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It all started when Spamton found the remote buried in Tenna's sock drawer: a black plastic thing, tall and contoured, with almost 50 buttons to its name. Tenna had lunged, panicked, when he saw it in the open.
"What is that?" Spamton gave it up willingly, startled by the sudden outburst.
"That's, I. Uh." Tenna's mouth went dry. "It controls my settings."
Spamton cocked his head. "Like, your power, or your volume, stuff like that?"
"Yep. And a lot more. So we don't touch it."
"We–you don't?" Turning his head more did not shine any light on the matter. "Doesn't everyone have to mess with their [System Settings], from time to time?"
"I try not to." Tenna smiled wanly, replacing the remote in the drawer and quickly shoving it to the back. "Too much could... go wrong."
"Like what?" Spamton wheedled. He was interested now. "What all do you have access to? Shouldn't you be your own [admin]?"
Tenna's screen flickered. The faintest rush of static was audible through his speakers. "I can't do much," he admitted. "Most of it's locked behind parental controls. And I don't have the code, not all of it, anyway," he added, speaking quickly.
"You... huh." Spamton trailed off, lost in thought. "Doesn't that bother you?"
"What do you mean?" Tenna shut the drawer and walked to the mirror on other side of the room to resume tying his tie.
"Not having access to your own settings." Spamton followed him, perching on Tenna's vanity nearby. "You're your own man, Ant. You should get to decide how your... everything is set up."
"That's not how it works," Tenna sighed, dropping the ends of his tie. "Maybe it's different in Cyber City. I might be the ruler of this world, Spam, but at the end of the day, Toriel and Asgore set the rules, and I have to follow them, simple as that." His expression glazed over as he stared past Spamton's shoulder, into the mirror.
"You said you know half the code?"
"Er. Yes, I suppose I did say that..."
"How many numbers is it? [[Grand Total]]."
"Four. Why?"
A spark flashed in Spamton's eyes. "Tenna. You and me, we can get past this thing."
"What do you mean?" Tenna gaped.
"The code's [[FORE]] numbers. You know [goody two shoes]. There's not that many left to try. With a little time on our hands, we can get it disabled for ya."
Tenna swallowed, absorbing the information. "Do... do you really think that's possible?"
"I know it is," said Spamton, nodding. "But you have to want it." He paused, carefully weighing his next statement. "Do you?"
Tenna's nails dug into his gloves as he thought back to the last time that remote came out of the drawer: 11:30 PM on a chilly October night, several months back. Toriel and Asgore — together, a rarity — tried the pay-per-view adult channel for the first time and forgot to lock his parental controls before going to sleep. Tenna spent the night wide awake, pent up, and achingly alone, his mind filled with thoughts of Spamton, who was back home in Cyber City a world away. In desperation, Tenna had tried to change his own settings, turn the content lock off to buy himself time to take care of things later. But it was impossible to navigate the complex menus backwards in a mirror, and by the time he saw Spamton again, the controls were back in place.
Tenna trusted Spamton — or, he wanted to. Even though the little mailman had displayed nothing but good intentions — and though they had been intimate for a while — rooting around in the settings was no laughing matter. His language could be changed. He could be disconnected from the rooftop antenna, cut off from the outside world and no longer able to fulfill his broadcasting duties. He might even get a factory reset: everything and anything that made Tenna himself, erased with the push of a button.
The stakes were high. The consequences, if they came, would be severe; life-changing. But so would the rewards.
Tenna decided to bet big.
❦
The night was here. They’d already warmed up with a drink and some chatter, jackets gradually sliding off, then shoes, and suddenly they were halfway across the couch, snapped together like a pair of magnets, and couldn’t break apart if they tried.
Tenna knew his controls weren’t disabled yet, but from how wound up he was, they might as well have been. Everything about Spamton was lighting him up: the cigar smoke that clung to his skin like cologne, the top button on his shirt, loose, the way he plundered Tenna’s mouth like a man possessed…
"Let’s take it to the bedroom. Before this goes any further." Spamton’s voice was husky, full of promise.
"Yes," Tenna answered, mouth full of static.
Spamton snatched Tenna’s hand and dragged him off the couch, guiding them through the halls of Tenna’s home with learned precision as anticipation bubbled in the air.
The door to the bedroom was open when they got there, and the lights inside were already low, bathing everything in a warm amber glow. A few groups of lit candles were set on top of the dresser and nightstands, flickering cheerfully, and deep pink cosmos petals had been sprinkled on the carpet, forming a trail leading from the threshold to the bed.
"Tenna, you sly dog." Spamton couldn't hide his smile if he tried. "When did you set this up?"
Tenna turned the same color as the flowers. "Is it too much...?"
Spamton shook his head and tugged at Tenna's shirt until he bent down. "It's perfect," he whispered, lips catching on Tenna's vents.
He gave Tenna a small, playful shove towards the bed. Tenna went, thighs hitting the edge of the mattress, and Spamton quickly straddled him. His shirt was off before Tenna could blink, and after Tenna blinked, his own shirt was gone, too, hanging loosely from his shoulders.
Tenna leaned in for a kiss — hot, filthy, deep — as Spamton pulled the remote from his pocket.
"You ready for this, Ant?" He wiggled it cheekily, thumb tracing the contours of the play button.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Tenna replied. His antennas curled around each other as he pictured the wall of numbers they were up against; patience had never been his strong suit.
Spamton leaned in for one more kiss, a sweet brush of lips that left their skin tingling, and squeezed Tenna's shoulder affectionately before nudging him back against the headboard.
Tenna’s mind wandered. For all the build-up to this moment, he couldn't quash the nervous tension seeping through his body, curling invisibly around his neck, his stomach, his legs. He was in Spamton's hands, for better or worse.
Spamton's face lit up in deep blue — the parental controls menu — and he put in the first code.
Tenna couldn't see his own screen, but he could see the red flash: incorrect. A tiny shock rolled through him.
"Felt that," Spamton chuckled.
"Keep going?" Tenna asked. A few scan lines ran down his screen.
"You know it." He put in another code. Incorrect. Another jolt. Another code. That was wrong too. Spamton's nose scrunched up and he sat back on Tenna's hips, settling in for the long haul, keeping count quietly under his breath.
More gentle shocks flowed through Tenna with each code they tried. It made his skin crawl, his back arch, clearly meant as a deterrent to this exact behavior. He whined, soft and high.
"Workin' on it, honey." Spamton stopped to caress Tenna's chest, fingers catching on speckled ports. "You're being so patient for me. So good." He let his hand linger on Tenna's maintenance hatch, just below his artificial heart. "Just think of how good it'll feel once we get these off..." Spamton’s touch radiated warmth, the soft, subtle glow of his skin visible in the dim light.
Tenna wanted to feel that warmth all the way through his body. He placed a shaky hand over Spamton's and squeezed.
Spamton tried a few more codes: no luck, but at least they were making progress. Though the shocks were the same intensity each time, Tenna swore they were starting to get longer. He wriggled impatiently, trying to focus on the cool slide of the satin sheets under his body.
Spamton had the rhythm down now and was trying new combinations as efficiently as possible. Tenna loved to watch him work, and it was rare that he was absorbed enough in his task for Tenna to stare so openly. Spamton's bottom lip was half in his mouth, and a little furrow had wedged its way between his bushy brows. His eyes were firmly fixed on Tenna's screen, focused; determined.
Tenna didn't need to breathe, but his breath caught all the same.
Then, something shifted. Spamton's eyebrows lifted in surprise, lips a perfect O before stretching into a wide, wild grin.
He was lit up in glowing green.
"Tens. We got it."
"You got it?!"
Spamton nodded. "They’re off." He pressed a few buttons in quick succession, breathing hard through his nose. "All off, now. 1-2-2-5. That’s the code."
"1-2-2-5." Tenna repeated it, committed it to memory.
Spamton exited the menu — returning Tenna’s screen to him, with a rush of relief — and set the remote down on the nightstand with a purposeful clack. "How ya feeling, big guy?"
Tenna turned inward. It was subtle, but where there once were unspoken boundaries — lines of code clamping off his full functionality — there now was a promising emptiness instead, free to fill with whatever he desired. He stretched his awareness through his arms, down his legs, zagging across his torso. Every wire and coil and circuit sang in perfect harmony. Everything felt alive.
Spamton ran a hand up Tenna's side, and Tenna felt himself gasp before he heard it, chest puffing in a simulacrum of breath. The unbroken attention of Spamton's gaze sent a hot, shaky pulse of arousal spiraling into his core. His fingers clenched where they were resting on Spamton's hips.
He leaned in, and the tension snapped.
Lips met lips and tongues and teeth in an impassioned frenzy as they drank each other in anew. Tenna grabbed Spamton's hips like a lifeline, one hand slipping shamelessly under his waistband to squeeze his pert ass. Spamton circled his hips and ground against Tenna's rapidly-growing bulge until Tenna broke the kiss to utter a filthy moan.
They rutted against each other until it was simply too agonizing to keep going with fabric in the way, so Spamton hopped off the bed and began to strip with practiced efficiency. Tenna couldn't help but stare. He drank in the lines of Spamton’s body as he moved, exalting in his partner's effortless confidence. His thick cock caught on the waistband of his boxers and Tenna felt another whine escape him, cunt throbbing in anticipation.
Spamton sauntered back to the bed with a roguish grin and squeezed Tenna's thighs. "Let's get these off you too, yeah?"
Tenna nodded, antennas curling.
He leaned back and let small, careful fingers unzip his fly. A light tap told him to lift his hips, and Spamton shimmied pants and boxers down his legs and tossed them in the corner with the rest of their clothes, leaving him clad only in socks, garters, and an unbuttoned shirt, a winsome pink flush spreading across his screen. His cock strained against his abdomen, aching for touch, and his cunt was so wet it glistened in the low light.
An appreciative moan slipped past Spamton's lips as he drank Tenna in.
Tenna got looked at a lot — hell, it was part of his job — but being looked at like this was something new. He was the sole focus of Spamton's attention: something to be savored, something to be treasured. The center of his universe.
Spamton stepped between Tenna's legs and seized him around the waist, crushing their lips together, then ran three fingers through his slick folds and dragged them up his cock. He greedily swallowed Tenna's moan as he squeezed and stroked.
"How's that feel, Ant?"
"Fu–haah–fucking amazing…" Tenna slapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh, they’re definitely off..."
Spamton leaned in close, thumbing at Tenna's leaking slit. "I want to hear everything, Tens. Anything that goes through your mind. Turn your volume to [[Maximum Power]] and let it all out." His hand slipped lower. "Tell me what you want, and it's yours."
"More," Tenna whimpered. "Please."
"Good," Spamton murmured. He immediately found the small dial nestled in Tenna's folds, tracing its length before clicking it to the right. Tenna jerked and thrashed, thighs tensing. "You're a [Slip 'N Slide®] down here, Ant," Spamton teased. He turned the dial another two notches and nudged Tenna's legs apart to kneel between them.
Tenna knew what was coming next and couldn't suppress an anticipatory shiver. He knew the Addison had him wrapped around his little finger. So, for the first time, he succumbed to it. Control and appearances and authority slipped into the recesses of his mind in favor of lightness, warmth, trust.
Spamton's nose tickled the inside of Tenna's thighs as he left a trail of licks and bites. Hot breath ghosted across his mound, and then finally, blissfully, Spamton's tongue was on him. Broad swipes gathered his wetness and spread it up his cock as Spamton's hand wrapped around him and started to stroke. Two fingers traced his entrance, dipping teasingly in and out until Tenna was shaking with anticipation, and only then did they breach him, curling forward to coax a breathy curse from Tenna's lips.
Tenna didn't know whether to focus on the hand around his cock, the fingers buried inside him, or Spamton's clever mouth, lapping and sucking at Tenna's dial before turning it with careful teeth.
Two fingers became three became four. Spamton's hands moved faster, twisting, grasping, thrusting, playing the instrument of Tenna's body. Tenna was awash in sensation — too much and not enough, in concert — and when Spamton swallowed his cock and reached down to snap a sock garter, he came with a sob, clenching and shaking and moaning Spamton's name.
Spamton kept going, swallowed it all, then licked him clean. Ever the consummate professional.
"[Heaven], sweet [Cathode]," he murmured. "Just beautiful."
Tenna could only manage a weak nod and a soft smile.
Spamton licked his lips, slowly, purposefully. "Hope that felt as good as it tasted."
"You're gonna kill me," Tenna groaned. A low two-tone error sound rang from his speakers.
"Not a [[BAD ENDING]] to go out on," Spamton winked. He stood with a quiet groan and stretched. "You good to keep going...?"
Tenna lurched forward unsteadily, arms wrapping around Spamton's waist for balance, and brought their mouths crashing together in reply. Spamton met him with a pleased hum, pressing close and licking into Tenna's mouth so he could taste himself. His cock, hard and leaking, slid temptingly against Tenna's folds. Tenna wrapped a hand around them both and gave a long, slow stroke, and Spamton broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, pupils blown wide, to thrust into Tenna's grasp.
"Come on, big shot," Tenna murmured, drinking in Spamton's dark, hungry expression. "Let's put on a show."
Moving quickly, Tenna pulled off his socks and shirt and draped himself against the pillows, legs askance. He was oddly pleased to see how hard Spamton was — especially without being touched.
Spamton was quick to follow and climbed onto the bed to settle into the crease of Tenna's elbow. In moments they were on each other again. Tenna threaded a careful hand through Spamton's hair as fingers danced across his clavicle, then down his chest, tracing the seam of his maintenance hatch.
On impulse, Tenna reached into the drawer of the nightstand, grasping blindly until he found his emergency screwdriver, and practically shoved it into Spamton's hand.
"Take it off," he begged. "Please. I'd like you to."
Spamton grinned, twirling the screwdriver like a baton. He carefully removed Tenna's screws, holding each one between his teeth until all six were out, then lined them up neatly on the bedside table. The protective plate slid off easily, now, and Spamton set it aside with care before turning to admire what was underneath.
Tenna didn't realize he was holding his breath until Spamton got ahold of one of his cables. His back arched off the bed, a high, needy whine filtering through his speakers.
"These are sensitive, huh? No wonder you kept 'em [[Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon]] from me." Spamton twirled the wire around his finger and tugged gently.
"I've never — ohh! — never let someone else touch them..." Tenna admitted quietly.
Spamton paused, struck. "I'm honored, Tens. I'll be careful," he promised solemnly. "You tell me if it's [too much, too often], okay?"
Tenna nodded, adding a verbal yes as an afterthought.
"So good for me," Spamton rumbled, and dove right in.
Nothing inside Tenna's hatch was labeled, but Spamton knew his way around a box of messy wires. The thickest cable, bright red and humming with energy, was the power — best to avoid that. But the smaller component cables, those were fair game. He plucked a bundle out and started to separate them, red, white, and yellow, tracing up the length and swirling his finger around the metal end of the plug. Tenna bit his lip, expression slightly out of focus. Encouraged, Spamton pulled out a pair of audio cables and licked the tips with a diabolical grin. A little zip! of energy shot into his tongue.
Then, he plugged one into the corresponding port on Tenna's chest.
Tenna's speakers crackled and hummed, and Spamton heard his own voice played back to him: "So good for me." Bright red light flashed around the room as Tenna squirmed, flustered and stammering.
"You really liked that, huh," Spamton said fondly. He traced the other audio port with the free-floating plug, dipping it in and out teasingly before pressing it in with a firm hand. Then, eyes locked on Tenna's screen, he twisted his wrist. Tenna nearly shot off the bed, sobbing with need and thrusting his leaking cock against Spamton's abdomen.
"Spammy, please, I need you...! Want to feel you inside, Spam, please fill me up, fuck me so hard I can't stand tomorrow, I want you to make me yours—"
Now it was Spamton's turn to flush. He lunged forward to capture Tenna's lips, nails digging into the jacketing of the cord. "So good, Tens, such a good boy," he gasped. "You have no idea what you [[just DO it]] to me. Hell, you're gonna drive me [We're all mad, here] talking like that..." He fished out another set of component cables, pinched the base, and tugged rhythmically to match Tenna's increasingly frantic thrusts. "Anything you want, baby, you [Call 1-800-SPAMTON For A Good Time Tonight] and I'll give it to you."
This time, he plugged two cables in at once — an audio and a video — and an image of last year's TV Time holiday party flickered to life. Tenna had gotten Spamton a box of imported cigars as a gift, and Spamton hadn't been able to resist lighting one then and there. "Fuck me, that's good," gasped his own voice.
"Point taken," said Spamton, laughing. No sense teasing any longer. He slid down Tenna's body and spread his legs wide — taking a beat to drink in the utterly debauched sight before him and commit it to his memory banks — before he lined up and plunged inside.
Tenna howled and contracted around him, claws digging into the mattress as Spamton started to thrust. He could just reach Tenna's open hatch from here, and he grabbed another cord, a thick black one with golden prongs on the end.
"You were [build] for this," Spamton blathered, already losing coherence. "Built to take [[EVERYTHING is on sale]] I give you. You take it so well, [Tenna out of Ten], I wish you could [C] yourself." He finally spied the port he was looking for and plugged in the S-Video cable with no preamble. Tenna cried out as images began to flash across his screen in time with Spamton's thrusts: a close-up of a pale hand dialing a rotary phone, a late-night home shopping segment selling a glittering sapphire ring, a couple kissing passionately in a downpour. Spamton on the TV Time stage, looking up at Tenna with mirth in his eyes and a quip on his lips. Spamton at the green room bar, three drinks in, sleeves rolled up, laughing too loudly at Tenna's jokes. Spamton in Tenna's dressing room, fucking him against the vanity, the mirror reflecting their tryst at three different angles, Tenna's tie shoved in his mouth to keep him quiet.
Tenna was anything but quiet, now. A steady litany of moans, curses, gasps, and pleas tumbled out of him with every snap of Spamton's hips, mixing with the slick sounds of their coupling. Heat poured out of his vents and filled the air with the scent of sex and ozone.
Spamton shifted positions and angled his thrusts deeper. Tenna sang like a live wire, every inch of his body overwhelmed with pleasure and heat and—
"S-Spamton, Spam, Spammy, ahh, fuu-uck! Spamton I, I luh—"
Spamton bit down on the cord.
Tenna's screen flashed through images faster than Spamton could process them — all images of him — and an unholy scream ripped from his speakers as he came hard, body quaking uncontrollably and tears carving hot trails down his cheeks. Searing electric current raced through him and into Spamton where they were joined, and it was enough to push Spamton over the edge, shouting Tenna's name.
They lay still for several long moments, fighting for breath. Spamton came to first and pulled out with a soft groan. Good [HEAVEN]s, had he made a mess. Tenna lay sprawled on the bed, screen dark and unmoving, cum seeping out from between his legs and covering his abdomen in criss-cross hatches.
A part of Spamton wanted to push it all back inside, claim him, make Tenna hold onto as much evidence of this night as possible.
The other part waited for the second thoughts to come. The nagging doubts that he shouldn't have done this, shouldn't have gotten this close, that there would be hell to pay later. That he had gone too far. That there was no turning back.
He waited.
His mind was blessedly silent.
Tenna stirred. His speakers came to life first with a warm crackle, then his screen, soft grey static covering his lips and a faint multi-colored flush on his cheeks. He looked at Spamton and smiled, hazy and completely content.
"Hey," Spamton said, voice rough.
"Hey," said Tenna, in no better shape himself. A tiny cosmos burst into bloom at the tip of his nose, no bigger than a quarter. Spamton huffed a silent laugh and plucked it off before placing a gentle kiss on the spot, a private smile on his face.
"Clean up?"
Tenna shook his head. "Can't. Gonna power down any minute now."
"'m not far behind ya," Spamton yawned, limbs growing heavy. "But first we should, here, your plate..." With a grunt, he reached down and plucked it off the floor, then unplugged Tenna's cables, carefully stowing them away before slotting the cover back into place and hand-tightening the screws.
Tenna's antennas drooped, bobbing up and down as he fought to stay awake. "Thanks, Spammy." A tiny frown twitched at the corner of his mouth. "...shit. The candles."
Spamton was already swinging a leg out of the bed. "I got 'em."
"Thank you," Tenna said again, sinking into the covers. "Really, thank you, Spamton, this was..." He trailed off, emotion fighting exhaustion. "I'm so glad we did this."
Spamton blew out the last candle and slipped back into bed, pulling the covers over them both with a flick of the wrist. "Me too," he said truthfully, curling against Tenna's side without hesitation. "And we'll do it again."
Tenna's beatific purr rumbled through Spamton's chest, and the sensation pulled them under.