Snz Stuff

As usual, the TV studio was bustling with activity by the time Tenna arrived backstage. The place had been livelier than ever the whole week, what with the schedule for TV Time filling up their calendar, and at Tenna’s direction, his crewmembers were keeping busy with the ever-changing lighting and the increasingly eccentric stage props. Now that the show was really taking off, both he and his co-star Spamton had hardly gotten a break from the hectic life of showbusiness.

But as much of a dream come true as it was, he was also completely exhausted.

Tenna hadn’t been feeling his best right from the get-go when he’d woken up this morning with a scratchy throat and a persistent sniffle. In hindsight, it probably should’ve been obvious: having a one-on-one interview segment for the show with an interviewee who was blatantly sick with a streaming cold was, perhaps, not the smartest of moves. But the Addison CEO he’d invited on was a big household name, and with the rate that they were upsizing, they simply couldn’t afford to reject the views it would bring in, so Tenna had endured exposing himself to the cold-ridden air between them for an hour straight.

He’d hoped to avoid ending up the same as him later in the week, and for a little while, it had seemed like he’d succeeded. In the time since the show finished on Monday, Tenna had taken every opportunity he could to rest as much as his busy schedule would allow, though of course, it still left much to be desired.

For the first few days, he’d felt perfectly peachy as his efforts seemed to pay off. That is, until this Thursday morning had finally come along, bringing with it a slight tickle behind his screen that signaled the first of what would inevitably become the early stages of his cold.

It wasn’t that bad, though. He’d suffered through so, so much worse over the years, and if there was anything he’d learned from them, it was that the show must alwaysgo on! 

Speaking of, Spamton was approaching him now, holding various looseleaf scripts in one hand.

“Ah, there you are, Tens! You ready for the show or what?”

Instinctively, Tenna perked up at the mention of his professional obligations. He had to keep his posture looking good for the cameras, after all! “’Course I am!”

Spamton nodded. “Great, because I’ve finally got everything sorted with the sponsors. I’m gonna keep it real with you, Cathode—you are so lucky you don’t have to deal with these guys nearly as much now that you have me.”

Tenna chuckled at that. “It is nice to outsource the words from our sponsors!” He paused to clear his throat then after his voice came out a bit rougher than he’d intended.

Spamton raised a brow. “You good? Need to do some vocal warm-ups first?”

“Ah—no, I’m alright. Throat’s just a little dry from giving stage directions all morning. You know how it is,” he said with a shrug and a definitely-not-forced grin.

“Mm-hmm. Speaking of dry, have you read these trivia questions?” Spamton smacked his stack of papers with the back of his other hand. “Here, get this: they’re claiming that the 1993 Cungadero is more powerful than the 1987 model.” He scoffed incredulously. “Seriously, who wrotethese?! Everyone knows the newer one gets less horsepower than the ’87!”

“Oh, yeah, everyone,” Tenna said, having no idea what Spamton was talking about. Today’s trivia show had been written by their sponsor tie-in, a car manufacturing group of some kind from the city. Spamton knew how to be appeasing when it came to working with them, but given his… particular interests, he was perhaps just a little more confrontative this time around.

Suddenly, his antennas pinged with an incoming message. Reaching up to the side of his head with a jolt, he heard Mike’s voice speaking to him through their channel:

“Hey, Tenna, we’re all set over here. Ready to go?”

“Yep, all good! You can go ahead and get everything started. Thanks, Mike!”

“Got it. You’re both on in five.”

Clearing his throat again, he glanced down at Spamton. “Shall we?”

--

Normally, Tenna felt perfectly at home basking in the glow of the stage lights, their bold intensity complimenting his pale complexion and vividly red-and-yellow outfit. But for whatever reason, the moment he stepped into their harsh rays, he could only feel a sense of discomfort. They were much too warm and bright, so much so that he visibly flinched as soon as they’d washed over his screen.

Ah, well—he’d have to remind Mike to check for any calibration or wiring issues later. For now, he had an introduction to get through. With Spamton by his side, Tenna took a deep breath, held up his mic, and let the opening lines flow through him.

“Gooood evening, ladies and gentlemen! As always, I’ll be your lovely host for tonight, and joining me as our wonderful cohost is the just-as-lovely Spamton G. Spamton!”

“Please, Ant, you’re too kind,” Spamton spoke into his own smaller copy of the standard TV Time microphone, an edge of exasperation to his voice given Tenna’s tendency to overdo it with the praise.

Nevertheless, Tenna continued with enthusiasm. “We’ve got a great show lined up for you this time, wihithh… a-hem, with tonight’s special guests!”

Out of nowhere, an utterly irresistible tickle had settled itself deep inside his nose, drawing out a breathy hitch midsentence that he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried. No problem—he’d take care of it in between lines. A slight pause, and he reached up to scrub at his nose as subtly as possible, taking no more than a second before lowering his hand again.

…Apparently, that was a huge mistake.

The very moment his glove had brushed up against his screen and under his already sensitive nares, he could feel the prickle of static electricity spread into the fabric, elevating the offending itch into the beginnings of a storm.

“In just a-huhh… snff, a few moments, we’ll be introducing our c-contesthhants… hihh—ih’TSSHuhh!”

In a mad panic, he scrambled for the handkerchief folded securely in his front suit pocket, managing to retrieve it and turn away from the cameras just in time to muffle the sneeze that escaped him. He breathed a half-sigh of relief; guess that was taken care of.

Only now that the white, silky fabric of the handkerchief, one corner embroidered with “T.V. Time” in bright red thread, was right up against his screen, he was finding that even the slightest of movements was sending that same fuzzy feeling of static cling across his face, tickling the inside of his nose all over again.

Focus, you’ve got an intro to get through!

Unfortunately, it seemed like his nose had other plans. He didn’t even manage to get through his next breath before the fit took over him entirely.

“…ng’GNXSHHh!! Hh’TZSHHht…! Huhh—ihgGXZSSHTuhh!!”

Each and every one was just as unsatisfying as the last, stifled harshly into the cloth and exacerbating the itch as the storm only seemed to grow. Sparks flashed from the tips of his antennas, sending an additional shudder through his body with each sneeze and making his microphone crackle slightly, prompting a startled look from Spamton beside him.

He didn’t speak aloud, but a pointed glare and rise of his brow sent him a clear message: What the hell is going on?

Tenna made an attempt to pull the fabric away, but it was immediately apparent that that wasn’t a good idea. Already, his nose was streaming like a faucet—he couldn’t move it yet, but leaving it meant that the staticky prickle wouldn’t go away, either.

His gaze darted nervously towards the cameras, the stare of the lenses piercing him. Shit—he had to think of something, quick.

“Ahh… a-actually, folks,” he began, still desperately holding the handkerchief up to his screen, “before we introduce our lovely contestants, we have a quick w-word from—hh—haH’TSCHHHh…! Hahh—from our s-sponsors!” Before the next tickle could bloom, he added under his breath, “Mike, run the ads, please!”

Spamton shot him another questioning look. Since when did they start a show with ads?

Tenna could only spare him a brief glance as he backed away, flashing the “technical difficulties” screen as he turned to rush backstage, hoping he’d get the message. It wasn’t a moment too soon, either, as his next breath demanded more from him, snapping his head forward with the force of each sneeze. “…ih’GTSCHHh—! Hhh—A’KTSCHHEW!!”

With that last one, he paused to blow, doing his best to muffle the sound of it away from the audio equipment. By now, the cloth in his hand was rather soaked, much to his disdain. But by some miracle, the loss of static charge took at least some of the irritation with it, giving him a chance to breathe at last. Gingerly, he dabbed at his screen, and only a minute or so later, Tenna snapped to attention when he noticed Spamton approaching him, pushing his way through the curtains to join him in the back.

“Alright, what’s with the sparks, Tenn? You dyin’ or something?”

“Ughh… I think I have a cold,” Tenna groaned, wincing slightly now that the fit had torn up his raw throat. “I get all this static buildup and I cahahhn’t… s-stop… ngh’GXSSHHhuhh…!” Another spark coiled its way up his antennas as he whipped his head to the side to catch the next one in the crook of his arm, ending it with a pitifully thick sniffle. “…Sneezing,” he finished.

“Really, now? I hadn’t noticed,” Spamton teased. 

“Mnnh… it just keeps coming,” Tenna complained. “Usually the excess static isn’t this bad unless I have a fever, though…”

At that, Spamton narrowed his eyes. “It’s not, is it?”

He approached then, reaching up towards Tenna’s casing as best he could. But before he could make contact, Tenna flinched away, just barely feeling the staticky prickle react to Spamton’s feathery hand and making the soft material stand on end.

“Don’t…!” He warned, coughing twice with the strain of raising his voice. “Don’t get too close, it’s not safe!”

Spamton couldn’t help staring at his hand in fascination. “Whoa… so whatever you touch gets a nice static charge, huh? No wonder you keep getting set off; you were practically burrowing your face in conductive fabric the whole time up there.”

“I guess so,” Tenna said, absentmindedly rubbing a hand under his nose and very promptly being reminded why that was a poor choice. “Hheh—heH'TSSHhuhh…!”

“Case in point,” Spamton said, crossing his arms. He paused then, noting the discomfort in Tenna’s expression. “Maybe just skip the covering for a bit, alright, Cathode? Wouldn’t want you to short-circuit in the middle of things.”

His antennas drooped considerably. “I’ll get everyone sick if I don’t,” he said, dejection creeping into his tone.

Spamton sighed, raising a hand to rub at his temple briefly. “Then go home and rest, idiot. Unless you wanna be completely miserable on set for the next few hours, then go ahead—be my guest.”

“But… you’ll be hosting the show alone,” Tenna argued. “I can’t just drop this on you right when we’re supposed to be starting…”

“Aw, c’mon Cathode, I thought you’d give me a little more credit than that,” he said, the corner of his mouth stretching into an amused smile. “I think I can handle a basic trivia show where the questions were all prewritten for us.”

Oh. He had a point there, Tenna supposed. But still, there was a glimmer of worry gnawing at his gut. He knew Spamton could do a perfectly fine job on his own—he was damn good at this, really—but Tenna was normally present onstage to act as a counterbalance, and he’d already declared his disdain for today’s sponsor. What if it was a disaster in waiting?

“I know, but are you sure? It’s—snff—not that bad, I’ve worked through stuff like this before,” he tried.

Spamton didn’t buy it. “Yeah, I’m sure.” When Tenna failed to stop a look of disappointment from taking over his screen, his own expression softened. “Here, how about this—if you’ve got a temperature, I’m getting Mike to ban you from the set. If not, you can keep working. Deal?”

Tenna perked up a little. He didn’t feel particularly warm, and the lightheadedness was probably because he hadn’t quite caught his breath yet. He was fine to keep going, and this would prove it. “Alright, deal.”

Nodding, Spamton glanced around briefly, flagging down a nearby Pippins working backstage. “You—get us a thermometer. A glass one, not one of the digital ones with the metal tip, got it?”

With a much too perceptible eyeroll, the Pippins nodded in acknowledgement and set off, returning only a few minutes later after pillaging what was likely a very outdated and not-up-to-code medical supply closet. But it would have to do for now.

Tenna watched as Spamton took the device from them before offering it to him. “Go on, let’s see.”

Hesitantly, Tenna accepted and slipped it under his tongue, grimacing at the stale taste of it. Spamton, meanwhile, looked satisfied with himself.

“Figured the metal one would get zapped. This should work instead.”

“Mmhmm…”

An awkward pause, and eventually, the red-dyed liquid in the thermometer came to a halt. Tenna removed it with impatient flick of his tail, but as soon as he did so, Spamton snatched it from him.

“100.7, huh? Looks like a fever to me,” he chided.

His antennas drooped in disappointment. “It could be worse,” he protested. “I-I can stihhill—hahh’ESHHEWw!! Hhh’ESHCHIEWW! …Nngh,” he moaned as another harsh tickle caught him off guard. At the same time, more electricity sparked from him greedily, threatening to jump towards the nearest piece of equipment, had Tenna not angled his head away in time.

…Maybe it was a good idea to turn in, after all. His shoulders sank; he was more of a liability than anything like this, wasn’t he? A walking electrical hazard. Besides, he’d already managed to embarrass himself once with a fit in front of the live cameras. He wasn’t eager to do so again.

Spamton shot him a sympathetic look, placing the thermometer on the table nearest to them. “You were saying, Tens?”

“Fine,” Tenna conceded with a dramatic sigh. “Tell Mike I’m calling out sick, then. You can take over. And please,” he added, “whatever you do, do not get us sued for libel, okay?”

“…Ehh, no promises.”

“Spamton.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t,” he said, only half-jokingly. “Seriously, don’t worry about it, Cathode. Go get some rest—I’ll see you after the show.”

With a tiny nod, Tenna watched as Spamton headed back through the curtains now that Mike had likely run out of extra in-case-of-emergency advertisements to shove in front of their audience. For now, it seemed there was nothing more for him to do other than head back to his room.

It wasn’t too far from the showroom, but Tenna struggled to keep his tail from dragging along the floor along the way. Despite having subsided a little, the itch deep in his screen was still lurking, occasionally causing it to flicker with glitchy static interference. At least he didn’t have to worry about the cameras picking it up anymore.

Upon arriving, Tenna wasted no time powering on the main TV screen mounted on the wall, already tuned in to the broadcast from the showroom. If he couldn’t join him, then watching Spamton perform from here was the next best thing.

He’s doing great! Why was I even worried?

As the next hour ticked by, though, Tenna couldn’t stop the returning sense of doubt that crept up on him, helpless against the way the dense fog seemed to slowly wrap itself around his mind.

…Was he going to be upset with him for getting sick during the show? He’d have every right to; they’d had everything planned all week, and Tenna had suddenly changed that plan with less than a moment’s notice.

“…ngh’GNXSHHh! Snrrrk—ugh…”

The tissues by his bedside were equally prone to static cling, but with how delicate they were on top of how much more congested he felt compared to even just an hour ago, they weren’t setting him off quite as much. A thread of silver lining in a tapestry of misery, he supposed.

He twitched an antenna towards the screen across from him. The outro theme for the show was playing—was it over already? It was only meant to be an hour long with commercial breaks included, so it made sense. Still, he hadn’t quite realized it had been that long already.

Before the credits had even finished rolling, he jolted in surprise when a knock came from the door. Without needing an answer, Spamton pushed his way through, carrying what looked to be a mug of warm liquid, the translucent wisps of steam trailing softly above it as he approached.

“Hey, Cathode, how’re ya feeling?”

“Mm… tired,” he replied, lifting his gaze towards him.

Spamton nodded, apparently having expected that answer. “Here, I brought you this,” he said, offering him the mug with an arm outstretched. “It’s tea. Thought it might help.”

Tenna looked down at it questioningly, then back up at Spamton. “Oh… you’re ndot… mad at mbe?”

Spamton raised a brow. “What? No, why would I be mad at you? I told you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Mmm… still,” was all Tenna could manage for a reply. “You did ambazing out there without mbe.”

Tentatively, he took the drink into his hands then, melting into the warmth it provided through his gloves before taking a generous sip of it. Immediately, the feeling of it sliding down his throat was nothing short of wondrous, though the relief it brought was short lived, as he couldn’t help pausing to cough a few times after he’d placed it on the nightstand. 

“…Sorry,” he croaked.

Spamton watched him, an uncharacteristic layer of concern visible deep in his eyes. “You sound pretty stuffed up. Not as feisty as you were before, either; you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he reached out again, only for Tenna to flinch away like a kicked dog just as he had the first time. “Don’t… I told you, it’s ndot safe…”

Spamton looked crestfallen, pulling his arm back in a slow, steady motion. “Tenn… do you really go without any physical contact when you’re sick normally?”

Tenna gave him a piteous nod, much to his partner’s dismay given that he was staring at him like he’d just told him he has six months to live. “’S’okay, I’mb used to it,” he said with a light sniffle. “It’s ndot so bad, ‘cept when all the extra static makes my antennas feel really sore after a while…”

Spamton’s gaze drifted towards them, still bent slightly out of shape now that Tenna didn’t have the energy to keep them properly upright. “…Do they hurt right now?”

Tenna hesitated. Right now, everything felt sore and achy, and the more he focused on it, the more he could feel another tickle building inside his nose. “…A little,” he admitted. “I—h-hihh… hiht’TSHHEWW! Ow… Snnfff…”

He hadn’t bothered trying to stifle that one, wincing at the way it scraped against his throat and drew out a renewed, angry spark from his antennas. God, it was like this cold was designed to make him personally feel as wretched as possible. He’d have to talk to Mike about setting up a strict “NO SICK GUESTS” policy from now on.

Beside him, Spamton sighed. “Hold on, I think I left the thermometer backstage. I’ll be right back.”

As before, it didn’t take him long to return, though Tenna had taken to settling a little deeper into his bed in the meantime, drawn to the way it pulled him in as he shivered slightly underneath the covers. The night was still young, but already, he was exhausted, though he suspected that sleep wouldn’t be very restful anyway with the constant feeling of static brimming underneath the surface of his screen.

Once Spamton was in view again, he began returning to Tenna’s bedside with the thermometer in hand. However, he slowed until he came to a halt entirely, a thoughtful look crossing his expression.

“…Spam? What is it?”

He shook his head briefly, then finished his approach. “Here, put this in your mouth. I have an idea—don’t go anywhere, okay?”

That would be a very difficult thing for him to do right now, but with a confused tilt of his head, Tenna humored him. “Um… okay.”

Half-bewildered, half-amused, he watched then as Spamton raced out of the room again, leaving him to wait a bit more patiently this time around. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, after all.

--

Spamton walked as fast as he physically could without breaking into a full-blown sprint towards the studio’s Green Room. If this was going to work the way he hoped it would, then what he needed was most likely somewhere around here.

As usual, he spotted Ramb stationed at the bar, and upon seeing him enter, a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Fancy seeing you here at this hour, mate. What can I get ya?”

Spamton ignored him, heading straight for the electrical supplies closet adjacent to the bar and shoving his way past the door. “Not now, Ramb.”

“…Sure, help yourself, why don’t you,” he muttered behind him, though Spamton hardly heard it. He was on a mission.

…Except, the more he looked, practically ransacking every drawer and unlabeled box, the further he seemed from finding what he was after. Eventually, he was made aware of the fact that Ramb was standing in the doorway watching him when he rather loudly cleared his throat.

“Can I help you find anything, mate?” He asked, his tone dripping with annoyance.

At last, Spamton looked up at him. “Insulated gloves—where are they? I need to borrow some.”

Ramb raised a brow skeptically. “Depends, what do you need them for?”

Spamton sighed. Always a thing with this guy. “Tenna’s not feeling well. I thought they might let me help.”

To his surprise, however, Ramb’s expression softened at that. “Ah, I see. Now that’s awfully sweet of you, innit? You sure you’re feeling okay, mate?”

“…Shut up, Ramb,” Spamton growled. “Not a word of this to anyone, understood?”

Ramb chuckled. “Heh… don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” He raised a hand then, pointing at a box underneath one of the shelves that Spamton had somehow missed. “Should be in there. I’ll even let ya keep ‘em; needed to restock this place, anyway.”

At his word, Spamton scrambled to open it, relieved to find that they were there, even if the yellow with black cuffs wasn’t the most attractive color combination. Shoving them into his pocket without a second thought, he turned and exited the closet, already heading for the hallway. Behind him, Ramb called out once more, “Have fun!”

Spamton did his best to ignore him for a second time. He just needed to focus on getting back to Tenna.

Sure enough, he was right where he’d left him in his bed by the time Spamton returned, though he looked drowsy from the way he’d sunken into his pillow, thermometer poking listlessly from his mouth. But, as soon as Spamton approached, he seemed to perk up a little.

“Alright, let’s see,” he said as he took the thermometer back, though his heart dropped in his chest when he saw the reading. “101.8. Shit—your fever went way up.”

Tenna didn’t look nearly as alarmed, instead moving to sit up, only to find that it dizzied him. “Mmn… think I’ve got something here,” he muttered.

Spamton followed his gaze, pulling open the topmost drawer of his nightstand to find a half-empty bottle of fever reducers. Huh—how convenient. In a precise motion, he popped it open to retrieve two of the tablets, handing them and the still-warm mug of tea back to Tenna. “Should probably take these now, before we get started.”

“Hah… thanks,” Tenna replied, downing them quickly, much to Spamton’s relief. “…Wait, start what…?”

Spamton brandished the gloves from his pocket, slipping them on with shocking ease. “Mind if I try giving your antennas a massage?”

Tenna’s casing shifted into an expression of surprise, staring at his hands as if he couldn’t comprehend the idea. “Huh…? But… are you sure that’ll work…?”

That was what he’d said, but behind the uncertainty, Spamton could see that he so very, very desperately wanted it to. “Only one way to find out.”

Slowly, delicately, Spamton leaned forward, allowing his right hand to make the gentlest of contact with the side of Tenna’s head, just barely cupping it from underneath. Instinctively, Tenna flinched, an age-old fear resurfacing within him in an instant. But Spamton held fast, and once he saw that he wasn’t jerking his arm back in pain, Tenna gradually forced himself to relax.

And then, he leaned deep into his touch, a quiet sound akin to something like a whimper escaping him in response to the unfamiliar feeling. It almost hurt to see him like this, so desperate for the basic necessity of contact, especially with how sick and lonely he must be feeling. Even through the glove, Spamton could pick up on the heat radiating from him—physically separated by the barrier of the specialized material, but still undeniably intimate in nature.

That was all he could ever really ask for, it seemed.

“Looks like it’s working,” Spamton breathed.

“Y-yeah…” Tenna said, giving little more than a shaky nod.

At last, after what couldn’t have been more than half a minute but had felt like hours, Spamton pulled his hand away, though Tenna attempted to stay with his touch as long as possible.

“Right—can you lay on your stomach for me, Tenn? It’ll make it easier for me to reach things.”

“O-oh, sure,” Tenna replied eagerly. It took him a second to remove himself from underneath the covers, but once he’d rearranged himself, he was laying stomach-down on the bed, his head propped up by his arms crossed overtop a pillow.

Spamton hopped up onto the bed to join him, quickly settling down next to where his head was positioned. “Are you ready?”

Though his tail flicked nervously behind him, Tenna gave a single approving nod.

Stretching his arms out to crack his joints in preparation, Spamton leaned closer and, just as gently as before, took the ends of his antennas into his palms.

Immediately, Tenna’s body shuddered as his breath hitched once, then twice. Oh—oh god, he was about to cry, wasn’t he? Right away, Spamton let go.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Snff… n-ndo, sorry, I just… can’t believe anyone would do this for me,” came Tenna’s wavering reply. “Everyone always avoids mbe when I’mb like this because they’re afraid of getting shocked…”

Spamton could feel his heart break into pieces. Oh, Cathode…

“Well, I’m not afraid of a little zap,” he declared. Then, with a wink, he added, “Heh… might even be kind of fun.”

Even from here, he could see the pixels of Tenna’s screen flash pink briefly, the color washing over the white pillowcase under him as he tucked his shoulders into himself. “Oh…! But, th-that won’t happen, right?”

“Nah.” Probably, anyway.

With that, Spamton resumed his prior intention, delicately grasping his partner’s antennas from the middle. Again, Tenna couldn’t help tensing up slightly at the sudden touch, but he otherwise remained still.

Spamton hesitated. He… didn’t actually know how to give the appendages a proper massage. They hadn’t had the chance for him to really learn yet. Ah, well—better to learn it on the job, I guess. How hard can it be?

Carefully, he started with a rhythmic, vertical rubbing motion, working his way ever so slowly up from the center feed point. As he did so, Spamton felt Tenna practically melt under his touch almost immediately, drawing out a deep sigh of relaxation.

But for as good as the stimulation must have felt, his body hadn’t forgotten about the excess electricity built up inside him. A few seconds in, and the sparks were visible again, coiling up his antennas like serpents on the hunt. But by some stroke of luck, Spamton couldn’t feel a thing—it seemed the gloves were more than sufficient to keep him safe from them.

Tenna, on the other hand, was definitely feeling it. His screen shuddered with static interference, and his next breaths hitched violently—not from the effort of holding back tears this time, Spamton suspected. His nose was twitching and flaring, undoubtedly battling the irritation that had returned with a vengeance.

“Hh… hahh—haH’ESCHIEWW!”

Tenna sniffled after the first one had successfully fought its way out, though it was already obvious how ineffective that was going to be. “Mmngh—Spam…? Tissues—”

“Whoops, just a sec, Cathode,” Spamton responded, briefly releasing his grip on his left antenna to reach over and grab the box of tissues off the nightstand.

The second they were within reach, Tenna grabbed one and let loose another set of three as the static transferred straight up against his nose, very quickly drenching the material and putting him out of breath. “Hht…! hih’TSSCHEWW!! hhEH’SSHHieww—! hHH’TSCHHuhh…! Hahh…”

“All good there, Tens?”

“Snnnff. Mhmm…”

Well, that was good enough for Spamton. Gently, he resumed his massaging motions, still focusing on the center poles. Tenna relaxed again, allowing him to work the soreness out of them with slow, deliberate pressure. At this point, Spamton could tell he wasn’t even trying to hold them up on his own anymore, too overcome by the feeling of relief washing over him.

As he moved up to begin working at the kinks in his antennas, a few more sparks of electricity arched angrily from them in response. With one hand pressing a barely intact tissue against his screen and the other desperately grasping at the bedsheets with his claws outstretched, Tenna was practically gasping for his next breath. “hHH—! heH’tSHHEWW—!”

Poor guy. On the one hand, the endless cycle of irritation from his own unique biology had to be a miserable existence. But, on the other, Spamton couldn’t help savoring the way Tenna was squirming underneath him, not to mention the way he could feel his breath hitch and his body shudder with release each and every time. In more ways than one, Tenna was at the mercy of Spamton’s delicate touch—something he was, perhaps, enjoying a little too much.

At last, he made his way up to the rounded tips of his antennas, taking them gently into his palms and changing to circular motions as though he were shining them. He still wasn’t sure whether this was what he was supposed to be doing, but it must have been good enough given that Tenna moaned softly beneath him whether he’d meant to or not. Spamton could feel his cheeks heat up in response—Tenna, the family-friendly face of TV Time, making that sort of sound behind closed doors?

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, and if Spamton got his way, it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Eventually, as he finished dispelling the tension from the whole length of them, the static seemed to recede from his antennas, only giving off the slightest of crackles every now and then in place of full-on sparks. Tenna let out a deep sigh of relief, melting into the mattress all over again.

“Mmn… th-thank you…”

Spamton released his grip once more, backing off to give him the room to sit back up. Gradually, Tenna managed to lean against the backboard, propping himself up with a pillow behind his back. He looked exhausted, both his nose and screen were flushed pink, and he could hardly even sniffle with how congested he was after all that, but aside from those details, Spamton could tell that he was glowing a little more vibrantly than before.

Hell, even like this, Spamton could hardly take his eyes off him.

“’Course, Tenn. Just focus on getting some rest for now, okay? You should feel better in the morning.” After he’d said it, though, Spamton couldn’t help the mischievous smile that crossed his expression. “But, on the off chance that you don’t… we can always go for round two.”

Tenna stiffened slightly, the pink pixels darkening by one shade. As much as this cold had knocked him down, it was evidently hard to hide the excitement that phrase had brought him.

Spamton tore him a new one. Something akin to shredding paper, like he'd flattened Tenna and thrown him into a set of grinding machinery.

He’d actually seemed cool and collected in the hall, and Tenna thought that maybe, maybe, he wouldn’t be mad after all.

It was all just a desperate facade though, he realized. A means of getting out of there as quickly as possible, away from curious eyes. No one dared to ask questions of the guy who seemed to have it all together, moving quickly to signal he had places to be.

And now, shut into the privacy of a dressing room, Spamton pacing, ranting, raving, Tenna accepted that his partner’s calm ended where that door had slammed loudly behind them.

He didn't take it well, being laid into. His current size reflected that, practically that of a guinea pig slumped sadly on the couch. 

Spamton didn't seem to realize he was there anymore, actually. His shoes scraped out an erratic rhythm as he paced back and forth, tail feathers ruffled and sticking out at different angles. 

“What are the [100% winning odds] that every piece of mail we opened had a personal vice to [killer deals] me? Who would ship that many [up and fresh as a daisy] bouquets to a studio in [discreet packaging]? And… ugh–!” His pacing hit a stuttering halt as he glanced down at his jacket. Several stains still donned the sleeves, saturated in such a way that the source was obvious. “Look at this! [Look with your special eyes]! I hope no one saw this! [!$&@]ing disgusting.”

In a haphazard motion, he all but tore the garment off. The red blazer was held out in front of him like a piece of roadkill, Spamton wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

Without the built-in shoulder pads adorning him, his frame was far smaller, softer- but the contrast did nothing to put Tenna at ease.

His face alone could still scare anyone off. Every ounce of frustration etched there was enhanced further by the irritated patches lingering under his eyes, on his nose, along his cheeks. 

“hyHH’SHIUEHhh–!” And he still kept sneezing. Openly and down at the floor, too blinded by rage to care about courtesy. Tenna wasn't sure when he last ever saw him so affected by an allergen, if ever.

“Snff. What was in that [#*%!]ing perfume? I oughta [permanently [ban it]] from studio grounds.” His blazer dropped to the floor in a sad puddle of red. That's when he suddenly saw Tenna, and really saw him, instead of seeing through him. The tiny TV man flinched, feeling hot and nervous under his dark eyes.

“And you. What [in the name of [Heaven]] got into you?” he spat. “I decide I've [hit the limit], barely able to speak without [suffering from allergies?], and how do I find my co-host? So [hot and heavy] he can't [click here to purchase]? On [live television]? Did somethin’ get [jumbled up] in that blockhead of yours?

Tenna managed to speak, “You said you were fine. Multiple times.”

“And!? I was [right as rain] then! But then you…! Ugh, do you have any idea how [negative 999 credit] we'd be if anyone saw that? We'd be [out on the [streets]]!” Spamton wildly waved his arms. His voice broke and glitched erratically, words tangling more and more unintelligibly into ad language.

Of course Tenna had an idea. It was all he could think about the entire time. 

But it turned out fine. He really wanted to reiterate that to him- for as much as the embarrassment and distress of that moment still weighed on Tenna, it was fine. They got out of it without creating a scene. Or a big scene, anyways. 

It really was a successful segment in the end, despite all the blooper worthy moments. 

Then again, he wasn't the one who sneezed all over himself for all their viewers to see. And for however many ways they could both blame each other for that happening, there was no denying they both took the brunt of it this time.

Tenna bit his tongue, metaphorically and literally. Sometimes when Spamton got like this- completely unreasonable, that is- it really was better to let him shake it out of his system, uninterrupted. The times he did interject often turned into arguments, something Tenna did not have energy for right now.

“That was so humiliating… I mahhde, hih-! such a [$!&@]ing mess of mhih-! Hh…?” Spamton struggled to speak around the ever-persistent tingling, rearing its head for another interruption.  “hh, hiHH–! hah…” But just when it seemed like he would buckle under its command, he pinched hard at his nose. 

No, he would not be sneezing anymore, apparently.

Tenna winced. “Don't do that, Spam.”

“Dhhon’t tell me what to…hih, hhhwhat to–!” His chest spasmed wildly with another aching gasp denied any output. He crushed a fist up against his nose, rubbing fiercely at his flaring nostrils.

“You're gonna make it worse.”

“[Easy for yhou to s-say], hih-! I’m so sick of… Hhhsneeh-zing–!” His voice cracked terribly under the worsening congestion. It was almost hard to watch; Tenna felt his own nose tickle in sympathy. To still be so actively allergic despite the lack of allergens present… it would be impressive if it wasn't so concerning.

Spamton rolled his eyes, shook his head in yet another attempt to suppress the urge, but his body wasn't keen on obeying. “Hhfh, I can't… it's sohhH…! hHHH–!” 

The loud, arching gasp that tore into his lungs was trapped as he pinched his nose shut. Not with one but both hands, clamped tight to the base. The sneezes spilled out unsatisfyingly all the same, as did tears from the corner of his eyes. “hegh’ktT—! Nhh’gtT—! heh-NGxXT—!” Spamton trembled as each sneeze squelched between his fingers. They allowed barely a breath between, and yet he continued to fight. His grip grew slicker as the sneezes turned wetter, more audible, more breathless. Nose and lungs begging for surrender, over and over, to no avail. His face flushed with the exertion.

”Spam…” Tenna murmured distantly. A fresh rush of heat lent itself down his spine, etching into the ache present between his legs. 

Yes, he was still hard. Tenna shifted uncomfortably, tearing his conscience between a desire for Spamton to stop torturing himself and another, more selfish one for him to keep going…

Keep going, he did. Tenna counted at least twelve sneezes, and somewhere in the middle, Spamton doubled over, bracing one hand to his knee. “N’GTt–! hH’GHt–! eH’GXnt–!” A little louder, itchier, angrier with each sneeze. It seemed like it would never stop, that he’d turn blue and collapse before he’d allow himself to—

“hEDH’NGxtT’SHH—!” The first of the cracks in his resolve showed themselves, and they rapidly split wider. A burst of spray broke through his fingers, drenching his hand. Just rain before the imminent downpour.

Guard down, he gasped wholeheartedly for the next one, lightheaded and wheezing. “hEH’TSHHieyhh–! hiEH’SHHhiew—! Eh–! heH–! HH’SHHHIEuhh—!” The sound echoed off the walls. Wet, shiny evidence of the production further burst through his steepled hands, plainly visible for his audience of one. 

Tenna's ears rang. He bit his lip, shifted his posture. “Bless you, Spam…”

Spamton just shook his head, blinking dizziness from his eyes. “Nnhn… save your breath.” His voice was hoarse. Nonchalant too, as though he hadn't just stubbornly caused this most recent catastrophe. Tears glazed his cheeks, and his cupid’s bow was wet and shiny in the light. 

He looked utterly ruined again, and Tenna couldn't help but drink it into his memory like a fine wine.

The sound of water running filled the room as Spamton stood hunched over the sink, splashing and rubbing down his face. There was plenty of Kleenex around, but it simply wasn't enough at that point.

Perhaps the cold water managed to cool his demeanor too. Either that, or he'd sneezed his emotions back into stability. He plopped down on the couch next to Tenna with an air of apathy, with just enough energy to loosen his tie and unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt.

Nervous static sparked between Tenna’s antennae when he felt Spamton's eyes from above, gazing down on his much smaller form. 

“Weird to be sitting taller than you, Tens.”

“Mm.” 

A pause. 

In the silence, Tenna thought back on the segment and flushed with guilt, realizing he hadn't given Spamton an ounce of the praise he deserved. 

“Hey. You did good out there, ya know.” He wanted to use far bigger, better words. Fantastic, amazing, wonderful, something like that– but he couldn't summon the joy to punch them out.

Spamton shook his head. “You're just bein’ nice,” he said. 

Tenna turned his head to look at him. “No, I mean it! I don't know a lot of folks who can manage under all that uh– pressure.” His knees pressed a little tighter to his chest.

He seemed to get through to him, a ghost of a smile gracing Spamton’s features. “Well… thanks, hot shot. It was pretty neat to be in the spotlight for once.” Something warm and sunny thrummed under his words, and Tenna hoped he could fully unearth it at another, better time.

He tilted his head down to look at Tenna, sniffling. “Ya don't have to be [down in the dumps] anymore, ya know.” No response. Then, “I'm sorry for… what I said. It wasn't all your fault.”

“It's okay,” Tenna said quickly, relieved to finally feel the tension break. His size remained small and meek, but his posture relaxed, legs shifting and settling more comfortably on the couch. “I should be taking some blame though.”

Spamton continued to stare at him, frown deepening. “Tenna, are you… are you still…?”

“Ack!” Tenna scrambled to hide the erection still present between his legs. 

“Yeesh…” Spamton ran a hand over his face. “Okay, I have to ask– What has you so [XXX rated] today of all days?” 

“W-well, um…” Tenna knew exactly how to answer, but the words got caught in his throat as he realized how absurd they would sound out loud. His tail flicked nervously across the leather upholstery beneath them.

Spamton turned his body, scrutinizing him even further. “What? Are you such a freak for praise that those letters [pressed your buttons]?” There was a playful smirk in his voice, and Tenna shivered in its wake.

He drew his knees back up to his chest again, fidgeting with the fabric of his pants. “No. I mean, yes, I liked that but not like that! It’s… it's you. You're the reason.”

Spamton smirked, then frowned, again. “Well that's not a shock, but… surely you could be a little more [on the nose]? You're not one to slip up on set like that.” His eye brows pinched tighter together. “There's gotta be somethin’ more you're [withholding] from me.”

Tenna flinched at his choice of words. On the nose, huh?

The hum of the fluorescents above grew louder as the silence lingered. He really, really wished Spamton would connect the dots on his own somehow and save him the embarrassment.

Except that it was the least obvious conclusion to gather. Why would anyone assume that to be the reason? Tenna swallowed dryly. He visualized it, ripping a bandaid off. Wincing, and then relief. 

Okay. 

“It's- your, um… when you sneeze like that, it's…” he trailed off and felt the choking weight of fresh silence.

And then Spamton broke it. “Right. Uh huh. Wait.” He blinked, and then blinked again. “You're… are you serious?” Tenna could only give the tiniest nod, and his voice took a gentler tone. “I… have you always…?”

“No! No.” Tenna’s display flushed a bright, pixelated pink. “Never in my life. With anyone. It's just, you… a lot of times when we have sex you end up…” It suddenly felt like a dirty word, sneezing. “I think I just- associate the way you looked and sounded with… that.”

“Sex?”

“Yes. And I couldn't stop thinking about it when we were sitting there and then… well… you saw what happened.” Tenna frowned as though grasping for words out of thin air. “You look… ravishing when you lose control.”

In his nervous rambling, Tenna hadn't noticed how Spamton now sat, legs curled under him on the couch, body fully turned to look down at him. Shirt open, the soft micro feathers smoothly lining his chest exposed. Above that, his tenderly pink nose, and his eyes… they held Tenna with such curiosity and he couldn't bear to maintain eye contact with him. It was overwhelming to be perceived in any capacity as it was right then, especially at his current size. 

“Ravishing, huh?” Spamton echoed, amused. “Sounds like you've just got some of your [wires crossed]. Between sex and sneezing.”

Tenna briefly debated if that was actually physically possible, considering his anatomy… No, definitely not. Probably not. Most likely not.

He hoped not. How in hell would they explain that one to a mechanic?

… Tenna made a mental note to stop reading so deeply into Spamton’s phrasing.

He went on, “Okay. So you're all worked up by my sneezing. Not the weirdest thing I've ever heard of. You see all types of strange living in Cyber City. Snff.” He punctuated his words with a sharp, stuffy sniffle. And then he hitched. 

Talk about timing. Suddenly Tenna felt Spamton's hand on his shoulder, dwarfing him in such a way he’d never experienced. Big. Heavy. Warm. So lovingly intrusive of his personal space.

“Fuck, not againhh- hehH–!” He felt Spamton’s touch carefully tighten, as though to steady him. “hhH’KTSCHhih–! heHH’TSCHIieh–!” 

Tenna suppressed a shudder. It was enough before he'd admitted this strange, new development to him. Now though, with Spamton completely aware of what he was doing to him, while pressed so close? And… towering over him? Now Tenna did shudder, openly. There was very little that could make me feel more exposed at this point, next to literally stripping down naked.

And… as much as it made him want to hide, he couldn't deny the rush of excitement beaming underneath the adrenaline. It was dizzying, tearing him between an urge to grow and an urge to shrink even smaller. 

“B-bless you,” he croaked.

Spamton emerged from his sleeve with a roll of his eyes, only to look down at Tenna with interest. “Snff. You weren't kidding.” He leaned in for a closer look, noting the pink pixels creeping across the display in ever saturating color. Hand still touching Tenna's shoulder, his thumb gently rubbed at his back. “You're warm.”

“Your fault,” Tenna shot back.

Sniffling again, Spamton bit his bottom lip. He glanced at the dressing room door and then back at Tenna. “We still have some [buy one, get one free] time…” His eyes darkened. “Want some [press F1 for help] with that?” He nodded down towards Tenna’s lap.

He didn't wait for an answer, hand moving to Tenna’s leg. His thumb ghosted over the lump in his pants.

Tenna instantly whined. “Please.” 

The next thing he uttered was a noise of shock, as he was suddenly lifted. Tenna scrambled to anchor himself as the world around him moved, struggling to relax into the fingers cradling him.

“Not gonna drop you,” Spamton assured. 

It was a few more seconds of disorientated squirming before Tenna settled into his hand, head resting against the tips of his fingers. His legs spread slightly apart where his palm sloped down to his wrist, further centering his weight into Spamton’s palm. 

He looked down from his new, unusual perspective, and then back up. 

Only about a foot away, Spamton’s gaze practically consumed him, and beneath that… The irritated patches that lingered beneath his eyes and around his nostrils had faded substantially, but up this close, they were plain to see. Tenna’s internal processing quickened. 

He'd never felt so small. Literally and figuratively speaking.

“Now what should I do with you, hot shot?” The corners of Spamton’s mouth deepened as he smirked. “I could just [eat you up].” 

Tenna flushed hotter as he considered the feasibility of that threat. He could. He literally could, if he wanted to. A twist of fear and excitement wound its way deeper into his core. 

He was so caught up he didn't notice Spamton’s free hand closing in on him. His thumb started on his thigh first, rubbing over the dark leather of his pants. And then, without warning, he pressed down onto his crotch.

Tenna’s hips pushed up, back lifting into a sharp arch. One arm frantically hooked under Spamton’s pointer finger, and he clawed at the side of his hand, squirming, twisting. “Spam–tonnhh–!”

Tenna nearly cried. Only a single touch, but a touch so good it hurt. The aching, throbbing urge seated between his legs had only heightened in pressure the longer it had sat unattended. And now it was unraveling, finally unraveling. He could've come right then and there if he had any less self control. 

Spamton’s thumb lightened the pressure and began stroking him, not unlike how he would his knuckle when they held hands. Tenna’s squirming only heightened in urgency, kicking his legs, thrusting into his touch. 

“God, Tens…” Spamton let out a shaky breath of his own. He hadn't even undressed him, barely touched him, and he was all but literally melting into the palm of his hand. When he would pause, Tenna continued feverishly humping against the pad of his finger, whining. 

Whenever Tenna was this size, it was normally a result of feeling lousy, ashamed, or scared. Glooby, in Tenna’s words. Sex didn’t fit into that picture. This was a rare opportunity, Tenna permitting him to hold power over him, not just psychologically but physically too. Tenna, the tall, overbearing star, reduced to a horny little toy in his hand.

Spamton swallowed, mouth dry. “Stay [reduced for quick sale] size for me, big guy. You'll break my wrist.”

“Nnhn, I'll t-try–!” Tenna replied, voice cracking. He could do it. He'd learned to have some sense of control over his fluctuating size, on account of numerous incidents where he'd broken Spamton's bed from growing too quickly. Not to mention that he was plainly too big for him to take otherwise.

Usually though, it wasn't on this level. It was never a battle to stay this small. Usually too, he wasn't this desperately worked up- scratch that, sometimes he wasn't this desperately worked up. The pleasure was already threatening to overtake him. 

Spamton’s thumb drew a circular motion over his barely contained bulge. Tenna dug his heels into his wrist, gritted his teeth. His hips ground against the pad of his thumb, chasing the friction. Yes… yes… keep going…!

And then, right when he was falling into a feverish rhythm, he stopped. 

“Spammy…!” Tenna whined, shameless. “Why'd you stop?”

“Patience, [cathode].” There was something unreadable in his expression. His free hand darted behind his back. Spamton winced before he revealed just what he was up to: one long, pristine, white feather, plucked from his own tail. 

Tenna’s mouth wobbled around a nervous smile. “What're you… doing…?” Surely not. Surely he wasn't bold enough to–

“You're an entertainer. Give me a show.” His pupils dilated. “I want to see what this really does to you.” 

“Wait, you don't- need to do th–!” Tenna all but choked as Spamton brought the feather to his nose. 

He was frozen. “Well?” Spamton looked at him expectantly, smugly, only to falter. The feather lowered out of view. “Or… do you really not want–?”

“No! No, no, uh–” Tenna cursed the obvious enthusiasm in his voice. “G-go ahead. I'll just…” With shaking hands, he removed and tossed his gloves behind him before undoing his belt buckle. His cock sprung free as he shoved the fabric of his clothes down in one, smooth motion. It was twitching, swollen, drooling at the tip. 

Above him, Spamton had tilted his head to the side, already brushing the feather down the generous length of his nose. Tenna stared, hypnotized. Back and forth, back and forth, but not in, not yet. Just teasing him. Heat puffed from the vents at the side of his head. 

Only when Tenna gripped himself did Spamton act. The feather slipped into one nostril slowly, carefully. His gaze turned distant as he seemed to test the sensation, frowning, eyes flickering.

Tenna’s fingers trembled and pawed at the head of his cock, gathering lubrication, mesmerized by the way Spamton’s nostrils flared open around their intruder. Just one of many indications of the oncoming sneeze and all the sensations that came with that. Except now he could see it in its highest quality, up close, full screen. Consuming his attention. Anticipation tightened in his lungs. 

It was when he twirled the feather, rapidly swiping the plumes over all sides of his nasal passages that he reacted more emphatically. Eyebrows drawing together, jaw slackening, expression tensing. Spamton’s other hand trembled dangerously underneath him, but Tenna barely reacted. “hh-hehH…! nhn…” His eyes rolled back as he twirled the tool again. “ihh, it's so… tihh-tickly…!”

Tenna bit his lip and groaned. Spamton shifted his head just so that it gave him a more exposed view of his shuddering nostrils. All the microscopic details of his changing expression were overwhelmingly obvious now. Every ounce of urgency, desperation, discomfort, completely and utterly displayed and exposed. It was so much. Too much.

And God, his voice…

“I'm gonnda… sndeeze, fuck—!” Spamton sharply titled his head up, lips parting with a deep, shuddering gasp. Heat flooded Tenna’s inner mechanisms, settling under his chest with a heavy, tingling weight. He curled in on himself further, bracing to be knocked down to the couch as Spamton's chest swelled to its fullest.

“Hh’YSCHIEHhh–!” A generous cloud of spray showered the air in front of him. Tenna gasped. His dick twitched in his hand, abdomen spasming with a white hot rush of arousal.

Spamton’s hand never quite stopped prodding the feather, and he was shortly hitching up, and up, and up again until– “EH’SHiehH–!” Tears welled on his lower lash line, and a soft pink color regathered on his cheeks. 

Tenna’s monitor was pinker still, glowing a prominent fuchsia. For all the heat rapidly escaping through his vents, it was only barely enough for his body to keep up. He panted in short, labored breaths.

Spamton gasped out another labored breath of his own. “hHH–!” 

Oh, he couldn't take it. Frantically, Tenna reached for his tie, all but choking himself as his fingers struggled to loosen it. He shakily worked down over the buttons of his shirt, flinching when Spamton let out another monstrous sneeze. His dick flinched in his other hand likewise.

“Hahhhh…” Finally. He couldn't open the panel just above his abdomen fast enough. Air hit his exposed wires with a cooling relief. 

This wasn't just a means to cool him off, though. One hand still tending to his dick, the other dipped into the open cavity. His fingers lightly traced over the wires tangled within, and Tenna squirmed. It was a deep, internal sensation, almost ticklish in nature. But it blended in a perfect ecstasy with the traditional feelings seated a little lower on his body. 

Another sneeze pitched Spamton foward. “hiEHH’SCHHihh–!” It was with increasing intensity that they ripped through him, each more desperate than the last. Tenna briefly entertained whether his earlier allergic encounter had left him extra sensitive. Clinging to a memory of pollen and perfume, something as soft and small as the plumes of a feather could wreak this kind of havoc on his still inflamed nasal passages. He did nothing in the slightest to stifle them either, and they responded by growing in violence, taking the full admission of relief they deserved. They were getting wetter too, a thin sheen of moisture clinging to his septum and philtrum. 

“hiH-EHH’SHieuhh–! Fuck, sorry–” A hot, wet rush of air ran over Tenna. That sneeze was particularly sudden, and aimed a tad too close towards the hand he was cupped in. A few stray droplets caught Tenna’s display, as did a fine misting to his chest. He was unfazed, gripping only more enthusiastically at a cluster of wires. He squeezed down and tugged them, shuddering and moaning in response.  

“Bless you, Spammy…” Tenna finally managed to say. Spamton paused the feather's torturous movements in his nose. A string of snot briefly connected it to his nose when he pulled it out, which he made a face at.

Far more pleasant was his expression upon looking down at Tenna, though. “Snff. Already pawing at your wires…? You're doing so well.” Tenna’s knees weakened at his praise. He tugged again at his wires, as he did his other hand to his dick. Another rush of tingling heat filtered through him, like stars shooting across the sky.

Spamton went on, “Shame I can't play with them… or maybe…?” Tenna squeaked in surprise when Spamton brought him up closer, adjusting his hand under him again. He was knocked onto his side, abdomen settling right next to his thumb. He'd nearly readjusted and rolled onto his back, before it was made very clear that this was where Spamton wanted him. 

“S-Spam–oh, my—!” Tenna could barely speak. Spamton’s thumb pressed into the open cavity, pushing his wires inward with one, centered pressure. It was a different sensation than he was used to, and it was marvelous. Electric ecstasy sprinted into every corner of his body, ebbing in repetitive waves as Spamton gently shifted the pad of his thumb. 

“Did I hit a nerve, [cathode]?” 

Tenna nearly bit him- what a stupid question. He was certain his body language said more than enough. Yes, he was hitting a nerve. Many of them, all of them, and Tenna couldn't help but writhe and kick his legs as the feeling rushed through him over and over. The arm pinned next to his side continued its fevered stroking, heat pooling in his lower belly with a heavy weight. 

“hih…! hhH, hHH–!” If all that wasn't enough, the feather had returned to its assault. Tenna groaned out his anticipation, dizzy. There wasn't an embarrassed or ashamed nerve left in him. Everything was all pleasure, numbly tingling and firing off with a certainty this would make him cum.

Tenna twisted his head just enough to get a look, right as Spamton took a final gasp. “hehhH–!” It was a beautiful sight to be greeted with. Eyes squeezed shut, jaw slackened, reddened nostrils gaping– and the feather, lodged and quivering deep inside. On the very edge of subverting control, all while he managed to hold it over Tenna.

“heH’ght-! HEH’Nkgt-! heh, fuckhhh’GNXT–!” His head bobbed with dizzying repetition. Each sneeze opened with a loud vocalization which he swallowed and crushed into a stifled release. Again, and again, and again. The feather remained inside, continuing to poke and prod the most sensitive areas inside his nose– ultimately ensuring he would have a massive, nonstop fit.

Was he trying to kill him? Because Tenna was quite certain he might die. 

His thumb stuttered its pressure into Tenna’s open wire cavity as he lost himself in the ongoing tickle. “Hohh, God–!” A string of curse words sputtered from Tenna’s mouth. His vision flickered as the energy rushing through him increased tenfold. Too much. Too much. The hand which currently held a vice grip to the tip of Spamton’s pointer finger fervently grabbed at his antenna, pulling them down over his display. He yanked hard and bared his fangs. Something had to give.

“Hhhhcan’t- stop–! hiH’GHTt–! heHH–GSHht—!”

Spamton's voice reached a higher, desperate pitch. Tenna’s body felt hotter, tighter, too tight. Like pressure, pushing in on every inch of his body, as if his skin itself had become a prison. He couldn't contain it at this size. The growing pleasure, tension, heat. He would never last, not like this. This orgasm simply needed a bigger body to hold it.

Static broke out in glitchy display on Tenna’s monitor. “Spam, you gotta– stop, I can't–!” 

He managed to hear him, between sneezes. “Nhhg’TSHiew–! H-hhold on, hih…!” Moisture burst down onto his cupid’s bow. Tenna exclaimed surprise as he was suddenly tucked against Spamton’s chest, warm, soft. He could hear the Addison's heart beat, a rapid rhythm, before a stuttering breath drowned it out. “hh–! hehhHh–!” Tenna curled in on himself as his chest expanded against him, clutching at the soft feathers.

“heHH–EH’SHIUEHHh–!” The sound rang in Tenna’s ears. He winced despite his arousal- that one definitely tore at his throat. 

And then it was quiet.

Tenna twisted in Spamton's hand, peering through the gap between his fingers to see the aftermath. And boy, there was quite an aftermath.

Spamton’s other hand was glazed with spray. The feather lay on the leather upholstery, finally dislodged and positively drenched. Snot hung from under his nose where he had hunched forward, and Spamton hastily grabbed the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pressing it to his face. 

“Ghhh…fuck mbe…” He exhaled a muffled, congested sigh into the fabric. Tenna could only hear his own breathlessness now, drowning out even Spamton’s heartbeat against him. His sense of self was coming back to him, but only just barely.

The dark warmth melted into bright light as Spamton pulled him away from his chest. “Snff. Too extrembe?” Oh, that congestion. For all the fluid leaking out of him, he sounded more blocked than ever.

“Yes. You gotta put me down,” Tenna huffed. 

“Shambe. I’mb just getti’d used to this view.” One finger teasingly stroked down the side of Tenna’s head. “Ow!”

Tenna lingered his teeth on one finger. “Don't you dare get used to this.”

Though he glared at him, Spamton did as requested and settled him onto the seat of the couch. He stood, wiping again at his nose and face with his shirt. He was particularly hard on the nostril that had taken the brunt of the feather, knuckling it aggressively through the fabric. If he was truly as uncomfortable as he looked and sounded though, he didn't say so. 

He did surrender in retrieving a tissue, which he noisily emptied his sinuses into. The sound was atrocious and productive, but his eyes only showed relief, another fuck mbe mumbled into the fabric. After tossing it into the wastebin, his dress shirt was tossed too, down to join his equally soiled blazer on the tile floor. 

Two straps of fabric stretched across under his chest, which Spamton skillfully unclipped. The small pair of wings jutting from his shoulders gave a trembling stretch, flexing freedom of their bindings. This wasn't an uncommon garment for his species, as it was the easiest way to comfortably wear most attire without investing in wing-accommodating alterations.

Tenna eyed him hungrily from his spot on the couch. He let his vision slowly trail down, from his collar bone, to his feathered chest, to the soft curve of where his waist widened to his hips. Tenna flexed his hands, fingers alight with the urge to touch him.

That urge heightened tenfold when he saw Spamton’s hand dipping into his unbuttoned pants. His belt buckle clinked as he shifted the waistband of his briefs. 

“Mmn…” Spamton hummed a note of pleasure as his hand dipped deeper. His wings were notably stiff where they stretched from his back, yet another indication that he was thoroughly aroused. Despite the discomfort it required, he still enjoyed it? Indulging him like this? Tenna whined, hips shivering as he ruminated on where he'd rather bury his dick, if he were of proper size. 

Spamton approached the couch, bending one knee to rest it on the leather. Tenna gazed up, feeling smaller still as the Addison loomed over him. 

“Take your pants [50% off].” Tenna was already halfway there. He hastily shimmied the garments the rest of the way off, and Spamton tossed them aside. 

“Hey–!” Tenna yelped as his arms were suddenly pinned above his head. It only took one hand for Spamton to do it, the other still preoccupied between his own legs. Instinctively, Tenna struggled against him, but he was quick to give in. A fresh wave of heat puffed from his vents. 

His attention swapped between Spamton's crotch and his smug face, seemingly aware of just how hard this was to idly watch. “C’monnnn, don't leave me hanging now…” Tenna whined. His hips pushed up again, cock visibly twitching. “Please?”

“That's what I wanted to hear. Good boy,” Spamton huffed. He lowered himself even closer, changing positions so that he was kneeled before the couch. His lips hovered above Tenna’s sex, warm breath washing over his flesh and exposed wires. 

He'd grown a bit since Spamton had put him down. Not significantly, considering how effortlessly his arms were currently locked above his head. But it was enough for–

“Ohhh, Spammy!” Back arching, his hands twisted and trembled under Spamton's hold. Carefully, his mouth had enveloped him in a warm, wet seal. Spamton’s tongue dwarfed his length, yet he could vividly feel it, sweeping methodically over him and toying at his sensitive tip.

Tenna’s legs squirmed around of their own accord, nearly kicking Spamton in the jaw. His struggles became more desperate as his mouth continued to tease around him, and yet he remained utterly helpless to do little more than just take it. He could never have experienced such blatant, forced submission at his regular size. Oh, what an exhilarating feeling…!

Rhythmic waves of heat rolled through his body. Tension melted from his limbs as he allowed himself to grow another size, matching pace with his heightening pleasure. Spamton noticed, and he paused his oral endeavors. Tenna made a noise of surprise when he found his hands were freed. 

“I suppose you need those to play with your wires.” His tone of voice pushed not a suggestion, but an order. Tenna gave a wobbly smile, feasting again in Spamton’s desire to control him. However, it was not just gleeful obedience that motivated his hands back into his open wire cavity; there was a hunger still lingering within him for the orgasm he had to shy away from earlier, and this time he intended to have it.

Tingling static built and rushed out from his core, trickling down through all of his limbs. Tenna flushed and then groaned, only faintly aware as he grew bigger yet. Spamton pinned one of his legs and took him again with his mouth, hot, wet, persistent. God, his cock ached. 

Still multitasking with his own pleasure, Spamton hummed happily around him, sending tantalizing vibrations all along his sex. The heat in his lower belly tightened tighter, and then tighter still. Tenna feverishly tugged at his wires, not at all in the tidy way Spamton would. It was sloppy, distracted, but nonetheless effective. It felt good, too good.

“Hahh, Spam, you're… so good to me–!” Static broke out across his display as his voice cracked. “Careful, I… I'm close–!” Tenna could barely speak around his own panting, heavy breaths, nearly delirious as all the sensations running through him threatened to reach their peak. Hotter, harder, faster. He trembled. Everything culminated to one, high point of ecstasy.

Tenna’s hand cramped and jolted as he tugged a bundle of wires in a final, desperate pull. Spamton was forced to sit further back, still loyally stroking him even as he literally grew inside his mouth. It all hit him at once, finally, finally, and Tenna fell over the edge with a shattering impact. 

Everything was white, briefly. He wasn't sure which way was left or right, up or down. He could only shudder, back arched, hands gripping so tightly to the edge of the couch that he might tear the leather with his claws. 

Static still faintly flickered across his display as he came back to reality. Relief and euphoria washed over him in dizzying waves, and his hands balled into fists with an effort to ground himself. “Nnhn… Spammy…” Tenna slumped into the couch, head resting against the star-patterned wall at his default, 15-foot size. 

Spamton still sat on his knees in front of him, below him now rather than above. Face, neck, chest adorned with his seed too, Tenna realized with an erotic twinge. 

“You gonna [make it], big guy?” Spamton asked cheekily.

“Barely…” Tenna answered breathlessly. His monitor flickered again, much in the way someone would blink dazedly. “That was so… fuck, that was so…” There were no words for it. Tenna just laughed, gently.

Spamton finally crawled up onto the seat of the couch, soft hands feeling up his arm. “Glad I could [help you out]. Your head should be clear enough to handle the rest of today now, ndo?”

The congestion still leaking into his words didn't go unnoticed. Tenna tilted his monitor to point his nose down at him. “Is your head clear enough?” he asked between heavy breaths.

Spamton rolled his eyes. “You'd thingk it would be by ndow.”

Tenna felt a sense of self consciousness tug at his chest. Had circumstances been different, he would easily have reached his peak at the initial point he wanted to. Because of his sneezing, among other things that were simply a bonus. 

What the hell was that about, anyway? 

And why was the thought of it still so…erotic?

He wondered what Spamton would say when he learned that this might not be a one-time freak occurrence, after all. 

…Better not to entertain that. He didn't have time to spiral about it. Not right now, anyways.

Tenna briefly eyed the clock. There was plenty of time before they needed to piece themselves together, however.

Still relishing in the afterglow of his orgasm, Tenna brought a hand to Spamton’s head, big fingers running through his dark hair. It was considerably messy now, compared to how neatly he’d styled it this morning. He muttered something about taking Benadryl, and how he'd rather not.

His wings twitched. They were still quite stiff, Tenna noted as he brushed his hand down over the base of the appendages.

“You know what might help?”

“Hm?”

Tenna didn't answer, and instead pulled him close by the small of his back. Spamton nearly fell into his chest, forced to adjust one leg which left him straddling Tenna’s thigh. 

“Nothing like a good orgasm to clear your head,” he finally said. “Sinuses too.”

Spamton raised a brow at the suggestion, but he bit his lip, smiled. His hips settled down onto Tenna’s leg, and he rocked against him. 

“How convenient that I could really go for one right now,” Spamton said. His wings flexed wider for balance as he grinded against his thigh more earnestly. “This should [work smarter, not harder] just fine,” he added, breathier.

Tenna flashed a big, stupid grin. Another rush of euphoria coursed through Tenna’s body, from the very bottoms of his feet, all the way through his limbs and up to his very nose. He felt a faint tingling there before… pop!

A flower spontaneously opened at the tip of his nose. Tenna blushed. 

And Spamton… so caught up in pleasuring himself, didn't see it happen. The resulting pollen made itself known very quickly though, and he could barely flash a look of alarm before his expression collapsed.

“Wait, Tenna, you're gonnda– mahhke me–!”

Ah, shit. 

Lights, camera, action. 

The “on air” sign blinked to life with a neon glow. On either side of the set, chaos slowed and settled into a hushed anticipation. The cohort of Darkners on duty watched and waited for whatever their hosts might need, for better or for worse. That was the nature of live entertainment, unpredictable as it was exciting, and never quite so much as when they unveiled a never-before-seen segment.

Two figures in matching red jackets sat at the center of it all, perched with an air of confidence as the cameras started rolling. For once though, it wasn't the hulking, fifteen-foot form with a TV for a head hogging the attention, but rather the avian, five foot two body next to him. 

It was as though he'd been playing primary host all along. Spamton took on this new role with a serious, collected approach that could've fooled anyone. And Tenna couldn't be more pleased to pay witness, tail wagging idly under the table. 

As they transitioned into the thick of the segment, Tenna recalled the conversation that led them here.The green room was pleasantly quiet that night, minus the hum of the lights above. It was just the two of them, hunched over the coffee table on the couch. Ties loosened, jackets tossed aside. Casual, comfortable, pressed close. 

A box of cigars sat open on the table between them. Next to it was a pile of mail, sizable, at least relative to his co-host’s stature. Equally large in personality, Tenna managed to make most things look smaller than they were in his presence, Spamton included (which he loathed to be reminded of).

They carefully rooted through the pile. Junk was tossed to the floor, and bills and paperwork were collected into their own pile with disdain. Bleh, it never ended.

The rest of the pile was welcome, however. The longer they both examined the envelopes, the more obvious it was that this wasn't just any old mail. It was fan mail, the best mail to be getting in show biz, next to a fat paycheck, of course. Even more delightful was the amount of actual packages scattered among the envelopes, beautifully and intentionally wrapped. 

Spamton exchanged a glance with him. The studio PO Box had been opened on a whim; they didn't think anything special would come of it. Tenna couldn't help the wide grin that crept across his monitor. This was a wonderful surprise. Ratings were up. Things were working!

He nearly grabbed one of the envelopes when Spamton's arm shot out, stopping him short.

“[Hold your horses]. Idea,” he said.

Tenna unsuccessfully hid his disappointment. “Oh…? Go on.” 

“I think we oughta have a [brand spanking new] segment. A live fan mail opening.”

“Ooh!” Tenna clasped his hands together and leaned in. “Tell me more, dear mail man.”

Spamton smirked. “Think about it. Our viewers already [gobble up] any personal engagement we give ‘em, right?” He took a drag off his cigar, leaning back into the couch as smoke dissolved from his lips. “And then you give ‘em something real intimate like this? Ratings will just keep going [up, up, up]! And the letters will just keep comin’ in, [100% guaranteed].” He nodded as if to assure himself. “I was thinking too… your resident mail man oughta host the fan mail segment, no? To [sell it] better.”

Tenna nodded enthusiastically. There was little more to discuss before they found themselves huddled at a desk scripting things up. A new segment that was sure to kill it with their viewers, and- assuming the fan mail kept on coming- would cost them basically nothing to continue doing? They'd struck gold.

And things really were golden so far, Tenna mused. He was content to sit and bask in Spamton’s voice for a change. Rich, composed, and miraculously lacking in his vocal tics, or glitches, as Tenna liked to call them. That part was most impressive. To be fighting an innate trait so successfully, and while under the pressure of live feed.

He was fully determined to make this segment a hit. And Tenna could swoon, the more he considered it.

There was just one, tiny problem he hadn't anticipated. Neither had Spamton, apparently, up until this very moment.

He definitely saw it. A little flicker of panic in Spamton’s eyes as they both realized someone had sent in yet another bouquet. This one was far more bountiful than the last, far more colorful, and far more potent.

They really should've screened the items in hand more closely before the show. 

Spamton sniffled sharply before he began reading the letter that had been sent with it. The words were kind, so kind it made Tenna want to melt. But this kindness had a potential to kill.

Spamton’s brow subtly knitted, but his smile stayed wide and believable. Tenna tried to keep listening and reacting as normal. It worked for a moment or two, but his co-host’s growing discomfort was making it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

Congestion snuck into his voice at the final string of sentences. He finished reading the letter with a rushed, quiet intake of air. “Hh…!” Spamton’s free hand held a lethal grip to his nose as he sneezed once, twice, no, thrice. “hh’kt-! hih’ght-! heh’nhkt-!” Expertly contained, quiet, and not a breath between them. 

Tenna’s mouth opened and closed as he debated, and then decided not to acknowledge the display. He was the only one privy to it, after all. The offending blossoms were piled high enough to act as a shield to the cameras. There was irony in that, somewhere.

The thick sniffle that followed wasn't quite so dainty though, ruthlessly exposing the disaster he had contained. No hiding that from the mics. 

Tenna quickly blurted, “Goodness, folks, it's starting to look like Valentine’s Day arrived early!” He gestured to the flowers.

Spamton cleared his throat and forced a grin when he reemerged. “It sure is, Tenna.” They caught each other's gaze. Tenna twitched one antenna and quirked the top edge of his monitor in a concerned expression. Can I help? 

But the Addison frowned and shook his head- no, I'm fine. You don't need to take over.

He almost looked annoyed that Tenna had even suggested he needed support. Maybe he was fine- although his still watery eyes were telling a different story. He really had to wonder how long it would be until his dedication (see: stubborn nature) wouldn't be enough to keep him going.

Spamton rattled off a heartfelt thank you, and Tenna casually tugged the flowers to his side of the desk, as far away as he could get them from his allergic counterpart.

The next package wasn't a package at all- a simple letter, and they were both relieved. 

As Spamton opened the letter though, relief melted into dread. Even sitting several feet taller than his companion, Tenna instantly sensed the heavy fragrance of perfume dousing the paper. It was a soft pink color, and… was that glitter? Such a sweet and dare he say romantic gesture, but…

Oh, it wasn't agreeing with him at all, was it?

That same wince took hold of his features, and Spamton nearly choked on his own breath. A fresh mist drew itself over his lower eyelids, and his nose turned a color that could've matched the paper, twitching of its own accord. 

“Ahem, wow, so much… glitter on this one, um…” He tripped over his words, struggling to suppress the urge to cough. “Vhhery on brand with the V-...Valehhhntine’s theme too, hh…!” A blush crept over his features as he recognized the losing battle, only complimented poorly by the public circumstances. 

Spamton could barely utter a breathless, “Excuse me,” before he succumbed with the same strategy from earlier. Another rapid succession of sneezes shook him, stifled tightly between a thumb and forefinger- quiet as before, however absolutely not concealed from sight. 

Ouch. Tenna felt his heart wrench, counting five desperate, itchy sneezes this time. Spamton stole a quick gasp of air before he cut right back into talking, trying with every fiber of his being to push on. “A bit heavy on the perfume though, mayyhbe, heh-!” Not done, so not done.

“heh’GnXTt–!” Audible strain burst through his gritted teeth. Finally accepting his own helplessness, he opted for the crook of his arm. “Ngh-T’SCHeyhh–! hh… hH…!” Each hesitant gasp sent rigidity through his shoulders, all varieties of his sensitivities seeming to attack at once– “hHH’YSSCHHieww–!”

Spamton froze in place, nose pressed to his sleeve. A dark, wet spot settled into the fabric there. His eyes were owlish, unfocused, a deer in the headlights. Even the tiny feathers lining his jaw showed their distress, ruffled and on end.

“M-my, bless you,” Tenna said as sweetly as he could muster. There was no point in not acknowledging it now. He gently bumped his leg to Spamton’s knee. Need me take over?

Spamton blinked and forced himself back into reality. “Why thangk you, Tendda,” he managed. Congestion dragged on his voice and he cleared his throat again. He all but glared up at him. I do not need your help.

If Tenna had eyes, he would've rolled them. Now he was being ridiculous- did he know what he even looked like right now?

Even if the worst of the evidence was currently tucked into his sleeve where the audience couldn't see, there was plenty still written on his face. Misery sprawled from his still wet eyes, still flushed cheeks, still twitching nose. Not to mention the drop of sweat clinging to his temple, a subtle but sure sign of growing stress. 

And he looked… he looked…

Spamton had managed to start reading the letter, but Tenna suddenly couldn't understand a word of it. He looked like– oh, goodness, he looked exactly like…

He shouldn't be thinking about sex right now. They were live, and the “on air” sign flickered its red glow as if to sternly remind him. Yet the image of Spamton’s shuddering fit continued its rotation behind Tenna’s screen, time and time again bringing him back to the allergic afterglow at present.

The afterglow he was so familiar with, only because Spamton demonstrated it nearly every time they had sex. 

Like most Darkners, Tenna and Spamton both had more traits unique to themselves than they did in common. And particularly unique to Tenna, sexual gratification- or any excess flood of positive emotion- always procured a flower at the tip of his nose. 

And while allergies weren't unique to Addisons, Spamton happened to have a terrible case. That damned flower always dragged several sneezes out of him. A whole fit, usually, save for when he took medication, but that was rare. The drowsiness and brain fog weren't worth the trouble, Spamton always said, and eventually Tenna learned not to profusely apologize every time he unintentionally left him stuffy and sneezy.

Stuffy, sneezy, losing composure. Not much unlike what he was seeing right in front of him now.

Tenna squirmed in his seat. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. But the thoughts persisted.

It wasn't just the sneezing, but the sex itself too, wrapped up in one unusual little package. Foggy visions of their past encounters clouded his processing. He could see and feel it all, Spamton held underneath him, Tenna shuddering and whining ever closer to release. Smaller hands submerged into the open cavity of his chest, twisting, pulling, yanking at his wires. Heat flooded his inner mechanisms, and Tenna could feel himself starting to flush. When did the stage lights above them get so, so hot–?

“hH’Ngt-SHhieh–!” Next to him, another stifled sneeze broke through Spamton’s control. He ducked into one gloved hand and barely paused to acknowledge it, but Tenna dazedly let the sound repeat in his head. So perfectly did it intertwine into his on-going recollections. Tenna hitting the height of ecstasy while Spamton straddled him, where he was suddenly hitching, gasping, trying not to sneeze until he did start sneezing, and then having no choice but to keep sneezing. Coming completely and utterly undone. He would clench and shiver around him, sending the tension and release of every outburst straight to his cock, until Tenna grew to anticipate, no, love it–

Reality hit him like a brick. A hot, ceaseless throbbing had settled itself into his lap, right between his thighs. Tenna’s posture turned completely rigid. Oh, no, no, no.

A rose tinted cluster of pixels dominated his display. Tenna numbly moved his hands from the counter down to his lap. 

It was a blessing they were seated behind a desk, because there was no hiding this otherwise. He was hard as a rock. What a scandal- the face of TV itself, visibly horny? On daytime programming? Nervousness knotted in his stomach. 

Sure, controversial occurrences in entertainment could lend to an unexpected boost in ratings. It had happened to other studios over the years. But no, no, that was absolutely not a risk they could take, not now. Not like this. 

He had to get a grip, and fast. Tenna rapidly searched his thoughts for something, anything unpleasant enough to turn him off. But even the potential nightmare of being exposed wasn't doing anything to tame it. 

A sudden jab to his side pulled Tenna out of his panic. Shit, had he missed a cue? But no, he was met with Spamton looking up at him, or rather trying to look at him. That pinched, watery, about-to-sneeze expression made it hard to tell where his attention was. “nh’GH-Schhuh–!” 

One gloved hand pressed desperately under his nose as he struggled not to sneeze again. The letter still in his other hand was held up unconfidently, but just high enough to shield him from the cameras. “A little hhhelp here, [cathohh…! dH–! NGX’Shihh–!” There was a mix of emotions in his faltering expression, something between a pleading, unspoken help me, please, and a more frustrated fucking help me before I do something to put us both on the news.

Tenna’s antennae straightened themselves out from their chaotic, zig-zagged state. “What can I…?” His voice sounded incredibly small, wary of their still present audience.

“hhHandkerchief, p-please—!” His expression exhaustedly crumpled again, shoulders rising with another inhale. Perhaps the offending paper wasn't the smartest shield- the proximity was not helping.

Only then did he note the wetness that Spamton barely contained in his glove. Guilt twisted in his wires, and Tenna all but forgot his other problem as he frantically dug into his jacket.

The handkerchief he retrieved was his own, too big for his smaller partner, but that really didn't matter right now. 

Spamton could barely thank him as he pressed it to his palm, immediately jolting into the fabric with a wrenching sneeze. Tenna could hear the dampness before he caught a glance of it on the lower half of his face. He winced.

In the lull that followed, several questions of what should happen next ran through Tenna’s mind. One thing was certain- Spamton wasn't done sneezing, and this letter which aggravated it seemed to have more words in it than a dictionary. 

Cutting things here might be their best option, but it had to be done gracefully. Except his thoughts didn't get much further than that, because after noisily emptying his sinuses, Spamton’s line of sight was naturally pointed down at… yeesh!

Tenna froze. Spamton’s eyes went wide, then wider. Now? Right now? On live television? 

Tenna’s lip trembled into something of a nervous smile, display threatening to crash into an error screen of multi-color lines. What could he even say? His co-host would surely tear him to shreds later, if they even managed to escape this moment in time. As the milliseconds ticked by, Tenna could only imagine what they looked like on the other end of the cameras. Good grief, how could he let this happen…?

Spamton managed to look up at him as he came to the same conclusion- they were both compromised. Stress washed over the taller man in an oppressive wave. He couldn’t think straight, far too aware of Spamton’s reaction, of everyone on set trying to decipher what was going on, or what the next move should be. Far too aware, too, of the cameras still rolling, the audience watching, the potential consequences, and the lack of control that he and his co-host had over anything anymore.

Static filled his mind, creeping in from the edges of his monitor. Is this what it felt like? Stage fright?

How very convenient that his dick happened to be immune though, still throbbing despite his heightened distress. Tenna tugged at his collar, huffing. If the stage lights were hot before, they were absolutely roasting him now. 

Spamton opened his mouth to say something, only for fresh tears to fill his vision- and not the emotional kind. He stifled two more weak, bleating sneezes into Tenna’s handkerchief. 

Tenna finally found the clarity to look above and over Spamton, catching the attention of staff off stage. He managed to raise a hand, subtly running it across his throat in a cutting motion… only Spamton stopped him.

“No! We- no, I am [wrapping up] this [little number]!” Spamton hissed through clenched teeth, bristling. Tenna leaned down, warily eyeing the cameras.

”But you-“

”I’ll be [fine]! I'm dnot gondda [crash and burn]!” Spamton’s grip on the letter threatened to crumple it. Having thrashed his arms, he realized it no longer offered privacy to their dramatics. More sweat beaded on his forehead as his pupils flicked between the cameras and Tenna. 

And Tenna- Tenna had already shrunk about ten inches under the weight of his emotions. They were both cracking under the pressure, and quickly. 

Suddenly Spamton tugged Tenna down by the tie, whispering behind a hand. “Just- [get it together]! Straightendn your andtenndae. And stop [shrinking down], for [!@#$]’s s-sake- hieHH’GSHieuhh—!” The words knifed into Tenna just as hard as the sneeze he pitched over his shoulder- itchy, rough, angry.

And then, he turned to face the audience. Bright, pleasant. All smiles, like nothing had happened. 

“Wow, folks, lots of technical difficulties today! We may have to wrap things up a little sooner than scheduled. But let's get through the rest of this letter, shall we?” His congestion had conveniently shifted, and his words, clear and concise again. Tenna wondered just how the hell he managed it. That vein on his temple was definitely still throbbing, though…

Spamton’s hushed scolding had sunk its venom right into Tenna’s chest. And it should, he decided. He'd completely lost the ability to relieve his dearest co-host when he finally needed it, and for what? Plenty of blame could be tossed back and forth, but regardless of any of it, this was plain sloppy. 

By some form of a miracle, Spamton closed out on the segment without much further interruption. The cameras cut, and so did the tension Tenna felt in his shoulders. It was a small relief, but relief nonetheless, knowing they were grounded back into the set. No screens, no viewers. Up until this moment, he had no idea just how much of a blessing it would be to not have a live audience in the studio today.  

Spamton, however, didn't seem to be celebrating. The instant the cameras were off, his facade melted away. The full weight of his discomfort revealed itself, in a heavy, exhausted expression on his face. The letter was shoved to the far corner of the desk with disgust, as were his gloves, totally soiled. His hands clasped and massaged at the base of his swollen nose. And hair gel be damned, several strands of his dark, perfectly slicked hair had fallen forward, dangling over his forehead.

A perfect picture of allergic misery, one that Tenna still had the gall to ogle over. For someone so infuriatingly obsessed with keeping up appearances, there was something invigorating in seeing those walls forcefully knocked down, especially now, with the live feed out of the equation. He could boldly consider the contrast, the before and the after. A man who couldn't stand to be out of control, losing control.

Tenna felt another twisted rush in his wiring. Maybe the association with their sexual encounters was just a bonus. Was that it after all? Was he just a little bit sadistic? Worked up seeing his business partner utterly ruined by something as simple as his allergies?

Tenna flinched when Spamton suddenly scrutinized him again, as if he could read every naughty thought living in his head. He swallowed dryly, mouth twitching. He should say something–

Delay of confrontation arrived in the form of Mike, approaching from the far side of the set. Tenna idly watched him and Spamton exchange words. Something about scheduling changes, which Tenna would normally take charge of, if he was in any position to do so. The actual content of their conversation was hard to pin down, Spamton having self-consciously pressed the handkerchief back to his nose.

“And, uh, what about…?” He caught Mike nodding towards him. Tenna was able to make out the word ‘technical issues’ being uttered as Spamton gestured towards him. A few more inches dropped from his height as the full weight of shame inched even further into his mentality.

Mike gave Spamton a funny look, or at least what looked like one given his lack of visible eyes. ”Ya sure ya don’t need tech support? Or, uh… emotional support?” 

“Not for this, [buddy]. Trust me.” Spamton’s gaze was like ice. Don’t be curious, it warned.

Tenna hunched over a little further, rearranging his hands in his lap to better cover the still present, so-called technical issue. He thanked the stars above that Spamton had established himself enough that his authority wasn't questioned. He wouldn't have wanted it to be anyone else next to him right now.

“Okay… this should cover at least the next hour and a half… ya sure he’ll be all right by then?” Mike said, warily eyeing Tenna again.

”He’ll be [fresh as a daisy] by then. [100% guaranteed].” There was something very dark in Spamton’s eyes as he cast a look back up to Tenna.

Scratch that. Anyone else next to him would be much better. Even the idea of risking it all for the next segment as scheduled didn’t seem so bad, suddenly. 

♥︎♠︎ - Rainy Day Soirée - Script.

(Scene 1 - ANGEL DUST enters the front door of the Hotel in one of the Pride Ring's thundering hellstorms under his Pink umbrella. It's early evening and the lobby is suspiciously empty.)

ANGEL: *Shudders* It's wetter than dick out there!...Shit…Hello? Anybody home?

(Hanging up his coat, ANGEL heads upstairs and unlocks the door to the room he shares with...)

ANGEL: Husk…Honey?...You in here?-

(He's greeted by Fat Nuggets! The hell-hog scampers off the bed and across the floor to see his Daddy at the door)

ANGEL: Hey! My Sweet Boy!...Lookat'chu Bastards, you an' Papa havin' a snuggle, without me…Traitors.

(Yawning deeply, HUSK is still waking up, grumbling to himself about being woken up by a pig and stretching just like an Old man should. ANGEL coos to Fat Nuggets.)

ANGEL: Uh-Oh…Did we wake Papa?...Yeah, we woke Papa…(then to HUSK) Hi, Baby.

HUSK: (Just noticing his partner, tilts his head) Hm- Hey Legs…Damn, y'home early?

ANGEL: Yeah, just pick up shots today (Not really, by pick up shots, he means his scene partner picked him up and pinned him against the wall, he doesn't want HUSK to worry though.)

HUSK: (always concerned when it comes to the studio, but doesn't want to press ANGEL) Oh…um…Y'okay?

ANGEL: (Can't lie, sadly, but tries to reassure) Just uh…the usual...B-But I'm okay, m'fine. (Starts to laugh and ramble)...Actually, it was kinda funny…Long story short, the last scene- Val wants to get the climax again…and again…AND again. What a set of pipes on the poor motherfucker, screamin' to high heaven!...But, uh- Val got called into a meetin' with Vox, thank god…Shoot got cut short an'...Well, most workin' wanted to head home before the storm got bad…

(He trails off...Usually HUSK would respond somehow...ANGEL notices HUSK scrunching up his muzzle and squeezing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, as if he's in pain. He tenderly approaches.)

ANGEL: S-shit…Are you okay?...You ain't lookin' so hot.

(HUSK waves ANGEL off)

HUSK: M'fine…S'just a headache…

ANGEL: (know's he's been given bullshit) N-No No, there's somethin' else…Whaddya not tellin' me…Whaddya hung over?-

HUSK: HUH'ETSH'SHOO!

(ANGEL startles at the intense sneeze and Nuggets squeals, running under the bed. HUSK sniffles and wiggles and clicks his muzzle.)

ANGEL: Jesus!...Honey?! What the fuck was that?!

HUSK: (out of breath, and a little flustered.) Whew, Sorry…'Scuse me…Didn't mean to scare ya.

ANGEL: Next time warn a gal…It's just, heh-…Y'never do that…Come to think of it, I don't think I've heard ya so much as sniffle before?

HUSK: W-whaddya talkin' 'bout…Everyone…(Trails off) S-s-s…..sn-...Sneezes…

ANGEL: (scoffs) Yeah?...Not like that…

HUSK: HEH'ISHH'HOooo!

ANGEL: (starts laughing and mimics Husk's low growly sneeze) Achoooo!

HUSK: Oho! Y'think that's funny?...Laugh it up, Smartass…L-laugh…Hhhh- Goddamni-EH'RTSH'SHOO!...Motherfucker.

ANGEL: (still laughing, but sympathetic) It's…a little funny….Bless you!..H-honey, are you okay?

HUSK: Figures…Now I'm gettin' a cold, now that the seasons pickin' up.

ANGEL: Aww, my poor baby...That's why y'closed up shop so early, huh?

HUSK: Charlie said I was lookin' a lil…hhh… hhh...Peaky…Shit wasn't my choice.

(HUSK lets out a raspy sounding cough and leans back to monstrously sneeze again.)

HUSK: AH'RKK'HOOO!

ANGEL: Ah, Salute! Here…Blow the Thompson on the end of your face hon. (He offers a tissue box from the nightstand)

HUSK: …Thank you baby…(into tissue) AH'ITSH'IUUU…Ugh, Christ…

ANGEL: (unable to keep from laughing, lovingly mocks again with similar inflection)...B-B-Bless you!

HUSK: Very funny Ange…Real fuckin' hilarious…Alright, C'mere y'little shit!

(HUSK starts to tickle ANGEL's arms. The couple both start laughing.)

ANGEL: No!...No…I'm sorry!…H-Honey that tickles!...

HUSK: (growls playfully) I gotcha!

(Both laugh)

ANGEL: Husk!...Husk, Uncle!

HUSK: (listens, satisfied) Hm…That's whatcha get sweetheart.

ANGEL: (fondly) You're a sadist…M'sorry y'sick honey… (leans down and plants a kiss on the top of the cat's head, then notices a book in his paw) …Hey, whatcha readin'?

HUSK: …Gatsby (The Great Gatsby by F. Scott. Fitzgerald)

ANGEL: Ooh, t-that one…Uh…(suddenly a little embarassed, nervously laughs)...Y'know, s'funny…I ain't never read it?

HUSK: Sweetheart, you've never read The Great Gatsby?

ANGEL: I know, I know…S'crime against literature or somethin'...Y-you tell me, if y'think I'da had time between all the heists n' highs for a few chapters

HUSK: Y'got time now, don'tcha? (Sniffles) Why don't we read it together?

ANGEL: (hopeful) Really?

HUSK: Yeah!...I mean…I've read it a hudred times, but….I'd love to see it through your eyes.

ANGEL: Alright, babycakes…But uh, blow y'muzzle first, I can hear ya, gettin' all stuffy.

(HUSK honks a hefty blow into a tissue. Key word being honk.)

ANGEL: Alright, Mother Goose! D'ya wanna start the story or should I?

HUSK: I ain't got the energy to put up with this shit, dickhead…

ANGEL: Alright, Jackass! I'll take care of it, just listen to the Soothing sounds of my voice...

(He clears his throat and starts the book.

♥︎♠︎

(Scene 2 - The next time we see the pair…It's the next morning. ANGEL is in bed and is woken by a loud nose blow and growly bellowed sneezes coming from the bathroom. ANGEL stretches and cranes his neck to look at the bathroom door.

ANGEL: (called out) Bless you!

(The bathroom door opens and a pathetic looking bartender enters, looking exausted.)

HUSK: M'sorry, did I wake you?

ANGEL: Oh baby, nonsense!...You can't help that. You're sick….(clears his throat, still waking, hesitates to ask)...Uh, how's the head?

(HUSK just deeply coughs and raises his eyebrow at the wording. Anyway, ANGEL already knows the answer.)

ANGEL: Y'know what- …don't answer that, uh…I'm gonna go downstairs an' make us some tea.

HUSK: (childlike, pleading eyes)...With bourbon?

ANGEL: (Agreeing) With. Bourbon.

(ANGEL fiddles with the kettle in the kitchen, filling it up with water, putting it on the stove, turning on the burner…He feels something creeping up.)

ANGEL: Heht'ktsh'iew!...Damn…Niffty needs to dust 'round here.

(He hears the door creak open and feels something ELSE creeping up. Needless to say, it's not HUSK.)

ANGEL: Oh, honey?...It's okay, I got it under control you can just go back to bed.

ALASTOR: …Are you quite sure?

(ANGEL startles and rolls his eyes once he sees ALASTOR, but politely replies and resumes watching the kettle.)

ANGEL: Yeah...G'mornin' to you too, Al.

ALASTOR: My my! Someone's broadening their palate!...It's rather funny, usually you'd be schmoozing a mimosa out of our esteemed bartender…But here you are! Making…what smells to be a morning cuppa of chammomile- Or a double. How domestic…What's the occasion?

(ANGEL keeps his reply short, cold and brisk. He's never liked how AL treats his boyfriend and knows AL probably already is well aware, but wants the satisfaction.)

ANGEL: Well our esteemed bartender is playin' hooky today, he's got a real bad cold…(then realizes he can use this to his advantage) Y'don't wanna risk gettin' it Al, y'should probably keep away…like far far away.

ALASTOR: (Sees right through) Come now Angel, you can rest assured that I have no desire to hang around such pestilence. But I also trust that you'll inform Husker of his responsibilities and how he'll be making up for lost time…(He presses the laugh track on his staff)...I must say, I never took you as the caretaking type.

ANGEL: (Ignores the bite, sighs fondly) Well, someone's gotta take care of the big lug…(then bites) Lord know's you won't…Eet'Tschuu!

ALASTOR: (knowingly) Well! Seems as though pot just met kettle, and with that, I'll be on my merry way…(darkly) Seems as though disgusting affections are in the air…among other things.

(In an instant, AL leaves and the kettle begins to screech. ANGEL growls to himself in Italian.)

ANGEL: Stronzo di Fragole!…Hhh…Aat'tshew!

(Back upstairs in ANGEL's room, ANGEL sets the tray with two mugs and another box of tissues down on the bed and sits down.)

ANGEL: (tenderly) Here ya go, Babycakes. Careful, it's hot.

HUSK: (coughs sleepily)...Thank you, Sweetheart.

ANGEL: D'aww, you are welcome!...So uh, where did we leave off?

HUSK: (coughs) Page 41, the big party.

ANGEL: Okay…'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house'-…'Scuse me…Sorry…Heh…Heh…Ih!…Ihh'eck'iew!...Heh'ish'uu!

HUSK: (chuckling) Uh-oh…Bless you!...Tissue?

ANGEL: Yeah I'b…I'm fine, Honey…Thanks…(tries to start reading) 'I belie- (sputters and coughs)...

HUSK: (gently) Are you okay?

ANGEL: (insistant)…I'm okay! 'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house…I believe I was-' (takes a deep breath, he is feeling awful and…is about to sneeze again)...Shit-

HUSK: (worried) Angel?

ANGEL: Eh…Eh- Sorry, I'm…I'm godda sneeze!...IT'Tshuu!...Its'Shhh-Oh fuck me sideways!

HUSK: Bless you…Are y'sure you're okay?

ANGEL: I'm fide?….heh…I'm fide.

HUSK: (smirks) Uh-huh, okay…5…4…3…2-

ANGEL: ahh'eeehhhehh'heh!-...ISH'UU!...aghih hhhdihh…ICK'HIUU!

HUSK: Bless you, Sweetheart.

ANGEL: (long sniffle, finally admits)...Baby?...I think I'm catching ya sniffles.

HUSK: (sarcastically) Really, y'don't say?…

ANGEL: Hht'tsh'iuu!

HUSK: (chuckles fondly)...Bless you…Y'know, this isn't how I imagined we'd spend our first day off together.

ANGEL: (coughs) Me neither…(blows his nose) Thought we'd have a glamorous date…Night out on the town…Er- somethin'...

HUSK: Well, we can still do that…With Daisy, Nick an' Gatsby…What's more glamourous than a grand soiree?

(ANGEL blows his nose again, a loud honk)

ANGEL: (sarcastically, glumly) Oh yeah, Honey…Real Glamourous.

(HUSK tries to think of a way to cheer up Angel and gets an idea.)

HUSK: Hold that thought…

ANGEL: Husk?…Whatcha doin'?

(HUSK gets up and starts to mess around with ANGEL's record player. Looking through the collection of vinyls, he finds one that they'd both enjoy. Glenn Miller's 'Chatanooga Choo Choo' starts playing and HUSK starts to sway and kick his feet a little, then does a little Charleston step.)

ANGEL: What are you doin'...Are you…dancin'?

HUSK: Eh…How's that for Glamour?…'Scuse me, sir?

ANGEL: (laughs) Who me?

HUSK: Couldn't help but notice…Y'seem a bit…sniffly-

ANGEL: (still laughing, loving this bit) No shit, it's your fault!

HUSK: -But otherwise…Absolutely beautiful. I'm a bit sniffly myself…(feigns surprise) We have so much in common!

ANGEL: (laughs) Y'so cheesy...

HUSK: I would love nothing more than to dance with you…Whaddya say?

(ANGEL gets up and takes HUSK's arm, joining the bit as they begin to sway gently to the music)

ANGEL: Well sir, I'd love to…But between you an' me?...Keep this on the downlow, Y'don't wanna let my grump of a boyfriend know that I'm dancing with such a gentleman.

HUSK: Well, I dunno this fella…But if he's doin' anything right, I think he'd just be happy to see you happy.

(The two dance and sway in their pajamas for a while, wrapped in eachother's arms)

HUSK: One…Two…-....Hhhh

(ANGEL notices HUSK's twitching and hitching and offers to help.)

ANGEL: Honey?...Y'okay? Y'need a tissue?...A tissue?

HUSK: AH'ICKHH'HIOOoo!

ANGEL: Yeah, that's what I thought…Bless you Ol' Man.

HUSK: Uhhh….Th- Thank-....Tha-...uhh'ITSH'hooo

ANGEL: Salute, Mio Caro…Here.

(HUSK takes the offered tissue)

HUSK: (stuffily) Thank you baby…(he coughs amd hitches as another big painful sneeze is coming)...HEHRK'HOOOOOOO!

ANGEL: (clicks his tongue, sympathetic) Bless you!...I think that's our cue to get back in bed baby.

♥︎♠︎

(Scene 3 - Hours of reading later. The couple has reached the big twist of the heightening drama of the book. Daisy Buchanan was the one driving the car that hit Myrtle Wilson. Jay Gatsby, who's in love with Daisy, will take the blame. ANGEL's heart and weakened immune system cannot take this.)

ANGEL: (floored, heartbroken) Husk…No…No, it was Daisy?!

HUSK: (knew this was coming) Daisy was drivin' baby...

ANGEL: No!...She did it?...N-no!...Fuck no! (Throws the book) Goddamnit! (A coughing jag starts)

HUSK: Easy!...Easy, Jesus Christ…Breathe, baby, breathe…Are you okay?

ANGEL: (carries on) An' he's just gon' take the fall for her sorry ass…Oh my god! (Way too into the story.)

HUSK: (laughs a little at his partner's passion) I know…I know-...Shit Angel are you cryin'?

ANGEL: (He is. Emotional, sniffling)...S'just so fucked up.

HUSK: Easy now…I know…But that's the beauty of it…ain't it?

ANGEL: (crying, looks up, confused) B-beauty?...Of someone bein' a selfish bitch an' ruinin' lives?

HUSK: Nah, Ange, The beauty of the story…is in it's honesty…Shows us the darker sides of love…An' how far an fucked folks'll get protectin' it.

ANGEL: (quiet) Husk?…Husk.

HUSK: What's wrong lovebug?

ANGEL: (sadly)…Would you do that for me?...Would ya..t-take the fall?

HUSK: (nonchalantly) Hm, probably.

ANGEL: Even if it meant…everything?

HUSK: Lookatcha!...Y'gettin' all existential on me!

ANGEL: M'serious!

HUSK: (looks ANGEL in the eyes, with utter conviction) If it meant, keepin' you safe, keepin' y'by my side…Then yes…

(HUSK feels ANGEL's breathing start to hitch as he holds him)

HUSK: Alright baby…Quit cryin'...(Notices he's pulling away and fanning his face and grabbing a tissue)...Oh…O-oh, are you okay?

ANGEL: (breathlessly) No!...N-No, I'm gonna sneeze!...Itsh'uu!...Eck'hiiuu, Ehhhishhh'shuu!...Heh'rkk'kiew! (Groans) Oh go-...Irrkk'hew! (Gasp) Heh'Ihhk'hew…Eh…Ehyiiishhhiew!...

HUSK: Bless you, Bless you- Bless you!...Holy shit, Ange! …Fuckin' Shit! Aww baby…Shhh, Breathe baby.

ANGEL: ….Hhh….Aacksh'IEW!...(groans)

HUSK: (chuckles) Bless you!...Y'always sneeze like that?

ANGEL: (sniffles) Like what?...(realizes) Oh, I'm sorry! (Coughs) Not all of us start a damn natural disaster every time the pollen count goes up.

(HUSK belly laughs, ANGEL's jab was...pretty fair enough. HUSK's laugh trails off into little coughs and grows a bit raspy.)

HUSK: (lovingly firm) Alright, blow your nose.

(ANGEL blows thickly and groans)

HUSK: There y'go…Feel better?

ANGEL: (tired from his emotional burst and his sneezing fit, he deadpans) What do you think?

HUSK: (not really bothered by his partner's moodiness, but calls it out anyway) Damn, you're startin' to get a lil bitchy.

(ANGEL is too sleepy to argue with this, so he lays down and pulls the blanket up, snuggling into HUSK's side.)

ANGEL: (quiet)…Gonna take a nap.

HUSK: (coughs) That's a brilliant idea, Sweetheart…

(Nuggets comes out from under the bed and paws to be let up. HUSK pats the bed.)

HUSK: Well, c'mon!...Get on up, here.

♥︎♠︎

(Scene 4 - Another few hours later…a knock at the door wakes the couple)

ANGEL: (grumpily, sleepily, stuffily)...Hm, Who the fuck is that?... If anyone tries to enter this room with me looking like absolute shit…I will not hesitate to shoot them.

HUSK: (yawns, sleepily and raspily) S'okay, Ange, just stay in bed…I'll get it.

(HUSK coughs a jag into his arm as he answers the door. ANGEL lets our a rough Aagh'ish'hew!, and Nuggets greets Princess Charlie Morningstar behind the door, who's carrying a large thermos and still dressed in her pajamas.)

HUSK: Sorry…Hi, Princess.

CHARLIE: Holy shit…You guys sound awful (coughs roughly a little herself...revealing the bug is clearly going around)

ANGEL: Hell, you ain't sounding much better, Toots.

Charlie: (In-denial, laughs) No!...I'm fine- I'm fine, Angel…Nothing to worry about! Vaggie is downstairs with something nasty…So I'm gonna go take care of her, BUT I brought you guys some chicken soup, I hope you enjoy it!

HUSK: (smiles sincerely and takes the thermos) Much obliged…Thank you…(then looks doubtful) Are you sure you're okay?

CHARLIE: (giggles again, still denying) No! I'm fine! I'm fine guys, I- Hh! HEP'PTSH'SHIEEW!

(CHARLIE inherited her Dad's tendency to occasionally become a...flamethrower when sneezing. Tends to get worse with a cold. Her demon form is out. ANGEL, HUSK and Nuggets stare blankly, a bit scared.)

ANGEL:…Bless you.

HUSK:…Bless you.

HUSK: (quietly to ANGEL) I didn't jus' hallucinate, right?...Fire came out her nose…

ANGEL: (quietly back) Dunno, y'talkin' to a former crackhead, if anyone's hallucinatin' it should be me…

CHARLIE: Eh…Heh…Ih…IPTSH'SHIEEW!

ANGEL: (Gently, firmly, big brother energy) Charlie…Dollface?... Y'takin' care a' everybody…But don't forget to take care a' y'self. (as Charlie coughs, ANGEL melts and invites her in for a hug)...C'mere.

CHARLIE: (Emotional)...Oh, Angel!

ANGEL: (waving her off, still a bit nervous) Yeah, yeah… Just do me a favor? Try not to set me on fire?

(HUSK joins the hug, wrapping his wings around the three of them.)

HUSK: C'mere, kid…If you tell anybody about this…I will gut you like a fish. (No real bite)

CHARLIE: (beat.) Thank you guys…Um…Vaggie and I are gonna watch some movies in the lobby, if you guys wanna join us, you're free to!...And if you need anything, give us a holler- Well actually, don't do that- Save your voices…Okay, bye!

(Door closes)

HUSK: Could be fun…It'll help distract from your…existential dread.

ANGEL: (coughs) Hey, fuck off!...Anyway, I have a better distraction…

HUSK: What?...(realizes and stiffens) No!...No. Are- Are you really feelin' up to that right now?

ANGEL: (pouts) C'mon Whiskers, don'tcha want me to…feel better?...(muffles a stuffy sneeze behind his hands) Ktsch'yew!- Oh my god…

HUSK: (smirks) Need a tissue?

ANGEL: (sniffles) I need…YOU, Baby! Besides, didn'tcha know that the Pentagram's leadin' scientists and' medical professionals say 'Sex is good for a cold!'

HUSK: (contemplates, then smiles slyly and inches closer) Well…Then I guess we gotta do what we gotta do…For science.

ANGEL: (smiles back, sniffling) That's right, we're just doin' this for a good cause…In the name of 'Science'.

(They melt into an embrace in a slow passionate kiss.)

ANGEL: ...I love you

HUSK: ...I love you too

(ANGEL's nose gets brushed and he pulls away to harshly sneeze, and looks up apologetically)

ANGEL: ...Aack'shew!...Ugh sorry.

HUSK: (tenderly) Bless you, Sweetheart.

♥︎♠︎ - è finito

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’tCHUUH! Hh—hhT! ...Hih’tCHHUU!” 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. But on top of that, his sneezes sounded weirdly… chestier? Almost as though the cold was going straight to his lungs.

“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 despite not having actually changed size. “…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?”

He sniffled once more, but to Spamton’s relief, he seemed receptive to the idea as his expression softened a little.

“…Deal.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------