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Tenna paced backstage, each heavy step replicating a heartbeat—steady at first, then faster as seconds ticked down. The impatient murmurs from the audience reached him, yet couldn’t outmatch the high-pitched whine within his cathode head. Roughly ten minutes until showtime—and that was after two delays.
Surely Mettaton had a reason for running late. Couldn’t have been stage fright; he overcame that within the first few weeks of visiting TV World. Nothing in the Light World impeded him, either—not since Mettaton relocated the CRT TV to his bedroom. Perhaps the set list changed, but a crew member would’ve told him by now. Because after months of prep and rehearsing, Mettaton wouldn’t miss his debut concert in the Dark World... right?
A frantic sigh crackled in his speakers. Where the hell is he?!
Tenna had half the mind to tear apart TV World until he located Mettaton. Not that he wanted to pressure him—no no no, that was the last thing he intended—but had to double-check everything was okay! That’s all! A quick touch base before the big show and whatnot! Because if there was something Tenna could do to help, then it was as good as done. No request was outlandish; he’d do anything to keep his Lightner entertained.
And he meant that quite literally, too: anything.
His steps slowed as the past few months washed over him. Susie upheld her promise of securing him a new home. Tenna steeled himself for another family, another chance to gut out his proverbial heart and crush it. Nothing prepared him for the shy ghost regarding him with intrigue—calling him handsome, too. Tenna let out a weak laugh at that recollection; it certainly was one way to test his limits without parental locks.
To his delight, Mettaton enjoyed the salacious music video. And to his surprise, he sought out similar content. It didn’t have to be a music video. Anything sufficed, so long as it was hot and juicy. Tenna gladly kicked it up a notch every night to hear Mettaton hitch his breath, to watch a new shade of pink burn his face, to keep those gorgeous, unblinking eyes glued to his screen.
Oh, it had been years since someone paid attention to him, never mind talked to him like he was real. And wow, did Mettaton spoil him with those honeyed words. Was he...? No, fat chance that he was actually flirting with his TV. Wishful thinking right there! Even if he was, it wasn’t like they could do anything about that. Regardless, no need to read into anything that wasn’t there. Or get his hopes up. Nope, Mettaton was moving him to his bedroom because his cousins didn’t watch as much television. Yeah, that’s it! And the playful touches along his antennas and screen were normal! Yup! Just so happened to feel more intense, thanks to his incorporeal state! Didn’t stimulate Tenna in the slightest!
He stopped pacing as the memory clocked him in the face, though. An R-rated film aired after midnight, uncensored. Only the subtle glow from the TV illuminated the room. At the lowest volumes, moans flooded the Light World and Dark World alike. Mettaton drank in the feature within his blanket cocoon, staying quiet until a commercial break.
“God, what I’d give to be corporeal and experience that.”
Electricity raced through wires, almost like fingertips caressing his chassis, all because of that breathless confession. Then a thought hit Tenna and duplicated the sensation: wouldn’t it be fun to turn Mettaton’s fantasy into a reality?
Great. Now he was inventing worse problems for himself. Because being attached to a Lightner was low-hanging fruit. Why not lust for one, too? Oh yeah, wonderful idea! What could possibly go wrong?! Bad enough that he had free front-row seats to Mettaton’s attempts at mimicking those acts with his pillows—damn it, why couldn’t it be him?!—so why get greedy?
Because despite Mettaton stumbling his way into TV World after falling asleep snuggled next to Tenna—huh, so the rumors were true about ghosts slipping into other realms—it didn’t mean they greenlit some taboo, interdimensional affair. Was there ever a good time to talk about that between rehearsals and commercials? Oh, hey! By the way! Stellar performance out there from your mattress! Big fan! Care to level up your acting chops with the real deal? No, this isn’t a casting couch ordeal, but it definitely involved a couch and casting you in the lead role of riding the director’s—
“Mr. Tenna?”
Flinching and flailing, Tenna whipped around to a Darkner, who barely came up to his knee. Ah, one of the PAs. No need to panic! He cleared his speakers and adjusted his tie, yet still shook where he stood.
“The one and only! Ha ha!” Lovely. The trembles intensified. “What can I do for you?”
“We received confirmation that Mettaton is on his way to—”
“REALLY?!”
The PA gasped. Tenna sucked on his teeth until static popped. Fuck. So much for staying calm and collected, even upon hearing good news. He needed the crew gossiping about him swooning for a Lightner as much as he needed his arms ripped out of their sockets again.
Tenna couldn’t help it, though. Any mention of Mettaton simply struck his wires in the most delectable way, like deft hands playing a harp.
“A-ah! I mean!” Inhale, exhale. Flash a smile, too. “That’s great! In the NICK OF TIME! Send him this way and we’ll get this SHOW ON THE ROAD!”
“Of course, Mr. Tenna,” the Darkner said, then scurried off.
Excellent. That was one action item crossed off the list. Surely the anxiety would abate, yeah? Slacken its grip on Tenna and let him focus on managing the damn concert broadcast?
Oh, if only it was that simple.
A new flavor of adrenaline festered within. It rivaled with the anticipation of Lightners coming home after a long day. Why not take a load off, get comfy, and watch some television until they passed out? But this sentiment, prickling and buzzing, cut deeper. A regular broadcast couldn’t scratch this itch. A movie marathon night couldn’t alleviate the profound hunger hollowing his abdomen. There was one solution for sating this appetite—and even that was a gamble.
This time, Tenna paced for a different reason. Scripted dialogue inundated him to recite once Mettaton arrived. The words bled into memories, of all the times Mettaton visited and his kind words to him. He rewound further to when they met, before Mettaton eased out of his shell, and wondered if it occurred to him that yes, his CRT TV had selected those lewd programs for his viewing pleasure. And what a pleasure it was for Tenna, as well, to watch Mettaton enjoy himself.
Were they ever going to discuss that? Or was it better for everyone involved to pretend that didn’t happen? Probably the latter. Why give Lightners existential dread over the shit Darkners were exposed to daily, yeah? Best to zip it and move on. Business as usual. But doing that had the opposite effect on him. Rather literally. Irony at its finest.
A familiar jolt knocked him off balance. Tenna almost tripped as he staggered into a spiral staircase. Growling, he swiveled his antennas for a steady signal and clear his damn mind out of the damn gutter for once. No use. Great. Just what he needed.
But he did it to himself, truth be told. Influence went both ways in the Light World and Dark World. Whatever Lightners craved gradually shaped the area and inhabitants. Tenna witnessed sound stages evolve in the Dreemurrs’ household, even received a few additions to his wardrobe. Mettaton’s hopes and dreams would inevitably color TV World.
Tenna didn’t expect it to happen like that.
It made sense, though. Mettaton told him how he craved a corporeal body, to experience the filthy acts on television. Paired with Tenna’s dangerous infatuation with his Lightner... well, it explained why his pants clung painfully tight to him as of late. Not something a tailor could fix, either. No, the only way to alleviate that was to excuse himself to his dressing room and pretend it was Mettaton gliding over the mechanical cock instead of his own hand.
Of all the upgrades to receive in his new home, this was what he got. What a fucking joke.
Not to say he was ungrateful or prude—hell, years of restraint from those blasted parental locks sure did a number on a guy—but it was a little fucking jarring to discover he was no longer null. Okay, also not exactly little, but whatever! Figure of speech! The point was that even the mention of Mettaton had always excited Tenna, but now it was making his job harder. Literally. Cue the laugh track, too, while they were at it.
Setting his jaw, Tenna hung his head and tried to focus. Chills taunted him while he struggled to keep a clear signal. God, this would’ve been easier if the show wasn’t about to air in a matter of minutes. Couldn’t delay it any further. Show had to go on. Maybe once Mettaton was onstage, he could sneak elsewhere to... ugh, what the hell was wrong with him?! Was he seriously considering skipping Mettaton’s first live performance to jerk off to fantasies with him? Again?! How many times was it now this week, let alone the damn month?! Holy fuck, maybe he did need the parental locks on to keep himself mildly functional.
His face blipped out of sight and plummeted to black. No, this was fine. He could calm down, unclog his cables, and make it less obvious he was aroused from the mere concept of seeing his Lightner. Deep breaths flowed through his vents until he quaked. The tension lifted. Heat cooled off. Tenna heaved out a curse while leaning into the staircase. Okay, much better. Phew. Now with that out of the way, he could focus on—
“There you are!”
Limp antennas sprung up. His screen flickered on, revealing a giddy smile.
“METTATON!” He twirled to face him. “Oh, fantastic! You’re finally—”
One look. That was all it took. One fucking glance and licentious whispers clouded his mind and reignited the lust pooling in his core until it boiled.
Lightners changed appearances when present in the Dark World, but Mettaton’s arrival toed the limits. He assumed a humanoid form, matching the sketches within his notebooks. The more he frequented TV World, the more he gained confidence, and the more his body evolved to mirror that. What started as a spark now burned like a wildfire.
Despite the gut feeling telling him otherwise, Tenna couldn’t pinpoint what transformed this time. Perhaps it was hidden beneath Mettaton’s three-piece suit, which... wow! Hot damn! That skyrocketed approval ratings before they aired.
And yet Mettaton grimaced, fighting with his tie while balancing a jacket slung over an arm. “I was hoping to find you.”
That throttled him out of his reverie. “You... you were?”
“I haven’t gotten the hang of—” He scoffed, letting the pink silk dangle from his neck. “Tch, it’s no use. I can’t figure this out.”
Ah, that explained his tardiness. No worries there! It wasn’t the first time Tenna gave Mettaton a pep talk. Hyping him up was one of his favorite activities. And he’d gladly—
“Would you be so kind and lend a hand, Mr. Tenna?”
Static marred his face. “I-I’m sorry, you... what?”
“I know we’re cutting it close, but you have more experience with this than I ever have.” He gestured to the undone tie. “Could you do it for me?” Mettaton stepped closer and into the residual television glow. “Please?”
Shivers scaled Tenna, thanks to a single look. Hopefully the shadows concealed it—that and the influence Mettaton had over him. But every extra shred of attention stoked the flames in a formerly untended hearth. A fire blazing that hot wouldn’t die out easily. With any luck, he’d smother it later.
For now? Tenna dropped to his knees with a smile. “ALWAYS, SUPERSTAR.”
Blowing out a breath, Mettaton also smiled. “Thank you, darling.”
“Don’t mention it!” Great. Another shiver. Fuck everything, it was going to be a long night. “One camera-ready fixer-upper, coming RIGHT UP!”
He wasted no time in assisting, yet proceeded with caution. Not out of fear of ruining his attire, but due to their proximity. One stray touch would snap Tenna’s threadbare composure. Tempting as it was to worship Mettaton’s corporeal form—and figure out what had changed in this recent model—he refused to ruin his star’s special night. Mettaton had worked tooth and nail to reach this point! The last thing Tenna wanted was to give him an excuse to bolt and never look back.
So he kept those wanton ideas to himself, kept things professional. Popped the starched collar and slid silk between his fingertips. Tenna ignored the urge to yank him in and discover if his lips tasted as sweet as his voice, or if that kissing business in general was all it was cracked up to be, like in the movies. He focused instead on looping the tie accordingly, pushing the Shelby knot into Mettaton’s throat. He did it while humming a ditty and sticking out his tongue as he tucked the tie into the waistcoat, and not ripping glossy buttons from their threads. He maintained this song and dance a little longer—already had been for months now—for the sake of preserving this bond: as Lightner and Darkner, as TV host and guest star, as absolutely nothing more.
“TA-DA!” Tenna slid away with a flourish. “Done and done! So, whaddya think?”
Mettaton examined his figure. Vibrant pink accented the jet-black attire: his tie, the underside of the gloves, and the waistcoat seams. It matched the flecks swirling in his visible eye, outlined by simple eyeliner.
“Ah, this is excellent,” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Tenna. I knew I could count on you.”
How he didn’t implode from joy was beyond him. “Don’t mention it! Happy to help! You know that!”
And now, Mettaton was ready to take to the stage, and Tenna could watch from a very safe and considerable distance while—
“Then could you do one last favor for me?”
Mettaton pivoted on his high heels, pink soles glinting in the TV glow. So did obsidian grommets loosely laced with pink leather strips. Because this wasn’t a normal waistcoat. Those pink seams were actually boning for a corset—a corset vest, to be precise.
“You made quick work of my tie.” He peeked over his shoulder. “You can cinch me up as fast, yes?”
It was a miracle he didn’t shatter his screen from grinding his teeth. “MMHMM!”
The tie was one matter, but this? Yeah, safe to say this stressed him out more than evading the censors. Which was ridiculous, considering all he had to do was tighten the laces and tie them off. Nothing fancy. Even so, Tenna floundered.
Focus, he reminded himself with every row he finished. Wrap this up and don’t make shit complicated.
But his focus wandered. He drank in Mettaton’s body, from the curve in his rear to the angles of his exposed cheek. Tenna swore there was a hitch in that lovely throat after an abrupt tug. He paused to recompose himself after that. No, he shouldn’t repeat the motion, even by accident, simply to discover what else Mettaton’s lips produced. Also tricky to do anything as crew members gathered in the narrow space, making final preparations for the show. Not the kind of crowd he wanted to entertain.
So Tenna ignored the Darkners whizzing by as well as the devious suggestions. He could not, however, ignore his body, neglected and needy, reacting to the gorgeous man well within arm’s reach.
“There.” He tied off the remaining leather into a double-knotted bow. “All set!”
Mettaton twisted and stretched to test the laces. “Ah, perfect!” He unfurled his jacket to slip on. “Now I’m ready for—”
A Darkner hurried towards Mettaton, shouting about getting him mic’d. Maybe it was a loose floor cable. Or a bump from a peer. The dim lighting certainly didn’t do anyone favors. Regardless of the catalyst, they tripped and crashed into Mettaton. In turn, he staggered backwards and collided with Tenna—poor oblivious Tenna, still kneeling there and basking in the compliment from a second ago.
Good news? He broke Mettaton’s fall. No harm done. Couldn’t have timed it better. Bad news? Mettaton was now flush against his body. And there was a nonzero chance of him not noticing the hard-on lodged into his ass, complete with an additional throb from the abrupt contact.
So, um... you know what? Not the worst thing that occurred in Tenna’s life. Count your blessings, or whatever. Absolutely on the top three list, though.
The PA sputtered apologies alongside Tenna. Whether or not Mettaton registered either of them was unknown. He froze against Tenna, which would’ve been fantastic in literally any other scenario except this one.
“H-hey, Mettaton?” Tenna said. “You doing alright?”
Fingertips brushed his shoulders. No static shocks teased the space between them, but Mettaton jolted away all the same. “My apologies. I’m fine.”
Tenna sat on his heels, balling fists into his lap. Thank god the backstage shadows worked in his favor. Also worked against him, too, because he couldn’t tell if Mettaton glanced back. To thank him, to ask if he was okay. Maybe offer another smile, just because. In a matter of seconds, Mettaton marched off, flanked by crew members for final preparations. Talkback reached Tenna: sixty seconds until Mettaton went live.
Of course. Almost showtime. No reason to pull his star performer aside and... ugh, do something dumber than whatever bullshit he pulled off. Snarling past a mouthful of static, Tenna rose and excused himself. Needed to make the rounds backstage and ensure everything ran without a hitch. You know, do his damn job in the Dark World. And not fixate on the fresh memories branded in his circuits.
Easier said than done. Fucking hell, it always was.
Who could concentrate while tormented by a phantom touch? Tenna tried to, nonetheless. If anyone noticed him shaking or stammering or gripping a railing extra harder... well, they likely dismissed it. Don’t mind him. It’s the boss being himself. Totally normal. Nothing to see here. That played to his advantage, for once; no one paid Tenna any mind after Mettaton’s opening number, unaware of him bolting elsewhere.
Snapping his fingers, he teleported into the audience and claimed an empty box seat. Maybe watching the show would take the edge off. Ah, he should’ve known better; it made it worse. Much worse. Unable to sit, Tenna braced against the balcony to watch.
Mettaton thrived onstage, carefree as ever. He held a sparkling microphone, lips ghosting the tip while serenading the crowd. He danced alongside brisk melodies and put every coveted music video to shame. He discarded his jacket at some point and rolled up his sleeves, and Tenna swore the glint against those bare arms was due to metal. He rocked on, soaking up neon lights and thunderous applause. And unknown to him, song after song, he ignited fresh desire within Tenna.
A seductive whisper suggested he should do something about that. He was alone in that booth, yes? Might as well enjoy the show, so to speak. Tempting, but Tenna recoiled. What if Mettaton deemed him repulsive, thanks to that accident? God, he’d likely admonish him if he discovered what Tenna did during his performance—and numerous nights before that. Maybe he’d never grace the stage again, as if to spite him, punish him. No, that had bad idea written all over it. Ignoring that swelling arousal agonized him—at least rocking into the railing took the edge off—but giving his precious Lightner a reason to hate TV eviscerated him.
But damn it, he yearned to do more than watch. Why not share a performance—share each other—and replicate those sex scenes Mettaton devoured? Tenna could get used to that type of movie marathon night. Didn’t make any difference if they garnered a crowd or not, so long as he captured Mettaton’s undivided attention. Anything to ensure he had fun and—
What the hell is WRONG WITH YOU?!
Tenna struck both sides of his head, the clatter drowned out by music. White noise flooded his screen, then nothing. He hung his head with a painful shudder. If only he could shrink and hide somewhere, but that wasn’t possible until he smothered the flames. Ugh, maybe he needed to skedaddle and take care of his problem before things took a nosedive. Sadly meant skipping Mettaton’s encore—and congratulating him backstage—but it was for everyone’s sake, really. Once Tenna got this out of his system, then all would be well in TV World.
Thus while Mettaton earned his standing ovation, Tenna fled the box seats and the sound stage.
The cacophony fell mute as he bolted down the corridor. Luckily for him, Darkners were either on break or working the concert, leaving him a straight shot to his personal dressing room. Tenna reached it in record time, slammed the door shut, and leaned back.
Lights flicked on. Faded posters and jumbled costume racks crowded one wall. Dingy vanity mirrors lined another, where candid Polaroid photos tucked into the corners. All mementos from the good old days, none of which comforted him now. Then again, nothing would, save for Metta—
His face warped as he screamed into his palms. Yeah, that did jack shit. His body reminded him as much. Tch, more like taunted him. The tailored pants weren’t helping, unless amplifying his bulge counted. Tenna fought back a whimper. Any other night and he would’ve already been reclining on the couch and indulging in one of many fantasies. Probably be halfway done, too. But he also didn’t humiliate himself in front of his Lightner. For that, Mettaton deserved an apology. Eventually. Tenna had priorities to tend to first.
After a few shallow breaths, he headed for the couch. Didn’t bother shrugging off his jacket. Why waste time? Lumpy cushions sank under his weight as he collapsed with huff. Tenna hesitated at his belt; a twinge of shame petrified him. This truly became second nature to him, huh? Being greedy and caving in the second it overwhelmed him? How pathetic. No wonder Mettaton couldn’t look him in the nose backstage after realizing how much of a pervert his CRT TV truly was. Only a matter of time before he kicked Tenna out of his bedroom, possibly leave him on the curb.
Thankfully—or was it unfortunately?—those thoughts yielded to carnal demands. He proceeded, loosening the belt buckle, then his pants. Familiar motions, all executed without a stutter. Propping his head upon the couch’s backrest, Tenna stared at the ceiling. God, he couldn’t stomach looking at himself while jerking off now. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to do any of that if a certain Lightner hadn’t inadvertently wished it into existence. Fingertips traced the hard-on, straining for attention in his pants. Tenna swallowed a whine, hating how this would never satiate him, but what he loathed more was knowing the one who could end this torment was—
A knock sounded at the door. Gentle, yet it exploded in the dressing room. Tenna flinched. Who the hell could it be? Well, so long as it wasn’t—
“Mr. Tenna?” the muted voice emerged from the other side. “Are you in there?”
Fuck.
Wow, his whole life really was a joke, huh? Was there also a live studio audience tucked away in a closet, too? Ready to record their reactions for a new laugh track? Loop it indefinitely? Couldn’t make this shit up in the writing room, that was for sure.
“The show is over,” Mettaton continued, lovely as ever. “The crew mentioned something about a cast party? They didn’t go into details, but said you insisted on having one for me.”
Antennas shriveled as he bit on his fist. Right. That. He forgot. Too busy making sure the broadcast ran smooth as butter, only to botch that the moment someone asked him to assist with a wardrobe fix. Damn it, he needed more than parental locks to solve this. Better off dragging him out back and putting him out of his misery before—
“I, um... didn’t see you backstage before the encore.” Disappointment stained his voice. “Though I suppose you had to prepare for this party. Still, I was hoping to find you before that.”
Tenna shot upright on the couch. “Wait, what?”
“Oh! You are in there.”
His mouth wobbled into a jagged line. He remembered to mute himself before screaming.
“May I come inside, Mr. Tenna?”
Gorgeous, you can come ANYWHERE, so long as it’s—WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? STOP?!
“Unless,” Mettaton added, “I’m interrupting something?”
“What? N-no, I’m—” He winced, throbbing against his best efforts. Even if he refastened his pants and belt, there was no hiding the erection front and center. “I’m not up to ANYTHING! No interruptions here! Come on in! Make yourself AT HOME!”
So he internally screamed while flopping prone on the couch, praying that concealed enough... and also didn’t tear a hole in the cushions.
The door opened and revealed Mettaton in his concert attire. He held his jacket over a shoulder upon entering, heels clicking against the floor. Still had those sleeves rolled up, too, and—oh. It was metal. That was most definitely new.
“Thank you, Mr. Tenna. I appreciate you taking the—” He paused, looking at him. “Are you okay?”
“Who, me?” Tenna kicked his feet in the air, propping his chin upon folded hands, like they were gossiping during a sleepover and not... whatever the fuck this was turning out to be. “Oh, I’m PEACHY!”
Mettaton blinked. Tenna forced a grin and somehow didn’t shriek.
“Uh... huh. Right.” He finally closed the door. Phew, he bought it. “In any case, I don’t know how much of the concert you saw. I understand you’re a busy man and I’d hate to hold you up from more important matters—” Mettaton gazed at his feet, idly shifting from heel to heel. “—but I hope you enjoyed some of the performance.”
“Some of it?! I’ll have you know that once everything was in order backstage? I watched THE WHOLE THING.”
“You did?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Can’t miss my STAR PERFORMER in his DEBUT MUSICAL PERFORMANCE! Wow, you knocked it outta the park, Mettaton! The whole crowd loved ya!”
“But did you love it?”
“Uh—” The added swell wasn’t helping. Hopefully Mettaton didn’t notice his shifting hips against the couch. “Y-yeah! Of course I did! Loved every second of it! Y-you’ve come a long way, too! Really proud of ya, by the way. You were A NATURAL out there!”
“Ah, you’re too much.” He shied away, waving a dismissive hand. “But thank you. That means the world to me.”
Tenna’s smile faltered. “It does?”
“Mmm. None of this would’ve been possible without you, Mr. Tenna. I’d... hate to disappoint you.”
“Wait, seriously? YOU? H-ha! C’mon, quit yanking my chain. That’s impossible! You always impress me.”
He kept quiet, as if stewing on that remark. “Duly noted.”
No added commentary. Not another glance in his direction.
“So, uh.” Tenna’s speakers crackled while clearing his throat. “About that post-concert party. Ah, should be soon! Yup! You, uh... ready for that?”
“Not yet.”
Well, so much for shooing him out of the dressing room. Shit. What else could Mettaton possibly want that required—
“I was hoping,” he continued, ambling to a body-length mirror suited for someone his height, “to enlist you for your help once again this evening.”
“Help?” Tenna echoed. “With what?”
Mettaton peered over his shoulder in passing. “With getting me out of this attire.”
Dear air filled the room. No, that wasn’t right. He misheard that. Because there was no way Mettaton asked him—
“Considering you’re the one who laced me up,” he said, “I figured it was only fair to have you do the honors of unlacing me.”
Welp. Good to know his audio input wasn’t on the fritz, but Mettaton was doing a bang-up job at giving him mixed signals. Tenna coughed up a painful laugh before he could mute himself.
“You’re joking, right?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I’m not.” Mettaton pouted at his reflection. “These are faux buttons on the vest.”
“Oh. That’s... kinda impractical.”
“Obviously. Hence why I was running late. Apparently my sketches in the Light World didn’t translate that well into the Dark World, but I’ll remember for next time.” His visible eye met Tenna’s screen in the mirror. “Are you coming or not, Mr. Tenna?”
“I—wait, WHAT?”
“Unless you intend to lend a hand all the way from the couch.”
“No, I—oh. OH! HA HA!” Tenna playfully smacked his head to feign forgetfulness. Then again, nothing short of bashing his head into the wall would dislodge his mind out of the gutter. “Right! Of course! Be there in a jiffy!” If he grinned any harder, he’d shatter his screen. “GIMME A SEC!”
Mettaton raised an unamused brow, though nodded. He looked away to hang his jacket on an oversized chair, albeit normal-sized for Tenna. Delightful as it was to gaze upon Mettaton until dawn, Tenna seized the fleeting moment to roll onto his side and recompose himself. Or try to. Nothing simmered down since Mettaton’s arrival. Just, uh... made things worse. A lot worse. Fantastic.
He could work with this, though! Maybe positioning himself behind Mettaton would block his reflection and thus hide the elephant in the room. Or... in his pants. Whatever! Doing it live! Tenna tumbled off the couch to crawl his way to Mettaton. Neither exchanged a word once Tenna knelt behind him. Not to mention that seeing Mettaton up close again in a well-lit room... wow, he was something else, huh? Who needed a night sky to stargaze at when Mettaton was right there?
“Ready whenever you are, Mr. Tenna.”
His soft voice snapped him back to reality. “Yup! Got it!”
Loosening the corset vest required less time than cinching it, and yet Tenna worked at a leisurely pace. Why rush it? Why not draw out the moment and keep Mettaton around a little longer? The party could wait. Plus no one would question the host or his guest of honor arriving fashionably late. And Mettaton certainly wasn’t asking him what the holdup was as he slowly undid the laces. Almost like unwrapping a gift. Fuck, thinking about that roused a quiver.
“There!” Tenna clapped his hands, then jammed them into his lap. “Good to go!”
No reply from Mettaton. Not even a thank you while shrugging off the corset vest. It plummeted to his heels, and he stepped aside before bending at the hip to retrieve them. Tenna nearly shrieked and averted his screen. Oh, how tempting it was to sneak a peek, though, when Mettaton draped the vest over his jacket. Keep it together, he mentally chanted. Because they were done here and soon Mettaton would leave and Tenna would be alone again and then he could finally—
“Keep going.”
Tenna did a double-take at the mirror. “What?”
Mettaton fidgeted with his gloves. He poked out his tongue to moisten his lips—slowly. The sight of that alone planted hundreds of ideas in his filthy mind.
“I said,” he repeated, albeit with a tremble on his tongue, “you can keep going.”
But he already...? Wait, did that mean...?! No. No no no no, this was a figment of his imagination. Or an elaborate joke as payback for earlier. Either way, Tenna remained motionless, gawking at the reflection. Mettaton’s expression turned ghastly after a moment of awkward silence. His eyes flitted about the room, looking everywhere but at Tenna.
“On second thought,” Mettaton said, “I’ve already wasted enough of your time with my requests, yes?” A nervous laugh escaped him, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t mind me, Mr. Tenna. I’m being absurd. I promise it won’t happen again.” He huffed, pivoting away, perhaps to leave. “I’ll see you at the—”
He never took one step. Not when Tenna grasped his waist.
Gently, slowly. Nothing to raise alarm. Still felt delicate shivers against his palm, though.
And Tenna scooted closer, leaned in, and said, “I can keep going.”
That returned Mettaton’s stare to him. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Tenna sighed, something torn between a chuckle and a groan rumbling in his audio output. A dozen quips came to mind, but none emerged. But he humored Mettaton, nonetheless, and hoped his actions screamed plenty.
The tie came off first, carefully placed beside the jacket and corset vest. Next was the dress shirt, requiring finesse to nudge the buttons free. Tenna paused midway; the vanity lights reflected off what should’ve been a clavicle, but was instead the edge of a pink chassis. That was new. Certainly piqued his interest. He made short work of unbuttoning the shirt, adding it to the pile. Upon hooking claws into the tank top’s bottom hem and peeling it off, Tenna marveled at what awaited underneath.
Mettaton was surpassed corporeal now; he was robotic.
“Do you like it?”
Tenna regarded his reflection; Mettaton hadn’t acted this nervous since his first night in TV World. Hard to believe the same man gave a bold performance moments ago.
“I’m happy if you’re happy,” he replied.
Pursing his lips, he let out a mechanical sigh. “That’s not what I asked.”
“Y-yeah, but—”
“You’ve helped me turn my dreams into reality, Mr. Tenna.” He smoothed over the clear container of his abdomen, where a heart-shaped object floated within—possibly his SOUL? His fingers traveled up, outlining the torso casing. “You even made me realize things I desired that were hidden in plain sight.”
His antennas twitched. “Like what?”
“Like the fact I wanted to be more than corporeal.”
Mettaton curled his fingers. The pink exterior unlatched and plummeted to the floor. Wires and circuit boards nestled in his chest, neatly organized and exposed. Very exposed. Screw alligators in bikinis; Tenna preferred this view by a long shot.
“I wanted,” he added, the words rolling off his gilded tongue, “to be on par with you.”
By some stroke of dumb luck, Tenna didn’t blare a test card. “With... me? What? WHY?”
Oh, there was that devious expression again. Mettaton leaned into him, definitely knew the effect he had on Tenna, and snaked elongated arms around his neck.
“I think we both know why,” he purred. “Because that’s not a microphone in your pocket, is it?”
Tenna gawked. This wasn’t real. This was too fucking good to be true. It had to be an act, yeah? Because when had anything ever gone well for someone like Tenna? And if this was genuinely happening, he was bound to slip and fumble his lines and give Mettaton a hundred reasons to leave not only the dressing room, but TV World forever.
Wow, he wanted this to be real: the heady gaze locked onto him, the subtle grind against his cock, the heat radiating between them.
“Mr. Tenna.”
That sing-song tone evoked pleasant zaps. So did the single hand skimming the bottom of his CRT casing. Yup, he felt everything. No denying that was real.
Just as he couldn’t deny Mettaton’s request: “Keep going.”
His hands moved on their own, hastier this time. Tenna winced with every fumble, bracing for ridicule. It never happened. Nothing dimmed Mettaton’s smile as Tenna removed his belt and pants. A mix of materials comprised his lean legs, clad in knee-high boots. Metal reinforced joints and the outer length of each limb, but squishy silicone lined his inner thighs. Perhaps it made dancing easier. Hell if he knew. What he did know was that Mettaton refrained from scolding him when Tenna danced fingertips along his legs. If anything, he spread his thighs to welcome him.
“You still haven’t answered me,” Mettaton said.
“About what?” God, thinking about anything while figuring out how to bypass his pelvic plate was a tall order.
“I asked if you liked it.” He tilted his hips, pressed that elusive latch into Tenna’s finger. “If you liked me in this brand-new form.”
“Well... like is an understatement.” With firm pressure, the cover popped free and joined the torso casing on the floor. “Because I LOVE what I see.”
No wires were tucked between his legs. The smooth finish and myriad of buttons reminded Tenna of a remote control. Something else resided there, yet evaded the mirror from that angle. Not quite a DVD slot, but not a perfect match to monster anatomy, either. Nonetheless, heat radiated from the spot. And damn, he yearned to make himself comfortable between those legs and—
“Now then.” Mettaton unraveled himself from Tenna. “Let’s get you comfortable, too.”
“M-me?” He cowered slightly. “No, that’s not necessary! I-I’m fine! Promise!”
Mettaton looked him over from top to bottom, lingering at the obvious bulge. “I think you’re overdressed for the occasion.”
Oh, how he longed to shrink and hide under the couch. His body deceived him, though, trying to grow beyond his maximum potential. Unable to do either, Tenna shook like a leaf amidst a storm.
“Am I?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Mmm, you are.”
Mettaton slowly approached. Tenna scrambled backwards.
“And, uh... what’s the occasion? Exactly?”
“You didn’t attend my encore. Such a shame that you missed it.”
Tenna bumped into the couch and ceased moving. Hard to do much of anything except stare while Mettaton ambled between his jittery legs.
“But it would be my honor,” he said, gliding hands over him, up his legs, then along the opening of his jacket, “to give you a private performance.”
White noise blared in his head. “You... y-you don’t hafta—” His antennas shot up as Mettaton leaned in, lengthened his arms, and nudged Tenna’s jacket off. “Ah! Seems like I forgot to TAKE OFF YOUR BOOTS! Ha ha! Whoops! Slipped my mind!”
That didn’t hinder Mettaton’s advances. “They can stay on, darling.”
“Uh, sure thing!” God, if he kept calling him that, he wasn’t surviving this encounter. “Whatever ya wanna—”
Mettaton seized his tie. Just a tug, but the sensation rippled through Tenna, swelling into waves that threatened to crash into him. No further commentary, either. He sat on the floor, propped up on his elbows and the looming promise of receiving Mettaton’s exclusive VIP treatment.
Despite his confident remarks, though, Mettaton furrowed his brow and pursed his lips; he failed to undo the knot. Tenna almost piped up... but no, this went beyond the mundane act. What the hell could he offer to soothe his wires, then? Tenna’s experience, or lack thereof, in this department stemmed from living vicariously through shows and films. And those actors exuded expertise, every second picture perfect for anyone’s viewing pleasure. He doubted anything that transpired thus far between them was salvageable for a broadcast, even on a blooper reel.
But he also would’ve picked amateur attempts featuring Mettaton over decades of award-winning cinema any day of the week.
Inhaling deeply, Tenna shifted and rested a hand on the small of Mettaton’s back. Well, more like his entire back, considering their contrasting sizes. His thumb swept over him, though, gentle and rhythmic. Mettaton gasped and stiffened, but not for long. He melted into Tenna’s palm ever-so-slightly, then resumed. Only then did he loosen the blasted tie without trouble.
The corner of Tenna’s lips quirked. That’s it. Nothing to worry about.
And he admired the view of Mettaton descending his body, undoing button by button until his dress shirt sighed open. He helped out when Mettaton glared at the undershirt blocking his path and snagged several times while peeling it off. Impatience must’ve gotten the best of him, for the cotton tore upon removal. Well, good thing there were countless others in his wardrobe, but Tenna stopped giving a shit about ruined clothes and messing up and literally everything else outside of the dressing room.
Because someone dipped in, marveling at his bulky frame and analog components, and kissed a worn panel.
He borderline convulsed at the tender gesture, at Mettaton gradually exploring the metal and plastic body plates, at those lips melting into him along the way. For every kiss, another jolt zipped through Tenna, as if they completed a circuit. Sometimes Mettaton lingered against a dial and Tenna swore his tongue poked out right then to trace the rims. Damn, where did he learn all of that from? Must’ve picked up a thing or two while Tenna kept him up late with television. And being on the receiving end of this? Yeah, that riled him up plenty.
So did watching Mettaton climb up his body—literally. Marked his progress via kisses. A few playful nips at some knobs to mix it up, too. As he scaled higher, voltage increased within Tenna. God, he couldn’t differentiate the internal thrums, couldn’t figure out if the adrenaline was due to excitement or panic. Because he wanted this—Mettaton inched closer—and wanted more—closer—and suffocated from the inaction—closer—and how it was too much and not enough—so, so close—and the mere thought of stopping or never experiencing his lush mouth again—he was right there—was unacceptable, because it ran deeper than want and he couldn’t focus on anything else while the room spun and the temperature spiked and the one he fixated on now regarded him with bedroom eyes, clutched his shoulders, and—
Maybe a power outage struck him. Would’ve explained the lapse in logic when Tenna took that as an invitation to rush in and catch his lips with his own.
A static shock crackled, followed by a gasp. Mettaton withdrew, as abrupt as Tenna’s crash landing. Sweet desire turned sour. Shit, he was already messing things up. Did he do it wrong? Too fast, maybe? He could slow down—with everything. But the longer Mettaton stared at him, the more Tenna quaked for a different, unpleasant reason.
“I’m sorry!” he coughed up. “I-I didn’t—” He cowered, wanting to shrink and scurry under the couch. “I thought that—” Tenna barked out a laugh. “N-no, I wasn’t thinking. Not at all! I—” A whimper lived in his speakers and he hated it. “I’m sorry for startling you. And upsetting you. I-I can slow down! I can! Or stop! Or do ANYTHING that makes you happy, even if it doesn’t include—”
Featherlight warmth settled into the edge of his mouth. Tenna went still, as if someone pressed pause on him. And that someone snuggled in to bestow another gentle kiss. Cautious. Skittish. Curious, too.
“What I want,” Mettaton murmured against him, “is for you to shut up and keep going.”
Electricity skipped within. Tenna opened his mouth to reply, but nothing emerged. Couldn’t say much of anything while Mettaton locked lips with him.
That time was softer, slower. Testing the waters before sinking deeper. There was charm in his novice ways, like a cold read. Except nothing chilly resided in Tenna. Each motion flooded his chassis with enough heat to render him as a safety hazard, but danger never blipped on his radar. Only Mettaton occupied his thoughts. Mettaton and his plush mouth against his own. Mettaton and his spindly arms weaving around him once, twice. Mettaton and his tantalizing legs straddling his chest to stay close, stay right where he needed him, stay for as long as he wanted. And Tenna gladly followed his lead without a script and parted his lips to plunge further and drown.
You know what? Yeah, he got it now. This lived up to the hype.
He lost himself in Mettaton, pinning his delicate figure against him single-handedly—damn it, needed to be careful not to crush him. He forgot about the party, about tomorrow’s lineup, about the fact someone would catch them eventually. Those worries faded and welcomed lust in its place, viscous and galvanic as it soaked into every crevasse. Tenna tilted his hips on instinct, but no one was there to meet him. And yet he was reluctant to pry away from Mettaton’s kisses and his teeth grazing his lip and whatever he was doing with his tongue just then and—
Fingers bumped the base of an antenna. That alone coaxed out sounds Tenna never fathomed reproducing. But then the gloved hand slid up the quivering metal, akin to monster lovers combing locks of hair. An alternate scenario played in his mind: of that same hand working over him elsewhere. Another second and Tenna was gone, reaching the apex before Mettaton did.
Audio cut in and out. His screen warped. Claws dug into Mettaton, despite his efforts. Discomfort mixed with bliss as the friction from tight pants set off a short fuse. At least it ended as soon as it struck him.
“Mr. Tenna?” Mettaton loomed above, worry creasing his gorgeous face. “What’s the matter?”
Did he need to ask? Better yet, where would he start? God, why did everything have to take a left turn right as it was getting good? Tenna laughed it off, because what the fuck else was he to do?
“I’m sorry,” he whined, slamming both palms into his blank face. “This is... ha! Got carried away. Don’t really... DAMN IT!” Now he clung to his head. Would’ve been nice if he could rip it open and remove whatever the hell was wrong with him in there. “Guess I deserve this. Can’t teach this old dog any new tricks, huh? Still, I was hoping to keep up with you.”
No response. Not at first.
“Wait.” Mettaton shifted against him. “Did you...?”
He wanted to shrink. He really did. Apparently the lingering ecstasy from a half-assed orgasm denied him that luxury. Great. Fantastic. More at 11.
The impolite snort, however, sobered him the hell up.
Tenna peeked through his fingers. Mettaton sat there, gazed at the mess that was now his pants, and fucking snickered.
“You did,” Mettaton purred. “All worked up over some kisses.”
“It’s not funny,” he grumbled.
“I’d argue otherwise.”
“Agree to disagree.”
Of course Mettaton laughed louder, harder. He looked at Tenna like a cat who caught a bit of cream. Possibly the whole damn bottle.
“So,” he drew out, “you’re saying you weren’t insanely turned on this whole time?”
“I couldn’t help it! It just... HAPPENED!”
“Oh my, sounds like you’ve been overdue for your own fun for quite a while, Mr. Tenna. You needed that, didn’t you?”
He ground his teeth instead of replying. Fucking shoot me now and end this.
Mettaton’s giggles offered no mercy, though. “I bet you did. All work and no play will wear you down, Mr. Tenna. When exactly was the last time you let yourself have fun?”
“I... have fun whenever YOU show up.”
He rolled his eyes while smiling. “You know what I mean.”
Tenna didn’t want to admit it—that Mettaton was right or the truth—but....
“This is pretty new to me,” he eventually said.
Mettaton’s expression fell flat. “What?”
“I-I mean, it wasn’t exactly possible before ya took me in. Parental locks made sure of that! But since I’ve set up shop here? And, uh... well! Your viewing preferences influenced more than the scenery! So, yeah. Kinda ticking off A LOT of first times tonight! H-ha ha! Your debut performance! Your BRAND-NEW BODY! Your—” Tenna slumped, antennas shriveling. “—guest appearance back here. You... doing this.” A beat, then, “For me.”
Silence hung between them. Who knew for how long. Felt like forever and a day to Tenna.
“You’ve never done this before?” Mettaton asked.
He shook his head and swallowed a sob. Well, time to pack it up. This was the part where they canceled the rest of the season due to low ratings. No doubt Mettaton was disappointed, after all those months looking up to Tenna. It was fun while it lasted—mentoring him, supporting him, and sharing... whatever this was off-screen.
But to his surprise, the exact opposite happened.
“Then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” A coy smile emerged. The sight of Mettaton biting at that lower lip... yeah, that was doing things to Tenna. “Forgive me for pressing your figurative buttons. I was under the impression that... well, in my defense, you showed me those salacious clips.”
“S-sorry.”
“Nonsense. I enjoyed every second.”
“Oh. Oh, that’s good! FANTASTIC!” He tried to laugh. Weak at best. Hurt like hell, too. “I... all I wanted was to see ya have fun.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
“We are?”
Mettaton moistened his lips and tilted his head to Tenna. “You think I’d forget about you pitching a tent against me before my concert?”
“Uh, yes...?”
“Do you know how close I was to begging you to cancel everything and give me a private performance?”
No. No, he didn’t.
“Because I’ve wanted this—” Mettaton groaned that out while sliding down Tenna and nestled between splayed legs. “—as badly as I’ve wanted a corporeal form. You’ve helped me obtain the latter.” He groped Tenna’s thigh, where his semi-stiff erection rested beneath the pant leg. “And I’d love your assistance with the former.”
“Are you SERIOUS?”
“Do I sound like I’m joking?”
Saying that while undoing his belt and shooting him that sultry look? Yeah, not really.
“Unless you’d prefer to keep jerking off to my highlight reels,” Mettaton suggested.
“WHAT?!” Tenna snapped upright. “HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT—”
And there he went snickering again. Wonderful.
“Oh my. Now that was a joke! You truly are insatiable, aren’t you, Mr. Tenna?”
An exasperated breath peaked in his speakers as he slumped again.
“Cheer up, handsome,” Mettaton kept teasing. “I won’t tell. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Wow, thanks,” he deadpanned. “Real swell of ya. I feel SO MUCH BETTER.”
“Do you not want to do this, then?”
“Trust me, it’s the polar opposite, but I’d HATE to disappoint you. That’s all.”
“I doubt that’s possible.”
“Easy for YOU to say.”
“Good. I just did. Because the way I see things? I couldn’t have asked for a better setup.”
His antenna pricked up. “You mean it?”
“Of course.” And he kept his eyes on Tenna while removing his belt. “I get to keep you to myself, so to speak. As do you with yours truly.”
Good point. However. “Don’t ya think you deserve someone better than ME?”
“I only want the best—” Buttons popped open, then the fly. “—which happens to be you. I learned from the best.”
“But I—” Wait, hang on. Did he call him the best? Oh, Tenna was riding that high for multiple seasons. “I can’t show ya the ropes this time around.”
The vanity lights dazzled in his visible eye. “I had the Internet entertaining me before I had you, darling.”
“O... kay? What the hell does that mean?”
Fingers hooked into belt loops. “I’m a fast and resourceful learner.”
Tenna didn’t question him. Not while Mettaton pried his pants aside to get what he wanted. Didn’t require much effort, either. Two tugs freed him and left Tenna exposed. An abstract blend of metal and synthetic flesh stitched his hard-on together, not quite mechanical or organic. Hopefully, Mettaton approved; he was responsible for it manifesting in the Dark World. But the longer he stared in silence, the more Tenna wanted to retreat into the couch cushions forever.
Then Mettaton leaned in and kissed the underside of his head. A chill rushed over Tenna for plenty of reasons: the physical contact, the softness of it all, the glaring reminder of how significantly smaller Mettaton was against him. Not enough to grant him a second wind, but a spark was still a spark.
Of course Mettaton noticed. “You want more?”
“Is that rhetorical?” Tenna quipped.
Feeling him grinning earned Mettaton a twitch. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Guess so. Ha! You got me! Can’t really—uh, what are you doing?”
Mettaton climbed into his lap. Yet another reminder of their stark size difference; he couldn’t properly straddle Tenna, planting bent knees on either hip. All the better to rub against his cock while extending his arms.
“I’m not keen on waiting for you to recover,” he said, “but there must be a way to rewind you.”
Tenna’s mouth hung open. Even if he wanted to argue otherwise, someone was doing a superb job at distracting him. Hands glided up his torso, testing dials and knobs nobody bothered to touch before. One skimmed a panel latch and popped it loose by accident. Go figure. Of course a little attention had him revealing anything and everything to Mettaton.
“Because if you—” He tilted his hips, and Tenna let out a muted moan. Oh, how he longed to feel Mettaton snug around him. “—are more machine than monster, then surely we can jumpstart your libido.”
“Maybe. Beats me.”
Mettaton eased a hand into an open compartment, brushing along bundled wires. “Care to find out, darling?”
His screen sputtered, thanks to that simple touch, but a grin emerged between bouts of snow and darkness. “If it’s YOU, I’m always game.”
He didn’t keep Tenna waiting after that.
Fingers threaded wires—coiling, caressing. All gentle, yet it ignited something fierce in him. Groans stained his lips with every jolt. A few finger curls—swifter and sharper than the rest—delivered extra prickles of delicious electricity. Definitely had him arching his back and wiggling his hips. Slowly, but surely, that would get him rock hard for Mettaton. The blistering heat swelling between his legs and smothered against Tenna helped, too.
But Mettaton grimaced, clearly unsatisfied. Oh no. Guess that wasn’t good enough. Better touch more of those dials and finger the wires to yield top-tier results. Tenna couldn’t complain. And the spare hand now enveloping his bent antenna felt beyond divine.
“Well, well, well,” Mettaton murmured amidst his fondling, “I think it’s safe to say it’s working, Mr. Tenna.”
A laugh interrupted his moans. “We’re WAY past pleasantries now, doncha think?”
“I’m only trying to be respectful.”
“Ha! In that case—” He shuddered at the hand stroking his antenna, the more sensitive of the two. “—I’d rather you skip being polite.”
Intrigue sparkled in his eyes. “Duly noted.”
He worked quick over cables and metal. A squeeze here, a flick of the wrist there. Was this what he meant by being a fast learner? And resourceful? Whatever the case, it overwhelmed Tenna, testing the limits of his wattage.
“Almost there,” Mettaton remarked, swishing his hips into Tenna for emphasis.
“If you keep doing THAT,” he whined, “I doubt I’m gonna last long for round two.”
“But you’ll behave and hold out for me, yes?”
Whoa. Okay. That was awakening circuits he didn’t know he had. Tenna quaked, then nodded.
And Mettaton’s grip tightened to pin his head against the lip of the couch. “Use your words, Tenna.”
Tremors coursed through him. His cock swelled and slipped out from underneath, smacking Mettaton’s transparent abdomen. A glimpse of it pulsing against him outmatched Tenna’s previous fantasies combined.
“Y-yes,” he managed to say, distorted audio be damned.
And he was rewarded with a smile and those lovely eyes looking nowhere but at him. “Good boy.”
Yup. That got something pumping in him. Then again, Tenna never tired of Mettaton’s voice. Bonus points for hearing praise flow from those lips. All for him, too. Only him. And the feeling was very mutual.
“Much better.” Mettaton withdrew to trail fingers along his length. “Look at you. So twitchy already. Can’t help it, can you?”
Tenna could only muster a pathetic whimper.
“Oh, you poor thing. It’s a wonder that you survived this long without proper attention. But not to worry, darling.”
Mettaton released him and shifted.
“I’ll take extra good care with spoiling you.”
He braced against Tenna and repositioned himself. Nothing but smooth metal resided there, but now that he nudged against Mettaton—into him—an opening welcomed and accepted him.
“I promise,” Mettaton said, his voice spiking an octave and blooming into a moan.
Sensations overlapped, bleeding together into a dangerous, yet decadent embrace. It roused shivers and whimpers in both of them. Mettaton winced, barely squeezing his swollen head inside before coming to a halt. Seeing that expression snapped Tenna out of his trance.
“H-hey.” He rested a hand on Mettaton, hoping the touch grounded him. “Careful. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
Huffing, Mettaton evaded his screen.
“This isn’t a live show.” Tenna massaged his back. “It’s you and me, so... I’m not telling ya to stop, but take it easy, alright?”
“You’ll... tell me if I’m doing something wrong, yes?”
Another time, he might’ve laughed. You know, when he wasn’t throbbing within a heated conduit, lined in spirals of flexible tubing and slippery to the touch.
“Y-yeah,” he said, clutching Mettaton’s waist with one hand and the couch leg with the other. Mentally holding onto a damn prayer, too. “You got it.”
Those must’ve been the magic words, adding gasoline to whatever dwindling flame was inside of him. Which was good timing, for once Mettaton picked up where he left off, nothing coherent sounded between them.
The nights jam-packed with movies and their explicit content at least provided an idea of what to expect. Mettaton certainly took notes, as he did his best to replicate those scenes with Tenna, albeit gingerly. None of those films or shows prepared him for the tactile nature of indulging each other. It was in the warmth they shared, the subtle spasms, the shifts to adjust and welcome more, the way this didn’t alleviate any tension, but simply twisted it into a tangled mess for them to choke on.
Breaths fractured on his ajar lips. Fans kicked on within his open chest, as if that would somehow help. Mettaton took his sweet, sweet time sinking onto his lap. It was a tight fit, to say the least, but it never hindered him. Just spurred him to keep going. Further. Lower. Deeper and deeper.
It was worth it to watch Mettaton gasp, right as he slid into that clear tank and bumped into the floating heart.
Electrical currents formed between them. They whimpered and shook in unison. Tenna balanced on a knife’s edge, somewhere between pain and pleasure. Hopefully the latter for Mettaton. The notion of harming his beloved Lightner devastated him.
But then a lush sound seeped out of Mettaton. Licking his smirking lips, he sat fully upright, coiled an arm around Tenna’s thigh, and picked up the pace.
Oh yeah. Definitely the latter. Because this? Tenna preferred this over a million back-to-back broadcasts imitating the act. And damn, Mettaton put on a spectacular show, too. He gladly accepted whatever burn-in this would leave on his screen.
“Do you feel that?”
Tenna almost missed the question wriggling out between groans. He didn’t, however, miss the vice grip around his hard-on or the surges whenever he pummeled that heart.
His feeble reply fluttered out. “Yes.”
Mettaton lolled his head and latched onto Tenna’s wrist. “Do you like it?”
“I—”
More jolts. More wet heat slicking him. More reasons to throb and squirm.
“Tell me,” he said.
Even if Mettaton wasn’t in the middle of rewiring his brain, what words existed to adequately express the deluge swallowing Tenna whole?
“Please, Tenna.” Mettaton leaned into his palm for leverage, struggling to fill himself to the brim. “Tell me.”
He didn’t ask nicely that time. No, it was a demand. But they also agreed there was no need for pleasantries anymore. So Tenna flailed for the remaining shred of sanity as Mettaton pumped into him and blasted it at max volume.
“I LOVE IT.”
Mettaton never asked him to repeat himself, but Tenna did that on his own just fine. He said it while screaming, moaning, laughing, sobbing, and whatever else gushed out. He said it in sync with each thrust, each attempt to bury further. He said it like an oath, a prayer, a forbidden truth, a reason to keep living. He said it a hundred times over, then a hundred more, just in case Mettaton missed it the first time. He said it until the words lost their meaning and boiled down to mere noise better suited for a madman’s ravings.
But he didn’t stop— didn’t shut up—because neither did Mettaton, even when something more violent than a power surge tore through them.
Glitches flashed on his screen, marring his vision. The sight of Mettaton riding his cock cut in and out. To his relief, there was no denying the unadulterated pleasure engulfing him. Tenna failed to contain himself, clutching Mettaton harder as his hips bucked on their own. That sweet release spoiled him, evident in the sticky mess he made inside of Mettaton’s tank. And, uh... outside, too, considering several gobs leaked out of the seams.
Well, that was embarrassing, but he couldn’t help it. If anything, it proved what he said. Way better than relying on his hand solo. He doubted he’d ever return to his old ways now.
And he certainly wasn’t going anywhere when Mettaton keeled forward and collapsed on his stomach.
“WHOA! H-hey, you okay?” Tenna propped himself up on an elbow while jostling Mettaton. His unspooled arms, limp on the floor, never twitched. “YOOHOO! Earth to Mettaton! Say something! Anything!” Still nothing. “Oh no, don’t tell me ya blew more than a—”
A content moan vibrated against him. His antennas went rigid while Mettaton nuzzled him, like a purring kitty.
“I’m beyond okay, darling,” he said. “I’m marvelous.”
Tenna embraced Mettaton, mindful not to squash him. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Just need a moment to recover.”
“Ah! That’s good! I, uh... well, it looked like you had fun! A LOT! But... y-you know. Hope it wasn’t all for show.”
“Tenna, darling.” He peered up at him, smiling fondly. “It was everything I dreamed of—and so are you.”
Those words echoed within. Oh. Oh! Oh, that was the best thing he heard of since... since ever! Tenna wanted to kick his feet, to ricochet off the walls, to squeal until he passed out, thanks to that token of affection. Instead, flowers bloomed from his nose, enough to fashion a bouquet for Mettaton.
“Should I be asking if you’re alright?” he inquired as rose petals showered upon him.
Chuckling under his breath, Tenna rolled onto his side, keeping Mettaton tucked into him. “Never been better, superstar.”
“Excellent.” A pause, then, “And thank you, by the way. For everything you’ve done for me.”
“Hey, don’t mention it.” Tenna kissed the top of his pretty head. “All this? Pfff, that’s the least I can do, trust me.”
Now it was Mettaton’s turn to chuckle. “Then you won’t mind if I stay here for another moment?” He reeled in an arm to dance fingertips over his chest, a slight skip present in his motions. “We should make an appearance at this party you planned for me, but....”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but it wasn’t necessary. Tenna hugged him in response and savored the comfortable silence a while longer.
Maybe several minutes passed. Maybe an hour. It made no difference to Tenna, so long as Mettaton was there, basking in the afterglow with him. They traded smoldering kisses and airy giggles. Tenna smoothed out whatever kinks stuck to Mettaton’s wires while Mettaton twirled around an antenna. They held onto each other, as if everything would vanish the instant they let go. Funny enough, that wasn’t the case when they did. Far from it.
“I’ll see you at the party, yes?”
Tenna finished tidying up when Mettaton called out by the door. He stood disheveled in his pants and partially tucked-in dress shirt. That plus the mussed hair made for a killer look, but Tenna was beyond biased by now.
“You sure ya don’t NEED A HAND with getting ready?” he teased.
Out of everything he witnessed tonight, Tenna’s favorite was the grin brightening Mettaton’s face. He laughed in response, shaking his head while slipping out the door.
“Don’t be a stranger, darling.” Mettaton wiggled fingers in farewell. “Toodles!”
But to answer his question, of course he was attending the party. It might’ve slipped Tenna’s mind earlier, but he wasn’t missing it. After cleaning himself up and dressing for the occasion—and after having an existential meltdown for five minutes over which suit to wear, ugh!—Tenna strolled to the venue with an added bounce in his steps.
The production crew fashioned the unused sound stage as a dance hall. There, Darkners mingled beneath neon lights, enjoying music, drinks, and good company. Most greeted Tenna in passing, but the rest were preoccupied with the revelry to notice his presence. That was fine. Tenna was busy scouting for—
A brisk tap on his shoulder perked him up. He whirled around and beamed; Mettaton greeted him, donning more pink than black this time.
“Aha!” Tenna swooned before him, like Mettaton was the grand prize he won on a game show. “THERE YOU ARE! Was looking all over for ya!”
“Likewise. It wouldn’t be the same without you, Mr. Tenna.”
“Hey now.” Hands on his hips, he bent to Mettaton’s level. “What did I tell ya about pleasantries, hmm? Tenna will do fine.”
And yet Mettaton gave him a knowing look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Oh yeah?”
“But first.” He looped his arms around Tenna’s neck. “Dance with me, darling?”
“You... wait, now?”
“Yes, now,” he giggled out.
“But—”
“No pleasantries, correct?” He dragged Tenna to the center of the room. “No reason to keep this hush-hush?”
“I-I mean—” He muttered a curse while tripping over his wobbly feet. “I guess if, uh... that’s what ya WANT, then—”
“What do you want, darling?”
Tenna shuffled to a standstill as they reached their destination. He stared at Mettaton, the soft glow of his screen acting like a spotlight to frame his magnificent face and figure. Idle chatter surrounded them, offsetting the jazzy tunes, but it fell mute to Tenna. Everything did, really, blurring and fading until one star remained—the brightest.
His favorite.
So he scaled down in size to better complement Mettaton’s height and swept him into his arms before sweeping him across the glittering dance floor.
“Nothing,” Tenna murmured, resting his fuzzy screen upon Mettaton’s forehead. “Got everything I want right here.”