Lady Gallatea's Hot Thots

Title: Proposition Bet

After a particularly grueling drive through the city, traffic having been unusually backed up for this time of day, Spamton couldn’t help giving a sigh of exasperation as he finally pulled up to the entrance to TV World. A sigh that reached a little too deep, drawing out a few small coughs from his still-aching lungs, much to his disdain.

Because of course he needed more stressful bullshit thrown on top of the already mountainous pile, so of course he just had to have woken up with a cold two days prior, tipping him over from being on edge to outright irritable. Sure, it hadn’t been much worse than a mild inconvenience, gracing his routine with a one-man symphony of sniffling, sneezing, and coughing, but it was more than enough to make him want to curl up and shut it all out for at least a little while. But of course, he didn’t have that luxury, and so the best he could do was avoid going on camera for the time being.

And yet, as he entered the doors to the studio, it didn’t take long at all for Tenna to track him down, tail lashing furiously on approach.

“Spamton!” He snapped, “You’re late! Where the heck have you been?!”

On instinct, Spamton stiffened defensively. “Late for what?I already told you I’m not doing the show tonight, Tenn, I’m just here to do paperwork. Didn’t you get my email?”

Tenna visibly bristled at that, looking a little flustered as he took on a defensive posture of his own. “I—no, how would I…? Uh, I mean, I could’ve seen it if I wanted to! But you… you should’ve just called like a normal person!”

Spamton’s eye twitched as he glared up at him. Okay, maybe he should have done that, too, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He was not in the mood for this right now. “How is it my fault if you ignore my perfectly good method of communication? Sounds like you need better management around here.”

Tenna grit his teeth, baring his fangs at him. “Is that what you think?!”

Spamton could see the argument coming from a mile away. May as well take matters into his own hands. “Come on, we are not doing this in the hall.”

With no further warning, Tenna tensed in surprise as Spamton reached out to tug at his suit, dragging him somewhat successfully towards the nearest dressing room. In a flurry of movement, he swung open the door, ushered the two of them inside, and promptly shut it again with a resounding slam!

“Hey, hey, watch it!” Tenna growled.

“You watch it!” Spamton snapped in return, though he had to pause to cough a few times with the rise in volume. “What… what’s your problem tonight, huh?!”

“My problem?” Tenna huffed. “The show’s ruined is my ‘problem!’ You should’ve done things the right way and called instead of walking in less than an hour before we’re supposed to go on air! I had no idea where you were!” Another half-sigh, half-growl of frustration escaped him. “Why are you even trying to cancel, anyway? What could possibly be more important right now?!”

“If you’d read my email,” Spamton rasped, “you’d know I already told you I’m sick. If it’s such a big deal, why don’t you just grab a temp replacement?”

Tenna looked offended by the suggestion. “It’s too short notice now! Argh, forget it! We’ll have to push the whole thing back at this rate…” He ran a hand over his screen in frustration. “Unbelievable… Spam, you know how important tonight is to me! Why didn’t you just tell me what was going on earlier? We could’ve made it work, but now the ratings are gonna…” He held a hand up to his head in distress.

Spamton raised a brow. “I tried.” …Well, sort of. “Why do you even care about postponing one show if the ratings are doing s-so—hhih—so well?” He sniffled sharply, hoping to dispel the sudden tickle in the back of his nose.

Tenna managed to bristle even more. “Th-they are doing well! Fantastic, even! No thanks to you, anyway!”

Right. So this was how he wanted to play it, huh?

“Yeah? Why don’t you come down here and say that to my face?!”

Tenna’s expression twitched hesitantly, as though he were deliberating whether to backtrack or double down. However, the latter option seemed to win out as he took the bait and leaned down, the soft glow of his screen encompassing Spamton with its warmth.

“Let me make it clearer for you, then,” he hissed. “The ratings are fine without you.”

Spamton scowled back at him. The words stung on the surface, but deep down, he knew Tenna was full of it. That was one of the rockier foundations of their relationship, he’d found—neither of them wanted to admit the other was right. It was infuriating, but at the same time, he couldn’t help taking in how intoxicating it was when he got like this. How cute it was that he thought he had the upper hand.

In a flash, Spamton reached out and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him an inch closer. By now, the tickle he’d felt not only hadn’t gone away, but had blossomed into a nigh-unstoppable itch—one that he was too worked up to pay much notice.

“Oh, yeah?! Then w-whyy… hhh—hehh—heht’SHIEWW!!”

With little more warning than one fast, hitching breath, Spamton hadn’t had time to turn away before the sneeze escaped him, catching Tenna’s screen with a generous, arcing spray. He flinched slightly, trying to pull away, but was held fast by the tie tightening around his neck in the attempt, too stunned to move any further.

Whoops. Spamton stared at him in dismay for a brief moment—it had genuinely snuck up on him, but now that the moment had already passed, he couldn’t help eyeing the way the droplets on his screen amplified the colorful pixels underneath the glass, glittering in an attractive display of color. It was almost too perfect; even in this messy state of shock, he was frustratingly irresistible.

Fuck it—may as well go all in now. See how he likes being knocked down a peg.

Spamton pulled him in close again, drawing him into a deep, confident kiss.

“Mmf…?!”

Again, Spamton pulled tighter, commanding his every move as he ran his lips over Tenna’s, running his tongue near the back of his throat and across the roof of his mouth, making sure to cover as much surface as possible before finally backing out, a thin string of contagious saliva visible for just a second after they separated.

He let go then, allowing Tenna to stand at full height again as he wiped desperately at his mouth.

“W-what the fuck, Spam?!” He spluttered. “Why’d you…?! Ugh—where’s the Windex when I need it…?”

“Snff. There,” he said with a crooked, mischievous grin, “you want to act all high and mighty? Let’s see how you fare with this, then.”

“I—I don’t—th-that’s not…!” Tenna’s screen tinted ever-so-slightly pink, likely in a state between being flustered by the kiss and angered by his gall. “No—you know what? It’s fine! It doesn’t even matter!” He put on a smile, though it was definitely one of his fake, strained ones—Spamton had seen it enough times to catch a glimpse of that telltale twitch with ease. “I’m a professional, after all—I’m TV, and TV’s nothing if not resilient! Heck, I bet I won’t even get sick!”

“Really, now?” Spamton raised a brow. Tenna was obviously just trying to save face, but if he wanted to keep pushing, then he’d happily push back. “And how much do you wanna wager on that, hotshot?”

“Five-thousand points, easy,” Tenna answered, raising his head up in confidence.

Seriously? He’s actually gonna run with this? Well, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do for the next few days. Some forced downtime might do Tenna some good, anyway.

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you go bankrupt.”

“Don’t worry,” Tenna said, his expression widening into a smile, “you know by now that TV’s too big to fail!”

Spamton rolled his eyes. We’ll see.

--

Twenty-four hours later, plenty of time for their tempers to cool, and Spamton was finally feeling like he was on his way to kicking his cold to the curb. There was still a residual tickle in his throat, but at the very least, he felt like he could breathe normally again. Regardless, the next show had been delayed until tomorrow night, so he had the rest of today to continue catching up on administrative work.

And, if he remembered correctly, that included a meeting with an investor alongside Tenna that was coming up within the hour.

Having grown tired of the seemingly endless paperwork anyway, he’d stepped away from his desk in his personal room granted to him within the TV studio and was currently headed towards Tenna’s office. With how close it was to the scheduled start of the meeting, he figured he must be in the area.

Sure enough, as he rounded the corner that would take him there, he spotted his partner standing not far from his office door, speaking with what appeared to be several other TV World employees. As he approached, he could pick up on what sounded like the end of the conversation.

"Mhmm... yes, good. Make sure everything's set up for tomorrow, got it? Tha-a-nks, guys," he said, his voice crackling with a peculiar touch of static towards the end. Tenna cleared his throat before nodding and sending them on their way.

This was about to be the easiest 5k of Spamton's life.

Walking up to him, Spamton put on his most casual of grins.

"Hey hey, Cathode! And how are we feeling today? We still got that phone meeting coming up in a few minutes?"

Tenna turned to him with a bit of a start, but quickly readjusted himself.

"Oh, Spamton! Yes—feeling like a million bucks, as usual! Haha!" He smiled back, though it was as strained as ever despite his best efforts. "Ah—the meeting! Right! Guess we should probably get going on tha-a-t, huh?" He paused to clear his throat again, and for just a split second, he brought his gloved hand up to rub at the underside of his nose, bringing it back down just as fast as though he were afraid of being caught doing it.

"Uh-huh. You gonna invite me in, then, or are we gonna just stand here like a couple of tools?"

"Oh, uh, right." Tenna moved over a little to open the door to his office. "Sorry. Come in."

With no further hesitation, Spamton strolled in with Tenna right behind him. It didn't take long for him to pick out a spot in front of Tenna's desk where he'd be audible to the investor they were supposed to be meeting with over the phone. He leaned quite a bit back in his chair, raising his hands to rest them behind the back of his head. Tenna followed suit, taking up his own place at his desk, though he shifted a few times as if he couldn’t get comfortable.

Could just be nerves. That, or he’s not gonna last even ten minutes. Either way, Spamton felt a little sorry for him, but there was no turning back now.

As they settled, Tenna reached forward to grab the cup of water sitting on his desk and took a quick, brisk sip.

"Should, uh... should be any minute, now," he said. "I think they—"

BRRING!

“Oh!” His antennas perked at the sound. “That must be him!”

“Great,” Spamton replied unenthusiastically. Let’s get this over with, I guess.

With that, Tenna answered, putting the fellow Addison investor on the other side on speakerphone.

…And the moment he began speaking, Spamton ceased paying any sort of attention to their words. A greeting was given, that much he was sure of, but beyond that, he was finding it surprisingly difficult to focus on anything more. Not when what was happening in front of him was so much more entertaining.

A few minutes into the conversation, and Tenna’s screen looked faintly… fuzzy? It was subtle, but if one knew what they were looking for, it was there: a thin, vertical stripe of static had formed across the center of his screen, distorting it ever-so-slightly as it teased at the pixels underneath the glass.

“…So, we were thinking of slotting that in on Thursday evenings,” Spamton heard the investor say. “How does that sound to you guys?”

“Thursdays?” Tenna echoed. “Oh, y-yeah, that sh—hhould… hh—huhh… snnff,” he trailed off momentarily, sniffling against the sudden hitch in his breath. And yet, in response, the static only grew fuzzier, more irritating. “That should be… fi—hhine… Hahh—Hah—Hah'TSSHHIEW!!”

His head snapped forward as he’d started to raise his arm, but the sneeze slipped out faster than he could cover it.

“Snnfff. Guh… S-sorry, I was saying that should work…”

Spamton watched in fascination as the static flickered across his screen, the first stripe joined by a second, even fuzzier one. It seemed that hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy whatever itch was building up.

“Quite alright, sir,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Next, we were looking into…”

As before, they quickly faded into the background as Spamton found himself mesmerized by Tenna’s own futile attempt to focus on their words. His nose had begun twitching faintly as he fought against the rising staticky sensation that was surely spreading through it, desperately trying to suppress it through sheer will alone.

But if Spamton had learned anything during his brief time with this cold, it was that that was nothing less than an impossibility.

Soon enough, Tenna’s breathing resumed its rebellion against him. “H-hh…! Snf… h-heh—eh’TZSSsh! …n’GXCht!!” Two more, one for each stripe, this time muffled somewhat by the crook of his arm despite the second one looking like it caught him off guard. “Ngh…”

“Bless you,” Spamton chimed in, not moving from his relaxed position across from him.

Tenna eyed him warily with another sniffle, but didn’t get the chance to say anything before the investor spoke again.

“…Sorry, is this a good time?”

“Yes!” Tenna said, snapping to attention. “Yes, sorry, I’mb just ndot feeling very…” He glanced at Spamton again.

Go on, Cathode, he thought, not bothering to hide the conceit glimmering in his eyes. Show us all how easy it is to just “push through it,” why don’t you?

“…Uh, it’s just allergies,” he finished, his tone wavering a little.

“…Right. Well, moving on, we wanted to discuss the ratings we’ve been seeing…”

As he listened, Tenna took another generous sip of his water, then another, likely hoping to soothe the burning in his throat that, if Spamton recalled correctly, he should definitely be feeling by now. However, it wasn’t long at all until his screen was already looking fuzzy again, though this time, it was the whole thing. It was still faint, but the layer of static had overtaken it, the white glow appearing wobbly and distorted as the static danced across it, prickly and ever-teasing. Spamton could practically feel the irritation just by looking at him, and he felt a flicker of sympathy then.

Tenna evidently couldn’t help running a hand under his nose a few times, the motion desperate and frantic as though the rubbing would quell the growing storm. Unfortunately for him, it only seemed to spur it on, and with the next sniffle, his breath hitched aggressively.

“Hihh… s-sorry, I—I thi-hhi-nk I’mb gonna… heh—eh’TZSSSHIEW! Hh’TSCHH! Huhh… hh—ih’TSSHH! HIH’TSCHHT!!”

He managed to stifle a few against the back of his hand, but each time he did, the static only hissed more furiously, demanding to be satisfied. The itch behind it was roaring to life, blooming until it had filled his nose to the brim with its ticklish display.

Meanwhile, the voice on the phone had gone temporarily silent, and when they broke it, Spamton thought they sounded rather annoyed.

“…If I may—”

“Hahh—HA’tCHOO! AE’TSHIEWW! Snnfff… I-I’mb sorr—hehh… hh—Heh’TCHIEW! Hahh… I h-have to… hhT!… haah-have to… s-sne— Hihh- ih’TSCHEWW!! Hih’TCHIEWW!!”

And with that last one, Tenna froze in alarm, his antennas standing on end as a generous pool of snot connected with the back of his glove. He hadn’t pulled it away yet, but Spamton could just make out the glistening shine of moisture underneath his nose rapidly seeping into the fabric.

He stood abruptly, placing his other hand on his desk, panic visible in his screen as it flickered anxiously. “I—I’mb sorry, I’ll be right back—”

“Should be some tissues in the righthand cabinet,” Spamton called after him as he turned tail, fleeing to the far side of the office. As he watched him frantically rummage through his belongings for something to save him from his own mess, he thought he heard someone speaking to him.

“…Spamton, sir? Anyone? Hello?!”

Ah—there it was again. The investor was still trying to talk to him. Too bad he hadn’t been paying a lick of attention.

“Oh, shit—I mean, yeah, sorry, what’d you say?”

They gave a very pointed, very frustrated sigh, the sound crackling a little through the receiver. “…How about we pick this back up next week?”

Tenna, now with tissue in hand, paused mid-blow, interrupting the sickly gurgling sound he’d been making. “Wha—wait! Wait, I’b still here, we can—”

“Look,” they continued despite his pleading, “the two of you clearly aren’t at your best today, for whatever reason. I’ve got some other important matters to attend to; I’m sure you understand.”

“Wait, please—” Tenna started, but the strain on his voice just left him to cough a few times instead.

Click.

Well, shit.

“Sorry, Cathode,” Spamton said. “But, hey, if it’s any consolation, pretty sure that guy was tryin’ ta screw us over anyway. We dodged a bullet, if anything.”

Tenna’s antennae were drooping as he stared back at him, and he took a moment to wipe at his nose one last time before discarding the crumpled tissue. “Doesn’t matter. We needed the money, bullet or not.” He sighed, then forced himself to hold back another light cough. “Forget it. I have work to get back to.”

Spamton raised a brow at that. “Work?” Seriously, what’s it gonna take to get this guy to slow down for once? “Don’t you think you should, I dunno, rest first? Maybe take it easy for the rest of the day?”

Tenna hesitated, then seemed to recompose himself, taking on that same classic look of overconfidence—though with just a little scrutiny, Spamton could see that underneath it, he looked rather tired.

“What? Haha—ndo, why would I do that? There’s still so much to be done around here!” He smiled slightly. “I’b fine, really! Snf.”

Now it was Spamton’s turn to sigh. This goddamned idiot…

As much as he admittedly adored his enthusiastic, often oblivious attitude, it was less cute in this case and more exasperating. “Tenn, if this is about the bet, I don’t actually care that much. If you feel like you’re getting sick—”

“I said I’b fine!” Tenna responded, raising his voice into false liveliness. “Like I said, it’s probably just allergies! I’mb resilient, remember?”

Desperate is more like.

“Fine, fine. You wanna be stubborn and run yourself down before the show tomorrow? Be my guest. I’ll be doing paperwork in my room till then.”

Tenna merely stared at him, seeming almost disappointed by his response. “Oh… right.” He lowered his gaze, then muttered, “Ugh… I ndeed new gloves.”

I could take your old ones off you. The thought crossed Spamton’s mind for a split second before he shoved it back down as fast as possible, hoping his face hadn’t noticeably reddened in that time.

With a recomposing shake of his head, he then rose from his chair to move to the other side of Tenna’s desk. Already knowing where to go, he opened the second drawer down to retrieve a fresh pair of the same white gloves that he apparently kept well-stocked at all times.

“Here,” he said, tossing them casually.

Despite his dulled senses, Tenna managed to catch them without too much trouble. “Uh… thanks.”

“Anything else? You know, before you end up passing out in the hallways?”

He perked up a little. “Ndot happening, Spam. I’ve been through marathons on nothigg but coffee and mints before. This is nothin’.”

“That’s… not something to brag about, Cathode.”

“Says you.”

Spamton sighed. There really was no reasoning with him, it seemed.

With that aside, he began heading towards the door, preparing to leave Tenna to his own reckless desires. However, as he moved closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of pity that ran through him. Yes, he was still being stubborn and difficult… but at the same time, he really was just trying to keep everything around here afloat, wasn’t he? The stress had been getting to him lately, hence last night’s confrontation. As much as he wanted to pretend things were okay, it had gotten to the point where even Spamton couldn’t ignore it anymore.

That, and the fact that it was technically Spamton’s fault that he was feeling testier than usual at the moment, was enough to further soften his heart towards his costar.

“…Oh, by the way, I was gonna grab something to eat from the Green Room first. You want anything?” He offered.

Tenna’s shoulders visibly sank as he dropped his expression. “Nah, it’s okay, I’mb… ndot hungry. Just water’s fine.”

Spamton nodded knowingly. “Your throat bothering you?”

He immediately tensed up again. “N-ndo! It’s just… the humidity! It’s been off in this room all day! I keep telling Mike to get it fixed…”

“…Sure, Tenn. Whatever you say.” In truth, he did want to stay, to do what he could to make him feel better, even if only by gently pushing him in the right direction. But it wasn’t like he could force him to slow it down. If he wasn’t going to help himself just yet, there was little Spamton could do about it.

Well, he knows where to find me when he’s ready to pay up one way or another.

--

Several hours later, somewhere around four or five—he’d lost track by now—Spamton had nearly fallen asleep at his desk, almost bored to an early grave by the never-ending stack of papers that had greeted him. Soon enough, though, he found himself jolting back into alertness as he heard a knock at his door.

“Mmh—yeah, come in!”

Slowly, the door creaked open and, after a moment’s hesitation, Tenna appeared as he shuffled his way inside. It took Spamton a second to rub the bleariness from his eyes, but once he did, he saw that when he spoke, Tenna’s gaze was lowered away from him.

“…You won.”

“…I what now?” Spamton asked, blinking in confusion.

Tenna looked up at him, and immediately, the dark lines on his screen under where his eyes would be if he had any indicated the he was exhausted.

“You won,” he repeated, his voice low and raspy. “I feel awful.”

Ah. On the one hand, Spamton had to hand it to him: it was impressive that it had taken this long for him to admit it. But on the other, with how terrible he simply looked—tail and antennas drooping, a noticeable redness to the edges of his nares, and the aforementioned exhaustion, to name a few—he felt pretty guilty about the whole ordeal.

Yes, he looked terrible… and also deeply, wonderfully attractive in this vulnerable state of misery, much to Spamton’s dismay.

Kind of wish he’d caught this first so I could catch it from him instead…

…Aaaand, that was another thought he’d have to shove deep down for another time. Right now, Tenna needed a different kind of attention.

“…Yeah, I’ll bet. C’mon, you can lay down in my bed for tonight, okay?”

Tenna seemed offput by the suggestion. “But… but whad about y-hhou… huhh—hh’tCHHXT! Hh—hhT! ...Hih’tCHUU!” The sneezes tore through him without mercy, and he coughed a few times after for good measure. “Snrrk. Nngh…”

Spamton flinched at how much worse he sounded compared to a few hours ago. Congested to hell and back, for starters.

“Don’t worry about me, Cathode. You’re the one who looks like they’re gonna keel over any minute now.” He got up from his desk and approached Tenna, reaching out to hold onto his elbow with a gentle touch—one he’d usually reserve only for special occasions. But this, he decided, was one that most definitely called for it. “That’s it, let’s get you to bed.”

“…’Kay…”

Thankfully, Tenna didn’t try to fight him as he guided him forward, leading him to the soft, red sheets that awaited him. However, as he began to settle in, Spamton couldn’t help noticing how much he seemed to be trembling… and then, he realized how warm he felt under his touch. He was pretty warm normally, so he hadn’t noticed at first, but now that he was paying more attention, there was definitely nothing normal about it.

Not trembling—he’s shivering…

“Aw, Tenn… I warned you about getting run down, didn’t I?” Spamton let out a small sigh as he reached out to brush his hand against the casing surrounding his screen. “Looks like you’re getting hit harder than I was. You’re running a fever.”

Tenna did his best to tilt his gaze up at Spamton while laying against the pillow, leaning ever-so-slightly into the touch. “Oh… then, whad about…?”

Spamton shook his head. “We’re cancelling the show. Right now, you need to rest, got it?”

He looked away again, and Spamton felt his heart lurch at how small he seemed. It couldn’t have been by more than a foot or so, but he must’ve shrunken in size just before he’d come in, likely weighed down by his emotions after he’d finally accepted them, and even now he was losing a few inches more.

“…Hey, Spam?”

“Yeah, Tenn?”

“…’M sorry ‘bout yesterday. Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you…”

His heart managed to somehow drop even further in his chest. “…It’s okay, Tenna. I was kind of being a dick. So… I guess I’m sorry, too.” The word didn’t come easily to him most of the time, but for once, it slipped out with little resistance.

Tenna remained quiet for a moment, but after a few more seconds, he made some sort of motion with his right arm, rifling through his suit jacket in search of something. Without glancing back up at Spamton, Tenna was suddenly holding out his wallet, practically shoving it against his chest.

“Uh… what are you doing?”

“I told you,” Tenna rasped, “you won. Take it.” His voice began to break even more. “Just take it—take all of it. I don’t even care anybmore…”

“Tenna… I’m not taking your wallet.”

He simply whined in response, though he didn’t lower his arm.

“Geez, you’re overdramatic when you’re feverish, huh?” Spamton sighed again. “Alright, alright, fine. If you’re gonna be stubborn about it, then I’ll take it, but I’m gonna use all your money to buy you medicine, deal?”

“…Deal.”

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