crossroads thing

The TV World hadn't felt the same for Tenna since you’d fallen through your closet and into his domain. After Angel-knows-how-long of performing for an audience of one Lightener at best, you’d stumbled into his life after Kris and Susie had given him the new home he’d been promised. Sure, you had put his head into your closet until you found a place for it in your living room, but you were going to be his new companion! That’s what mattered, not the specifics.

New to the dark, you'd been helpless. Maybe that was what had really snagged his attention. You were lost, confused, and utterly blindsided by his shiny and star-studded world, and he’d been the one to sweep you off your feet and explain the whole situation. Angel above, it'd been so lucky that he'd been heading back to his office when you'd fallen down. He'd taken your cute little hands in a single one of his and told you that you'd be okay, explained your situation, and assured you that the Dark World wasn't a bad place at all.

And you were so sweet. Just a peach, as he loved to say to you, unable to keep himself from clapping his hands together and swooning. Of all the contestants and lackeys who’d trudged the halls of his little studio, your darling lack of knowledge about the world and wonderful personality had charmed him to his core. 

He didn't know what it was about you that made him so crazy. Your smile? The way you carried yourself? Your posture? Your diction? The fact that you paid attention to him? It was everything. You were the only one for him, and no one else could ever come close. All of those historic bombshells and beauty queens had nothing on you, because your eyes were his now. You’d become his most beloved viewer in less than a day.

He regrets having guided you back to the Great Door of TV World and letting you leave. He would’ve kept you trapped, but he’d been worried about startling you, and thrilled by the prospect of you paying some much-needed attention to his body in the Light World. Tenna was many things, but he wasn’t a stupid man, and he recognized that his aged monitor could use some TLC.

Rather than looking over the show script in front of him, he’s leaned back in his desk chair, long legs slung across the desk itself for support. With one arm relaxed on the armrest, he lazily brings a hand to his monitor, then trails his fingers up until he finds the dial. You’d mentioned to him that you’d be taking a look at his Light World self soon, so it was time for him to check on his little star.

It’s become a routine, fishing for the signal he's been dying to get. His model may be old, but that delicate balance and veil between Dark and Light left him a little room to work his magic. He’d been abusing that fact — his ability to percieve both Light and Dark, and to influence his body in the Light World — to put what moves on you he could, in the form of subtly channel-changing to old romantic movies while you were falling asleep on the couch. He'd do anything for you, after all, and the screen went both ways. He has a front-row seat to watch you fumble with his head. 

Static crackles through his computer audition.

“... Okay, okay… It can't be that hard if anyone can learn it. Just gotta fix the screen errors, and he should be good as new.”

Perfect. He’d tuned in at just the right time to hear you.

You have your cute little face down and scrunched as you glare down at another, smaller screen — and that attention does make him jealous, because what other screen could you need? — before you pick up a screwdriver and begin putting your hands all over the casing of the TV. 

His casing. 

Your hands on his body. His head. 

It's enough to make his mouth water. He doesn't even notice himself beginning to palm at his stiffening cock, bulging against those pressed slacks. You're just so cute, wanting to be the one to fix him. He knew you were the one from the day he'd first seen you, and now… Now he felt like a pervert, but he couldn’t help himself. Tenna knows you feel the same, you must.

“Easy, now, honey, don’t hurt the star,” he mutters, head slumping to the side as his consciousness zeroes in on you. “This face is expensive, you know. Soft little hands like yours… Perfect. All over my casing, baby…”

There's quiet clunking noises as you fidget with things out of sight, but those tiny sounds are enough to get him even harder, because he can already imagine just what you’re doing with that screwdriver.

You're loosening up his casing before you gently pull the back aside. Fuck, he's nearly sweating as he imagines you picking up the screwdriver, connecting it to the dag ground, and making sure you've discharged his body by slipping it just under the cap— he groans as his thumb rubs over his clothed tip, straining painfully against his slacks. 

These should be your fingers, not his. He can tell how much you care about him, how much work you're willing to put in; it's not fair that all he can do is listen and drool until the next time you come by the studio. It's not fair, and it makes him want to lose his patience and fire some poor bastard about it.

You mutter something unintelligible to yourself as you move back into frame, lips pursed as you set the screwdriver down and put your fingers back under his screen. 

“Come on, Tenna…”

He nearly cums the instant his name leaves your lips, and he has to slap a hand to his mouth to stifle the obscene moan that escapes him. You don't even know what you're doing to him, and it’s driving him insane. How could you say things like that without knowing he was panting like a rutting beast on the other side? How could he just sit here and watch you like a pervert?

“... Stupid artifacting is still there. Guess we’ll try something else.”

His hips buck up against his palm on their own. More touching, more working, more listening? He has to have died and gone to TV heaven. He's sure that if you were saying all this in front of him, he'd spark between his antennae and make a fool of himself the second you looked his way. Fuck, what if you found out that he was a pervert? Would you hate him?

… Would you enjoy the fact that he loved to watch you?

“I’ve gotta put my hands inside the chassis?” You mumble to yourself, “I’m so getting electrocuted.” Like he’d let that happen. You’re so sweet and naive.

“I'd never hurt you, sweetheart,” he breathes to himself, now rubbing shamelessly at his rigid cock as his other hand grips the arm of his desk chair. “Just… Stick your hand in there, nice and easy. Do what the manual says, baby, honey…”

You move off-screen again, and he can feel his breathing getting more and more labored. You must be as enamored with him as he is with you; no other Lightener was so gentle with him, so patient. You were getting as intimate as you could be with him without even realizing it, and it was delicious to watch.

Now you're taking off that anode cap, he imagines, hooking the dag back up to it, and pulling back his neck board. Wriggling it gently, pulling and rocking, a back-and-forth movement he can only attempt to pitifully recreate with his gloved hand—

“Damn, Tenna,” you mutter, “you're real big.”

Despite all of his efforts to hold himself back, that sends him right over the edge. He cums in his pants with a broken whimper that sounds more like a teenage boy’s than a star’s. Stickiness spreads under the fabric as he slumps back against his desk chair with a huff, nerves sparking like an ungrounded conductor

Yes, he’s big. When he'd been able to savor being in your space, it was easy to tell that he was over double your size. If you do this to him without even knowing he was getting off to the sound of your voice, he shudders thinking about what a lovesick, pathetic wreck he’ll be when he finally gets his hands on you. His little star. 

It had started innocently enough. You’d been around the office while Tenna had finally settled in to look over some of that important paperwork he’d been delegating, insisting on remaining at his side even though you were exhausted. You got the idea that he knew just how tired you were — his intuition was uncanny, to the point where you suspected those antennae picked up on things you had no idea of — but you didn't think much of it. All you needed was to survive another few hours of work before you could go home and collapse. 

You were supposed to be working, at least. It was hard enough keeping your eyes open, so reading through the chicken-scratch stage notes a Pippin had written out was going about as poorly as it could. The strokes were all blending together in a manner that made you wonder whether you were already dreaming. Some of the production decisions were weird enough for you to chalk it up to a dream, anyway.

“... Sweetheart, you having trouble?” He chuckles, and you snap your head up to him. He's smiling, of course, and though that makes your heart wobble, you can't give him reason to be concerned. Telling him outright that you were exhausted would make him drop everything, and he’d been pouting about his lack of productivity for the past few days.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, swallowing back a yawn. “I’m just… a bit tired. Still in working order, though, and I definitely don’t need you to chaperone me. This Pippin just has terrible handwriting, and it’s making my eyes wonky.”

“You don’t need supervision?” He replies, not bothering to look up from the paper on his desk. His tone is far more casual than it had been earlier when he was spitting to some network executive on the phone about his latest segment. “Big, independent worker, honey?”

“What? Yes. What kind of question is that?” You ask, eyebrows pinched as you turn your focus back to your own sheet of paper. “I’m a grown adult, Tenna. Don't be condescending—”

You cut yourself as you glance back to him. Not only is he significantly closer to you than he was moments ago, chair pulled all the way to your side of his desk, but he's grinning at you, fangs-out. It’s not sinister,  It takes you a second to realize your mistake: you’d admitted to being tired (and he could read exhaustion all over you) and now you were going to get coddled. Hard.

“What’s that, babydoll? Daddy didn't hear you right.”

You blink at him, and it feels like your brain’s just melted straight out of your head. The moment he gets the hint that you were in the right headspace to be manipulated, he reaches in and snatches all of those pesky thoughts away, just because he can. You didn't need to think when you had TV to tell you everything you needed. 

He’s leaning down over you before you have a chance to open your mouth again. All ten feet of him loom over you, topped off with the most smug grin on his monitor you've ever seen on man or monster. Verbal reduction was one thing, but the fact that he was over double your size without any of his so-called ‘movie magic’ had the terrible power of making you feel helpless in an instant.

“Someone’s grouchy tonight, folks!” Tenna grins, standing up from his desk and shoving all of those important papers into an off-center pile. “But who’s to blame ‘em? The littler they are, the bigger the attitude. It’s just about a fact of life: the smallest ones love to pretend like they aren't dependents. I’m sure all my caretakers out there in the audience know this story all too well.”

You gape at him as he looms over you, and soon find yourself being swallowed by his arms. You struggle for a moment, then sigh and let your body go lax; despite the fact that you'd like to cling to some semblance of dignity or independence, you're far too exhausted to struggle. He knows that, and he's abusing it. 

“I am not grouchy. I’m just exhausted, that's all.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart. You were a busy little bee today, weren'tcha? Makin’ Daddy so proud, pretending to be all big and brave and bossy,” he croons, lifting you a little higher so you're cradled right up against his monitor. “It’s so cute to see my baby act like they know what being a grown-up is all about.”

You blush and sputter, but he presses a massive finger to your lips to silence you. You lean your head back in an attempt to protest and begin to open your mouth, but any sound you want to make  is promptly stifled by an intrusive, clothed digit parting your lips. You can feel your entire body suddenly burning with shame, but shame will do nothing to stop Tenna from plopping down on the big leather couch at the side of his office and taking you down with him. 

“Shhh… That's more like it. Somebody’s all fussy! Let's get you settled, sugar,” Tenna says, settling you down in his lap as you're forced to nurse on one thick finger. “Daddy’s got you, pumpkin. You don't need to keep being so darn stubborn about everything! Don't you trust him?”

A brief silence passes between you, and you chew your lip. This whole submission thing had been hard for you to wrestle with, and it was even more difficult to admit how much you needed it… but you can feel the sparkle that would be there in his non-existent eyes. He'd thrown his work to the side to start fussing over you, so maybe playing along for a short while wouldn't hurt. 

It’s just for him, after all. It’s not like you need this like he does. You wriggle and manage to pull his finger out of your mouth, even if part of you wants to keep sucking on it.

“I trust you,” you mutter, and you can hear his cord-tail thump against the couch in a manner that reveals his delight. “I’m not being stubborn. I just wanted to get some work done to help you out.”

He makes a tsk sound and moves one hand up to cup your face — more like your entire head — in one of his hands, still wearing that ridiculous, heart-melting smile. “You trust me, huh?” He repeats, tilting his head. “If you trust little old me… You’ll say it for me, sweetcheeks. Just once for your dear ol’ Daddy? You always know what I want.”

You try to curl your face away to hide against his shoulder, but the hand on the side of your face is keeping you from moving away. You should've known he'd be blocking all of your exits; he knew exactly what buttons to push to get you to confront yourself and let all those walls down around him.

“... I trust you, Daddy…” 

“Hmmm? I didn't hear you.”

Frustration prickles at the back of your neck, but you're not going to cause more problems than need to happen. You know that once you force it out, you can finally move on. Damn this stupid old cathode.

“I trust Daddy,” you say, just a tad louder than last time, and the brightness on Tenna’s monitor kicks up a notch. He’s beaming at you now, both in terms of his brightness and his smile, and his grip around your waist tightens into a squeeze. 

“Oh, there’s my little darling,” he purrs. “See, that wasn't so bad at all! Just three words, and now the both of us remember who’s in charge. Now, as the one in charge — and as ‘the best daddy in the world,’ according to one very special sweetheart — Daddy thinks it’s time for you to get some shut-eye, lovely. What does our most favorite contestant say? Does someone wanna fall asleep in Daddy’s lap, hmm?”

It’s too late for you, you realize, because you’re growing drowsy in his lap without much encouragement. He was big and warm and your protector, and despite your resistance, your body knew who kept you safe. Who loved you. Who fussed over you, spoiled you, made your teeth rot with sweet pet names…

“... I’m sleepy, Daddy,” you murmur, and he squeezes you tighter. You feel his lips press against your head, and a steady, purr-like vibration kicking up in his chest as he holds you close. 

“I know, honey. I know. We’re going to get you nice and comfortable so you can take a commercial break.”