’s done maintenance on himself enough times to know that his wiring isn’t necessarily pleasurable to touch unless he's in the mood, but it’s not just the feeling of hands in his chassis that’s doing him in. It’s the utter focus on Spamton’s face, the way he subtly licks his lips when Tenna presses up against his hands, his satisfied smirks when he finds a particularly good section of wire to stroke and tug.
Spamton shifts on his lap, and the motion shocks Tenna back to reality as he realizes just how pressurized he is, unable to hold back a downright moan. That gets Spamton’s attention, and his hands still before he says, “Whoa. Looks like you’ve got [a little somethin’ somethin’] down [There] after all.”
Hot air blasts from Tenna’s vents. “A-aha, well… I never said I didn’t. This is just… easier.”
Spamton is silent for a second before he says, “Okay.” His voice is breathless as he strokes a wire and, at the same time, shifts his knee to press between Tenna’s legs. The TV host yelps, reaching up to grab Spamton’s wrists. “Oh, c’mon. You expect me to just ignore that?”
“Spamton—” Tenna groans, strained. The pressure is sending his mind reeling, especially coupled with Spamton’s hands focusing on the thick, red cable centered in his chassis. That triggers a whole-body tremor, shifting his hips up against the knee between his legs with a moan.
“Ohh, [Angel].” There’s a strange lilt in Spamton’s voice. Strangled, almost, as he fondles the cable. Tenna looks up and sees his cohost staring back down at him, eyes warm and wanting. “That’s the [Best Deals]—good one, huh?” Tenna nods, desperately trying to keep some composure and failing, the pillows under him almost insufferably hot from the hot air blowing through his vents. He’ll turn this room into a furnace at this rate. “The rooms are [superb active noise-cancelation]. Let’s hear it.”
Tenna responds by drawing up his knees, earning a little noise of surprise from his cohost. “Noise cancellation, hm?” he purrs, unable to suppress a grin. “Does that go for you, too, Big Shot?”
Spamton pauses, eyes widening a bit at the turnaround, as Tenna draws a hand up his shirt, loosening it from his pants. It bunches up under his fingers, revealing a white tank top underneath. “Heh, uh… thought you just wanted to keep things [Hands]y.”
“Oh, I do.” Tenna pauses. “Does… that not work for you?”
Spamton mulls it over for a second before shooting Tenna one of his signature smiles. “It sure can, [Big] guy.” Spamton pulls his hands back to take off his shirt, making a show of unbuttoning it and dropping it off the edge of the bed. Dressed down like this, Tenna can see that there’s a small tuft of… fur? Feathers? Sticking out from the collar of his tank top. He’s a bit on the thicker side, but Tenna had already suspected that based on the measurements he’d taken for his blazer. “Normally it’s [$4.99] for the [Peep Show]… but you get a [Special Rate].”
“I’m flattered,” Tenna coos, sliding his hands around Spamton’s waist, then down to his hips. “…The red cable’s my power supply. I don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I?”
Spamton shuffles up, precariously positioning himself right above the open cavity. “You sure don’t.” Lips meet his screen again, hands still gently tangling through his cables. Tenna reaches up to squeeze his thighs—his hands can wrap entirely around them, although only barely. But he feels something stiff press against the side of his hand, something that makes Spamton groan lowly, the sound reverberating through Tenna’s mouth and into his chest. “Ff… [Heaven], [[CRT]].”
Tenna starts to speak, but cuts off into a high whine when Spamton plucks the red cable under his fingers. His cock is fully pressurized now, pressing insistently and uncomfortably into his slacks. Geez… usually when Tenna does this himself, he doesn’t get physically excited like this. The pleasure of the electric currents is enough to tip him over the edge, physical stimuli or no, but something about someone else rooting around in his chassis… It’s hard to think straight. “I need these off,” he gasps into Spamton’s mouth, letting go to reach for his belt.
Spamton leans back and grins before sliding back, pushing Tenna’s hands away to do the work for him. The belt comes loose, then his buttons, then the zipper, but that’s as far as he goes before he stops. “Holy shit.” It’s the first time Tenna’s ever really heard him swear, and he looks down, clapping his hands over his screen when he sees Spamton staring wide-eyed at his cock. Now free from the confines of his pants, it’s almost half the length of Spamton’s torso.
“Ah.” In a brief moment of clarity, Tenna remembers the discrepancy in their sizes. “Sorry, I can shrink—”
“No.” The sharpness, the breathless desire in Spamton’s voice freezes Tenna solid, and he sees that grin return in full force, fiendish almost. “Sit up. I’m not looking to get a backshot [One Night Only].” Tenna obeys, his heart thrumming oddly at the demand, and presses his back to the headboard of the bed. As he does, Spamton shuffles, too, rummaging around in the nightstand. “Don’t think this’ll fit you, [Big] guy,” he teases as he rips open a condom foil with his teeth. “So just aim for [The] wall, got it? Can’t leave too much of a mess for [The] cleaning crew, [Right]?”
Tenna doesn’t react, staring in shock when Spamton yanks his pants down. Tenna only gets a brief glimpse of what his cohost has to offer before the salesman climbs back up, straddling his thigh and leaning in to grab a bundle of wires, pinching them together. Tenna cries out at the sudden overstimulation, arching into the air and clutching Spamton’s hips like they’re a lifeline. He feels fingers start to play along his cables with all the grace of a very, very horny pianist; at the same time, he feels Spamton grinding against his thigh with huffed groans.
A finger plucks the power supply cable. At the same time, Spamton leans in and grabs another one between his teeth, pulling gently, and it’s too much, it’s too much, and he comes with a keen, the electric current coursing through him and scrambling his systems so thoroughly that he can’t think straight. At some point, Spamton retreats from his cables, bracing himself on Tenna’s thigh and slowly grinding against it. When Tenna gets a hold of himself again, his vision blinks back on to see his cohost’s face screwed up in concentration, his cheeks flushed as he works himself up.
It doesn’t take much for him to follow, leaning forward to brace himself on Tenna’s leg when he comes. It’s like he’s forgotten that Tenna’s even there, but Tenna’s too absorbed in watching his cohost to be too offended. He’s seen two sides of him; the confidence he puts on for cameras and social events, and the occasional disbelieving humbleness when they’d first met. But this, seeing him come undone, so focused on this that he forgets he’s being watched, is new. His bangs have come loose from effort, and Tenna’s hands, strands flopping in his face. God, Tenna wants to see more of this Spamton.
Spamton eventually sighs, tossing his hair back. “Holy [Cungadero],” he breathes with a soft laugh.
“Uh-huh,” Tenna agrees. The headboard is just about a foot too short for him, so he leans his head back against the wall above it instead. “Wow.”
Spamton rolls off of him to lean over the end of the bed, reaching for his jacket on the floor and fishing out his cigarettes. “Need [1]?”
“Oh no, I’m good.”
Spamton hums, craning his neck to look at the carpet. “You didn’t hit [The] wall. If you’re…” He pauses for a second before forcing the word, “Good… clean that up before it dries. Cleaning crew doesn’t need to bust out the [Carpet Shampoo Concentrate].” With that, he stands up and shuffles off to the bathroom.
Tenna takes another second to catch his breath and clean himself up before obeying. When Spamton returns from the bathroom, he tosses Tenna a clean rag and returns to bed to light up a cigarette. “One of the benefits of tile floors,” Tenna tries to joke as he scrubs coolant from the carpet. “Easier cleanup.” Spamton snorts, legs crossed as he watches. Oh, he’s gone back to the salesman persona. Tenna can’t help but feel a bit disappointed even as he climbs back into bed. “Invitation to sleep over still stands?”
“Of course, [[CRT]]. Just hope you don’t mind sharing now—[Big Enough For The Whole Family!].” Spamton grimaces slightly, but it fades when Tenna pulls him down onto the mattress, nuzzling into him. “Geez, lemme finish this first!”
It takes Tenna a few seconds to oblige him, but as soon as that cigarette’s out, they’re back together, the soft fuzz of data that makes up Spamton’s body buzzing gently against Tenna’s chassis. Something hard digs into his side, though, and he pulls back to fish his panel covering from the blankets. “Oh. Sorry to bother you, my dear cohost, but would you mind?”
Spamton rolls his eyes and pushes the panel back into place, examining it for a second. “…Good enough. But if we’re gonna do this, I’m [The] little spoon.” Tenna beams, allowing Spamton to shuffle around before wrapping his arms around his cohost’s chest. Battery acid still burns faintly in the back of his mind, lulling him to sleep. The last thing he hears is Spamton’s breathing slowing, carefully transitioning to quiet snoring.