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Frankly, the whole thing just wasn't a good idea.
But alcohol isn't known for its ability to have people make level-headed decisions. Sullying judgement, bringing out parts of people that are normally locked away, often for good reason. Impulsiveness becomes the way to be. Money becomes easier to spend, lives can be ruined, and one wouldn't know until the morning after when the hangover hits.
Like a wager on someone's career—a friend's, even—one who isn't even around to have a say on the matter. A very brash decision this little green pippins made under the influence, and Tenna is no stranger to making questionable choices, but this was just so curious. He could have demanded something out of it, instead of this whole song and dance of betting on a platform he has no chance of winning; turning it into more of a game than a fight for power.
But Tenna is also no stranger to simply wanting a little fun.
So he played along, and learned a few things on the way. Things that made his circuits flutter and yearn for times long gone, and things that coiled them with dread, too. His mind wandering to those late nights he would witness his two favorite children sneaking a comforting snack into the living room, watching shows too grown up for them, and sadly whispering about who will live with whom when the inevitable happened. Tenna knew he'd be losing this the moment that beautiful, wonderful "f" bomb dropped from the pippins's mouth.
Of course, that means the guy is meant to get his end of the deal instead.
He wasn't really going to kiss his employee; can't have him thinking he's more special than the others. A mistake he's already made once upon a time, but he could at least blame his inexperience then. Those strange, new, feelings—so foreign, so taboo—that he was graced with when encouraged to tug at his shackles for the first time. The excitement it brought, the way it left him craving for more, more, more... how could Tenna have known putting that guy on a pedestal would ruin him so?
It was fun. Letting loose, giving into carnal desires, breaking a few rules and feeling younger for it. Tonight was fun too, almost to that same degree. Reminiscing about the good times, drinks in hand and playing unfairly against someone who knows next to nothing about console games. Very nostalgic, right down to the light from their activities pooling over the man underneath him; soft and colorful and shapeless, like city lights. Tenna can almost imagine the fabric in his hands to be leather. That he's gripping the head of a car seat instead of the couch's armrest as he brings himself lower, lower still.
Can he really blame the drink for his next actions? The guy is awful charming, easy to forget he works for the show host when he so audaciously flirts like they're close pals in the will-they-won't-they stage. His charisma could rival Mike's.
But unlike Mike, who's been playing with his heart like a cruel cat hunting for the sport of it, this guy so openly and readily wants him.
Just a peck, was what swam in Tenna's head as static popped on the pippins's mouth. Let him reap his reward, the thought grows ever-enticing the closer he gets... it would be a shame to have to be the bad guy here.
Being such a magnet to static means kissing is filled with those sparks cheesy romance films tout on about. A sign of finding "the one." Deceitful little things they are, Tenna has long since learned his lesson, and promptly ignores their insistence. His little friend here, though, he can't say has that advantage, and it shows with how his frame gets grasped with eager green hands the moment their lips meet, eyelids lowering, but not shutting, and pulling him deeper than he'd intended; demanding more and—well—Tenna would just hate to disappoint now.
A needy whimper vibrates against his screen, the pippins's mouth opens over his and licks the seam; breath already quickening and grip on the CRT so tight it's making his casing creak. Tenna obliges and no time is wasted from the pippins in getting to taste what he has to offer. The apple has soured in its aftertaste, but Tenna hopes the butterscotch and cinnamon are still there to make him feel at home.
His teeth and the roof of his mouth are lapped at like the man is starved, no shyness or hesitance to be had. Tenna hums and presses more of his weight onto him, letting his tongue lazily brush against the much smaller one, and revels in the way it almost seems to pacify the other. His desperate mouthing slows with a shudder, fingers relaxing to smooth over the plastic frame and then one hand slides further back, caressing warming vents.
It drags a soft hum from Tenna's throat, the way fingertips rap up and down against each thin slot in regular succession and create a plastic washboard-like tune, he tilts into the touch and god it's been so long. Mike's... "special favors" have been nice, but there's something lacking in it that he so fiercely misses. The connection—the unwavering tenderness—it gives his hands a mind of their own, holding a small hip and feeling along the bumps of the other's spine, letting his own back take the brunt of supporting his hunched form as he pulls closer and takes his plunge right back; finding the souring apple to be rather fitting for the green pippins.
Breathing is put on hold as Tenna's tongue fills the smaller man's mouth. He grunts, but doesn't fight it, instead grabbing at the front of Tenna's shirt and yanking it apart—making buttons pop and bounce onto the couch, and oh dear this is getting heated fast. Tenna isn't all that drunk enough to suppress that bit of shyness warming his face, faltering his grip and forcing him to savor in only one last swipe before breaking away with a wet smack.
The pippins, however, doesn't give him time to pull back to do that nervous chuckle he does in these situations, or awkwardly try to finagle his way back to a casual atmosphere with a slurred haha see, I can keep my word, now I need to know that you can keep yours if you'd just sign the—ah, hm... what was happening again?
Right. Pippins. Mouth and chin shiny with spit that's run down and soaked the collar of his shirt, he leers up at Tenna with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes and even heavier breath. His tiny fists are still latched onto Tenna's ruined shirt and showing no signs of letting go; chasing after Tenna's fleeing mouth, who can't help but indulge the man, even as it slows his journey back to sitting up with his back to the cushion again. Each kiss increasing the length in pauses between maneuvering, until the pippins is standing on his thighs and sucking his lip.
But even that doesn't seem to be enough for the guy. Despite being near "eye" level with Tenna, he stands on his toes, then proceeds to plant his hands on the CRT's shoulders and try to climb. Shame effectively forgotten—quashed, ripped to shreds and tossed without a care like the TV guide he tore to bits—Tenna wraps his arms underneath his rear, pressing the smaller man against his chest, allowing him to gain a height advantage and—oh, that's his crotch that's poking against his exposed VHS player isn't it.
Why, yes it is! Tenna spends his next moments getting his mouth devoured by the little freak and having his focus shift between the bites, suckles, licks and copious spit buildup, and the incredibly odd, not-bad-per-say, feel of something that isn't a video tape pushing against his slot. It's not like its never been played with a little before, but having someone's dick in the fray is most definitely giving a new, foreign—not-bad-per-say—almost placebo effect on him, and making him tremble with need to the way the tent of the man's pants pushes that flap just barely so. He adjusts the position a bit, shifting the pippins so he's wrapping his legs around Tenna's torso the best those little limbs can, and encourages the other to grind into him.
Deeper into that slot the clothed dick goes, and Tenna tears away from the pippins's mouth with a gasp; a wet string snapping to drop back onto his screen. Tenna's head lolls onto the top of the cushion and he pants through the bizarre sensations coursing through him—warming wires, thrumming in his chest. Weird and good and wrong and please more battle it out in his head as he stares up at the pippins, whose head hangs down to loom over him, a wild look in his eyes. Then suddenly he grasps the bottom of Tenna's frame. Thumb hooking underneath, and fingers jamming into his mouth, the pippins anchors himself while tightening his grip on Tenna's shoulder with his other hand before rolling his hips again, hitting the CRT with another wave of weird-good.
It's awkward, the position, the movement, but there's a strange fascination to it that keeps them going. For a little bit at least, because they were certainly moaning to it. Or Tenna was, and the guy sometimes. Working up a sweat, even, but his gaze stayed pierced onto the CRT through it all; focused. Very focused. Looking more like he's getting a read on Tenna than truly getting off to it, and normally he'd be into that, if it weren't for the fact his past few sexual escapades have been so depressingly one-sided...
Fingers in his mouth tense and knead around, feeling his teeth and gums and tongue. Occasionally, the pippins stops his thrusts to dip down and capture Tenna's lips again, not even bothering to pull his fingers out beforehand and overall just turning Tenna's face into a mess of rainbows between the clumsy mishmash of licking and feeling inside.
...Guy really likes his mouth, huh. That can be arranged.
His sobered, hungover, self is going to be stuffing his face in a pillow and screaming over the way he's acted tonight, but that's very much Future Tenna's problem. Present Tenna—Drunk From More Than Just Sweet Appley Booze At This Point Tenna—has decided he would very much like a cock in his mouth right about now, as fun(?) and riveting this little exploration of himself has been.
Wolfish grin forming around tongue and digits, he gabs a fistful of the pippins's poncho by the front, flipping them around so he's now pressing the smaller man into the couch again. The movement puts him in a daze, green eyes rolling back and hands clutching Tenna's arm tight as he lets out a cute giggle that pitters off into a heated, breathier noise.
Oh?
That sort of thing is fun for these guys, isn't it? Getting shaken and tossed around. Tenna tilts his head, intrigued, and gives the man an experimental shake, jerking his hand back and forth quickly and watching in awe at the pippins's struggle in figuring out if he should be laughing or moaning right now; like his own sort of weird-good. It isn't until the guy is clawing at his hand, gasping, keening and thrashing his legs, that Tenna decides to give him a break.
"Ohh fuck, fuck stop I'll—I'll cum... too soon. Mhnn..." The pippins rests his cubic head on Tenna's outstretched arm, nuzzling at it through tremors.
Tenna chuckles, biting his lip. It's tempting, but he's still set on his mission, so he'll have to tuck this bit of info for next ti—nope. Nope, nope, nope, stamping that thought away right now, then steam rolling it and scraping it off the ground and putting it in a box to mail to himself and beat with a hammer before tossing it into an incinerator. No next time, and there shouldn't even be a this time, but it's too late, he's in too deep, and best not to dwell on that how about sucking this guy off now, yeah?
The pippins makes a surprised noise when he drops him onto his ass without warning and starts climbing off the couch, using his foot to roughly push the coffee table back and give himself more room to seat on his knees against the edge. He hears glass shatter, and pointedly ignores that future headache in favor of focusing on getting the guy undressed already. Cock. Mouth. Now. Please.
There's a confused, almost disbelieving, look on the pippins's face when Tenna promptly pinches the front corner of that adorable little poncho and yanks it up and off of him, balling it up with one hand and flicking it away before getting in his face coyly. He blinks owlishly, pupils darting down to Tenna's mouth when he licks his lips, and visibly swallows at the teasing finger hooking into the hem of his pants. It looks like a million thoughts are racing through that little head of his, and it takes a silly tug or two for him to snap out of it and start swearing up a storm; making quick work of his green tie and button up shirt—Tenna takes sweet revenge on him by ripping that open, and giving the guy no time to complain as he leans forward and bites his shoulder.
His head gets played like a washboard again, the pippins scrabbling for purchase as he gasps out and arches into him. Tenna gives the shoulder an apologetic lick before swallowing those whimpers up with one last deep kiss (or two, or three, because he can't get enough of how tender it makes him feel) while getting him out of those pants already.
"Watch me." Tenna whispers after pulling away from the fourth (fifth? sixth?) kiss. The command coming out much more breathy and desperate than he intended when the guy has been doing just that since they first locked lips—the thought itself causes heat to course through him. His body jolting him back to the pippins's mouth for a little more—just a little more—so he can be up close to sharp green eyes that refuse to look away no matter how much they flutter and roll with pleasure and god can someone cum from only being kissed and looked at? He feels so hot he might just short circuit.
Not ready to test that out yet, he forces himself to pull away and dip down before he magnetizes back into it. Settling between stark white thighs, the first thing that crosses Tenna's mind is cute, but the last time he tried saying that out loud about someone's cock he got an angry shove and the cold shoulder for the night, so he'll refrain from saying anything; the pippins's face is already green enough as it is (it's blushing, not illness, he had eventually concluded).
Hands move to settle on pale hips and knead his thumbs into them as he keeps his gaze locked onto the man and how he's staring so intently back, almost awestruck, with parted lips and a shaky rise and fall of his chest. Tentatively, he places a kiss right on that leaking tip, his mouth curling in mischief at the way the pippins hisses and twitches toward him. A string of precum connects to him still upon pulling back and he licks it away. The taste doesn't bring forth any memories, and Tenna doesn't know whether that should make him relieved or sad.
He banishes any threat of melancholy away, diving back in to kiss and lick his way down the shaft, using his hand to keep the man's cock steady. The pippins keens, pressing his back against the couch and his thighs tremble, yet his gaze doesn't waver. Tenna can feel its weight even when his attention turns to focus on nuzzling him at the base and nipping thighs until they're painted with an array of angry splotches, and given a wet shiny finish.
"Y-you're—oh my god..." The pippins gasps, shuddering as Tenna licks a long, fat stripe up from base to tip, a big smile framing around his lolled tongue. It's big enough to completely cover the guy's dick, but putting on a little show is much more fun, and to the CRT's delight, he's very much entertained; all glossy eyes and heaving chest as he brings a hand up to caress the side of Tenna's head. "You're fucking gorgeous. You look so good like this."
The words wrack up Tenna's spine and set his screen aflame, bathing white skin in his red glow. He bows, cock beneath his mouth twitching to his humid puffs of breath, before he finally decides he's done playing and takes the whole thing with ease, tilting his head for the sake of his nose and letting it all settle in his warmth. A groan reverberates from his throat at the frantic hands grabbing onto his frame, his antennae. Deft fingers wrapping around the metal stalks and stroking him with a practiced expertise that puts something in the back of his mind on pause, but the rest of him is far too cock-drunk to care.
He lets the pippins tug him down by his antennae to his every pull, loud slurps and and ragged panting and needy sounds filling the quiet void in the wake of their game going idle. Tenna's screen compensates for the dimmed light, allowing him to see that the pippins is still watching; with lust and wonderment and something that makes him tear his gaze away and suck harder if only to try to not think about that, but as a result it makes the guy babble nonsense. A string of hardly coherent swears, laced with affection and praises, that trickle into a stuttered mantra of his name, and Tenna can only be glad he has the excuse of having his mouth occupied to not return the gesture. The white skin, the loving attention to his antennae, the small body... he might just end up adding a mistake or two to his ever-growing pile.
The pippins shifts underneath him, pawing around his boxy frame with urgency, and his antennae get so harshly yanked at, it has Tenna stopping to pant open mouthed with the man's cock resting on his tongue, fists clenched on the edge of the couch and whining through the pain-pleasure sparking from his domed base and spider-webbing throughout his system. A growl rumbles above him and the little legs beneath start repositioning while Tenna's head gets pushed away, until the pippins is on his knees and plunging back into his mouth.
And he less sucks the guy's cock and moreso slobbers on the thing after that, losing himself to the courtesy strokes and happy to let him use his mouth to his heart's desire since he seems to be so content in making Tenna pathetically weak to his touch. It's a lewd cacophony of wet slaps and garbled moans that gain in pitch and desperation with each glide of fingers on thin metal and slam against his face. The fabric bunched in his hands threatens to tear to his grip as his body tenses, high strung, and he's ready, he's so ready for it please, please, please—
But it isn't a few good strokes or a rough tug that finally does him in. It's the slow, deliberate crawl to the tip of one antenna, the pippins halting his stuttering thrusts to grasp the metal ball and bring it to his lips to plant one small, gentle kiss onto it.
An alarm rings in Tenna's head—or maybe it's an incorrect buzzer noise. Regardless, it wakes him through his guttural sob and gives him the right mind to try and warn the guy. A mess of drool spills with the cock sliding out as he pulls away and cries, "L-let go! Let—AH—!"
The pippins does not let go. In fact, he pointedly grasps both antennae by the base, and the CRT can do nothing about it as his body stops obeying him in favor of basking in those hot shocks rippling through his system and into those closed fists, causing the pippins's body to snap into an arch; head thrown back in an empty shout. Stomach crushing Tenna's nose, and dick squashed in between them, he spills on the screen, riding the surge of currents with each pulse painting Tenna's vision whiter and whiter on top of the sparks of light crackling behind his glass.
The two fall away from each other the moment it ends, their cut cries resuming and then trickling off into relieved groans. Tenna catches himself with his hands bracing behind his backside on the floor, head hanging back for only a second before panic hits him and he's hoisting his heavy form back to sit up to make sure he didn't just kill a man.
He can't see. Trying to wipe the cum off his face with his sleeve only made it worse, blurring his vision so all he can see on the couch is a green and white blob. The shapes shift and the green grows bigger until a wet thumb is pressed to the upper left and semi-clearing a small circle. The pippins looks okay at least, if a bit embarrassed. Apologies spill from his lips as he tries to help Tenna clean up, smearing the cuff of his own torn shirt all over the CRT's screen despite his protesting grunts.
And maybe it's because there's still alcohol in his system, or he's feeling a bit delirious from a post-orgasm high—maybe it's a mixture of both while it's hitting him rather hard that he just had sex with an employee and now that's a-whole-nother can of worms to deal with—but as the cleaning grows more frantic, with the pippins trying his absolute damnedest to rub a hole into his face, Tenna can't stop himself from cracking a smile. He sputters and bats the green hands away, his vision hardly better than it was before, and covers his face in his own hand, shoulders shaking in barely contained mirth.
It's the gross crusty feel of his screen on his fingertips that breaks him, having him dropping his face onto the seat of the couch and laughing into it for a solid minute because he can't help it. It's so stupid, and awful, yet endearing, and having him decide what's one more ill-thought-out action? So he raises his head back up to face the likely-baffled pippins, paws his way up the guy's body until he's cradling that cubic head, and pulls him in for a chaste kiss. Through the fog of dried residue, two green dots shrink briefly before lowering and disappearing entirely.
It's too tender and sweet for all the absolute filth Tenna just took part in, with a guy whose name he doesn't even know—a subordinate, no less—and the longer it goes on the more that regret and shame starts rearing its ugly head until he has to pull away under the guise of shyness. Good lord what was he thinking? He can only imagine what Mike would think looking at the state of him now...
Those little green dots are in his face again, just staring at him for a bit before the pippins finally speaks, shuffling off the couch, "I'll... go get some glass cleaner."
Tenna doesn't try watching the guy dress. Just listens to the shuffling of clothes, tapping of shoes, and the clicking of a door shut. He waits for the footsteps to gain distance to let his exasperation be known, stuffing his face back into the cushion and letting out a long, loud groan.
Oh...
He is a terrible boss.