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When it came to being special, Spamton wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept. He was shorter than and a different color than most addisons (in fact he’d never even seen another white). He was the only addison to make it onto TV time. He was the only Addison to spend most of his time outside of Cyber City rather than selling his wares on their streets. All things that made Spamton special.
But addisons themselves were pretty special too, as far as darkners went. They weren’t the only ones, but they were one of very few types of darkners that could procreate. A fact that his drunk business partner seemed absolutely infatuated with when Spamton made a passing comment about potentially wanting kids someday.
“Why is this so interesting to you?” Spamton asked, only slurring his words a little bit, thank you very much. He swirled his little straw around in his cocktail, causing the orange peel garnish to tip and fall off onto the bar. Ramb gave him a look before clearing it off. Spamton thought he might as well not make the effort if it wasn’t going to be edible, it was just going to end up in the trash, and who knows how much of the liquor budget he was blowing on fruity little garnishes anyways? He’d rather more stiff drinks than pretty ones, but it was Tenna’s studio and the TV was all about the presentation.
“I’ve never met a darkner that can have kids before!” Tenna grinned at him, the electrical cord that made his tail loose and swinging lazily behind him. Over excited puppy dog that he was, he hadn’t stopped wagging since they’d had their first drink. “I love kids. If I could, I’d have like… a million of them!” He announced, a little too loud for the near empty green room before hiccuping and making Spamton burst into giggles.
“You would not!”
“Would too! They’d be so cute, can’t you just imagine it? I wouldn’t need half the staff I have, I’d just give all the important stuff to my kids-”
“Sounds like you want to exploit some free labour,” Spamton snorted, leaning against the bar as they both giggled together.
“Well, it would be very convenient. I wouldn’t have to worry so much about the pippinses unionizing if this were a family business. Besides, they’d be good for the show too, everyone loves a child star!”
“Ugh, you’re right. We should all consider ourselves lucky you aren’t capable of producing kids or we’d be overrun with them like the adlets on the streets of Cyber City.” Spamton snorted softly, shaking his head. He could imagine it, a thousand TV’s running across the catwalks and making the show impossible as they fought over the limelight.
“The what?” Tenna asked, sitting up with a concerned look. “What do you mean on the streets?” He questioned, getting a dismissive wave from the addison as he called for Ramb to make him another drink, without the garnish this time. Ramb added a garnish anyways, but at least the little bit of fruit was edible this time.
“What? You don’t think most of us raise the kids, do you? Exactly how many darkners do you see playing happy family, Tens? Just cause you can have the little hellions doesn’t mean you wanna be a parent. Most of us end up fine. I mean look at me! My parents wanted jack shit to do with me,” assuming he actually had any and he hadn’t just been spawned in, “ and I turned out great!” He told him, grinning up Tenna. His expression faltered with the horrified look upon the TV.
“What do you mean you turned out fine?! Spammy, did you live on the street?!” He asked him, his voice barely above a whisper like this was some dirty secret he was asking Spamton to share.
“I mean… Yeah? Most of us start there. You can’t walk down most alleys in cyber city without seeing a pipis or two near the trash.” He told him, enjoying the horrified look on Tenna’s face. It was rare that he shocked the big guy like this anymore. Spamton had to admit it was amusing him. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like most of them hatch. And at least they have a chance out there on the street, some Addisons will just eat them.”
“EAT THEM?!” Tenna gasped in horror, putting his hand over his chest like he had a heart that was aching at the information.
“Angel, this is really riling you up isn’t it? Addison’s don’t usually have parental instincts, Tens. We’re all trying to sell and the more ads for people look at, the more competition. So if an addison has an egg, they try to get rid of them most of the time. Some of us hatch anyways,” He told him, eating the little fruit off of the toothpick before starting to chew on the wood. “I don’t know what you’re picturing but it’s not like it’s a bunch of babies and toddlers on the street. Addison’s mature pretty fast when no one is taking care of them. You hatch in an… inconvenient place, you gotta be scrappy to survive. You don’t have anyone taking care of you, putting food on the table, or a roof over your head so you gotta learn how to do that on your own.”
The TV’s antennas were drooping down into his face and Spamton was pretty sure he’d lost a few inches just thinking about all the little ads hatching alone out on the street. Thinking about him hatching out there on his own.
“You said you wanted to be a dad someday?” Tenna interrupted him, voice a little shakier than he could excuse with the alcohol. “So-”
“Hey, I said we don’t usually have the instinct. Some of us are still willing and able to be parents. I know plenty of Addison’s that have kids and actually raise them. And typically, adlets raised by other Addisons tend to be… better.” He told him, wanting to get ahead of any misconceptions about what he’d do with a fertilized pipis. If Spamton were to have one of those, he wouldn’t be tossing it onto the street to fend for itself. He knew how difficult it was to drag himself up from nothing.
“What do you mean better?” Tenna asked. Angel, this guy was starting to sound like a broken record.
“I don’t know, just… better. They’re more successful. They’re taller,” Though that was true for most other Addison’s in general. Spamton was a special case, ”they're more vibrant or eye-catching in their coloring, they have an easier time selling, they’re just… better. Most of the time.” He told him, sipping on his drink as he pulled his eyes away from Tenna. He didn’t like the way he was looking at him. Like he could see how low Spamton thought of himself because of the word choice alone.“ I mean it makes sense if you think about it. You get to focus on building a brand when you’ve got your parents holding your hand. You get to grow up learning the tricks of the trade rather than immediately jumping into it. You don’t have to worry about if a product selling is going to mean you get to eat that day or not and that makes you less desperate. It makes lightners like you more.” No one liked desperate. But sometimes desperate sold. Sometimes it was what had kept him alive, one click at a time. Sometimes you didn’t have a choice, sometimes desperate was just all you were.
“That’s so… sad to think about still. That there’s so many little baby addison’s out there with no families to take care of them,” Tenna whimpered softly, getting smaller by the second. “No one to read them bedtime stories, or hug them when they have nightmares, or kiss them goodnight, or tell them they’re loved.”
“Why are so many of your examples something to do with putting them to sleep?” Spamton chuckled softly. The TV probably knew even less about child rearing than he did, and it was nice to feel like he had one over the TV for once. Spamton babysat plenty of times for some of his friends with kids so he had a rough idea of how to keep a kid alive, but actually doing the emotional work would be the hard part. He could remember the first time a kid he was watching had had a tantrum; they’d both ended up crying on the floor. “Look Tens, no one has ever said they loved me before, it’s not something you need to grow up successful.”
“No one?” Okay, now the gloobiness was starting to get concerning. Tenna was about half his usual height and Spamton was pretty sure if things got any more distressing for him, the TV was about to start crying.
“Who cares? Relax Tens, it’s a cultural thing or something. You’re a family TV, you like all that mushy bullshit and-”
“I love you, Spamton.” He told him suddenly, spurred on by the several drinks they’d both had and desperately wanting to take the chance while he had it to be the first person to say it. Spamton froze next to him, the feathers on the back of his neck ruffling as his glow steadily upped the red light. Tenna liked how he looked when he unbalanced his RGB, Spamton was so handsome white but that pink or sometimes even red coloring made something twist in his stomach that Tenna had been doing a very poor job of repressing.
“No, you don’t.” Spamton scoffed softly after a moment of tense silence passed between them. Tenna made an offended noise next to him. Well, he definitely fixed the glooby problem. Now Tenna was mad at him. Great. One issue for another. Tenna could be a miserable guy to be around while drunk. If he wore his heart on his sleeve while sober, it was like someone had turned all his dials up to max when they started drinking. Extreme highs and even more extreme lows.
“Yes I do! Who are you to tell me how I feel, Spamton? You don’t just get to decide that I don’t love you.” Tenna argued with him almost immediately, poking his finger into Spamton’s side. Unfortunately for Spamton, having a business partner that was over three times your height (nearly five times when he was mad at him like this) meant that getting poked in the side was enough to completely knock him off his bar stool even without being drunk. Spamton chose not to focus on the fangs poking out of Tenna’s sneer or the funny way his stomach flipped that had nothing to do with the possibility of him having drank enough to make himself sick.
He glared at him from the floor, standing up and hanging onto the bar as the room swayed slightly. He was not letting Tenna get the last word here.
“I’m the guy that’s smart enough to know you’re drunk and talking stupid.” Spamton told him, standing up properly and brushing off dust from his pants when the room stopped swaying enough to not feel like he was going to fall over again if he let go of the bar. He was definitely sleeping in his office tonight. Spamton was no stranger to driving drunk (or sometimes high), but there was a limit. Even for him.
“That doesn’t mean I’m lying to you!” Tenna scoffed, though some of the anger did seem to ebb as he started shrinking down to his normal height. Hot and cold with this guy, it was a wonder Spamton could keep up. “Spamton G. Spamton, I love you. I love your smile. I love how smart you are, how you’re always one step ahead of me and ready for anything I throw at you. I love how flexible you are with my constant schedule changes. I love that you’re willing to stand up to me when I’m being unreasonable. I love how handsome you look in our matching costumes and I love your stupid laugh: the real one, not the chuckling you do when other people are around but the one you have when it’s just us at the bar, or doing paperwork together and I make stupid jokes.” Tenna started listing. By the light, the guy had a fucking list at the ready, what the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Spamton decided then and there that words were pretty useless. It wasn’t like anything he said was going to shut the TV up anyways. So instead he climbed up onto the bar with his shaky drunk legs and grabbed Tenna by his tie to pull him into a kiss. Unfortunately for both of them, his coordination was hazardous at best and he ended up slamming his nose into the TV’s screen.
Spamton dropped the tie, cursing loudly as he dropped to his knees and grabbed his face. He hoped he hadn’t just broken the damn thing. He could hear Ramb cackling behind the bar and glanced over to see the plug boy on his knees, tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Spamton groaned, his face only getting redder with the embarrassment of having messed up so spectacularly. Ramb only laughed harder, clutching at his stomach and wheezing as he struggled to breathe.
“Spammy,” Tenna’s fingers hooked under his chin, tilting his head up so he had to look at him. Spamton would have rathered that he never faced the TV again after that. Tenna gently pulled the smaller man’s hands away to get a look at his mail man’s nose, smiling uneasily when he confirmed Spamton hadn’t broken it. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” He muttered, shoving his hands away as he sniffed and rubbed at the point, “The only thing bruised here is my pride at this point.”
“Were you um… was that supposed to be a kiss?” Tenna asked him, a puff of steam leaving his vents as his antennas twisted together and the color of his screen started matching the flush of Spamton’s LED skin.
“Maybe? I thought maybe it’d shut you up.”
“Oh… um… could we uh… try again? If you wanted to?” Tenna asked, trying his best to seem nonchalant. Spamton could hear the end of his tail hitting the bar as it wagged excitedly behind him, earning a soft snort of amusement from the addison.
“If that’s where this is headed, I’m clocking out for the night.” Ramb told them, but neither of them even looked at him as he started cleaning up and closing the bar. Spamton was too busy trying to remind himself of all the reasons kissing Tenna would be a bad Idea. Tenna was already leaning in.
Spamton would blame being drunk for why he didn’t tell Tenna this was a bad idea. Not that anyone would ever actually ask him, but he had the convenient excuse for the possibility of explaining himself.
It wasn’t like he was the type of guy who set out with the intention of sleeping his way to the top. In fact, Spamton had already made it there anyways, who cared if he fucked his business partner? It could be good for business! If Tenna was into him, he could start using sex to get his way! Maybe that would finally convince him to open up some more time for ad slots.
Tenna’s lips felt like static against his own, smooth glass lips dwarfing his as the TV kissed him. It was better than he expected. Not that Spamton had been fantasizing about this basically since the day he’d gotten hired into the mail room. That would be pathetic, wouldn’t it? He just expected them to be stiffer, less plush. He didn’t expect for Tenna to feel so warm and soft for a guy made of metal, glass, and plastics. It was nice.
Tenna’s hands came up to grab onto Spamton’s body, causing a shiver to rush through the Addison as one large hand wrapped almost completely around his waist. Something had to be wrong with him to be getting hard about it. Tenna pulled him closer, coaxing Spamton’s mouth open with gentle nips of fang against his lips and the brush of an oversized tongue. Spamton moaned softly, fully giving into it.
Until he heard the door shut loudly behind them. Spamton jumped slightly, pulling away from Tenna as he turned to look at the source of the interruption. Right. Ramb had left. No more alcohol tonight unless they poured it themselves. No more witnesses to whatever they planned to do past this point.
Tenna’s grip on his waist tightened as he shifted further away, intending to climb back off of the bar. “Relax, big guy, I’m not leaving.” He told him, grinning back at him as he gently pried Tenna’s oversized fingers off of his body. “Just don’t want to do this in the green room. People eat at this bar you know.” He reminded him, giggling like an idiot at the way Tenna’s screen flushed pink. He was real fucking cute.
“Do uh… What is it we’re doing?” Tenna asked, watching as Spamton carefully lowered himself back down to the floor. The back of Spamton’s shirt rode up slightly, revealing a cute little tail. It looked more like what he’d expect to see on a deer shaped lightner than a bird, but maybe that was just an effect of his belonging to the Holiday family.
“Continuing this somewhere more comfortable I hope?”
Tenna felt himself grow in height, so quickly his antennas hit the ceiling. A flower bloomed from his nose, puffing pollen out in front of him and making him sneeze. Spamton laughed, at him but not unkind. Tenna had a wobbly, embarrassed smile of his own as he forced himself to shrink back down.
“You like that idea, huh Superstar?” Spamton asked him, brushing his hand back through his hair. Tenna whined softly at his teasing tone but nodded eagerly. He did like the idea, he liked it a lot. He just didn’t know where Spamton intended to lead him. There weren’t a lot of places more comfortable than the green room around the studio. The only places with plush couches were here and his dressing room.
A puff of steam escaped the vents on the side of his head. His dressing room then? That seemed to be where Spamton was leading him. Down the hall and straight to the door with his name on it. Tenna was already picturing plenty of dirty things this could imply. Spamton bent over his vanity, watching him in the mirror was his current favorite fantasy, and one that had gotten him through plenty of nights alone after the crew had left for the day.
He didn’t need sleep, and on the few occasions he felt like a nap might do him some good, the couch had always been more than good enough for him. He didn’t need more than that. Not until Spamton came along. There were certain things you just didn’t do with a guy on a couch.
Well… No, they would definitely need to christen the couch as well, but Tenna wasn’t going to make that their first time. He had to have a bed somewhere in prop storage. Would Spamton be upset if he used a little magic for that?
“You alright up there, bunny ears?” Spamton asked him, digging around in Tenna’s cigar box like he intended to pilfer it for his treasures. Tenna wasn’t sure why he was bothering, Spamton didn’t even like his brand. Too floral and sweet for his taste. Tenna liked when he’d puff it anyways, it had been the closest he’d ever gotten to know what Spamton tasted like before tonight.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, just thinking I guess.”
“Well don’t hurt yourself. I know how difficult that can be for you when you’re drunk.” He joked, seeming to give up with… whatever he was doing in there and moving to rummage around in Tenna’s vanity instead.
“What are you looking for?” Tenna asked, sitting down on the couch and watching Spamton. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t Spamton said they were picking up where they left off? And yet here he was, alone on the couch. Mailman across the room offering up a perfect view of his ass but Tenna would much rather have that in his groping hands as he got more kisses.
“Looking for a screwdriver. You’ve got to have one in here somewhere.” He told him over his shoulder, noticing where Tenna’s gaze had landed and giving him a teasing shake of his hips. Tenna huffed a small laugh before furrowing the top of his chassis.
“A screwdriver? What do you need a screwdriver for?” And why the hell did he think it would have been in his cigar box originally? The questions he’d love to have answers for from Spamton’s drunk mind and lack of reasoning.
“So I can get your panel open.” His panel. The one that housed his inner wires. His sensitive inner wires. Something Spamton was well aware of from the few times Mike had had a day off and he was forced to ask for help with his maintenance. It had only happened once or twice, and they had come to a quick understanding that Tenna really couldn’t help the tent in his pants that occurred when Spamton’s hands were grabbing at and brushing against such sensitive circuitry.
“Spamton, I am not letting you access my panel while you’re drunk like this.” No way in hell. They were both drunk, but Tenna wasn’t quite drunk enough to not be able to realize what a bad idea that would be. Spamton had already proven how clumsy he was while drunk, nearly breaking his nose slamming it into the TV’s face, Tenna was not about to risk letting him kill either (or both) of them by fucking something up and causing Tenna to short out or electricute him.
Spamton whined dramatically, like a toddler being told they couldn’t have a toy. Tenna stared at him for a moment before they both burst into drunken giggles again. Spamton walked back over to him, climbing up into his lap and pressing their lips together again. Tenna held him close, kissing down to his neck once Spamton pulled away from him again to breathe.
“You should- hngh- should slow down a little there Tens,” Spamton gasped softly as he felt Tenna bite into his neck. That was definitely gonna bruise. And it wasn’t low enough to be covered by the collar of his shirt. “I’m telling make-up it’s your fault when they complain about covering that up!”
Tenna giggled, running his oversized tongue over the bitemark he’d indented into his mailman’s skin. “You’re gonna tell everyone Spammy? Gonna let everyone know what I’m doing with you?” He purred. Of course the TV would be getting off at the idea. Mother fucker loved being watched, why should Spamton not realize that would extend to the bedroom?
Tenna’s tail snakes up to wrap itself around his thigh as The TV pulls him closer. He ends up straddling Tenna, the two of them grinning dopily at each other. Spamton kisses him again, softer this time, gentle. They don’t need to rush this. Not tonight. They’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy each other’s company, to map out each other’s bodies with exploring hands and gentle kisses. Spamton doesn’t feel like he has to hold on tight lest everything fall through his fingers again.
“I love you, Spamton.” It’s whispered against his lips again, almost too soft to hear over the whirring of the fans in Tenna’s head. Spamton feels safe for one of the first times in his life. He feels wanted.
He presses his lips to Tenna’s again, smiling as he gives himself to the TV.
___
“[I love you, Spamton.]” Tenna’s voice parrots back at him from his own voice box. Or rather the broken speaker that had replaced his voice box. Mocking him. It’s the first time Tenna had said that to him. The first time anyone had ever said those three stupid words to him. The memory is bitter sweet. He can remember being stupid enough to believe him at one point.
He repeats it. “[I love you, Spamton.]” One of the only clips of Tenna’s voice that isn’t warped beyond his recognition, too staticky or distorted to be understood. No, this one is perfectly clear. Spamton wonders if it’s his benefactor mocking him. Reminding him what he’d lost.
What he’d never really had to begin with. Tenna had been lying to him, right? It’s the only thing that really made sense. If he hadn’t been, if it hadn’t all just been a trick to sweet talk him into that stupid deal, then why was he here now? Sleeping in a goddamned garbage can instead of back at the studio? Why hadn’t he been there like he promised he would be?
Why hadn’t he picked up the phone when Spamton called him for help?
Why had he chosen the rotary when Spamton was running away?
“[I love you, Spamton.]” Spamton let the words lie to himself again. He wanted to convince himself it was all a lie, all fake. That Tenna would be the villain in his story and he wouldn’t have to care so much about the stupid prophecy. He dipped his segmented fingers into another container of red paint, glasses fuzzy with TV static that reminded him of Tenna’s screen. Another sigil of Tenna’s face the only way he remembered it. A box. A smaller square on the front. A slash going diagonally to split it in half. Lord of Screens cleaved red by blade.
“[I love you, Spamton.]” He was torturing himself. How many times had Tenna said those words to him? How many opportunities had Spamton missed, too busy thinking there would be a next time. Too flustered and self conscious to just say it back.
“[I love you, Spamton.]”
“I [LV] Y0U 2, [Cathode].”