Chapter Text
“I'd suck him off if he wanted me to,” you joke, earning a few wide-eyed stares from some coworkers, some chuckles from others, and a spit-take from Rouxls, then a comment about him offering to volunteer.
You gesture at a poster on the wall behind you, of you and Tenna posing for a picture taken during a premier of a new movie. You're both smiling, and he's got his hand on your waist, though his largeness makes it look like he's about to scoop you off the floor and dunk you into a basketball hoop. He's fifteen feet tall and you're a little less than half of that, posing a challenge for the Shuttah taking the picture so you'd both look good and Tenna wouldn't make them take hundreds of pictures to decide on later.
“Just look at that. I wouldn't even have to get down on my knees with how tall he is!” Everyone's having a good time, and you're for once enjoying having the spotlight shine on you. “Dunno if it's even physically possible, but I'd…” You're given a signal by Mike to cut it off, and you try for a change of topic. “I'd love to… go on a vacation soon! Maybe to a casino, or, uh… the beach?”
The door opens, there's collective silence, and then, it sounds like a T-Rex stomping into the room.
Tenna clears his throat as if to make his presence known, despite that prior commotion and everyone already on their best behavior.
Him walking up to you is a dead giveaway, but you still hold on to hope.
You hope he'll let it pass just this once, that he'll leave what he wants to say for later, or that he's too old to hear that well and you've miraculously kept your good reputation as his surge protector.
But you can feel him looming over you, and judging by the looks on everyone's faces, he's not in his usual, performative good mood.
“You won't have to stand on your tiptoes anymore, either,” Tenna says, landing a heavy hand on your shoulder, squeezing it once, and letting go.
Everyone in the Green Room looks like they've been set on pause, waiting without any of the laughter and chatter from seconds ago.
But Tenna doesn't say anything else. Without another word, he turns around, goes right back where he came from, and the door closes with a thump. Then, a deeper silence falls upon the room and nobody dares to break it.
Elnina and Lanino keep eating their shared lunch.
Shadowguys and Pippins talk about the weather and pretend to drink water from the cooler next to them.
Zappers stand as tense as ever, looking like soldiers no longer, but like rubber bands stretched to their limit.
Then there's the sound of speakers being turned on, and Tenna clearing his throat again before speaking through the intercom.
“I want you,” he says, spelling out your full name with excess formality, “in my office, tomorrow morning sharp. No uniform necessary.”
When the speakers stop transmitting noise, everyone glances at you with the universal look for 'you're screwed’.
Rouxls no longer offers as a volunteer, and everyone else avoids you for the rest of the workday.
“Ahn…”
The second you recognize what that noise means, your body freezes, and time follows suit.
“Damn it,” Tenna says, through stuttered breaths.
In his office —three hours after closing time— there he still is, caught with his pants down in the literal sense.
Tenna's sitting on his chair, with a hand palming the erection covered by his underwear, multiple tiny decals of his face on it drifting your attention towards that detail for a split second.
Bottles of booze discarded all throughout the room confirm this isn't a normal scenario for him, as so do his face and his body. He's looking down at himself with the dictionary definition of guilt, and his body doesn't move an inch. His antennas are tucked down, and his free hand is on the desk, normally withdrawn claws digging into the shiny wooden surface.
“One stupid joke, and it…” He huffs, though it sounds more like a technical fault from his speakers. “G—Gosh, this is ridiculous! They make a humiliating joke about me in front of all my other employees, b—but I can't leave the office because I'm doubting whether I really want to fire them?!”
He stops palming his erection to straighten up and bend over to retrieve something from his pants, producing a picture from one of the pockets.
“If you only knew…”
It's a small picture of you—the 2x2 one he asked for when filing your documents.
The edges are worn and the colors are washed out, but that doesn't stop him from shuddering at your image like it's you modeling on the red carpet.
“If you wanted me, I wouldn't need a picture anymore.” Tenna gropes his erection, and his teeth grind as his screen briefly goes to signal error. “I’d take that pretty mouth of yours and…” He slips his hand beneath his underwear and sighs. “I'd… I’d take you every day after work. Right here. W—Why…” He frowns. “Why wait?”
Was he justified in sounding so defeated?
It wasn't his fault it was so easy to imagine the thought of you doing what you joked about!
The concept of you, not even having to get on your knees to suck him off…
Those lips of yours he's looked at for too long when you sing his jingle before introducing him.
Those eyes that seem to sparkle differently when you're looking at him while he's up there on stage.
He imagines those features in that steamier, raunchier scenario.
Your lips, wrapped around his length while you try to take as much of him as you can, and those eyes, staring up at him while you glide your tongue across the tip and suck on his pre.
“Ha…ah.”
He can't risk touching himself without hating himself, so he has to imagine more. Your mouth, making lewd noises when you suck his release off the tip. The groan caught in your throat when you take more of him. The gag you'll try to suppress when he starts to thrust himself into your mouth. Then, he'd pull out, make you turn around, swap your mouth for your other hole, and he wouldn't hold back.
He'd lose himself, and the only sounds he'd register would be of his moans, yours, and your softer skin slapping against his harder, mechanical self.
“Sh—t.”
It's not often that Tenna cusses.
And if he does, it's more often than not a family-friendly variation or a pun, so he's long since forgotten the filter still applies to his speech.
He'd be forced to take the parental locks down if he wants to find genuine relief, but he can't do it until he's bypassed plenty of security measures, meaning he's stuck on what could be.
“It’s…” Tenna pants out another curse. “It's useless,” he says, giving up. “What's the point of getting myself worked up, if I can't even...”
“Can I help you, boss?”
You're not going to risk being a part of this situation when he's so drunk he doesn't register the mess he's made of his office and of himself.
But you can at least help him clean up and drive him back home.
Understandably, Tenna interprets it differently.
He flings the picture over his shoulder, stands up, and fixes his pants back on, all while his screen burns a red brighter than his tailcoat.
Then he tries to walk out of the desk, but trips on a bottle and falls on his butt.
“What are you doing here?” On the floor, Tenna's now around your height, so you face his screen straight on. “I thought I locked the door!”
He says that while grinning, probably believing he's dreaming, and that the you in his dream will fulfill his fantasies.
That gives him strength to push himself off the floor and land on his feet, following a hop more performative than his smile.
“Since you're already here, I oughta take you to my desk and teach you a lesson for—”
“You’re not dreaming, Tenna,” you cut in, laughing. “So, no, I'm not gonna take your locks down, then let you bend me over the desk and fuck me.” You wink. “Maybe next time, when you're sober.”
That drains all the red on his face and replaces it for static—momentarily, until his face pops back on.
“Did you come here to make fun of me, then?!” he asks, frowning. “After you told everyone in the Green Room how you'd go against *DR standards for a raise?!”
“No.” You step forward. “I want to help you get home safe. It's too late to call any other employee, and you'd have to wait a lot for a taxi.”
“I'm not letting you take me home.”
“I'm not saying I'm asking for your approval.”
That makes him puff his chest out and grin wider. His hands fall on his hips, and he snickers through grit teeth. His antennas are standing proudly, like the hard-on he still has.
“Try pushing me.” He laughs. “I'll give you three attempts.”
You shrug, then proceed to slowly unbutton your shirt.
“Gyah!” Tenna shrieks and covers his face from the sight. “What are you doing?! You shouldn't strip all willy-nilly! Aren't you supposed to do that with the one you love the most?!”
It makes sense he'd have old-fashioned views on intimacy, considering his age, Asgore's tastes in romance movies, Toriel's own, and the morals and values put into practice in the Dreemurr family.
“Connect the dots then, boss,” you reply, smirking. “What does this mean? That I'm willfully showing my boss a scandalous state of undress… in the privacy of his office?”
Tenna babbles ‘waits’, ‘stops', ‘holds ons’ and ‘hold ups’. While his vents take care of his main issue, he tweaks his tie, flattens out his shoulder pads, brushes his antennas, and fixes his coat. Then, he freezes in place and closes his hands into fists.
“I…” He sighs, then folds his hands over his face and gathers a breath. “I am not humouring you any further. Let's tidy up the office, and you can take me home.”
You smile and button your shirt back on.
“On it, boss.”
You didn't think you'd ever find yourself in this state, but it's nice.
Tenna, asleep in his car, with his head on your shoulder as you drive off to his place.
You, driving his car, with your hands on the wheel and your eyes occasionally looking to his side to check how he's doing.
The lights and sounds of a busy TV World fill the silence when you draw back the hood of his convertible to let some fresh air in and feel the cool wind on your face—mostly to confirm you aren't dreaming any of this, and partly to see if that will help with how hot Tenna feels to the touch.
With how bad his fever is and how much he drank, you imagined he would've woken up and wanted to throw up at some point, but he's as calm as the road at this time of day, and he only stirs when he mumbles your name and says something about you in his sleep.
“I love you, too, Tenna," you reply, kissing his nose at a stoplight.
A flower bud blooms from his nose, Tenna sighs out a contented breath, and he falls into a deeper sleep.
It takes a few more minutes of driving to reach his home, and when you make it, you feel your mouth smile before you can acknowledge what you're looking at.
It's a home nearly identical to Toriel's, with life-sized topiaries of her, Asgore, Asriel, Kris, and a little boy version of Tenna out in the front yard—slightly overgrown on some of the finer details. What's starkly different is the background surrounding his home: empty, and without any of the greenery going beyond the lawn. It's all pitch dark and cold, like he's ripped out Toriel's home off the ground and placed it in a void.
You can't allow yourself to get too distracted, though, so you set his car on park, bring the hood back up, and unbuckle.
“Alright, big guy…” You lean in, unbuckle him, too, and hesitate when it's time to pick through his pockets to find his keys. “I'm just gonna borrow your keys for a second, okay?”
It's unfortunate Tenna's the type to separate his car keys from the rest, leaving you no choice but to invade his personal space if you want to bring him into the safety of his home.
You reach a hand where you've usually seen him stuff his keys after locking up the door of his office, as slowly and carefully as you—
“What are you doing?”
Tenna's woken up, and he's grabbing your wrist so tightly, it hurts.
“I’m…” You blink away your wide eyes and attempt to smile. “I’m taking you home… since you were drunk and you passed out?”
Tenna lets go of your hand, so quickly, it's like he's touched fire.
“That…” His chest tauts, and his hands turn to fists as his claws unsheathe. “That wasn't a dream?!”
“Um…” You think of a nice way to say it, yet there seems to be no way out of saying nothing but the truth. “No?”
Tenna takes the keys from his shirt's pocket, gets out of the car, and walks to your side, opening the door.
“My house. Now,” he commands, offering his hand. “We need to talk.”
On a first glance, it looks like he's furious.
But there's a prominent blush on his screen, a noticeable tent on his pants, and a guilty coil to his tail.