Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bar was crowded, as it always was on a Saturday night. It was hot and the music was too loud. The blue lights flashing about and circling the room were not bright enough to provide satisfactory illumination.

Usually on a night like tonight, Tenna wouldn’t be bothered by any of that. He would be able to have a few drinks, let loose, and start chatting up strangers. The Cyber City bar was a good place to network, after all.

Tonight, though, Tenna was having trouble coming out of his shell. He didn’t know anyone at the bar. Usually, he could spot at least one or two darkners he was on good terms with, but tonight? Tonight, the faces were fresh, and the party was hot. It made Tenna wonder what made tonight’s crowd so different. Maybe an event Tenna wasn’t made aware of?

Tenna sipped on the Aperol spritz he’d ordered, letting out a sigh as he scanned the room. People seemed to be gravitating to a booth in the corner. That was where the bigwigs sat. The local celebrities, if you will. The folks in Cyber City who had really made something of themselves. Of course, that could mean a lot of things around these parts—drug dealers, pimps, businessmen, politicians—all of them held some kind of power. Certainly not a crowd that Tenna would typically be mingling with.

Tenna sighed, downing the rest of his drink before ordering another. Maybe tonight would end up a lonesome one. So much for networking. The upbeat pop music reverberating through the club didn’t match Tenna’s mood. His screen was dimming, his sense of time warping as he stared into his glass of Aperol. 

It was tough being an up-and-coming star, especially as someone with no ties to the industry. Tenna had moved to Cyber City hoping to become a star. That’s what he’d always dreamed of. Now, though, it seemed nearly impossible. He could attend open mic nights and host his own little game show events at the community center all he wanted, but people never really seemed interested. It wasn’t like Tenna had anyone he could call his fans. He didn’t have any standing in the industry. People didn’t even know who he was.

This wasn’t going to work. Tenna had to get out of here before he ended up drunkenly moping and whining about his problems to the bartender. Tenna finished his cocktail, stood up and readjusted his suspenders as he readied himself to call a cab.

That was when Tenna saw him.

Spamton G. Spamton.

He was wearing a white button-up shirt that exposed his chest. His dark hair was slicked back, a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of his pointy nose even though he was inside a dark club. A cigar dangled from his lips as he chatted idly with fans and colleagues crowded around him, a neat glass of gin clasped in his hand.

Tenna’s heart lurched into his chest. His screen started to display snow.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

Spamton was here. In the room with him. In front of his eyes. Tenna had only ever seen him before on billboards and projector screens.

Spamton was a big deal in the Dark World, especially in Cyber City. He was by far the most successful Addison around. Tenna would bet money the man lived in an expensive penthouse somewhere in the heart of the city.

Tenna was overwhelmed in a way he’d never felt before. His face was flushed. His heart was pounding, electricity thrumming through his cables as he watched Spamton from across the bar. The man had such an effortless swagger about him. He laughed and flirted with ease, swirling his gin in his glass as he puffed on his cigar.

And then Spamton cast a glance across the room. And for a moment, Tenna thought Spamton was looking at him. He couldn’t tell for sure, not when the man was wearing his sunglasses.

Tenna was sure his whole screen was glowing pink by now, his hands clasped at his sides. His fans had kicked into high gear, trying to cool down his overheating circuits. He was frozen in place, standing next to his empty glass at the bar, staring.

And Spamton was staring back.

A charming smirk was creeping up Spamton’s face. He tilted his head down, looking over the rim of his sunglasses. His gaze was piercing. He was looking right at Tenna.

Then he turned to the people around him, suavely chuckled something that Tenna couldn’t make out, and the darkners around him shifted to allow Spamton to leave the booth. The man’s eyes stayed locked on Tenna.

Some darkners seemed to perk up as Spamton walked through the crowd. Tenna noticed people whispering amongst themselves, watching as Spamton approached him. Tenna suddenly felt very self-conscious.

He just stood there like an idiot as Spamton sauntered up. The man was shorter than Tenna was—as most darkners were—standing at around four feet tall. Tenna had to look down to make eye contact with him.

“Hey, [[Hot Stuff!]], you got a staring problem or something?” Spamton grinned, casually leaning against the bar as he took off his sunglasses.

Tenna’s antennae were sparking at the ends. He felt like his screen was going to glitch and start playing static. He gulped, struggling to muster up any words. “I-I… I, um, I’m sorry?” he stammered, his head spinning.

“Sorry? Oh no, kid, don’t apologize! Are you a fan?” Spamton took a casual sip of his gin.

“Oh, gosh, um— yeah. Like, a-a really huge fan!” Tenna laughed nervously, his body stiff. He tried hard to focus on not letting his screen glitch out. “I-I just can’t believe you’re, like… here. And talking to me…” Tenna glanced away from Spamton’s lidded eyes only to realize people were sneaking glances in their direction . Why had Spamton come up to Tenna out of everyone here? Surely Tenna wasn’t the only person who’d been staring a little, right?

“So why’s a hot guy like you [[All alone on a late night?]] Your friends ditch you, or something?” Spamton chuckled, taking a seat next to Tenna at the bar.

Tenna awkwardly sat beside him, his whole body alight with jitters. “Um, no… I came here alone…” Tenna started to speak, his voice wavering.

Spamton gave him an intrigued look, one brow raised, and Tenna felt the need to clarify. “I-I mean, I have friends, obviously! This bar is just, um, a good place to meet new people! Especially, f-folks in the industry…” he gulped, his screen flushed red, “…like yourself.”

Tenna was internally kicking himself. He was going to blow this! He was making it too obvious! Spamton was going to see right through him! The man probably had to deal with people like him all the time—small fry begging for a chance to become a big shot like Spamton.

The last thing Tenna wanted to do was make Spamton think he was using him.

His screen was going fuzzy with static as he began to sink into a flurry of self-doubt. But then, Spamton spoke. 

“So you wanna be in the biz, huh, kid? What’s your talent?” Spamton hummed, taking a big hit of his cigar before letting out a self-satisfied sigh as he exhaled. 

“M-My talent?” Tenna stammered, snapping out of his haze. “Well, I like to think of myself as a sort of entertainer… I-I’ve done, like, stand-up and stuff, and I’m really good at working a crowd!”

This was it. Tenna had to make a hard sell. He couldn’t wimp out now. Not when the man who could change his life was sitting right in front of him.

“I want my own TV show,” Tenna stated, his voice firm. “I could do it. I know I could. I’m funny. I’m charming. The audience would love me!” he grinned, feeling his chest swell with pride.

“Your own show, huh? You must really think you’ve [[Got It!]]if you're trying to chase a dream that big,” Spamton laughed, almost dismissively.

Tenna furrowed his brow. “I’d be an idiot to shoot for anything lower. I know what I can do if I could just get the chance—“

“You’ve gotta want it , kid. You’ve gotta be willing to [[get down in the dirt]] and [[beg for more]].” Spamton was leaning closer to Tenna, his eyes lidded. He reeked of alcohol. Tenna wondered if he’d even remember this come tomorrow. “So?”

“…So, what?” Tenna asked, gulping nervously as Spamton closed in like a predator cornering its prey.

“Are you willing to do whatever it takes?”

Tenna could feel the intention behind the words—behind Spamton’s lustful stare. The implication was clear. Spamton was offering Tenna a chance at success. All it would cost was a night bending to the man’s whims.

“Yes…” Tenna spoke, his voice soft at first. He could feel his screen turning red. He could feel his dignity leaving his body. Would the sacrifice be worth the opportunity? Would Spamton even keep his word?

“I’ll—” Tenna’s voice cracked, and his screen got even redder as he cleared his throat. “I would do anything… anything… to become a success like you…”

“Anything, huh? Sounds like a good deal to me. What do you say you and I go somewhere a little more… private?” Spamton chuckled mischievously, pulling out his wallet and tossing a few dark dollars down on the bar—enough to cover his and Tenna’s tab. He snuffed out his cigar on the bar and let the butt fall to the floor.

Tenna’s antennae were sparking with excitement. A shaky smile spread across his face. “Yeah, um, definitely!! Do you wanna, uh, go to my place?” Tenna offered, secretly hoping Spamton would counter the offer.

“How’s about we go to mine, instead? I think you’ll enjoy a taste of [[The Good Life]],” Spamton grinned, showing off his teeth. He pulled out a flip phone, spent a second typing on it before snapping it shut and slipping it back into his pocket.

“Our ride should be here any moment,” Spamton informed Tenna, winking slyly as he took the man’s hand and began to guide him out of the club. Tenna stumbled behind Spamton dumbly, letting the man lead him, bobbing and weaving through the packed dance floor. 

It was hot and sweaty in the crowd. The colored lights were flashing and spinning about the room. Tenna could feel the bass in the music reverberating through his body. His body felt warm. Was he overheating? His fans were on full blast and had been ever since he and Spamton locked eyes.

They finally made it out of the club, and Tenna was relieved to take in the cooler air outside. He wanted a second to catch his breath—maybe even a moment to soberly evaluate the decision he was about to make—but he wasn’t afforded such a luxury.

Instead, Spamton was dragging him along, guiding Tenna into a luxury car. Rather than the seats being arranged in rows, they wrapped around the perimeter of the car’s interior, creating a conversation pit of sorts. The seats looked to be made of some kind of fine leather, pristine and polished. There was a mini-fridge stocked with beer and shooters. It made a humming noise that made Tenna feel comforted. Almost safe.

Safe in the back seat of a stranger's car. 

Did the fact that Spamton was famous make it any less dangerous for Tenna to go somewhere alone with him? Or did Spamton’s fame just mean the man had more money to cover it up if he were to do something awful?

“What’s got you worried, kid? You look freaked. Need an upper?”

“Huh?” Tenna blearily tuned back into reality, turning to look at Spamton. His face fell. “…Oh!” he forced a nervous smile. Spamton was proudly holding up a plastic baggie with a bit of white powder inside. Tenna didn’t have to guess what it might be.

Spamton didn’t seem to notice Tenna’s apprehension—or if he did, he did nothing to make the man more comfortable. He fished around in the inside pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out a tiny brass spoon. It looked ornate—intricate. Before Tenna had time to fully appreciate the craftsmanship of the uniquely beautiful spoon, Spamton was dipping it down into the baggie of cocaine. He scooped a spoonful, then brought the spoon up to his nose. In one big bump, Spamton snorted the coke, letting out a victorious bellow of satisfaction as he began to feel the rush. 

Tenna, on the other hand, wasn’t enjoying himself nearly as much anymore. Sure, this was the kind of thing he’d expect from a big star like Spamton. “The good life” was practically the man’s brand. Even knowing that, it was every bit as shocking to see the man just casually pull out hard drugs.

“Um… Yeah, actually, I’m good! I don’t, uh,” Tenna started to falter as he watched Spamton’s expression slowly morph closer to irritation. “I, um. Don’t do drugs, really.”

“And what if it wasn’t a request?” Spamton pressed, dipping the spoon back into the baggie and lifting it out, shaking it slightly to lessen the size of the bump. He held it out to Tenna. “You said anything, hotshot. You’re not gonna pussy out now, are you?”

Tenna hesitated for a moment, and then two. His gaze shifted from the spoonful of white powder, then up to Spamton’s expectant expression. It got quiet. Tenna gulped.

The longer Tenna was quiet, the tenser the room became. Almost a showdown. A test of will. Only, Spamton had home-field advantage. Tenna wanted to believe that in other circumstances, he would’ve been stronger.

“I… I guess… It should be fine, right?” he offered up a weak smile, his decision immediately reinforced as Spamton smiled proudly. Tenna allowed Spamton to bring the spoon up to his nose so he could snort it. 

Oh.

Oh wow.

Tenna’s head was spinning. It was almost like the buzz he’d get when he smoked a cigarette, but harder. It coated his brain like a fog, but somehow everything felt clearer.

Tenna was gasping, panting, his mouth agape as he tried to figure out what was happening. But then Spamton was crawling into his lap, straddling him and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and Tenna couldn’t think about anything other than the overwhelming scent of Spamton’s cologne and the scrape of the man’s scruff against his screen as Spamton pulled him into a passionate kiss. 

Tenna’s hands found their way to the smaller man’s waist, his body relaxing as he moaned into Spamton’s mouth. The man tasted of expensive gin and tobacco. Tenna allowed himself to become lost in the moment, taking a submissive role and allowing Spamton to lead as they made out. 

Spamton was being forward, grinding his hips down into Tenna’s, sloppily kissing him and biting at his lower lip, making Tenna moan in a mix of surprise and eroticism. Spamton’s hands were wandering Tenna’s body, exploring like he had been awarded an all-access pass.

Tenna warbled and whimpered any time Spamton broke the kiss, his breathing rapid and strained as Spamton caged him in. Spamton was pervasive— he was everywhere. No matter where Tenna turned, he couldn’t escape. Even if he were to jump out of the car at full force, he’d land on the sidewalk beneath a billboard of Spamton’s face.

Tenna couldn’t figure out if he was in heaven or hell. He didn’t know if Spamton’s lustful touches made him feel appreciated or victimized. He didn’t know if Spamton was his ticket to the good life or the start of his downfall.

The car arrived at Spamton’s apartment. Tenna had guessed right. The building stretched up into the sky, dazzling neon lights decorating the busy streets around them. Spamton was right in the heart of the city.

Spamton licked his thumb and, without asking permission, cleaned the powdery residue off of Tenna’s screen, before wiping his own face on the sleeve of his blazer. “Alright, [[Boob Tube]], just smile and [[keep your mouth shut!]], got it?” Spamton huffed, frenzied as he ran his hands through his hair, trying to straighten up.

Tenna was confused about what Spamton meant, but then Spamton’s chauffeur was opening the door and Tenna was blinded by the flash of a camera. Spamton climbed out, taking a moment to brush off his jacket, before reaching out to take Tenna’s hand.

Tenna allowed Spamton to guide him once more. Tenna felt so out of his depth—like Spamton had suddenly transported him into another world. Everything was so magical.

The crowd of flashing cameras reminded Tenna of the stars in the night sky. Was this what being famous felt like all the time? His vision was blurry as Spamton rushed him through a crowd of paparazzi, letting out a good-natured laugh as they finally made it past the apartment’s security. 

“[[$#%&!]], I’m sorry about that. Those guys love to [[catch you with your pants down]]. Gets hard to escape ‘em when you become a celebrity this big,” Spamton laughed as they strolled into the elevator.

Tenna watched curiously as Spamton pulled out some kind of key fob, holding it against a sensor beside the elevator buttons until it made a ding noise. Then he pressed the button for the top floor. “You know what they say: it’s [[A Blessing And A Curse]], this whole fame [[SHEBANG]].”

Tenna let out a laugh, unable to contain his excitement. “I mean, it’s definitely interesting. First date I’ve been on where I’ve gotten chased with cameras,” he hummed, still reeling from the reality of his situation.

He was on a date with Spamton, the most famous Addison in all the Dark Worlds! It didn’t matter that the man had been wasted the entire night. It didn’t matter that Spamton hadn’t even asked Tenna his name yet! Tenna had made it to the big leagues. This was it!

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors opened, revealing a lavish, ornately decorated penthouse suite. Spamton strolled inside, hands in his pockets as Tenna followed behind, awestruck. “Is… Is this whole floor yours?” he asked incredulously, spinning around once he’d stepped inside to observe the apartment—if it could even be called that. All the furniture seemed to be the same expensive mahogany, intimately coordinated and designed. The walls were painted a dark red, which would’ve made the space feel cramped if it weren’t for the fact that the apartment was so dang huge.

The room was beautiful. Well, almost beautiful. Tenna looked to the far wall across from the couch, where he would have expected some kind of classical artwork to be hanging. He wasn’t entirely incorrect.

The painting had to be taller than Tenna himself was—a detailed, intricate copy of the Mona Lisa with Spamton’s head crudely pasted over the artwork. As Tenna looked around, he realized that all the art pieces decorating the walls had Spamton’s face on them. Talk about pride. Tenna almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity as he spied a full copy of the statue of David in the adjacent room, with the single change of the statue having Spamton’s head.

Wow. This dude was even more of a whack job than Tenna had thought.

“You like the place? My designers did most of the [[heavy lifting]], though, of course I added my [[Signature Touch!]]” Spamton boasted with a flourish, slumping down on the couch and motioning for Tenna to come closer.

“It’s definitely, uh, unique,” Tenna stifled a giggle, sitting down beside Spamton on the couch. “I like the art.”

“[[CORRECT ANSWER!]], sweetheart,” Spamton laughed, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket to pull out the bag of cocaine. “What do you say we have a bit more [[FUN]]?” he cooed, not waiting for an answer before he was dumping the coke onto the glass table in front of them.

“Ah, I-I mean, sure. We already did it once, right? Couldn’t hurt…” Tenna laughed nervously. The feelings of anxiety were starting to dissipate. It was hard to feel scared when Spamton was just so carefree.

“Once? Hah! Kid, you’re the one who’s done it once. Me? I’m a [[Professional]],” Spamton grinned as he tossed his wallet onto the table, using a credit card to cut the pile into lines. “Wanna see how much [[Angel Dust]] it takes to make you bluescreen, kid?”

Tenna would’ve rolled his eyes if he’d had any. “Actually, I’m not a computer. I’m a Cathode Ray Tube television. Only electronics that run on Windows—”

“Aw, lighten up! You know what I was try’na say!” Spamton scoffed as he rolled up a dark dollar, handing it to Tenna expectantly.

Tenna took the dollar in hand, leaning over the table as he held the bill up to his nose, positioning the other end at the start of a line. He snorted fast and hard, then let his body collapse back against the couch as he gasped for breath.

Tenna could taste the coke in the back of his throat. That feeling started to take over again—like Tenna was being lifted up into the air, levitating. He let out a dumb chuckle, unable to suppress a wide grin as he let the high take over. He could feel Spamton’s weight shift on the couch as the man leaned over to snort a line.

“God, this stuff’s insane,” Tenna laughed blearily as Spamton went in for a second line. “I feel all—Like, like everything’s running faster. Better.”

“That’s what it’s all about, kid. Shit like this is how stars like us [[STAY ON TOP]]!” Spamton grinned, his pupils dilated as he began to move closer to Tenna, climbing atop the man like some kind of predator.

“Y-You think I’m a star?” Tenna asked, breathless. He lay back, allowing Spamton to straddle his chest, their faces inches apart.

“I think you’re a [[goddamn]] [[SUPERMODEL]],” Spamton grinned, one of his hands moving up to caress one of Tenna’s antennae.

“Aah-!” Tenna yelped, his body jerking beneath Spamton, “Hey! Those are-!”

“Sensitive?” Spamton smirked, a glint in his eye as he wrapped his hand around the antenna, watching closely as Tenna whimpered and squirmed beneath him in response to the stimulation. Then, Spamton pulled.

Tenna let out a shriek, sitting up so quick that Spamton was flung across the couch, collapsing in a comedic lump against the other armrest. Immediately, a wave of mortification washed over Tenna as he leaned over, his hands worriedly hovering over Spamton’s limp body. “Oh gosh! Spamton, I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—!” he stammered, his face red.

After a moment, Spamton grunted, sitting upright and cracking his joints. “[[JESUS]], kid, did you play [[college football]]?” Spamton laughed, a frustrated edge to his voice as he smoothed out his jacket.

“I’m really sorry, sir, I- it was just a natural reaction! I told you they were…” Tenna whimpered, his antennae bending back like the ears of an upset cat.

“[[On your knees.]]”

“W… What?” Tenna stared at Spamton obliviously, taken aback by the suddenness of the command.

“You heard me, kid. You wanna be a [[BIG SHOT]]? You [[Listen & Obey]],” Spamton growled, sitting back against the couch and motioning for Tenna to do as he said.

Tenna thought maybe Spamton was joking. Maybe this was some sort of elaborate bit. He watched, breath baited, as Spamton leaned over the table to snort another line. Was it okay to do that much at once? Tenna had no idea—he’d never even considered trying cocaine until the Dark World’s greatest Addison, himself, was offering it up.

When Spamton finished, he had a crazed look in his eye. His face was twitching. “You [[dirty whore]], are you gonna [[hop to it]], or what?!” Spamton snapped, a sneer on his face as he glared at Tenna.

The words felt like a punch to the gut. Tenna sank down to his knees in front of Spamton. “I… I don’t like being called that…” he objected gently, looking up at Spamton as he obediently knelt like a dog. 

“Being called [[WHAT???]], exactly? [[I can’t hear you!!]]” Spamton grinned, casually pulling out a fresh cigar. He was chuckling to himself as he lit it, taking in a deep inhale just to blow it into Tenna’s face.

Tenna couldn’t get Spanton’s horrible, gravelly, mocking laugh out of his head. It was just so funny, wasn’t it? It was so funny to dangle the promise of fame in front of Tenna, just to yank it away. To make the man dance like some kind of circus monkey! Tenna wanted to curl in on himself.

He tried not to show how anxious he was getting. Kneeling on the floor only made Tenna feel more vulnerable. He could still feel the burn of the cocaine in the back of his throat, along with the alcohol from earlier.

Tenna’s vision was wobbling. He could see his hands shaking, anxious about whether Spamton was going to continue being aggressive with him. Pushing aside his anxieties, Tenna decided to test the waters. Maybe Spamton would respect him for standing up for himself. Maybe he could get off the floor then. 

“I’m not a… a whore,” Tenna said matter-of-factly, the same way he pointed out how he wasn’t a computer. He was loud this time, clear, though he had no idea what Spamton’s reaction was going to be. Earlier, Spamton hadn’t reacted much at all to being corrected. Now, he had two extra lines in him, and Tenna had already pissed him off. Just in case, Tenna discreetly braced himself for more insults.

“Oh, [[REALLY]]?? Mr. ‘I’ll do [[Anything4Views]]’ isn’t a whore?” Spamton laughed mockingly, taking another long drag of his cigar. “If that’s the case, why the [[HELL]] are you sitting in my [[Humble Abode]], snorting my [[age-appropriate substance]]? I should just kick you out right now.” Spamton was sneering, admiring the view of Tenna kneeling like a dog for him. 

“But that’s not what you want, is it, [[TRASH HEAP]]? You want something else. You want to use me, just like every other [[Man, Woman, and Child!]] in this [[GODDAMN]] city!” Spamton spat out bitterly, his upper lip twitching in disgust. The man wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain anymore, looking down at Tenna like he was a bug Spamton was readying to squash.

Tenna felt his stomach churn, his eyebrows furrowing and lip trembling pathetically. Spamton was right; there was no point in denying that Tenna was whoring himself out to gain something from Spamton. He was using him, but wasn’t that the same thing Spamton was doing? They both wanted something.

“I’m not a whore,” Tenna repeated, doing his best to hide the shakiness from his voice. He put a hand on the smaller man’s thigh, leaning forward so he was in between Spamton’s thighs. “I just know what I want.”

Tenna really wasn’t a whore. Sleeping around wasn’t a habit he had, and he hadn’t done much else besides the basics. Still, he tried to mimic the riskier moves he had seen before in glances. Ones they couldn’t show on TV—the ones that played in run-down Cyber City clubs with bad reputations.

Experimentally, Tenna bit down on the zipper of Spamton’s pants, pulling it down and making sure to keep ‘eye contact’ (as much as he could without actual eyes) the entire time. He had to prove to Spamton that he was good enough to deserve more than just every other person in Cyber City. He had to prove he wanted it bad enough.

Spamton’s eyes widened in surprise as Tenna made the first move, but then his expression morphed into a self-satisfied smirk. He let one of his hands caress the top of Tenna’s head, not quite touching his antennae, but getting close enough to strike fear—and maybe arousal—into the larger man. 

“Yeah, that’s right… [[$#%&]]… [[Suck it!]], you [[little wretch]],” Spamton grunted, clearly getting off on how pathetic Tenna was acting. The power trip was so obvious it was almost tangible. Spamton was breathing heavily, biting his bottom lip as he watched Tenna with an almost obsessive stare. 

Spamton looked jittery—Tenna assumed it must be from all the cocaine. He seemed to be suppressing the urge to bounce his knee, instead occupying himself by twirling his finger around one of Tenna’s antennae.

Tenna tried to continue his sexy no-hands act even as Spamton started to get touchy and aggressive again. Tenna’s antennae really were sensitive, to the point where Tenna rarely touched them himself, even during self-pleasure. He wasn’t used to being violated so carelessly.

Once Tenna got the other man’s pants down, finally, he nervously dipped his thumbs in his briefs and pulled down. His screen was glowing pink by this point, lighting up Spamton’s paper-white skin. He leaned in, trying to keep his movements aligned with whatever Spamton was doing with his head so he wouldn’t get jerked around.

If Spamton couldn’t tell Tenna was inexperienced before, he definitely could now. Tenna was kitten-licking around the head of Spamton’s cock, only going as far as to wrap his lips around the tip.

Spamton watched for a minute, observing how Tenna chose to go about sucking him off. He took another long draw of his cigar, scoffing as he exhaled. He might not have been trying to hide his disappointment, but if he was, he was doing a bad job of it. 

“[[STOP]]. What the [[Hell]] are you doing?” Spamton deadpanned, tugging lightly on the man’s antennae to force Tenna to look up at him. “This your [[First Time]] or something, [[BIG BOY]]? [[Take it like a man!]]”

Tenna let out a shaky whimper when his antennae were tugged, trying to duck his head away like a beat dog. Spamton was… awful, Tenna was realizing. But he was important. Really important. Gaining Spamton’s favor was the straightest shot Tenna had at fulfilling his dream. Besides, Spamton had the kind of success where it didn’t matter how he behaved. He didn’t need to be nice to anyone to get what he wanted! Why would Tenna expect things to be any different when it was just the two of them?

“Sorry, sir.” Tenna spoke calmly, reaching up and guiding Spamton’s hand to the back of his head. He tried not to show how nervous he actually was, especially because he really was starting to seem like a pathetic virgin. Instead, he wrapped his lips around Spamton’s cock again and let the other man’s hand guide his head as deep as he wanted it. He suppressed his urge to gag, determined to please Spamton no matter what.

“Now, that’s more like it,” Spamton hummed, his eyes easing shut as he began to slouch, slowly guiding Tenna’s head down onto his cock. “[[Good boy]], you like having this dick down your throat, [[Baby, One More Time]]?”

Spamton’s jaw was clenched, his hands shaking as he pressed fully into Tenna’s mouth. His composure was starting to break. It was becoming more difficult to uphold his powerful persona as he fell victim to the warmth of Tenna’s mouth wrapped around his cock. “Oh, god,” Spamton moaned, his voice cracking as he stayed fully sheathed inside Tenna, basking in the sensation.

Tenna gagged, trying his hardest not to do anything mortifying during this blowjob. It was difficult enough to try to keep his teeth from scraping Spamton’s dick, but the alcohol was really starting to make him nauseous.

It was easy enough for Tenna to take Spamton’s small, shaky hands away so he could lift his head up. He knew the man probably wouldn’t be happy about the sudden interruption, so he didn’t make him wait long. Tenna dipped his head down, taking one of Spamton’s balls in his mouth while he stroked his shaft. He took his mouth off again only for a moment to ask, “Do you want to finish on my screen?” before going back to sucking, trying not to get embarrassed but how depraved he was acting.

Spamton nodded quickly, seemingly content to let Tenna take control and suck him into oblivion. “Yes— Yes! [[$#%&]], yes, just keep sucking it—” Spamton encouraged, his body trembling and his eyes rolling back as Tenna sank back down on his cock. He rutted his hips in time as Tenna bobbed his head, but the rhythm only kept up for another minute before Spamton’s vocal register raised, high and whimpering for just a second. 

Then Spamton was holding Tenna’s head down as he let out a sob, his cock throbbing and pulsing in Tenna’s mouth as he came. When Tenna instinctively tried to jerk away, Spamton held him in place, still trying to ride out his high. “Shh, shh… [[in only one minute!]]” he murmured, his eyes lidded as he stared down at his prey.

Tenna nearly shot up when Spamton came down his throat, the disgusting, hot cum making him gag and tremble. It was disgusting, and way too much. When Tenna finally got his head up, he had to swallow down his puke to keep from embarrassing himself further.

Some cum had spilled past his lips onto the floor, a line of drool from Tenna’s panting mouth following it. He was shaking, but still, he couldn’t just sit there looking pathetic. 

“Did I do good?” He asked, voice hoarse. He stayed on his knees in front of Spamton, not confident enough to get up without being told to. He was too scared of pissing the other man off, especially since he had just gotten back on the right track.

“[[Jesus Christ]], kid, you did fine,” Spamton panted, still winded from the intensity of his orgasm. He patted the sofa seat next to him. “Come on, sit down. [[I don’t bite]].” Another puff of his cigar. Spamton’s whole body was slack, like all the energy had been drained out.

Tenna got onto the couch without a word, leaning back into the sofa. His throat still hurt from the blowjob, but the drugs were definitely helping rather than hurting now. Now that it was over, the cocaine made him forget about his sore throat entirely. Instead, he was more focused on the fact that he was sitting on Spamton G. Spamton’s couch with his erection aching against his dress pants. 

He let Spamton’s words sink in, breaking the silence once he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t want to be fine. I want to be good— Better than good. I need to be good enough for people to want me.”

“Ah, you don’t have to worry about that, toots. You’ll get better with [[Practice, practice, practice!]]” Spamton hummed, not seeming to grasp the wider application of Tenna’s statement. He reached over to place a hand on Tenna’s thigh, absentmindedly caressing him. “Want a hit?” he asked, turning so that their faces were mere inches apart, the cigar extended to Tenna.

Tenna knew better than to say no to Spamton, so he took the cigar and took a puff just like he had watched the other man do. Spamton wasn’t listening to him, not really. So he held the cigar away from him, making sure Spamton couldn’t reach without leaning in further. 

“I meant it when I said I’d do anything to be successful like you.” Tenna stated, and then, just to make sure he didn’t come across as too annoying, he leaned in and kissed Spamton, blindly handing his cigar back to him during it.

Spamton moaned into the kiss, easily taking the cigar between two fingers. When they parted, Spamton let out a gravelly chuckle. “You’re persistent, [[I’ll give you that]],” he murmured, seeming to lose himself in thought for a minute.

The silence became uncomfortable, but only for a moment before Spamton was speaking up again. “Not like you’re an especially good lay, though. And if you wanna be a [[STAR]], you’ve gotta be [[Exceptional]],” the man was smirking, like he knew something Tenna didn’t. “Then again, you do still have time to [[Change My Mind]]”

Tenna furrowed his brow at Spamton’s words. “Not an especially good lay”? He felt vaguely disgusted at Spamton for a split second before he realized the man talking wasn’t much better—he’d cum after a grand total of three minutes. Spamton was wrong though. Tenna was exceptional. 

“Well, I can show you something with star factor,” Tenna leaned in, taking one of Spamton’s hands in his own and leading it down to his neck. “I have options. You could touch me normally… or… you could m-mess around with one of my ports.” Tenna placed one of Spamton’s fingers over one of his ports, showing him where the holes were. He didn’t know if Spamton could do anything meaningful or fun with his ports, let alone fuck them, but he was willing to give it a shot to make sure that Spamton knew how committed he was. 

When Spamton’s finger pressed against the hole, Tenna let out an involuntary moan and bit his lip. “You can do whatever you want to me. Please, I can be entertaining!” Tenna insisted, almost begging.

Spamton raised an eyebrow, examining the ports on Tenna’s chest. “Options, huh?” he hummed in curiosity, letting his fingers dance around the yellow, white, and red ports for audiovisual input. “I’ve gotta say, [[I’d be lyin’]] if I said that didn’t pique my curiosity,” Spamton grinned, circling one of the ports with his finger before experimentally pushing it inside. His eyes widened in surprise as Tenna’s port actually stretched to accommodate Spamton’s finger. Somehow, the inside was warm, almost fleshy—as much as a CRT could be.

Tenna instinctively went to grab Spamton’s wrist, but stopped himself before he tugged it away. It felt so weird to let someone violate his ports, and to have a finger inside. It hurt, but not as badly as Tenna thought it was going to. It was mostly just an ache. It was hard to focus on not letting his screen glitch. 

“Please be gentle,” Tenna begged, letting go of Spamton’s wrist and allowing the man to continue. He knew that if Spamton really wanted to be rough with him, Tenna would be powerless to stop him. Tenna would let Spamton do whatever he wanted if it meant he’d get a show. 

“Shit, kid… I do have to [[Admit One]], I’ve never seen something quite [[Like And Subscribe]] this… does it [[Makes You Feel Good!]]?” Spamton asked, amazed as he began to slowly thrust his finger. Because of their size difference, Spamton was able to fit his finger inside fairly comfortably, though it was a bit snug. Tenna was warm inside, probably from all his electrical components overheating. The man’s fans were running audibly.

Tenna bit his lip, trying to muffle a moan. “Good” was a bit of a misstatement — it was more intense, almost sharp, but Tenna could pretend fine enough. He was an actor, after all. 

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth, before fixing his face and looking up at Spamton, trying to make himself seem smaller. It was hard with their size difference, but he still made an effort to put himself below the older man. “It’s just really sensitive, even more than my antennae…”

“Yeah?” Spamton smirked, his other hand moving up to fondle the end of one of Tenna’s antennae. He was being far gentler than he had been earlier. He seemed satisfied with the dynamic now—with how submissive Tenna was behaving. It placated Spamton. “Do you wanna [[GET OFF!]] kid?”

Tenna could feel his screen start to buzz, the static coming on the screen almost immediately when Spamton started touching his antennae. “Y-yes, yes—Please.” He whined, leaning into the touch. It was starting to get uncomfortable, the pleasure so strong it was unbearable. He could feel the precum leaking in his underwear, making him writhe around in discomfort. It was hard to hold back, but he wanted to prove he could. “C-can I, please? Please?” Tenna begged.

“[[Here]],” Spamton chuckled lowly, pressing the sole of his boot against Tenna’s straining erection. “You can hump me like a dog. If you can’t cum from that, then you won’t.”

Tenna gasped, pressing his face into Spamton’s thigh as he started to hump his boot shamelessly. It was easy to get where he needed even with the hard friction. All he could think about was impressing Spamton, making himself as pathetic as possible so Spamton would remember him. After a minute of whining, humping, and begging, Tenna came in his pants. He whined softly, screen buzzing with static as he rode out his high. Throughout the orgasm he kept repeating, “Thank you,” gripping Spamton’s leg tightly.

Spamton absentmindedly hushed Tenna, stroking the side of Tenna’s head lovingly. “[[Good Boy]]… You really do [[Know your place!]], don’t you?” Spamton cooed, extinguishing his burnt cigar. He tucked his own semi-hard cock back into his pants, zipping up and fastening his belt.

“Even if you’re not good at it, at least you know how to make yourself useful…” Spamton hummed out a rare shred of praise—backhanded, of course, but praise nonetheless. “So are you gonna need some [[CA$H]] for the taxi home?”

Tenna was panting, trying to calm down after the intense orgasm. The praise meant everything to him, but that small moment of glee only lasted a second before Spamton had ripped away. Tenna’s face fell.

Home? Already? But he hadn’t told Spamton anything yet! Spamton hadn’t told him anything yet! It couldn’t be over already!

“Wait!” Tenna yelped, sitting back up so he was face to face with Spamton again. “Before I go… Will you at least watch my demo?” he begged, hands grasping at Spamton’s dress pants. He had the video loaded up and ready to play on his screen. “Please? Just look at it, tell me what you think. Then I’ll head home!”

Spamton didn’t look very convinced. He turned his head away, avoiding Tenna.

Tenna tried again. “I promise you’ll want to see me again if you just watch it,” he insisted confidently. 

Spamton let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back on the couch as he rolled his eyes. For a moment, he looked everywhere but at Tenna, his gaze traveling the room. The tension was thick. Spamton wasn’t saying anything.

But then Spamton was done thinking, and his gaze landed right back on Tenna. “[[Fine.]] But if it turns out you’re actually just an [[Everyday Joe]] don’t start cryin’ when I tell you to fuck off,” Spamton grunted, his annoyance biting through with every word.

Tenna had to hold himself back from cheering, a wide, gleeful smile on his face when Spamton finally agreed. Even if the man was annoyed, he would see soon that Tenna was ready for this.

Without another word, Tenna started playing his demo reel. It was a comprehensive but shortened version of his ideal show—it was classic! He asked the participants questions, cracked a few jokes, listened to their answers, and overreacted to get audience laughs. Perfectly formulaic. And though it was obvious the “participants” were strangers that Tenna had slipped a few dark dollars, Tenna liked to believe his own performance was enough to make up for it. 

Tenna had even gone through the effort of making mock-up sets to align the demo with his mental vision for the show. It was amateur, but it was Tenna’s baby. His dream manifested. It was everything he had learned throughout his years.

When the video was finally done, Tenna’s screen clicked back to his usual display. He clasped his hands together nervously, watching Spamton’s face with bated breath. He had to like it. He had to. There was no other option. If Spamton didn’t like it, Tenna’s life was over. Just like that.

Spamton was quiet and unreadable, his legs crossed as he watched the demo. When the video ended and Tenna’s face reappeared, it almost looked like Spamton was suppressing a cruel laugh. 

“I’ll tell ya, kid… I get probably thirty people a week coming up to me [[begging and pleading]] for charity, and they’re all [[HALF-PRICE!]] nobodies chasing fame, money, and power. But you…” Spamton paused, his eyes raking over Tenna’s body in a way that felt less like admiration and more like degradation. “What was your name again, hon?”

Tenna didn’t say a word. He didn’t even make a noise until Spamton prompted him to. “M-My name?” he questioned, feeling a sense of elation. Finally —finally, Spamton gave enough of a shit to ask his name! “I’m Ant Tenna. Or, uh, just Tenna,” he answered, a childlike smile on his face.

Spamton rubbed at his chin, humming to himself thoughtfully. “If I were to even consider it … We’d have to make you more [[Marketable]]…” The man seemed to be getting antsy again, like he had something he wanted to do. He bounced his knee anxiously. “[[$#%&]], Ant, I’ll be frank. You’ve got more passion than all the folks on my set combined,” he grunted, rubbing at his forehead. 

Spamton was confusing, Tenna was learning. This all sounded like great news—Spamton could see that Tenna had drive! He knew that Tenna wanted this more than anything! So why did Spamton look so pissed off?

“S-sorry, is this a good thing?” Tenna asked, unable to wrap his head around Spamton’s strange reaction. “I told you I’d do anything for this! You know I will!” he tried. Maybe Spamton just thought that he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Tenna knew he could, though. He just needed Spamton to give him the start!

Spamton rolled his eyes at Tenna’s futile pleading. “Listen. I can’t promise you a [[Primetime TV]] slot—not at first, anyway. Even with me backing you up, no station would put on a [[complete nobody]] like you,” Spamton was tapping his foot. “But… I could get you some local gigs. Real [[grassroots campaigning]]—you can charm a crowd, right?”

Spamton interrupted Tenna before he could respond, an almost frenzied look in his eyes. A realization was dawning on him. “And-And if you win some favor in the public eye, we could [[hit the ground running]], shove it in their faces while you’re still [[The Next Big Thing]]!”

The man practically sprung up off the couch, starting to pace around the coffee table. “I’ve been needing a boost lately. My ratings—kid, you don’t know it, but they’re sloping the [[Wrong Way]]—I need something new. I need some [[PIZZAZZ]], and you—“ Spamton spun around, grabbing Tenna’s head with both hands, tilting his screen up to meet Spamton’s gaze. “And you just [[Waltz of the Flowers]] into my life. [[What Are The Odds?]], huh?”

Tenna couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was grinning so wide that it took up his entire screen. This is all he ever wanted to hear, and he was hearing it from Spamton G. Spamton directly. Spamton liked him! Spamton thought he had talent! Spamton was going to advocate for him! Spamton just told Tenna that he needed him!!!

“R-really? Really? You think I'm good?” The words caught in Tenna’s throat for a minute, before he giggled nervously. “…Am I going to have to do more coke?” he asked nervously, not being able to think of anything else to say. He was in shock, unable to comprehend the reality of the situation. He swore he was going to wake up any moment and realize this was all a wet dream he imagined.

Spamton snorted, bursting out laughing. “Kid, you’re a riot. But you’re [[MakeDamnSure]] lucky you have me, or they’d eat you up out there,” he scoffed, sitting back down on the couch and starting to cut more lines.

“I think I’ve got your first [[Assignment]] ready, kid,” Spamton hummed slyly as he leaned down to snort a line. Then he sat up, a mischievous grin on his face as he addressed Tenna. “You’re gonna get that [[Sweet Ass]] over here and snort a few more lines for me, then we’re gonna go to the bedroom and you’re gonna let me slide this dick up your ass,” he chuckled crudely.

Tenna tensed up at the mention of doing more drugs. His head was still spinning, and he was scared of feeling nauseous again. The worst part of overdosing wouldn’t be dying, it would be doing something mortifying in front of Spamton, like choking on his own vomit. 

“I still feel pretty high, so…” Tenna tried to say casually, as if Spamton was really asking. “Would it even be u-um… safe to take that much?” Tenna knew he was going to end up pissing Spamton off again, but he really didn’t want to take more. He didn’t know if he’d be able to function in a non-embarrassing way.

“It’s safe, darling. I do this all the time, and I’m sure you metabolize [[FASTER FASTER FASTER]],” Spamton chuckled, handing Tenna a rolled-up dark dollar to snort with. He watched closely as Tenna tentatively leaned over to obey. “God, I can’t wait to see you all coked up bouncing on my dick. You’re gonna be like a maniac, kid,” he was practically breathing down Tenna’s neck — too close for comfort.

Tenna didn’t argue anymore. Spamton’s word was final, after all. “Okay…” he whispered, painfully aware of how close Spamton was to him. He snorted the line just like Spamton showed him, and just to prove that he was done fighting it, he snorted a second one as well. 

“Goodness gracious!” Tenna yelped, leaning back and pinching his nose. Maybe the second line was a bad idea. It felt like the disgusting powder was coating his throat all the way up through his nose. It was a pinching, agonizing feeling that made Tenna feel like his throat was lined with razors. “A-ah, sorry, it just… hurts a little.” Tenna murmured shyly, turning to press his face close to Spamton’s. His head was spinning, and he had to focus himself so he wouldn’t wobble. Despite how uncomfortable it felt to be high on so much, it also felt amazing. 

Tenna’s head hurt, but his fingertips and limbs felt weightless and buzzing with excitement. It was magical. He was suddenly so overjoyed that he was at Spamton’s, and that Spamton liked him and wanted to be with him! Spamton wanted to have sex with him, wanted to give him a TV show — believed in him. Spamton was mean, but at the same time, Tenna had never had anyone treat him so generously. Tenna leaned in and kissed Spamton again, this time not wasting any time parting his lips and slipping his tongue into the older man’s mouth. He wanted to give everything he had to Spamton.

Spamton was all over Tenna in a split second, kissing him rough and messy. His hands grappled with Tenna’s button-up shirt, frantically trying to undress the man. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he grumbled to himself, pushing Tenna away and standing up. “Let’s go to my [[King-Size Mattress Only $399!!]],” he spoke quickly, grabbing onto Tenna’s wrist and practically dragging the man upstairs to the master bedroom.

Once they were inside, Spamton slammed the door behind him, all but tackling Tenna, jumping on him and pushing him down onto the bed. “God, I can’t wait to [[ravage]] that tight ass of yours… Bet you’d whore yourself out to any [[BIG SHOT!!!]] that offered you a show,” he moaned out, lapping at Tenna’s neck as he straddled the man’s chest.

Tenna let Spamton push and pull him around, making his body go limp and easy to manhandle. Still, he was surprised by how strong Spamton was. No one had ever had the gall to just tackle him down before, since Tenna had always been much bigger than everyone else.

Tenna brought his hands up, sloppily unbuttoning his shirt while Spamton was buried in his neck. “N-Nooo…” he giggled, his whole body feeling light as a feather. The cocaine really was working wonders in alleviating his nerves. “Any old Big Shot couldn’t actually make it happen… not like you.” Once he got his shirt off he moved to Spamton’s pants next, dipping his thumbs into his waistband.

Spamton didn’t allow Tenna to undress him, instead standing up and slipping out of his pants and boxers. “You ever gotten fucked before, Tenna?” Spamton asked, starting to jerk himself to full hardness. “Should be pretty easy for a [[TOUGH GUY]] like you to take, right?” Spamton smirked, enjoying the dazed look on Tenna’s face.

Spamton then moved between Tenna’s legs, looking up at the man as he pushed Tenna’s knees up closer to his chest. “Hold these in place for me, [[wont’cha]], [[Darling]]?”

“Um… No, I-I haven’t, actually,” Tenna started, holding his legs up for Spamton. He was visibly shaking in anticipation, or maybe that was anxiety. Tenna couldn’t tell, not with how overwhelmingly good everything felt. “It’s not like you’ve never done it, and all I have to do is listen to you, right?”

Spamton pulled off Tenna’s pants and boxers with ease. The man seemed to have a lot of experience in the bedroom. Tenna’s dick and stomach were still wet from when Spamton had forced him to cum in his pants.

Spamton started to stroke Tenna’s cock, watching the man’s screen closely to gauge his reaction. “[[CORRECT ANSWER!]] Are you [[Ready to Have a Good Time?]], baby?” he hummed, bringing his other hand down to Tenna’s entrance. His fingers traced the larger man’s hole, but didn’t press inside. Not yet.

Tenna’s screen flipped between channels as Tenna tried to keep calm, static lighting up his display as all the different sensations overwhelmed him. Spamton touching him all over, calling him baby, taking care of him. If Tenna hadn’t felt light-headed before, he definitely did now. His screen finally settled on a deep, buzzing pink. His fans were running annoyingly loud, but Tenna didn’t have any motivation to stop them. In fact, he couldn’t even think of them right now. All he could possibly think about was Spamton, fully focused on his addicting touch. 

“Yes! Yes, p-please, please—“ Tenna begged, whining in anticipation. He wanted Spamton to keep touching him, to keep paying special attention to him.

As soon as Spamton got the okay, he was spitting on Tenna’s hole, using two fingers to rub around the makeshift lubricant before pressing them both inside. As he expected, it was easy to fit two fingers inside given their size difference. He sped up the hand that was jerking Tenna’s cock, at least making a semblance of an attempt to distract from the fingers inside him.

Tenna couldn’t hold himself back from moaning loudly, his hips jerking up into Spamton’s hand easily. It felt so good. Tenna couldn’t feel anything but the overwhelming bliss that reverberated through his body. “Mmmm! C-can I cum? Please, please—“ Tenna whined pathetically, his dick already dripping precum.

“Already?” Spamton laughed, curling his fingers inside Tenna. He pushed a third finger in, then, when he was only met with more blissful cries, a fourth. “[[$#%&]], yeah, make a mess on yourself, whore. Gonna use you till you can’t speak,” he was grinning manically, spreading his fingers out inside Tenna.

Tenna couldn’t get a moment to breathe without a fresh wave of sensation overwhelming him. First pleasure, and then an ache at the fourth finger, and then pleasure again as he relaxed. It felt so intense, like nothing that Tenna had ever felt before. By the time he came on his stomach, his screen had completely turned to static, his fan was running at full speed, and a slur of pathetic moans streamed out of his mouth.

When Tenna came down from his high, he realized Spamton was still fingering him, spreading him out and rubbing against his prostate. The pleasure was starting to turn into pain. He whined, throwing his head back. He had to speed up this part or else it was going to start to really hurt.

“Spamton…” Tenna whined, dropping his leg and putting it over Spamton’s shoulder. “Please fuck me, I can’t wait any longer…”

Tenna was fully committed to his character. He would play the role of Spamton’s obedient slut. That was all the man had really been looking for, right? Just a sexy darkner he could stick his dick into by virtue of his fame. Well, Spamton now had all that and more. Tenna would be a great whore, and an even better TV host.

“Yeah? You want my [[Payload]] inside you?” Spamton huffed out sadistically, finally pulling his fingers out. He was trying to keep his composure, but it was becoming evident that Tenna was making Spamton depraved.

Spamton jerked his cock a few more times before lining it up with Tenna’s entrance. He rubbed the head against Tenna’s hole, then pressed inside. Immediately, Spamton was digging his nails into Tenna’s thighs, his teeth gritted as he panted for breath. He was able to slide right down to the hilt, easily bottoming out. “[[Good Boy]], Tenna. You like that [[Package Delivered]] up your ass? Huh?” he growled, delivering a sharp smack to Tenna’s thigh.

Tenna squirmed when Spamton pressed his cock inside, the sudden intrusion sending a jolt up his spine the same way it did when Spamton slapped his thigh. “A-ah! Yes! Yes! I love your cock!” Tenna whimpered, biting his lip. “Please fuck me, Spamton. Please, I need it so badly…”

Tenna rolled his hips back into Spamton’s as he begged, making all sorts of pathetic, whorish whines and moans. It had felt strange for a moment when Spamton was pressing inside, but now that the man had bottomed out, all Tenna could focus on was how good it felt to be filled. The arousal and satisfaction Tenna felt in this moment were like nothing he had ever felt before. Every sensation was multiplied tenfold. Tenna could feel every point of contact between him and Spamton. He needed more.

Spamton was laughing manically, eyes wide, almost psychotic as he slowly pulled out nearly all the way, then slid all the way back in. “God, I can tell you don’t get [[Used or New]] a lot. You’re squeezing me dry…” he rasped, moving his hands to spread Tenna’s thighs wider, practically putting the man on display for Spamton.

Tenna, who would usually be mortified at his current state, didn’t seem to mind at all. The man was too far gone to care about anything other than the unadulterated pleasure of being high out of his mind on cocaine.

Tenna shook his head, moving his hand down to push and pull at Spamton. He couldn’t decide if he wanted the man closer, farther. It was overwhelming in the sense that Tenna couldn’t tell where the rush of adrenaline and pleasure ended and the anxiety started. He wasn’t used often, and the roughness was definitely new to him. Tenna guessed he would just have to get used to that, especially if he wanted to keep Spamton happy.

“Yeah, [[Good Boy]], you love taking my dick, don’t you?” Spamton grunted with each thrust, his movements sharper and shorter now. Instead of pulling all the way out, Spamton was now rutting his hips, selfishly chasing his orgasm. “Tell me you’re my dumb little slut. Tell me how you’re my [[Brand New Toys!]] to use however I want,” he hissed, fixated on watching where his cock was disappearing inside Tenna.

Tenna couldn’t do anything but nod pathetically at first, too overstimulated to properly respond. The pleasure was becoming too intense. Everything was aching. “I-I’m your slut!” Tenna gasped, a line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I-I’m your—your toy! Please, please cum, please—“ All of Tenna’s words were slurred, his body shaking while he was fucked.

Spamton kept hammering into Tenna for another minute before his pace started to become more erratic. He was panting, clawing at Tenna’s thighs and hips as he used the man like a fleshlight. When he finally came, Spamton let out a horrible, gravelly, guttural groan, bottoming out inside Tenna. 

Spamton practically collapsed on top of Tenna, gasping for breath as his dick throbbed inside Tenna, filling the man with cum.

Tenna instinctively curled in on himself the rougher Spamton got, gripping the expensive sheets and bracing himself for impact. When Spamton finally came and made that gut-churning noise, Tenna let out a sob that he immediately tried to stifle.

Tenna had felt good, really good at the beginning, but here at the end he just felt used up and gross. His head was even starting to hurt now, as if everything had come crashing down at the same time. The only good thing was Spamton.

Spamton had called him his ‘brand new toy’. That had to be a good thing, right? He had called him a good boy a lot too. Even though it was rough and hard, it was worth it if it meant that Spamton truly liked him now—wanted him around.

Spamton spent a few minutes just lying on top of Tenna, catching his breath. When he finally did get up, he pulled his softening cock out of Tenna unceremoniously, flopping down on the bed beside the man and grabbing a cigarette from the end table. He flicked the lighter a few times before he got a solid flame, bringing the stick of tobacco up to his lips and inhaling as he held the end over the flame.

Tenna was dizzy, his head aching from the comedown. He was covered in drying cum. Slowly, he sat up, his body protesting the movement. “I’m, uh. Gonna go clean up,” he spoke softly, as not to interrupt Spamton’s post-sex cigarette. 

The man grunted in response, taking another hit of the tobacco.

Tenna walked over to the bathroom on shaky legs, haphazardly cleaning himself off with a damp paper towel. He felt so low. Lower than he’d ever felt. Even though he’d just slept with—and struck up a deal with—the most popular Addison in all the Dark Worlds, still, Tenna felt disposable.

That’s what a toy was, after all. Just something to be used and thrown away.

Once Tenna had finished cleaning himself, he hobbled back into the bedroom that was now hazy, clouded with smoke. Tenna crinkled his nose in distaste as he sat down on the bed beside Spamton.

They sat in silence. Spamton handed Tenna the cigarette. Tenna took a hit, then burst out coughing, covering his mouth. “Oh, goodness… That does not go down easy…” he spoke, his face flushed. 

Spamton let out a laugh. Tenna smiled. “You’ll get [[USED]] to it, kid. Once you’re a [[BIG SHOT!!!]] like me, you’ll be [[Smokin’ Hot]] like a chimney just like your buddy, Spamton,” the smaller man chuckled, taking the cigarette to breathe in another deep puff.

“So… uh. What now?” Tenna asked tentatively, shrinking in on himself for fear Spamton would reveal that this was all just an elaborate ploy to get Tenna naked and drugged up.

“Now, you take a taxi home.” Tenna’s face fell. This was it. The big reveal. Spamton had no intention of helping him. It had all been a scheme. A lie. A—

Spamton shuffled around with something in his nightstand before he produced a tiny card with a flourish. “Tomorrow, anytime between [[9 to 5]], you can [[Call This # Now]]. That’s my guy, Mike. He’ll set you up. Let him know you talked to me.”

Tenna took a moment to process. Then he was beaming, his nose tickling with a familiar sensation as a flower started to bloom at the tip. “Oh, gosh! Th-Thank you! Really, this-! I don’t even know what to say!” he stammered, grinning so wide his mouth barely fit on his screen.

“You don’t gotta [[Say Something]], hun. Just make yourself scarce. I’ve gotta perform tomorrow,” Spamton grumbled, waving Tenna away dismissively.

Tenna got dressed, his dumb smile staying glued to his face all the while. “Thank you again, sir! I-I really appreciate your time!” Tenna grinned as he stood in the doorway of Spamton’s bedroom.

Spamton rolled his eyes, but the faint whisper of a smile danced on his lips.

As Tenna turned around and strutted out of the penthouse suite, he felt like a new man. He had Spamton’s business card. Spamton was gonna introduce him to Mike— whoever that was! For once, Tenna felt like his dreams were within reach. 

And it was all because of Spamton.

Chapter Text

Tenna’s life had been a whirlwind ever since that night. He had been shaking hands left and right as Spamton pulled strings to get Tenna his first few performances. Tenna started with small comedy clubs, but with Spamton vouching for him, it was a matter of weeks before Tenna had attracted real mainstream attention. It was small at first: his comedy show featured on the local news. But then it grew.

With Spamton behind him, it seemed like everyone was jumping to open doors for Tenna. Everything was coming so easily. Cyber City was abuzz talking about Tenna, the upcoming star that Spamton had taken under his wing. Of course, that meant Spamton got a ratings boost in turn from all the media coverage. It was a win-win scenario.

Through Spamton’s connections, Tenna had been a guest star on a few talk shows, which boosted his popularity even further. In fact, within a month and a half of the pair meeting, Tenna had attracted the eyes of the major networks. Everyone wanted a piece of Tenna.

Of course, Tenna signed with the executives that worked with Spamton. He was on something of a trial run where Spamton, already a trusted producer, would allocate resources to Tenna and help manage a special. One performance, with the promise of a full contract provided Tenna performed well. 

At the time, that had sounded like an incredible deal—something the Tenna of two months ago would’ve jumped for joy over. While Tenna was excited about the possibility of getting his very own prime-time slot, this “trial run” meant that the entirety of his career was hanging on one show. One flub, and his career was over.

Tenna was nervously looking back and forth from the mirror to the cue cards clasped in his sweaty palms. Tonight was the big night. His first performance. Everything had to be perfect. Spamton had helped him coordinate his outfit. It was similar in color scheme to the one Spamton wore on his own show, which Tenna assumed wasn’t a coincidence. It was simple, but bold. A white dress shirt, a red overcoat with coattails, a yellow tie, black slacks, yellow shoes, and a dazzling golden belt that tied everything together.

It was just one show, but they’d gone all out. Success here meant success forever. This night would decide his whole future. Mike had made that clear when he set this whole thing up with Tenna.

Apparently, Spamton had been telling the truth when he said that views and ratings had been down. Spamton was the main breadwinner of the network, so the executives were desperate for a new, fresh act to boost ratings. The circumstances aligned perfectly to allow ‌a chance to be taken on Tenna. A chance. That was all it was.

It seemed like Tenna was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation. That his life would be over if he choked. Tenna glanced back to where Spamton was, still in the exact same spot he’d been occupying for the past hour, still drinking the exact same drink. It was probably his third cigarette, though. 

“Are you not nervous?” Tenna asked, not being able to help how his voice came out—panicked and rushed. Why was Spamton being so calm? “I’m nervous,” he clarified, tapping his fingers on the vanity in front of him. He was looking to Spamton for advice, reassurance, anything. It was as if the man didn’t care. Did Spamton not believe in him? Was he just fulfilling some sort of obligation to be here?

“Calm down, sugar. You’ll do just fine,” Spamton hummed, not even looking at Tenna as he spoke. Not even willing to spare the man a glance. He took a long drag of his cigarette, swirling his glass of gin contemplatively. “Everything’s in place, everyone knows their cues. Trust me, [[Sweetheart]], the audience is gonna eat it up.”

Tenna stared at Spamton for a moment, waiting for the man to even look up from his drink. He wasn’t even doing anything; he just didn’t care. “Okay,” Tenna mumbled, not satisfied with the answer. “I-I’m… I’m just…” he sighed, trailing off and turning back to fixing his appearance ‌in the mirror.

If Spamton said everything was going to be fine, then maybe it would be. Maybe the reason Spamton was acting like he didn’t care was because he already considered tonight’s performance as a win. Tenna smiled at the thought, straightening his tie. He looked like a star. “I… I think I’m ready.”

“‘Atta boy, Tenna,” Spamton grinned, slowly standing up and stretching. Then, he crossed the room, standing behind Tenna as the taller man anxiously looked into the vanity, re-adjusting his tie.

Spamton’s hand rested on the back of Tenna’s thigh, slowly creeping closer to his ass. “You know, kid, you don’t need to get your panties in a twist. You’re a [[Grade A All Natural!]]. You’re gonna kick ass out there,” Spamton reassured Tenna, giving a final squeeze to the man’s leg before he finally backed off. “When are we on air?”

Tenna didn’t say anything when Spamton touched him. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t feel good. It made him feel important to be touched, an instant boost to his ego that Spamton couldn’t help but feel him up. Even if he didn’t like it, who was he to tell Spamton no? He wasn’t important enough to tell Spamton what he could and could not do. 

“Um, I think about ten minutes until we’re live,” Tenna answered, not looking away from himself in the mirror. He was trying his hardest to spot any minor flaws he still needed to fix before he went on. He already knew the cast, all the quiz answers, and every mini-game he’d have to conduct. He was ready. This was really happening.

“You’ll be watching the entire time, right?” Tenna wondered out loud, grinning at the thought. He couldn’t wait to see how impressed Spamton would be.

“Of course, [[Doll]]. I’ll be right backstage watching the camera feed,” Spamton hummed, taking a step back to admire the sight of Tenna leaning over the vanity to look at himself. Tenna really did have everything it took to be a star: he had the charisma, the passion, and most of all, the look. It made it damn easy to market Tenna’s special when the man was so attractive.

Spamton took a long drag of his cigar as he stared at Tenna’s ass. “Hey. C’mere,” he ordered, beckoning Tenna. “On your knees.”

Tenna frowned deeply at the order. Spamton couldn’t be serious, could he? Regardless of how much Tenna didn’t want to suck Spamton’s dick ten minutes before he had to be on camera, the thought of disappointing the man so close to the showtime scared him more. What if he said no and Spamton just left? The man was still at the point where he could abandon Tenna completely, should he so choose. 

Tenna turned around and knelt at Spamton’s feet, making sure to be extra careful not to wrinkle or crease his suit. He still had to look perfect. “Okay, Sir.” Tenna kept his voice soft, submissive. It was the least he could do considering even sitting on the floor did little to make him smaller. Tenna hated how big he was sometimes, his screen turning pink in embarrassment.

A self-satisfied smirk spread across Spamton’s face. He watched closely as Tenna knelt for him, enjoying the sight of the now-budding celebrity bending to his will. Spamton gently caressed Tenna’s face, staring down at him with a lidded gaze. He guided Tenna with a firm hand, pressing the man’s screen against his crotch, letting out a long, satisfied sigh as Tenna’s mouth was pressed up against his clothed cock. 

“Fuck… that’s a good boy. Who owns you, Tenna?” Spamton grinned, enjoying the sensation of Tenna’s hot breath against his hardening dick.

Tenna whined against the bulge in Spamton’s pants, keeping his hands on the floor and letting his head be guided for him. He felt an almost tingly, blissful sensation in his limbs when Spamton called him a good boy. He pressed mouth harder against the smaller man’s crotch. “You own me,” Tenna answered, his words muffled. “I’m yours, sir.”

Spamton let go of Tenna, his eye glinting with something dark and primal as he gave Tenna an affectionate pat on the head. “Alright, kid. Go fix yourself up. You’re on in five.”

Tenna checked his watch, jumping upright in surprise when he registered the time. “Oh gosh, you’re right!” he yelped, his face flushing red as he scrambled about the dressing room. “I don’t—Do I have everything? Spammy?” he asked, sounding helpless as he turned to face Spamton, who was tapping his cigar against the rim of the ashtray on the center coffee table.

“You’ve got everything, toots. Now keep that chin up. You’ll do great.” Spamton gave Tenna a nod of acknowledgement, letting the man know he was good to go on his way.

Tenna rushed out of the dressing room into the hall of the studio, pushing past the stage crew to make his way to the wings backstage. Mike was there waiting, frantically looking down at his clipboard schedule, a headset perched on his head. When he saw Tenna, there was a flash of relief on his face before the man was pulling Tenna aside, chastising him for showing up mere minutes before he was scheduled to be on. Mike made Tenna bend over so he could fix Tenna’s tie—apparently, he hadn’t done a good enough job of tidying himself up.

This was kind of nice, though. Having a crew to fret over him. Having an audience seated and ready to experience the live performance of his TV special. Tenna couldn’t help but grin as Mike fussed over the way his collar was lying. He would do well tonight. He had to. Everything was riding on this.

Tenna would make Spamton proud.

The stagehand was counting down from thirty. Darkners rushed to their posts backstage. Mike confirmed Tenna’s cue over the headset before giving Tenna a reassuring nod.

“Three… Two… One— Go!” the stagehand made a motion with his hand.

Tenna felt a sudden chill run through his body—telltale stage fright. But before he even had the chance to freeze up, Mike was pushing him out.

Tenna plastered on a grin as he began to strut across the stage to his podium. The stage lights were blinding. Tenna couldn’t see exactly how big the audience was, but he could hear them. Cheering, screaming, clapping, shouting his name. Tenna was overwhelmed with positive attention. Everyone here was rooting for him. Spamton was right! The audience loved Tenna!

The show ran smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Tenna got completely lost in it. It felt so natural for him to be on stage, to improvise and work the crowd. Tenna was a hit. He could feel it onstage even before the show was over. Everyone loved him, really, really loved him!

———

When Tenna finally got off set and walked into the green room, darkners flocked to him to sing his praises. Stage crew, VIP audience members, producers, and other important people he didn’t even know were telling him they loved his show. Telling him that he had done such a good job. A stranger even gave him a bouquet!

Tenna was a laughing, blushing, giggly mess, unable to stop a flower from blooming on his nose as he made his way through the crowd. Tenna was only looking for one person though, his smile growing in size the moment he saw the small businessman.

“Mr. Spamton!” Tenna called out, making sure to be respectful. There were people around. Tenna’s new bosses, most of them. He wondered if they all worked for the Addisons. “Did you… Um, how did everyone like the show?” Tenna suddenly became conscious of how awkward he was, but he tried to brush it off the best he could, feigning professionalism.

Spamton turned as Tenna approached him, praising his conversation to face Tenna with a proud smile. “Well, if it isn’t my [[No 1 Rated]] [[Everybody’s Favorite]] TV show host!” Spamton shouted, grabbing the larger man’s tie to pull him down into an embrace. “You did [[GREAT]] out there, kid!”

Spamton’s mannerisms were exaggerated—over the top. Tenna could tell Spamton was high. He’d learned to notice the tells over the last month they’d spent working together. Of course he was high. When wasn’t he getting high? Spamton could never go very long without needing a bump. At least he’d been mostly sober before the performance. It would’ve been nerve-wracking to deal with a coked-up Spamton prior to his big debut.

At least he seemed genuinely proud. While Tenna would’ve preferred for Spamton to stay sober the entire time, this was exactly the reaction he had hoped for. It almost seemed like Spamton respected him now, though how he was treated before the airing told him otherwise. Still, Tenna had done so well. He was a big shot now!

“I told you I could do it!” he exclaimed, pulling back so he could show off his bouquet like a child showing off a good test grade. Tenna didn’t even notice his screen was pink. “People loved me, Spammy! People really loved me! Do you think—“ Tenna suddenly got quiet, like he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “Do you think I’ll get signed? Gosh, I’d be like a real TV star if I did.”

Spamton chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as Tenna showed off, his tail wagging eagerly as he awaited more praise. Spamton turned to his company, pulling a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket as he addressed them. “Alright, gents, ‌my associate and I here need a [[Rain Check]]. I’m takin’ this old boy out for a few drinks on account of his [[PEAK MALE PERFORMANCE]],” he hummed, lighting the cigarette between his lips.

Tenna had almost completely forgotten about the other people Spamton had been talking to, too focused on showing off to his mentor. It wasn’t until he heard that word that he snapped back into reality. Associate. Such a neutral word being used to describe their relationship. Tenna tried to reassure himself in his head. What else would Spamton introduce him as—his fuck buddy? He was still a professional, unlike Tenna, who had been made to kneel on the floor just to see eye-to-eye with Spamton. Tenna got up and sheepishly said his goodbyes, accepting more praise and pretending that it wasn’t so weird for him to have to act like he knew total strangers. 

After a few more goodbyes were exchanged, and after weaving through the crowd of the now-forming afterparty, Tenna and Spamton managed to make their way outside the studio. “Hey, kid. I know a [[Hot Spot]] about a block south of here. Drinks on me [[LIMITED TIME OFFER]]??” Spamton raised an eyebrow, holding his hand out for Tenna to take.

Tenna didn’t have to think twice about Spamton’s offer. Alone-time with the older man sounded nice, especially if the praise kept up like it had been. Tenna took the man’s smaller hand in his. “Lead the way, Spammy!”

They walked together to the club, which was only a few blocks away. Spamton only got stopped for a picture once. The fan had asked Tenna to take the picture for her. It was just a minor interaction, but it was enough to put a damper on the high Tenna had felt following his successful show. 

They walked right past the line. Spamton didn’t even need to say anything for the bouncer to let them through. That was just one of the many privileges that came along with being a big shot. Spamton walked through the bar area, leading Tenna to a roped-off stairway.

Once again, the bouncer let Spamton right through, only allowing Tenna after Spamton gave the okay. They walked together up to the second floor, which curved along the perimeter of the building, creating an almost loft-floor overlooking the club.

“Tenna,” Spamton grinned as he took a seat at a table next to the guardrail, “I want to officially welcome you to your [[Brand New]] life as a [[BIG SHOT!!!]]” He gestured out with his hands. “This? This is what it’s all about, kid. VIP section. All for us.”

The club was amazing, and the loft was even better. Tenna had never been in such a fancy club before, let alone the VIP section of it. The room felt empty compared to the crowded bars Tenna was used to, but it was a welcome change. It made him feel important.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Spamton. I can’t believe I got the show.” he grinned. “Soon I won’t even need you to get into these sections.” He laughed. Tenna suddenly got a sick feeling in his stomach about poking fun at Spamton. Saying that Spamton wasn’t needed seemed off-limits, even as a joke. He had to hold himself back from immediately apologizing.

Spamton quirked a brow, almost as if Tenna was challenging him. “Is that so?“ he chuckled, looking Tenna up and down. “One good show and suddenly you’re [[The Big Man on Campus]], huh? I suppose I can’t blame ya. I haven’t seen the ratings shoot up like that since… since…” Spamton trailed off, furrowing his brows.

An eerie silence fell over the table for a moment, before Spamton was perking back up. A waiter had approached them. Cradled in his arm was a bottle of luxury champagne. Spamton smiled, exchanged some friendly chatter with the man as he poured out two glasses, then set the bottle down in the ice bin beside the table.

“[[Cheers!]], doll,” Spamton smirked, raising his glass as the waiter walked away. “To being at the top.”

Tenna recoiled in on himself when Spamton got quiet. It was just… creepy. Off. He made a mental note never to make a joke like that again. Tenna only relaxed once Spamton was back to normal. He smiled at the waiter and thanked him, something he only did when he noticed Spamton hadn’t. 

Tenna clinked their glasses gently, leaning in as he took a sip. He wanted an excuse to be closer to Spamton, to see if he would pay more attention to him. The Champagne was good, smooth, definitely better than the burning shots Tenna could usually afford. Not that he drank often. The one glass was already making him tipsy.

He could get used to this life, maybe even be able to get out of his crappy apartment and move to a bigger one in TV world. It seemed too good to be true.

“Spamton, I think I owe you my life!” Tenna spoke giddily, finishing off his glass. He wanted to make it up to Spamton, to show he still appreciated him. “You made me so… important! People are going to love me because of you!” Tenna put his hand on Spamton’s thigh, leaning in closer and testing the waters.

Spamton laughed at Tenna’s excitement, amused at the man’s outburst. “Just remember your [[ROOTS]], kid. When you’re a [[HotShot]] driving around in your own [Cungadero], remember your old pal Spamton,” he hummed, his gaze dropping to where Tenna had reached over to touch him. “Oh? Already looking to [[Pay Back Outstanding Loans!]]?” Spamton joked, unable to hide his lustful expression. 

They were high up—high enough and alone enough that no one in the crowd below would notice if they were to do something unseemly.

Tenna bit his lip, hesitating for only a second while he looked around. Then he was unzipping Spamton’s dress pants, taking out his half-hard cock and stroking it up and down. 

Tenna buried his face in Spamton’s shoulder, biting hickeys into the hidden skin beneath his shirt. Marking his territory. Tenna laughed into Spamton’s neck at the thought. As if Spamton would ever “belong” to Tenna. It was more like the other way around.

“Oh, yes… Good boy…” Spamton groaned, his head falling back in bliss as Tenna began to service him. He moaned appreciatively as Tenna kissed and bit at his neck, but he only let Tenna continue for a minute. Then Spamton was grabbing Tenna by the tie, pulling the man down off the chair and onto his knees before Spamton. “Go on, [[SuperStar]]. You know what to do.”

Tenna leaned into Spamton’s pull, trying his best to avoid being choked while the older man forced him onto the ground beneath him. The VIP section was clean enough that Tenna wasn’t worried about letting his new suit touch the ground, but it felt humiliating.

Still, Tenna didn’t waver. Throughout the month that they had gotten to know each other, Tenna had figured out mostly what upset Spamton and what pleased him. It was harder when he was on something, which he usually was, but he managed to get it down to instincts. He was an actor, after all.

Tenna put his lips over his teeth, opening his mouth wide so he could fit Spamton fully down his throat the way the man liked. It wasn’t hard for Tenna anymore, all the awkwardness and worries of appearing depraved gone. Now he knew all he needed to do was look up at Spamton and keep bobbing his head (or let Spamton do it for him) until the man was finished. It was like muscle memory, his body knowing exactly what to do to make Spamton cum.

Spamton let one of his hands rest atop Tenna’s monitor, his thumb rubbing against the textured plastic of the man’s head. “That’s right… Take it all… [[Good Boy]]…” Spamton spoke to Tenna in a soft, fond voice as the man serviced him.

Tenna really had improved quite a bit since that first night when he’d seduced Spamton. Then again, Spamton had been putting quite a bit of effort into training Tenna. His favorite kind was throat training, when he’d make Tenna suck his dick and intermittently press the man’s head down so his cock would slide all the way inside. Tenna always got upset when Spamton insisted they do this—some nonsense about not being able to breathe. But Spamton could always eagerly remind Tenna of his place—remind Tenna that if Spamton made the call, all the fame he’d accrued would tumble down around him. Spamton could easily trash Tenna’s reputation in an instant.

Tenna whined when Spamton started caressing the top of his head, scared that his head was going to be pushed down again. He didn’t stop, though. Tenna’s only focus was pleasing Spamton. He had gotten used to breathing steadily, through his nose, and moving through his gagging whenever he was forced down farther than he wanted to be. When he did have to take his mouth off, he made sure to make some kind of sexy look while he jerked Spamton off. Tenna just hoped Spamton would finish soon, so he didn’t have to keep doing this in public. It was his idea, but the thought of being caught doing this—even though nobody knew who he was yet—terrified him. One wrong move and it would be over before it even began.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s right. Take it like the [$4.99] whore you are,” Spamton growled, rolling his hips up to meet Tenna’s lips as he bobbed his head. He could feel every time it would slip past the back of Tenna’s mouth into his throat. He could feel every time Tenna gagged and his throat constricted around Spamton’s cock. 

“Oh-Oh [[$#%&]], I’m gonna—Take it down your throat—fuck!!” Spamton gasped, clawing at Tenna’s head as he pushed the man down all the way, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside Tenna’s throat as he force-fed the man his cum.

Tenna almost choked, gripping the seat and bracing himself as Spamton held him still. He whined deeply, looking up at the older man until he swallowed everything and was finally let go. “T-Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He moaned breathlessly, climbing back up to his chair and reaching over with shaky hands to pour himself another glass. 

Tenna was achingly hard and pressing against his dress pants, but he’d never ask Spamton to get him off. He just grinded against his foot when he was allowed to, and came whenever Spamton gave him permission to or he just wanted to touch, tease, or torture the TV. He had to earn everything from Spamton, so he only asked when it was something he needed. Like his show. Otherwise, it was all at Spamton G. Spamton’s discretion. Tenna adjusted himself in his pants and poured Spamton’s champagne for him.

“No, thank you, [[Cathode]]. You really know how to make a guy feel special,” Spamton chuckled casually, slicking back his hair with his forehead sweat. He took a sip of the champagne Tenna had poured, then let out a content sigh. “That was lovely, [[Doll]], but I’ve gotta go piss. I’ll be right back,” Spamton winked, snapping his fingers and knocking gently on the table before walking off, leaving Tenna all alone in the VIP section.

Sat above the party—above everyone. Isolated by his own success. Tenna started to feel a sense of vertigo as he stared down at the rest of the club.

Tenna’s protests died in his throat as Spamton walked off, leaving no room for discussions or tag-alongs as he left Tenna alone—completely alone.

It was fine at first. Tenna fiddled with his thumbs, he drank his entire glass of champagne. Then thirty minutes had passed, and Tenna had drunk all of Spamton’s glass as well. Maybe the two (three, technically) glasses of alcohol was why Tenna felt brave enough to get up and leave the VIP section to look for Spamton. The large, staggering TV blindly made his way through the club. He checked private rooms, small spaces, and eventually he landed near the bathrooms. 

When Tenna finally found Spamton, he almost wished he hadn’t. The shorter man was sitting in a booth snorting coke, which wasn’t the unusual or hurtful part. It was that the man was laughing, talking loudly, like he hadn’t just left Tenna alone for half an hour by himself to, what, snort coke? “Spamton…” Tenna mumbled, voice coming out quiet and unsure as he approached the table, “Who are your… friends?”

Spamton didn’t notice Tenna for a good minute, continuing to laugh and chatter with his companions. He was surrounded by darkners that crowded around him—almost all of them women aside from one effeminate man that Spamton must have taken a liking to.

One of the first things Tenna had noticed was just how attractive some of these girls were. Real head-turners, all surrounding Spamton, flirting with him, giving him bedroom eyes. It instantly depleted any self-esteem Tenna had left in his body. How could he compete with all that? Tenna would never be able to provide Spamton with all the sex and drugs and excitement that he seemed to encounter every time he left Tenna’s side.

When Spamton finally did realize Tenna’s presence, his reaction was way over the top. He all but jumped up, throwing his hands up in the air in celebration and pulling Tenna in for a hug. He was very obviously intoxicated, his pupils blown wide and his breath reeking of whiskey.

“Tenna!!! Ant, my [[Lovely]] [[LITTLE]] Ant, where have you been all [Nighttime Cold Solution]? You need to come join the [[Fiesta]]!! C’mon, let loose—take a bump!” Spamton was pulling Tenna closer, dipping his pinky finger into the baggie of cocaine and bringing the hit up to Tenna’s nose.

“Y-You…” Tenna started, trying to pull away as he hesitated. His bottom lip was twitching. He was struggling to maintain his composure. He felt as though he might cry. “Spammy, I-I was waiting for you… I thought you were—“

 “What are you talkin’ about, [[Hot Stuff!]]? You’re not [making] any sense, sweetie! Just relax! [[CUM PARTY]] with us!” Spamton cackled, pulling Tenna back in as soon as the man dared to shift away. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?” he cooed, like this was all some game. Like he hadn’t completely ruined Tenna’s night. 

Tenna pulled away, this time with more force. Enough to break free from Spamton’s grasp. His screen’s signal was wavering, becoming fuzzy as the borders of the screen turned wavy. “Y-You… You abandoned me… You left me and-and now you just want me to pretend it’s all fine? Are you serious right now?” Tenna laughed, trying to hold back a wave of sobs that threatened to crash over him at any minute.

Before Spamton could respond, Tenna turned on his heel. He pushed through the crowd, weaving through the throng of Darkners as he tried to find the exit of the club. Finally, he made it outside. The fresh air was cool compared to the sweaty atmosphere inside.

Any other day, Tenna would’ve kept his composure. 

Any other day, Tenna would’ve called a cab and waited until he was in the safety of his apartment to have an emotional release.

But as soon as he was out of the club and on the sidewalk, that wave finally crashed down. Tenna barely made it around the side of the building before sobs overtook Tenna, wracking his whole body as his knees went weak under him. He leaned against the wall of the building for support, burying his head in his hands before moving to bite down on one of his palms. He had to suppress his cries. He couldn’t let the world hear him weep.

“Ant? You out here?” a familiar voice called out into the street, and Tenna clasped his hand over his mouth, his screen paling.

“Come on, [Cathode], at least—fuck, there you are!” Spamton sputtered as he stumbled upon Tenna’s hunched-over form, shaking as he hid in the alleyway. Spamton cringed, pulling at the collar of his button-up. “Oh, jeez, kid. Pull yourself together, [[will ya]]? You’re a TV-Star, for Christ’s sake! What would your fans think if they saw you—“

“If they saw me, what?” Tenna snapped, teeth bared, “If they saw me getting cheated on, left behind as you go off to bang some floozy??”

“Alright, Ant. You seem like you’re getting very emotional—“

“No! Don’t pull that crap! Don’t tell me I’m overreacting b-because I’m not! This was my night!” Tenna wept, clutching his chest as he stared up at Spamton from where he continued to huddle on the ground. “I-I thought you were gonna be there for me. And you—“

“Listen, Ant, I didn’t mean to leave you. Those girls—they were fans. They wanted a [[Snapshot]], and then they offered me some blow. It wasn’t like I was ditching you on purpose!” Spamton chuckled, rolling his eyes as he placed a hand on Tenna’s shoulder. Almost instantly, Tenna shook him off. 

“Oh, whatever, Spamton. It doesn’t even matter. You don’t care about me! You could have anyone in the whole city! You’re a star!” Tenna finally chanced a glance up at Spamton, his screen flushed red, visibly weary. “You’re a star and-and I’m just—I’m just some-some second-rate, wannabe—“

“I picked you, didn’t I?” Spamton huffed, pulling a cigarette case out of the inner pocket of his sports coat. He plucked ‌a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

A heavy silence settled over them as Spamton lit the cigarette and took in a deep hit. A beat passed.

“Tenna, don’t you ever think that you must be pretty [DAMN] [[specil]] to catch the eye of someone like me? You don’t give yourself enough [[Credit Score]], kid,” Spamton scoffed, then sucked in another long draw of the cigarette. 

Tenna felt like he was short-circuiting. His miserable mood had been thrown off just because of Spamton muttering a few sentences. He couldn’t even maintain his previous train of thought. All he could think about was that Spamton had just praised him. Real, genuine words of affirmation. Reassuring Tenna that he was special—that he was worth something.

The CRT sniffled, wiping at his screen with his palms. “Y-You… you really think I’m special?” he asked, his voice wavering like that of a child’s. 

“You’re more than special, Ant,” Spamton crouched down, now eye to eye with Tenna, “You’ve got star-quality. Out of this whole damn town, you’re the one that stuck out.”

“Oh,” Tenna stammered, his screen flushing a bright red. His cooling fans kicked into overdrive. “Th-That’s—Um, thank you, S-Spamton…”

It really was far too simple for Spamton to manipulate his emotions. All it took was a few kind words and Tenna was melting in the palm of Spamton’s hand.

Spamton grabbed Tenna by the tie. He didn’t ask before he was taking the cigarette out of his mouth, sharply pulling Tenna closer to him, then smashing their lips together in a passionate, hungry kiss. It was full of concupiscence—the intention palpable. Both Tenna and Spamton could feel the sexual charge shared between them. 

When Spamton pulled away, breathless and grinning, Tenna couldn’t help but smile in response. The two men were practically giggling as they stared at each other in the dark alleyway of the bar.

“I can cover your cab,” Spamton finally broke the silence. “My big star’s gotta get his [[Beauty Sleep]], right? You’ve got another show next week, and they’re gonna want you to top tonight’s performance.”

The Addison placed the cigarette back in his mouth, fumbling as he carded through his wallet to find a small stack of cash. He handed Tenna forty dark dollars. “Here you go, darling. Is that gonna be enough to get you home?”

Tenna stammered for a moment, shocked at the amount of money Spamton had handed him. He knew that to a big shot like Spamton, forty dark dollars was nothing. But that was almost twice as much as it would cost for Tenna to catch a ride home. Tenna nodded his head, trying to hide his shock. “Yes! Yeah, it-it’s enough! Thank you!”

“No problem, kiddo,” Spamton grinned cheekily, patting the top of Tenna’s head. “Now, stand up straight and clean yourself up. We don’t want the [[Publix]] seeing my favorite client all downtrodden, right?”

“N-No! No, sir!” Tenna exclaimed, scrambling to stand upright, brushing off the dirt from the alleyway.

“Attaboy. I’ll see you on set, right, Ant?” Spamton smirked, motioning for Tenna to bend down so he could fix his tie. The larger man blushed, lowering himself slightly.

“Of course, sir… I-I’ll be there bright and early!” Tenna smiled nervously, trembling as Spamton’s nimble hands danced around his throat, fixing his collar.

Spamton kissed Tenna one final time. Once again, it was loaded with intention. Tenna could almost taste how horny Spamton was. It made him wonder why Spamton didn’t just drive him home so they could mess around.

After the kiss was over, Spamton left. He made his way back into the bar, leaving Tenna all alone, money clutched in hand as he stood in the back alley. Somehow, he didn’t feel nearly as happy as he had just a few moments ago. His shoulders began to slump as he pulled out his phone to call a cab.

It was fine. Spamton just needed his own time to celebrate and party. It didn’t mean anything that he was with those girls. None of it meant anything. He’d said that Tenna was his favorite.

And that meant something.