Chapter Text
The en-suite bathroom in Tenna’s dressing room had been out of commission since yesterday. It hadn’t been an issue then, since it happened relatively late. It still wasn’t an issue with Spamton now, who didn’t mind swinging by the employee’s bathroom located in one of the many backstage hallways. Tenna, though, had started squirming roughly an hour ago.
Spamton spends every minute of that hour trying not to ogle him, then he gives up, makes up some excuse about a scheduled phone call with some sponsor or another, and flees Tenna’s dressing room in favor of his office where he sits at his desk and shakily lights a cigarette to steel himself. He boots up his computer and opens his inbox overflowing with potential sponsors whose desperate, long-winded pitches are sure to put his dick right back to sleep.
Reading the first, he can barely make out the words, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. In the second, he manages to read a few copywritten sentences that make him roll his eyes. The third email is equally uninteresting. So is the fourth and the seven after it. By the time he finds something with any sort of promise Spamton had practically forgotten the whole ordeal, finding his rhythm and starting to delete, forward, and reply accordingly.
He has about five cigarettes and two hours of blissfully boring task-managing before the door slams open and he nearly leaps to the ceiling.
” [Live And Learn] to knock!” Spamton’s so put off it just slips out. Guess he’s still on edge from earlier. “You scared the shit out of me, Tenna.”
”I need a fresh pair of eyes.” Tenna waves a script he’s holding up. It’s typewritten, because the last time Spamton tried to show him how to print something it had ended with the machine in literal smoke. “It’s missing something and the shoot is tomorrow.”
Tenna’s clearly wound up over it, normally he’s the kind to apologize profusely, and knows how to butter up Spamton to make him do whatever he wants at the drop of a hat. Spamton sighs, putting out his smoke in the ashtray and waves Tenna over. He’s not exactly dying to edit a script right now, but he also doesn’t want a TV-star level breakdown on his plate. Tenna quickly joins him behind the desk, throwing the script down onto the plywood like it’s personally offended him. He looms over him as Spamton skims through it, squinting at the small print.
”Opening’s a bit long, to start.”
“I said it’s missing something, not that it needs to be shaved down,” Tenna snaps.
”Don’t go blaming me if people tune out before things even start.”
”Nobody’s gonna tune out!” Tenna says frantically.
“Sure. If you edit down the opening.”
Tenna grumbles. He reaches across Spamton’s desk to grab a pen, one leg crossing over the other as he does. Spamton’s heart jumps into his throat before he can stop it. No, no, surely he’s gone ahead and pissed at this point. Surely. But then why is he wiggling as he crosses out half a page of writing?
“Like this?”
”Huh? Yeah, uh, yes. That’s fine.”
Tenna sighs. He shifts his weight onto one foot as he lifts the other off the ground.
”It’s just so difficult to write these all-ages segments without making them sound too kiddy.” He’s still perched on one leg, thighs squeezing together. “You know what I mean?”
”Mhm,” Spamton says, not listening.
”I don’t even think the parents really mind at all, honestly, but the teenagers!” Tenna throws his hands in the air exasperatedly, shifting to his other leg. “Our teen viewership plummets every time we make something family friendly!” And now Tenna is tapping his foot, which could be a totally normal quirk, except his whole leg is jiggling, thigh angled inwards towards his crotch. “And it’s like the harder I try to appeal to them, the less they like me!” He bends at the waist then quickly straightens again. His belt probably feels tight. “Should I just make it as uninteresting to them as possible? Then they’ll enjoy it… ironically?”
”Sure,” Spamton says, his face hot. “Yeah.”
“You know, that might just work! I’ll get started on that.” He snatches his script back, tossing the pen onto Spamton’s desk, and plants a kiss on the top of his head. “Thanks, Spammy.”
And just like that, he’s gone, once agains slamming the door behind him. Spamton sits there, gobsmacked, practically vibrating in place. Unbeknownst to him, that would just be the beginning.
***
Nobody else but Spamton seems to notice, probably because Tenna moves like a caffeinated squirrel even on the calmest workdays and every crew member is overloaded with work this particular afternoon. Spamton is too, but at this point he’s given up in favor of following and watching Tenna. He had nothing scheduled to be filmed today anyways, and he wouldn’t be able to focus on admin work if you put a gun to his head knowing about the performance Tenna seems so insistent on giving. He streaks from one set to another, has walk-and-talk meetings, argues with Mike over their comms, fires then re-hires a trio of Shadow Guys, and most importantly, does not step away for a break. The real kicker is when, two entire hours before the workday is supposed to end, Tenna announces that it’s a wrap folks, practically hopping in place. Of course, no one protests, clearing off quickly lest he changes his mind.
“Can I come over?” Spamton asks as soon as they're alone.
”Hm? Yes, sure,” Tenna says distractedly. “Come on, let’s go.”
He practically shoves Spamton out of the studio, only stopping to close the door behind them.
”Hey, hey, what’s the rush? How about we grab dinner first?”
“I’m not really hungry,” Tenna replies quickly, locking the door and slipping the key back into his pocket. “We can go out later.” He almost falls down the stairs of the studio in his haste to get down them. “Or order something, whatever!”
“What about going to a bar then?” Spamton asks, taking his time to stroll down the stairs. Tenna looks like he’s going to pop a circuit. “Take a load off… Have some drinks.”
Spamton swears he hears Tenna gulp as he grabs a cigarette out of his breast pocket. Be cool, be cool, he tells himself as he searches for his lighter.
”I-“
”Hey, do you have a light?”
Tenna frowns, but he leans forward and snaps his fingers near Spamton’s mouth. A spark flies from them and jumps to his cigarette with a practiced precision. Spamton inhales, letting it take.
”There, now can we go already?”
”Sure, sure, just one more question though.”
”What, Spamton,” Tenna says flatly.
”So, like, are you afraid of public bathrooms or something?”
Tenna freezes, then his screen flickers to red at the dawning realization of Spamton noticing his supremely unsubtle plight.
”I-I- what- why would you ask that? That’s… I don’t know what you’re talking about- I’m not afraid- I-“ He splutters. Spamton doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Just breathes in his cigarette smoke and waits, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not- That’s… Lots of assumptions here!” Tenna throws his hands into the air. “It’s just unprofessional, okay?”
Spamton snorts.
”What? To piss?”
Tenna winces at the word.
”You don’t have to be crude. And no, it’s the…“ He gestures wildly. Spamton thinks he’s taking the opportunity to squirm a little. “The sharing!”
“Nobody cares. Literally nobody.”
Tenna looks agonized
”I care!!!”
Spamton snorts.
”Of course you do.”
An idiotic reason, but a very in-character one.
“Now, please, can we leave?”
“Aw, come on, at least let me finish my cig. You know I hate walking while I smoke.”
To his absolute delight, Tenna groans, crosses his arms, and leans back on the wall.
“Just hurry,” he mutters.
”Of course,” Spamton says, with absolutely zero intention to actually do so.
Tenna’s screen flicks off as he attempts to relax. It lasts for a whopping thirty seconds before he starts tapping the tip of his shoe against the ground. Then he starts bouncing his leg, notices Spamton looking, and stops. Ten seconds, this time before he begins alternating between bending one knee then the other, before he finally pushes himself off the wall, screen flickering back on to a strained expression
”Nope!” He says, voice unnaturally high. “We’re leaving now!”
“Aw, now?”
”Now.”
Tenna rushes ahead but Spamton doesn’t make any particular effort to walk quickly. Tenna has to keep pausing to let him catch up. During one of these pauses, he turns and frowns at Spamton, his foot tapping a staccato into the pavement below them.
“Can we at least try to hurry?”
”No one’s stopping you,” Spamton replies, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. “Run if you need to, big guy.”
He doesn’t expect for Tenna to actually overtake him in a swift powerwalk, just a couple of strides and he’d practically left Spamton in the dust, a stiff grimace painting his face. Must really need to go now, Spamton thinks to himself, a little thrill creeping down his spine. He has to break into a light run to catch up. Tenna doesn’t slow down for him, leaving him huffing as he struggles to keep up.
”Oh, so now you can move fast.”
”Aw, come on Ant, I’m sorry! Didn’t think you need it that bad,” Spamton lies through his teeth brightly.
Tenna’s brow lifts and lowers significantly in an approximation of an eyeroll. He doesn’t believe him for a second.
”Well I do,” he says snippily. His first admission of how urgent it was. Spamton has to struggle to keep his grin appropriately small. “So I’d appreciate it if you picked up the pace.”
”Sure thing.”
The next few minutes are in silence, save for the whirr of Tenna’s fans steadily rising in volume. Spamton decides not to comment on it. Instead he just looks, actually letting Ant overtake him slightly, so he could stare freely.
“...did you loosen your belt?”
Tenna's head jerks towards him, a surprised blush lighting up his screen, before he turns away again.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says quickly.
Spamton smirks.
“Sure you do.” He hooks a finger in one of Tenna’s belt loops, fingering the gaudy faux-leather of the accessory in question. “It's looser than usual.”
Tenna shooes his hand away irritably.
“And how would you know?”
“Your ass is kind of at my eye level, Ant. Easy to tell when something's off.”
“Don’t be crass, for goodness’ sake. We’re in public.”
“Oh, come on, no one's around!” Spamton gestures at the empty streets. “In fact, I don't know why you don't just go down an alley and take a piss.”
Tenna shudders, knees locking up together, like just the thought of it makes him even more desperate.
“I am not going to do that,” Tenna says tersely. His footsteps quicken. “Just. Come on.”
“Was the belt too tight?” Spamton asks, changing the subject back to what Tenna was insistently avoiding. He's back to walking so fast that Spamton is struggling to keep up. “Pressing on your bladder maybe?”
Tenna's screen reddens further. Bullseye.
“Shut up,” he mutters.
“Aw, you poor thing,” Spamton cackles.
“Spamton,” Tenna threatens, or tries to threaten, because his voice cracks as he falters, one leg angling inward and bending weirdly high as he hisses through his teeth. His next step ends with him comically cross-legged before he resumes a semi-normal pace.
“What was tha-”
“Shut up,” Tenna snaps. And Spamton closes his mouth quickly, stifling a laugh. “It's not funny!”
“It’s a little funny. You could have avoided all this if you just swallowed your pride a bit and used the employee bathroom at the studio.”
Tenna’s expression turns frantic.
“Don't talk about bathrooms.”
“What should I talk about then? The drinks we're gonna have when we arrive? The fountain in the lobby?” Next to him, Tenna groans. “Huh? C'mon babe, pick the next conversation topic, why don'tcha?"
He punctuates his last sentence with an elbow to Tenna's ribs- well, his lower waist, accounting for their respective sizes and all that. Tenna squeaks, stumbles, and just as Spamton is about to roll his eyes and tell him to stop being overdramatic, Tenna hunches over huffing, a split second of hesitation flashing across his screen before he firmly shoves his hand between his thighs and moans, somehow both tortured and relieved. Two of his fingers are pushing firmly into his cunt and Spamton tries to remind himself to stop staring, stop, stop, you idiot he’s going to notice, you’re practically drooling-
“Don't poke me in the stomach!” Tenna yelps, interrupting his train of thought. He whines lowly, twisting around himself. “Nnnff- fuck- “
That was a new sound, one he’s never heard Tenna make before, and what a rare treat to hear him swear! He must be really out of it if he let that slip past his usual censor filter.
”Language,” Spamton says. He takes the opportunity to steal closer. “Alright there, Tens?” He asks, voice colored with mostly-fake concern.
"Fine," Tenna says through gritted teeth. "Just- let me focus-"
"Aw, what's wrong? D'you dribble a little or something?"
Jesus Christ man, Spamton screams internally at himself, can you keep a singular thought to yourself?!
Tenna's screen whips towards him, flickering from its pleasant pinkness to an angry, flustered red.
"What the hell- why would you ask that?!" His voicebox cracks in his indignation and he recollects himself, screen flicking black, then back to pink though now a bright, almost-neon shade of it, clearly the best he can manage in his state. He frowns at Spamton. "What- what's your deal? Really, why would you ask that?"
Spamton can tell he's being looked at up and down. One of the CRT's antennae practically curls into the shape of a question mark as he scrambles for an answer.
"...can't a guy be concerned for his fellow host?" he says weakly. Too weak.
"Sure," says Tenna, but then: " Not you, though."
"Ow, ouch, my heart," says Spamton, clutching his hands to his empty chest. "How could you?"
But Tenna's still staring at him, unseen mechanisms whirring softly as he thinks, then his jaw goes slack.
"Oh my god," he says. "You're into this."
…
Fuck.
"False! Untrue! Nope!" Spamton barks in quick succession, too loud and too quick to be convincing. Tenna starts laughing, and instead of defending himself Spamton stares at how he has to squeeze himself harder with each exhale.
"You- you little pervert!" Tenna wheezes, half-delight and half-shock. "You can't even look away!" He points an accusatory gloved finger at Spamton. "You're staring right now! Uhn-”
The moan rips out of him so suddenly that even Tenna looks shocked, screen cycling through a variety of shades of pink, before settling on something rosy but subdued. Spamton smirks, trying to keep his breathing even.
“You were saying?”
Tenna turns his screen away pointedly but Spamton moves quickly to get back in his eyeline, crowding his personal space. Might as well have some fun if the cat’s out of the bag.
“C'mon, I wanna hear you gloating Ant.” He's obviously panting now but it really doesn't matter. Tenna's blushing furiously, breathing heavy himself. “Go on.”
“You're- you're staring,” Tenna mutters.
“Sure am, it's not everyday you get to see something like this.” His emphasis on the last word has Tenna squirming, in embarrassment or desperation he's not sure. He steps even closer. “Let's take a closer look, hmm?”
“There’s really n-no need for that,” Tenna replies, but he doesn’t shy away from him and when Spamton reaches for his hand, the one pressed between his thighs, he barely resists as he tugs at it, giving in at the first pull. “Uhm.”
Spamton cooes and Tenna immediately snatches his hand back to cover himself, illuminating him in a deep cherry red.
”You did dribble!” He slides one hand up Tenna’s thigh, noting how it tenses under his palm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Obviously because it’s embarrassing,” Tenna mumbles, not-so-subtly shifting his weight from one foot to another.
”Oh, sweetheart, we’ve gone past embarrassing a long time ago, right around when you shoved your hand against your cunt I believe.”
“Ah, well, I- um.” He huffs and puts one hand up to cover his now-scarlet screen. “Fucking hell, Spam.”
“Feels good though, doesn’t it? Being full like this?” He lets the hand placed on Tenna’s thigh travel higher, up to his abdomen to palm the swell of his bladder. Tenna’s breath stutters. “Mhm, that’s what I thought.”
Tenna pushes him away with a huff.
“Let's just get home,” he mutters. “Then we can continue… whatever this is.”
“Oh?” Spamton says, much too eager
“Oh my god, can you keep it together for five minutes?”
Spamton lets his eyes drift to Tenna's hand, still pressed tight between his legs.
“...can you?”
He expects another swift reply, but Tenna bites his lip and frowns worriedly.
”I- probably- yes.”
Probably? Probably? Spamton feels faint. Likely because all the blood in his body is rushing to his dick. He quickly tucks himself behind his waistband as Tenna hobbles in front of him before racing to catch up. They’re very close now, just need to turn a corner and walk two blocks before reaching Tenna’s building. For a few minutes, they're both quiet.
“…Almost there,” Spamton says after a few seconds. He’d never been good with silences.
“Don’t say that,” Tenna replies pleadingly.
”Jeez, Cathode, I’m just trying to help.”
”It just makes it worse, knowing we’re getting close,” Tenna continues shakily.
“…oh. Sorry.”
He’s hard, he’s so hard it hurts. Tenna doesn’t seem to notice too busy panting and trying to walk as stiffly as possible. Spamton’s surprised he hasn’t bitten his cigarette in half already. He exhales sharply under the guise of blowing smoke, then tosses it aside because they’re finally about to go inside.
Tenna’s building is huge and luxurious, with unnecessarily high ceilings and carpet running from the entrance to the elevator. He lives on the top floor, the penthouse, because of course he does, he’s Mr. Ant Tenna after all. Mr. Ant Tenna who currently seems to be busy essentially punching the gilded button of the elevator as he grumbles and squirms. He heaves a short sigh of relief as it arrives, hurrying inside to mash at the ‘close doors’ button.
The music playing is even less bearable than usual. Tenna taps his foot on the floor, distinctly out of rhythm with it, second hand joining the first between his legs. Spamton swallows, comically loud, prompting Tenna to look at him. He expects a taunt or an eye roll, but instead Tenna turns bright red and quickly looks away. It’s fucking adorable.
“You do what you need to do, Tens.”
Tenna huffs.
”I don’t need your permission for that,” he mutters. Still, as soon as Spamton says that he starts pacing round the elevator. “Why is it taking this long?”
Spamton leans against the wall behind him, watching Tenna stalk back and forth, tail flicking behind him. Tenna’s pace picks up then abruptly spots, as he flings his jacket off in one surprisingly graceful motion right into Spamton’s chest.
”Okay?” Spamton says, a little bewildered. He folds it over his arm so as to not crease it.
”You said to do what I need to do,” Tenna replies plaintively, resuming his tight-legged walking. “It’s too hot in here. Oh, for fuck’s sake how are we not there yet?!” He growls.
The elevator makes a meek beep as it passes another floor. Tenna looks distressedly at the number panel. They’re barely halfway. He whimpers and, oh, okay, drops to a crouch on the floor. Spamton takes a step forward.
”Don’t!” Tenna squeaks.
Spamton’s not sure exactly how he doesn’t spontaneously combust when Tenna takes his hand off his crotch (which is visibly soaked, just how much has he been leaking??), shoves the heel of his foot against it so hard it has to be at least a little bit painful, and starts clumsily grinding. Spamton’s practically grinning from ear to ear.
”Tenna-“
“Shut up, shut up, just please shut up,” he mutters furiously. He holds up a hand in a poor attempt to shield himself from view. “Don’t- don’t look!”
Spamton walks to stand directly in front of Tenna, traces one hand down his face before forcing him to tilt his screen upwards to look at him. He’s a mess, sweat wetting the front of his shirt, screen glitching into multicoloured artifacts. He winces as he meets Spamton’s gaze.
”But, baby, you’re putting on such a pretty show! I don’t want to look at anything else.”
It’s exactly the right thing to say because Tenna whines so loud his voice crackles. Spamton can’t resist reaching out and running his fingers down his spine, beaming at how it makes Tenna shudder and cling onto him, fingers grasping at the lapels of his jacket. Spamton does it again, and this time he grabs the base of Tenna’s tail and pulls it without thinking. Tenna grunts, stiffening, and grinds hard against his heel, back perfectly arched and now he’s gasping, panting, still moving his hips but in uncoordinated, jerking motions. Spamton’s mouth is hanging open.
“Did you come?”
“I'm sorryyyy,” Tenna whines tearfully. “I didn't- didn’t mean to, m'sorryyy, m'sorry, m'just tryna hold it.” He gives a ragged moan. “If I stop I-I'll piss.”
Thank god no one else is using the elevator at this hour.
“We’re almost there doll,” Spamton soothes, like he isn’t also barely keeping it together.
As though listening, the elevator dings cheerfully, signaling its arrival. The doors haven’t even finished sliding open and Tenna’s off like a shot, stumbling forward with surprising swiftness. He’s at his apartment door before Spamton is even stepping off the elevator himself, one hand buried between his legs, the other fumbling with his keys.
”Come on come on come on,” Tenna mutters under his breath. “Mmmnfffuck!”
And that’s when he audibly spurts, pee hissing loudly through his fingers and splattering onto the floor. Tenna bends forward, breath stuttering as he tenses, seeming to just barely stop the flow. Somehow, despite his shaking, he gets the key into the door and flings it open, running inside like his life depends on it. His key clatter to the ground as Spamton quickly closes the door behind him because as-fucking-if he’s letting anyone else witness this. He catches up with Tenna in the bathroom and his heart practically skips a beat.
Tenna’s standing in front of the toilet, full body shaking, dripping piss down his legs (he’d left the cutest trail of it too, that Spamton had practically drooled over as he made his way to him), shuffling from foot to foot as he fumbles with his belt. His unnecessary complicated belt, mind you, that had given Spamton many a headache in past hookups. You had to press the side of the buckle till a soft click signaled it was open, then twist your wrist as you pull to undo it otherwise its weird little mechanism will get stuck. Tenna seemed to have given up on actually getting it undone and was just tugging at it, then after a few seconds he forgoes the belt completely and tries pulling down at his dress pants to no avail, groaning as he releases another loud burst of urine. Spamton watches for ten entire seconds before his overheated brain realizes he should offer to help but that train of thought is cut off by Tenna yelling out in frustration, and dropping himself down with a thump on the toilet seat, still very much fully clothed.
“Fucking finally,” he whines, slumping forward. His hands rest on his knees, propping him up and his legs are slightly spread apart, giving Spamton a great view as Tenna at last relieves himself. He’s peeing a straight, clear stream, going right through the fabric of his clothes and splattering loudly. He keeps gasping, maybe crying, shaking through it.
He goes for ages. About half a minute at full force, then another with his stream gradually decreasing. The silence when he finishes is deafening underlined by Tenna’s panting. He’s bent over at this point, one hand supporting his bowed head, twitching every few seconds.
Spamton waits. Then he waits some more. He tries shifting, make a little bit of noise to remind his presence. Nothing.
”…Ant?” He says eventually. Tenna jolts, snapping his neck up to look at him. His screen goes scarlet like he’s suddenly remembering where he is and what just happened and he stumbles to his feet. He looks down at himself and gives an embarrassed squeak, hands rushing to cover his soaked crotch, before realizing that probably wouldn’t return any of his dignity and instead burying his face in them. Spamton watches this whole pantomime without saying a word.
“I can’t believe I did that,” Tenna mutters, practically choking on his embarrassment.
”It’s…. It’s okay,” Spamton tries.
Tenna lifts his head to look at him incredulously.
”It’s really not, Spam.”
”Well. It’s hot, at least.”
“I…”
“Hey, come on,” Spamton says, a little more self-assured, maybe because of how obviously dejected Tenna looks. “I’m the only one who saw anything and I said it’s fine.” He tentatively puts his hand on the small of Tenna’s back. “How about you shower, yeah?”
Tenna looks up at him. He still looks like he’s two minutes away from bursting into tears but he nods slowly.
“There you go,” Spamton says approvingly. “You do that and I’ll get you a change of clothes.”
But before he can step away, Tenna catches his wrist, and Spamton turns around to see him staring pleadingly.
”Shower with me?” He says timidly like they haven’t been having sex for almost a year. “Please?”
Well, he can’t possibly say no now, so might as well rip the bandaid off.
”Sure. Also, I’m hard.”
Tenna pauses. Then he smiles. Spamton’s blood pressure rises.
”I noticed,” he says suddenly smug, reaching down to unbutton his dress shirt.
”Yeah, yeah,” Spamton mumbles, trying to hide his embarrassment as he copies Tenna. He’s worked up enough that he’s still struggling with the buttons as Tenna discards the rest of his clothes on the floor. Spamton’s eyes dart towards them, specifically the wetness on his ridiculous heart-patterned boxers. He looks back up to see Tenna grinning.
”I saw that,” he says in a sing-song voice.
Spamton gives up on the buttons and pulls his shirt over his head. He’s hit with another heavy wave of arousal as he throws it off because now Tenna is kneeling on the floor, busying himself with Spamton’s belt. He makes quick work of it and tosses it aside to unzip him.
”Oh wow, Spammy, you really did like that, huh?”
Spamton grunts in reply as Tenna gently kneads him through his boxers. He has to focus or he might just finish in them.Thankfully, after one last squeeze, Tenna lowers his waistband and kisses his tip.
”Tenna,” Spamton groans, gripping the top of his screen to pull him forward. Tenna tuts.
”I held it all day, you can wait a few seconds.”
“All- all day?” Spamton huffs.
Tenna looks up at him and smirks. He wraps his fingers around Spamton’s weeping erection, slicking the pre down his length.
”Mhm, all day.” He blows gently over Spamton’s tip, giggling when he shivers. “It really started hitting me when we were shooting that interview segment. Thank god I was sitting at a desk!” Tenna’s jerking him off properly now, firm but slow. His legs are going weak. “When that second laugh cue came on, I actually peed a little bit.” Spamton moans. He thinks he remembers that moment. Standing somewhere behind the camera crew as Tenna pauses mid-laugh as if frozen, mouth still open, before moving on way too suddenly. “I had to use my hand to stop anymore from coming out, it was awful. I thought I might lose it right then and there.”
”Tenna,” Spamton chokes out. “If you’re gonna suck me off, you need to start now.”
“Oh!” Tenna gasps.
Spamton lasts about thirty seconds once Tenna takes him into his mouth, grunting as he spills down his throat and afterwards, he has to make a conscious effort not to start whining as Tenna swallows, mouth flexing around his softening cock. In the end, they’re both so weak-kneed that they opt for a bath after a quick rinse. He’s leaning back against Tenna, relaxing into the warm water when he says something that almost makes Spamton choke on his own spit.
”Sooo… D’you want me to do that again sometime?”