Chapter Text
Spamton
Spamton had been living with Tenna in his (Tenna insisted on calling it THEIR) apartment in the castle. It was more closeness than Spamton had had in a decade, after those lonely years in that miserable dumpster. And it had taken some getting used to, especially since he was with TENNA of all people.
The stupid CRT had been on his mind every single day since he’d run from TV World after that fateful phone call. Consumed by remorse and rage Spamton had cursed Tenna’s name and dreamed of the day he would finally get revenge on his backstabbing ex. Or, the ex he thought had backstabbed him.
Once reunited, it had taken them some months to work through their problems (and stop throwing things and firing attacks at each other) and explain everything to each other. No, Spamton hadn’t run out to scam Tenna. No, Tenna hadn’t ignored his calls—he’d simply never gotten any. Yes, the contract had been a bad idea, but it hadn’t been done with malicious intent. No, Tenna hadn’t thrived without Spamton. No, Spamton hadn’t succeeded without Tenna. So many misunderstandings. So much anger and hurt to work through and let go of.
But day by day, they were letting it go, both of them. Once he was finally able to look past his own deep-seated anger and betrayal, buried so deep into his heart he forgot what it was like to live without them, he realized how much the hurt went both ways. He’d broken Tenna’s heart too. Tenna had never stopped caring, and just like Spamton, he’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t care just to ease the pain a little.
And with the anger and hurt draining away, other things rushed in to take their place. Friendship. Enjoyment. Ease.
Love.
From a friendship sense, this was great. Trying to grow from the old, tainted remains of their wild, reckless, youthful romance into a proper, healthy friendship was not easy for either of them but he thought they were both making good progress. Spamton treasured the friendship he was developing with Tenna more than all the Kromer in the Dark Worlds, more than being a Big Shot, maybe even more than his precious freedom.
But… from a more-than-friendship perspective, this whole “developing feelings for your friend” business was presenting a real pickle. Because after all, they weren’t TRYING to be together again.
Well, at least Spamton didn’t think they should be trying. After all, why on Earth would Tenna want to have anything to do with him now? He was a hideous little puppet. His punishment for defying his benefactor had destroyed any trace of his old body, leaving him with ball-jointed limbs and an unsettling rictus grin. His good looks and soft, pixelated body that Tenna had adored were replaced with plastic and plush. Even his heart was a cracked little ornament on a chain.
Not to mention that his mind had been broken from what he’d experienced. He was slowly piecing the shards together, partially thanks to the Lightner kids, a LOT thanks to Tenna, but still. He had his moments. His voice was grating and fragmented with glitches and ads. Spamton had no illusions; there was nothing left that Tenna could possibly desire beyond his platonic companionship at this point, and even that felt like a stretch—surely the CRT had better things to do in his semi-retirement than babysit his fragile, bitter, washed-up ex?
Tenna would be insane to want him.
Friendship was a damn luxury at this point; romance was absolutely out of the question.
The problem was, Tenna didn’t seem to have gotten that memo. And neither had Spamton’s idiotic heart.
And man, he had it bad.
Spamton tried to ignore it but Tenna was horrible at being subtle. The fond looks. The “accidental” touches. The way he found Spamton’s bizarre mannerisms tolerable at best, charming at worst. The way he did things for Spamton—cooked, kept his wardrobe neat, brought him home interesting pieces of junk to tinker with “because it made me think of you.” Inviting Spamton to come sit close to him when he was reading over a new script on the couch.
The way he comforted Spamton when he had his glitching episodes. The way he patiently listened when Spamton opened up about what he’d gone through. About why he’d done what he’d done.
The way he looked at Spamton when Spamton tried to help him with his own fears and traumas. The things he said to Spamton that almost felt like “I love you.”
The way he responded when Spamton did maintenance on him. God, that was the worst, it was tortuous, but it was absolutely the thing Spamton looked forward to the most these days. It was the closest to proper physical intimacy he was getting with Tenna and oh Angel, the way Tenna would try to smother his reactions to Spamton’s careful work—
Sometimes, in fact more often than not these days, Spamton just wanted to keep pushing Tenna to his limits, tugging and playing with his wires until Tenna snapped and pinned him to the bed and—and—
GET IT TOGETHER, [[BIG SHOT]], your [[the power of imagination]] is running away with you!
Angel, he was hopeless. Maybe Tenna wasn’t trying to get him to fall back in love with him but too late, it was working. Spamton had never really stopped loving him if he was being honest, but the fire was roaring back to life now and it was like the early days of their courtship back in TV World, back when Spamton had been in denial about his feelings and he and Tenna couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
He burned for Tenna. Whenever the TV Darkner smiled at him, when he laughed at one of Spamton’s crude jokes, when he lit up at the sight of Spamton, it made Spamton’s battered heart on a chain pound like it was about to jump right out of his chest (there were some close calls).
His body wasn’t made of code and pixelated fluff anymore, but damned if that stupid, handsome old CRT made his ball-jointed knees weak and his insides go all funny. Spamton long assumed he was way too old and cynical to feel that way anymore but living with Tenna was a stream of constant surprises.
Tonight it was more intense, somehow. The burning.
Tenna had said something to him in passing, an offhand but sincere compliment, and Spamton had felt his face burn with an unmistakable blush.
Since when could he blush? He was a puppet; he had no blood left (well, what passed for blood for Darkners).
In fact his whole body had felt uncomfortably hot. Was he getting sick? He’d probably caught every virus floating around Cyber City in the past decade but after he was forced to see a debugger in Castle Town he’d been virus-free.
He’d shut himself in his closet, claiming to be tired. The little space was his own, a nest of pillows and blankets and a tiny shelf of junk for repairing in the corner. A room just for him, so that they had a little privacy from each other in Tenna’s modest (Tenna! Modest!) quarters.
God, he was so hot. He pulled off his jacket, tugging uncomfortably at his collar. And then he felt it, like his old Cungedero revving up to break the speed limit: arousal.
He’d felt it before but never this intensely. Not since… before Everything Happened.
“Gahhhhh… hnnn…” The burning was building up. Mindlessly he yanked the rest of his clothing off, burying his face in a pillow and moaning. This was awful, because ever since he’d been turned into a puppet he didn’t have anything meaningful between his legs, just the tiniest suggestion of a slit, as though what he’d had before had just… fossilized. So getting off wasn’t even satisfying anymore. He supposed he could rub himself against his fingers and get some vague semblance of an orgasm and then—
Oh, this was new.
Spamton was thankful for the light in the closet so he could actually get a decent look at what was going on down there. Not just a slight indent on the otherwise smooth plastic between his inner thighs anymore. He stared in shock at the black folds, glistening with iridescent slick. Yep, that was, uh… definitely a pussy. Not that he was unfamiliar with having one, after all, addisons had both sets of genitals, but…
WHERE HAD IT COME FROM??
Spamton’s heart was racing so hard he was almost afraid he would have a heart attack. When he’d been an addison, his bits had been the same uniform white as the rest of his body (except his hair) so why did it… look like that?
He wanted to—no, he ached to touch it, ached for some kind of meaningful relief—
Oh.
From the top of the slit, where a regular addison would have a penis, something slick and black was emerging, hesitantly, like a shy eel emerging from its nest. It moved on its own, slowly pulsing, dripping more iridescent fluid from the tip. His… was that his…
Unable to hold back any longer, he reached down curiously, stroking his fingertips over it. It responded immediately, curling around his fingers, tugging on his hand as though encouraging him to touch it more. Spamton choked out a moan, desperately trying not to be too loud. It felt amazing. Just a little touch and all of his nerves—or whatever he had—lit up like he was living for the first time.
How had he ever survived without this feeling?!
Spamton bit down on the knuckles on one hand with a click, his dark tongue sliding mindlessly between his fingers as he stroked the—dick? Tentacle? Whatever it was, it was definitely his, it knew how he used to like to touch himself, it responded and twitched in a way his addison penis never had. Curling and dripping onto his hand as his slit throbbed. He wished he had—
He wished Tenna was here. Tenna was so close, he was just outside that door, and—
He imagined Tenna lapping at the dark, swollen slit; letting the tentacle curl on his tongue; sucking and licking him until Spamton came apart over and over in his mouth—
Spamton bit down harder on his fingers, shoved the pillow over his face to muffle a scream as he came all over his hand. He kept stroking, needing to keep it going for as long as possible, and heaved for breath as it eased. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, that was amazing. His cunt fluttered weakly as he sighed, a light hiss of steam escaping his mouth. His body was burning so hot he might catch on fire, but oh well.
He lay back on his little nest of pillows and blankets, examining the hand covered in cum. It was iridescent, sticky. Different from what he’d had before. On impulse he tasted it. It was sharp, metallic, almost acidic?
[The smooth taste of NEO]
Spamton blinked. Was this because of NEO? Spamton had managed to retain most of NEO’s code even after the Lightners had freed him from the basement. But he hadn’t tried to do anything with it since his… er, encounter… with Tenna before they’d properly reunited. He hadn’t noticed NEO having anything down there—but maybe there had been, all this time, hidden under the armor? (To be fair, it hadn’t been his focus when he’d transformed before…)
And did that mean that NEO was changing Spamton’s code? Why?
No, he knew why. Tenna. Being around Tenna couldn’t literally fix him, but it was healing him in certain ways. Helping him soothe and calm his mind, confront his emotions, make peace with the past. Tenna was physically taking care of him, providing safety, shelter and food. Companionship. Healing his body and SOUL. And he was still so in love with Tenna, so maybe NEO’s code was being influenced by these feelings? These desires to be with Tenna again the way they used to be together?
Oh, he needed more. He stroked the edges of his pussy, teasing himself until he needed more, pressing two, then three fingers as deep inside himself as he could. He fucked himself on his fingers, stroking his tenta-cock, letting himself fantasize—
Tenna would lay him on the bed—
No, wait—
Tenna would throw him down onto the bed—
Yeah, that was better—
The CRT would loom over him, panting with need. His screen would be dark, his smile promising heights of pleasure Spamton had thought he’d never feel again. Let me take care of you, he would purr, and then he’d touch Spamton, bury his fingers in him until Spamton begged for his cock. He would fuck Spamton, fill him so well, and the room would fill with the sounds of their lovemaking and—
Spamton came again, glitching with the force of it. It was addicting; after a decade he just wanted to do it over and over until he was numb.
He shuddered in the aftershocks. Maybe if he was loud enough next time, Tenna would open the door and see him and—
Realization like a slap in the face killed his afterglow.
No, what was he thinking? Tenna wouldn’t want him. He was an unstable, glitchy, pathetic puppet even though his code was a little altered. Tenna wouldn’t touch him or kiss him. He wouldn’t throw him down on the bed and beg to fuck him. He would sigh, realize he’d set his expectations way too high, make some excuse, and bury himself in nostalgic memories of the Spamton who was. Spamton’s cracked heart ached at the thought. No. He couldn’t bear to take the risk.
And then, as his mind cleared, a thought struck him.
If he’d gotten this from NEO without even trying… What could he do if he put his mind to it?
Could he still achieve that perfect form if he wanted it badly enough?
Spamton needed to be with Tenna. Tenna wouldn’t want to be with him as a puppet.
So, what if he wasn’t a puppet?