Chapter Text
This was a bad idea.
The guy had claimed he’d used them before, but of course he was lying about it. He had a bad habit of that in order to get folks to stick around. Couldn’t look uncool, not in Cyber world, definitely not around royalty.
What a pain in the [Behind you! It’s coming right behind you!!]
“Cmon, you can’t stay in the corner forever, Blockhead!”
Easier said than done. All twenty feet of him was crammed into one corner of the hotel suite, the back of his head scraping against the ceiling, hunched to fit. Even if he wasn’t massive, the claws doing a number to the wall panels would’ve made getting him off impossible without a crowbar. Every so often, his tail would start to hammer against his leg, then fall still again, trembling where it curled around the big guy’s thigh.
“Haaaaahghhh… hahaha…” He made a swallowing sound. It was hard to tell what Tenna was thinking with the kaleidoscope of rainbow blobs shifting around his screen, the magnet still hanging onto his left temple.
Spamton pinched the bridge of his nose, “[Just for a low price of-] Tenna?? Hey!” He clapped his hands, flinching when the big guy flinched in turn, claws grinding deeper into the walls. “Hey. It’s me. It’s Spammy. You’re not dying. You’re fine.”
“Nnnnoooonim not.” Tenna mumbled, his posture dropping lower. “Bad. This was a bad idea.”
“Pfft, I could’ve told you that.” Spamton kept his eyes fixed on those claws, and the occasional glimpse of staticy teeth between the mush of color on his partner’s face, “Hell, I did tell you. And what’d you say? You could [HANDLE WITH CARE] it??”
“Mmmmnnrthhhzzzzz…” Another whapping of his tail, and he tucked his back against the wall, like he could somehow make himself escape that way. Maybe with another height injection and a B movie soundtrack, they could be big shots by getting Big Shot by tanks like the other great Kaiju did. Instead, he just made a low whine in his throat, tucking his knees up against his chest. “It’s my fault.”
Spamton settled onto Tenna’s shoe, and patted his calve with a huff, folding his arms to lean on it like a tree, “I mean, yeah, obviously. Next time we just stick to tobacco ads, capiche cathode?”
“Not that.” Tenna shrunk a foot or two smaller, “Everything.”
Spamton blinked, and rubbed at his face. He took a deep breath in, “Tenna. You are not doing this [Buy now! New self driving cungadero-] bullcrap with me right now, alright?” Ughhh course the guy was gonna make him climb, why did he put up with- he shakes his head, digging his fingers into the pleats of Tenna’s pants. He shuts one eye as a heavy tear falls on his head, the TV host moving one hand off the wall to press against his buzzing screen. “Listen to me - you’re just having a bad trip.”
“I’m not going anywhere. That’s the problem.” He mumbled into his glove. The tears were ridiculous, just one enough to soak Spamton’s head and risk the dye running out. He managed to dodge the next, pulling himself up to sit on Tenna’s bony knee. “I’m static. I’m nothing and nobody. Just a big hunk of junk.”
“[Boobtube], look at me.” Spamton reached into his coat pocket, “I don’t go for trash. I got for the good stuff. The [BIG] stuff.” He put the cigar to his lips, checking it first to see if the tears had soaked it through. Satisfied, he patted Tenna’s knee. The large man’s screen flickered for a moment, then he moved his remaining hand off the wall, softening his touch as he moved it to let his partner on.
“You can’t mean that.” He brought the little guy up to his screen, a custom that he did less on request, more on trained instinct. “I’ve screwed up too much for you to still see anything in me.”
Within the glow of Tenna’s screen, Spamton saw his own face in the glass, fixing a few hairs out of place, “I’m a businessman. It’s my job to see potential.” He held the cigar to Tenna’s screen. The color parted in a hiss of static and shifting hues, biting the end clear off before Spamton brought it back to his lips.
“What good is potential if I can’t act on it like you?”
Futzing for his lighter, Spamton gave him a once over. God he looked like a mess. A shaking wet sop of a man. He reached up, plucking the magnet off his head with a snap of sharp electricity, then cupped his chin before he could move away, “If I kissed you, would you [Shut the Front Door] and quit whining?”
The CRT didn’t need to reply. Spamton already knew how he’d reply, even before he’d bitten his glass lip and nodded his head, so he cut him off at the pass. His other hand might as well have been another lover at his back, fingers curling around his shoulders, pressing him to his screen. Static surging between them, Spamton letting the cigar dangle from one hand by the ports that soon steamed with overheating tubes. The big guy shuddered when he pressed the tip in, but didn’t dare to break away from the kiss. Hiccups shuddered from under his chest plate, and Spamton moved back before another fat tear could soak him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I really thought I- I thought I could handle it.”
“Hey…” Spamton cupped his cheek, fuzzy like the CRT had a five o’ clock shadow, the big guy leaning into his touch. “Shut up, okay?” The words had bite but no malice, and Spamton gave the cigar a few puffs, then gave him another smooch, blowing smoke out the other man’s vents. “Magnet’s gone,” he said, leaning back, “Just try to [ride around town!] cause whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.”
Tenna looked back at him, antenna tucking behind his head.
The demon grinned at him with a toothy smile, wreathed in stained glass and tinted metal. Pink and gold, its wings drove Tenna further back into his corner, and he shakily brushed its cheek with his thumb. It leaned into the touch, cigar burning between its toothy smile, “You know that, right?” It said.
Tenna swallowed, and nodded his head. He parted his lips, letting it lean into him again, wishing he had eyes to shut. A silly thought, since Spamton was right. Like always.
It wasn’t real.