Work Text:
Tenna has a day booked full of long, boring meetings. Important ones, sure, but boring nonetheless. So who can blame him for wanting his beloved pet to keep him company?
Spamton is curled up in his little nest under Tenna's desk, the leg space padded with fluffy blankets and pillows serving as a dog bed. Spamton's dressed down, in just his slacks and button up, which is undone enough to show his undershirt. He's wearing his collar as well, leashed to a hook screwed into the wall of the desk.
Usually getting to sit at Tenna's feet is a reward, but with the busy week the two of them have been having it's a nice break for the both of them. Spamton had returned from a particularly draining trip back to Cyber World that morning, so he's happy to relax and forget about work for a while, a pampered pet hidden away from prying eyes.
Throughout the day, Tenna reaches under the desk to pet through Spammy's hair, or cups his cheek affectionately to let Spamton press sweet kisses to his palm. During the short breaks between meetings, he has Spamton sit on his lap to feed him small bites of pastry and sips of his coffee, lavishing his little mailman with affection.
It's so rare to have Spamton so docile like this, deep in headspace and perfectly content to be coddled. Tenna asks the pippins to bring him drinks and snacks more often throughout the day to take advantage of his mood. He just loves getting to dote on his doggy, and he's not going to let the opportunity go to waste. He ends up drinking a lot more than he normally would, since Spamton is unable to finish the Tenna sized drinks by himself.
So, inevitably, he's gotta piss by the end of the day. Badly. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, except the breaks between his meetings aren't very long, and Tenna is unwilling to leave Spamton alone in the room like this when someone could walk in.
It hits mid meeting, while some pest from production tries to tell Tenna how to run his own show. He stopped paying full attention minutes into the meeting, nodding and humming along politely while one of his hands pets Spamton's hair under the table.
Spamton has his head leaned onto Tenna's thigh, kneeling sweetly between his legs. Occasionally he'll shift a forward a little to press a kiss or two further up, but he (usually) knows better than to try to get at Tenna's dick without permission.
As the man in front of him says something about lowering costume budgets (an absolutely wretched idea, if you ask Tenna), Tenna leans forward to reach Spamton more easily, and his belt presses right into his lower stomach, bringing sudden awareness to how full his bladder is. He leans back, adjusting his position in the chair to alleviate some of the new pressure, and glances at his clock. There's about 20 minutes left before the scheduled end of the meeting.
Tenna swallows dryly, bouncing the leg Spamton isn't resting on. Now that hes realized it, he cant stop himself from fixating it, try as he might to distract himself. It must show on his face, because the production man across from him frowns.
"Are you alright, Mr. Tenna?"
Tenna laughs, putting on a smile. Spamton must notice, because he puts a hand on the leg Tenna's bouncing and squeezes it lightly.
"Of course! Apologies, I lost my train of thought for a second. What were you saying?"
Shit. He needs to fix this. He'd hate to stop a meeting for a bathroom break of all things, and even if he did, he'd have to leave Spamton alone with with the other man for several minutes, and his puppy would not like that.
But he can't just sit here and wait until he wets himself! The censors would kill him! His reputation would be in ruins! If only there was a way to fix this without having to leave the room…
He gets an idea.
Scooting his chair forward, Tenna taps his thigh with two fingers to get Spamton's attention. Spamton's head lifts, and there's a very quiet rustling as he straightens his posture.
Tenna moves his hand, small enough of a movement to look innocuous from across the desk. Underneath, though, his hand goes inwards, taps the little face on his belt twice, then returns to rest on his thigh.
This is a trick they've practiced at home a few times, but only in private, and not without verbal prompting. His puppy is clever though, so Spamton picks up on it, moving forward on his knees between Tenna's legs.
The production man is a loud talker, still going on about the costumes somehow, so his voice covers the quiet sounds of Spamton raising his hands to slowly and carefully start undoing Tenna's belt. It clinks quietly as he works before falling open.
With the belt unbuckled, the button of his slacks is next, popping free with much less hassle. There's a brief moment of relief as the pressure against Tenna's belly lightens, sweet enough to make him hide a heavy breath into his hand, but it fades quickly as the need to piss rises again. His belly clenches, and he resists the urge to whine.
He has to wait as Spamton begins to ever so slowly drag the zipper of Tenna's slacks down to keep it as quiet as possible. Too restless to wait any longer, Tenna coughs into his fist. Spamton, the smart, darling thing that he is, takes the opportunity to quickly unzip him the rest of the way in one quick movement.
Moving the hand below the desk again, Tenna pulls his cock out of his boxers, holding it in a loose fist. The soft silicon twitches in his grip, his body desperate for release. Spamton scoots forward and puts his hands on the edge of Tenna's chair between his legs as he ducks forward to eagerly take Tenna into his mouth.
The sudden wet heat makes Tenna's thighs tense. He gives Spamton's hair a light scratch as praise before grabbing the back of his head and pulling him forward, pressing as deep as he can into Spamton's mouth without choking him. Which, given how much Tenna asks Spamton to give him head, is pretty far.
He stills, holding Spamton in place against him. He waits until Spamton's hand wraps around his calf and squeezes before relaxing his abdomen and letting himself go. His legs tremble with relief as he starts to piss down his puppy's throat, using the hand on the back of his head to hold him steady.
Spamton's able to keep up with the first several seconds on his own, but once the stream gets stronger, he has to lean forward and take Tenna deeper in order to let the hot liquid slide down his throat and settle heavily in his gut. A few stray drops slip past the corners of his mouth and down his chin, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth gets used.
His hands stay still, one on Tenna's calf and the other on the edge of the chair, despite the arousal rolling through him. He knows better than to touch himself without permission, and after a day of being coddled and doted on the though barely even crosses his mind. His tail wags behind him as he tries to keep the sound of his swallowing quiet and stifle his small whines, with his dick slick and straining at his boxers.
He needs to do something, so he lets himself suck softly on Tenna's cock, the flat of his tongue feeling the ridges along it. Tenna's voice wavers as he says something to the man across the desk, just barely, and Spamton basks in the smug pride the reaction gives him, even if Tenna kicks at him with a foot for it.
Time goes funny for a minute, seeming to slow to a crawl. Spamton's world is narrowed down to Tenna's cock in his mouth, his piss down his throat. Tenna's is focused solely on the feeling of Spamton around him, the man across from him none the wiser to what's happening beneath the desk. It's humiliatingly wonderful, embarrassment mixing with arousal and affection for his pet. He thanks his lucky stars he's a good actor, or else they'd both be fucked.
Eventually though, Tenna's bladder runs empty, letting Spamton open his mouth around Tenna's dick to catch his breath, making sure to keep his breaths quiet. Tenna moves his hand to let Spamton pull off, and Spamton kisses the head of his cock softly, licking the slit to catch a stray drop of liquid beading there. Tenna would kill to be able to look down at him right now. Spamton nuzzles his face into the crease of Tenna's thigh, pressing kisses to his balls and the base of his shaft. He inhales slowly, giving a silent and content little sigh, belly warm and full.
There's a little bit of an acrid taste left in his mouth, but it's worth it for the wonderful feeling of being used so casually, the demeaning act contrasting with the warm fuzzy affection Tenna treats him with. Tenna's hand cups his cheek, thumbing over his brow gently and carding through his hair. Above him, he can hear Tenna start to cheerfully tell the production guy across the desk that his ideas are terrible.
He gives the base of Tenna's dick another kiss, then gently tugs on his pant leg. Tenna scoots forward, letting Spamton take him back into his mouth. He was such a good boy taking him before, so Tenna nudges Spamton's knee with a foot and slots it between his thighs.
Spamton rolls his hips forward slowly, sighing out through his nose, then settles down, aware he shouldn't get too excited. Similarly, he doesn't move his mouth on Tenna's cock, content to hold it gently on his tongue. Tenna pets through his hair, patting his head gently.
His dog is such a good boy. He'll have to give him a nice treat once the workday is over.