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The castle hallways were eerily still, the only noise the echoing of his footsteps bouncing off the stone walls, the stone flooring, the arched stone ceiling. When he paused, everything became so dead quiet it felt like you could hear the beating of a heart from several yards away. It was so jarringly different from Cyber city- that place never slept. There were always large clusters and throngs of darkners going about their lives under the harsh neon glare. Even in the fringe areas like the spacious dump areas, the noise from the city filtered over into an ever-present white noise that never stopped, no matter the hour. The last time he’d encountered such a total quiet was in TV world. The sprawling studio was often abuzz with life and noise that could give Cyber City a run for its money. But, unlike the city, TV World had down time- breaks in the monotony of filming day in and day out.
During those quiet hours that functioned like the light world’s night time, practically everything was dead quiet. The crew left to the places they called home, and with them went the hubbub and murmur of life and play. He’d loved that down time, once upon a time. Back when he had someone to spend it with, help him appreciate the peace and solitude. This wasn’t the same comfortable stillness he’d once relished, or maybe it was his mindset that wasn’t the same. He’d gone more than a bit crazy during his time living all alone in a dumpster in some nameless alley.
You try having your very world upended on its ears, fall apart at the seams, and come out the other side totally sane.
For the (long past) thousandth time that hour, Spamton questioned his decision, his resolve wavering. This was quite potentially the worst idea he’d ever had. After visiting TV world with the hero’s gang, a place he’d sworn to never step foot in again during the lowest (or close to it) point in his life, he found himself questioning things. A dangerous thing, he knew well. Unlike in Cyber City, where his very existence had been almost thoroughly scrubbed clean from just about every inch of the place (save for the small shop he’d carved out from himself), TV world still poignantly remembered he existed. With gusto, even. Though no one called him by name, his presence still lingered. In his old dressing room, now labeled the ‘Z-rank dressing room’, that was a upturned mausoleum to his old glory. The smashed mirror and clawed at posters showed how well a certain someone (poorly) took his absence. It was, touching, that a person he’d assumed had cut ties with him just like his supposed ‘friends’ in Cyber City had. His old rotary, still in pristine condition with maybe a layer of disturbed dust, undamaged had him rethinking certain assumptions he’d made in the past.
Namely that his old partner in TV drama crime had changed his number on him.
There was the mailroom, and the whiplash in mood a certain TV host had gone through. Excited, then disappointed and passive aggressive at the emptiness. The mailroom had been his idea, to help a certain analog darkner interact with efanmail. He’d had someone upload the email into the simulated room in letter format for the star of TV Time to read. It was a workaround he’d come up with, because teaching the oversized lapdog about stuff like email had been becoming more trouble than it was worth. Still, seeing the goofy grin on that 40-inch display had been worth it.
Ramb, a person he’d never really interacted much with despite being a fellow cyber darkner, had even tried to ask about him. He’d stopped before Spamton’s name, for reasons pretty obvious to the disheveled puppet. The paper mâché of what was clearly supposed to be his head he would have been happy to never have seen. (His nose was NOT that small- it was actually the biggest ever recorded for an Addison, thank you very much).
Perchance one of the biggest (second after the room with his old face on posters lining the walls), most undeniable sign of his existence had been the closet full of pipis. On the run from Tenna, who was crashing out in a desperate way new to even Spamton himself -and he’d placated several of those meltdowns in the past, to the point he’d been unofficially officiated the designated crash out specialist- they’d come across a lone wardrobe in a rather out of the way location. It was enough to pique one’s curiosity, leading their fearless leader to open the closet portion open. So many pipis had spilled out the moment Kris had turned the handles, it was ridiculous- more than you’d think possible for such a small wardrobe.
“What the hell are these, eggs?” Susie had asked, picking one of the pale blue ovals up.
“Hmm, maybe- oh! Don’t these look like the thing the darkner in Queen’s basement used?” Ralsie had pointed out.
“Damn, you’re right!” Susie agreed, turning the pipis over in her claws. “They look just like those things the puppet guy blasted at us. Wait- are these things going to hatch into mini dudes?!”
They were in fact just like the pipis Spamton could make, mostly. The outer appearance was the same, but the code contained inside was different. Altered just a smidge here and there by some foreign code, or what he thought was code. It looked and felt weird, analog in a way that was hard to put into words. Not in a bad way; the alterations felt familiar, the good sort of familiar he’d almost forgotten could exist.
“Don’t these things sort of look like the stuff in the executive buffet dinners- the blue caviar?”
In theory, pipis were edible. They weren’t toxic or poisonous in any way, not unless another person managed to horribly alter the inner code. Just, they weren’t the most filling thing to eat. That’s how it was for their creator; he’d only eat them if he was truly desperate, and needed to eat them constantly to feel some level of sated long term. The TV dinners were fairly hearty, so Tenna could get away with adding them and no one would complain. He’d never shared any of that with Tenna, or much about pipis in general with the CRT. The other had likely discovered this on his own, along with another factoid about the blue spheres.
Pipis were able to multiply in depended of Spamton. They duplicated themselves like some glitchy, viral mitosis. A single pipis could turn into dozens, then a couple hundred when you weren’t looking. Cooking them up was probably the most efficient way of getting rid of the damn things. Thinking of Tenna and Pipis got him thinking of the pipis he’d gifted his partner so long ago. The specific reasons leading up to gifting it to his old partner didn’t mater, just that they boiled down to placating an almost broody side of the boss darkner. And putting his own desires into something other than words that could be perceived by the other. Interacting with the other had led him to learn about certain desires about family his partner had, desires that ended up infecting him along the way. What had happened to that particular pipis? Had it been cooked already, consumed by some random darkner?
Had Tenna consumed it? Before he could ponder than line of thinking, one of the hero’s noticed Tenna approaching and the trio immediately went into hiding. The giant darkner had immediately startled at the sight of his pipis closet left wide open, condense spilled across the ground. He’d immediately started snapping and barking at air, thinking a nosy employee or more had gotten into more of his things, still worked up by the pippins ransacking his things earlier. Anger morphed into fear and shame as some realization only Tenna himself understood hit the washed-up host.
What had such out as odd was a certain bit of panic-stricken rambling; “What if they start looking into where they come from? Nononononon- they can’t- I won’t- She’s safe. She’s safe, and no one can touch her.” Hugging himself while still shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, Tenna left.
That scene had played on repeat in his mind like a gif set to loop. Why had Tenna started panicking then, and what had happened to his original pipis? Part of him was certain that this was going to end in a spectacular disappointment, just like with the angel body (but hadn’t the lead to him finding solace with Kris and company, a purpose beyond suffering). If he’d never returned to TV World, he’d never have learned how much Tenna still cared for him, how much his existence still stained the CRT. A larger, rowdy part of him wanted to see his old situationship, find closure if nothing else. He’d spent the better part of a decade so absolutely certain Tenna had abandoned him once his usefulness dried up, only to have in smacked in his face that maybe that wasn’t the case. People didn’t obsess over those that meant so little to them, not even a freak like him.
At last, he arrived at the doors to Tenna’s room. The doorway nearly reached the ceiling, just like the one leading into Queen’s room just next door. The doorknobs were placed rather high up for a shrimpy creature like himself, but Spamton had experience opening doors of such height. He pressed the side of his head against one bright yellow door, to gauge what was going on inside. He wanted this conversation to be private- just between them an no one else. It sounded quiet inside, like it was empty in there. Straining his sense of hearing, he picked on a faint sound, too muffled by the door to make out clearly.
Taking the risk, he snapped his fingers. A pipis materialized on the ground, quickly hatching into a pair of small magic attacks that looked like toy-sized versions of himself with wings. The spell-born helpers flapped their angelic wings, taking to the air, and flew up to the doorknob above him. Working together, they gripped the knob on either side, and with a little elbow grease, twisted it. Nudging the door open just enough, he slipped inside. With their task completed, he dismissed the two creatures with another snap of his fingers. Carefully pushing it back in place, the door closed with a quiet click.
Inside Tenna’s room was dark. The hallway outside had glowing stone torches that radiated a soft blue-white light lining the inner wall up and down the corridor. The outer wall was also sporting arched windows that let in the weird faux starlight of a rural dark world, further illuminating it. The only light in this room came from a source hidden just out of sight by a contestant podium- probably Tenna’s screen. The podium was the only bit of furniture in the room, leaving the cream-colored walls and floor otherwise bare. It was rather distressing seeing the room left so unfurnished, so empty of anything. The TV host’s dressing room back in TV World was much more personalized; a desk and some filling cabinets in one corner of the space, rest of function as a place to freshen up between filming. A vanity was wedged in the opposite corner that Tenna often preened in front of, with a full-length mirror next to if for methodical, full costume inspections. There had been a couch in the center of the room, sized up to fit the TV darkner’s full size, with soft leather cushions and a coffee table in front. Posters of the various shows his partner had produced over the years lined the walls, some in frames, others just pasted to the walls. There was the wardrobe that took up nearly an entire wall, overstuffed with outfits, shoes, and accessories- whatever the star of TV Time needed for a show.
Now, there wasn’t even a bed for his old partner to collapse onto. It reminded him too much of the time after he’d been booted from Queen’s mansion, left with only the clothes on his back and whatever he’d managed to stuff onto his person before being given the boot. The stuff he’d been forced to leave behind had been repo-ed by Swatch and the rest of the staff. The worst part of that was finding out, years later, that Swatch was selling the excess goods he’d had stored in the room with his branding snipped off.
The sound was clearer, now that he was inside and there wasn’t a door in the way. Labored panting filled the room, followed periodically by strained grunting and the occasional desperate whine. It was Tenna’s voice- he’d recognize it anywhere. Worry trailed a cold finger down the back of his neck. The CRT sounded, almost pained… Was his shoulders giving him trouble? Their DIY repairs had been a hasty mess, consisting mainly duct taping broken wires and plastic casing back together as fast as possible. Tenna had looked so tiny then, small enough that Susie had been forced to concede the handling of the TV’s parts to the pippins, whose smaller hands were much better suited to handling such little and delicate parts. It had felt physically painful watching them work, scared that he might really lose the one person he cared about most.
A breathy little cry, or was it a tiny moan, derailed Spamton’s thinking. What The Fuck? It was followed by a, popping(?) squelch, and the light tap of something being let go right above the ground. It sounded like something, not hollow, but not solid with the same material all the way through. Tenna’s voice sighed, not quite as strained, but not fully relaxed either. The plug end of the other’s tail thwacked against the hard ground in a frantic tempo.
“I knew I should have taken care of this right after Kris made me promise to help them.” Tenna’s voice hissed. “I knew I had been neglecting this lately, that this was going to be a fu- freaking nightmare to handle down the line.” A wet, desperate, needy groan tumbled from the direction of the sole illumination in the room, probably the TV in question’s dimmed screen. “Damn it! Why did my arms have to give up on me now?”
Creeping around the contestant podium, wooly sock clad feet came into view first. The bright yellow loafers the TV usually wore as part of his outfit were gone. As more of the TV darkner’s long, shapely legs came into view, the puppet quickly realized the other didn’t have pants on. He rubbed his jointed hands and fingers in circles on his cheeks to fight back the blush threatening to color his face. Not important, don’t even think about- nope! As he worked up the courage to finally face his situationship, Tenna made a strangled not-moan as something like the object from before tap bounced against the ground, followed by a semi relieved sigh. Seriously, what was the damn TV doing?!
Biting the bullet, Spamton forced his body to jump out from around the corner. He choked on nothing as his bespectacled eyes fell upon his former partner. Tenna’s scream was dimmed to, at best, half it’s usual brightness, screen a wall of static as his boxy head lolled to one side. His arms hung limp at his sides, shoulders slumped. As his eyes wandered lower, Spamton gulped audibly. Tenna’s red tailcoat was completely unbuttoned, one side hanging entirely off the shoulder as the other clung to the edge. His dress shirt was nearly entirely unbuttoned, with only a handful at the top still in place down his chest. The white fabric that had been unbuttoned framed the swollen sides of the TV’s unnaturally round middle.
He'd once dreamed of seeing his partner’s stomach so big and full, silicone stretched taut.
Other than his socks, the CRT was naked from the waist down, the discarded clothing a messy pile at his side. Both legs were skewed open, flat on the ground- one perfectly straight, the other bent at the knee. Powder blue objects, oval in shape, were scattered across the ground between the bigger darkner’s parted thighs, only partly obscuring the glistening strip of wet flesh that was his partner’s open port. Some of the rounded object shimmered wetly in the low light, others merely sparkled with a damp sheen.
“[Hochie mama]-” Spamton slapped his hands over his mouth, but the damage was done. The involuntary ad plodded through the silence of the room with all the care of a detonating bomb.
Tenna’s head immediately snapped up. A mouth, jagged and lined with a predator’s fangs, cut through the static as the TV’s attention zeroed in on him. His nose, an imitation of the one Spamton himself was blessed with, was still missing, only adding to the intimidation. Tenna’s tail immediately curled around the blue objects and pulled them close. It finally clicked in his mind, those were pipis. The CRT’s arms hung as dead weight at his sides as the bigger darkner snarled at him, trying to hunch protectively over the pipis. As scary as the TV host was looking, it was offset by just how tired and worn thin the darkner was.
“[Whoa Mama]- Er, whoa there! I’m not here to fight!” Spamton attempted to pacify, putting his hands up.
“Who -- are you?” Tenna demanded, huffing between words as though he was having trouble breathing.
Spamton winced. Not being recognized stung, but could he really fault Tenna for that? The last time they’d seen each other, he’d been a glowing faced Addison, not some scraggy marionette with a nutcracker jaw. “Aww, what, don’t remember your old pal [number one rated salesman 1997]?”
“…Spamton?” His partner’s voice softened at the use of his name.
“[Ding ding sing], right on the [delicious Kromer]!” That was fast. He’d been worried it would have taken Tenna longer to recognize him.
“Spamton… What the hell are you doing here!?” The boss darkner screeched. “You have some nerve showing your face to me after you -huff- left me after -ah- signing the contact-…” Pants and groans broke up Tenna’s words as his body seemed to seize. A pained groan buzzed from an over taxed speaker, entire body seeming to clench up. The whatever it was lasted only a few strained seconds before letting up, the CRT immediately started panting. Tenna tried to glare at him again, but his partner’s expression came out as more of a fraying grimace than anything truly intimidating. His body teetered forward, less protectively and more just straight out exhausted.
Running up to his old partner, Spamton immediately tried to push the other back up against the wall. “You can [top 10 best horror movie screams] at me later, [10 cent]. Let’s focus on [the best birthday present for your special someone], okay?”
“Fine,” Conceding to the logic with a grumble, the mechanical darkner let the smaller puppet lean him back against the wall. The extra tension from Spamton’s sudden appearance bleed from his body, going slack like a marionette with cut strings. Calling him relaxed, though, was wrong.
Placing a hand firm yet gently against the supple curve of his situationship’s belly, Spamton finally got an answer to where the pipis on the ground came from. He could feel the round forms of a multitude of objects shifting beneath the surface. The cavity was packed with the things, and the only way out was from a place he was trying his damnedest not to think about. Squeezing out all these pipis on top of still recovering from nearly dying the other night, no wonder Tenna was so worn out. And apparently this was a regular thing, minuses the dying part. He smacked himself to banish the image of his partner writhing on the ground in an identical state of undress, stomach a little smaller than it was now, straining and panting to lay the pipis inside of him.
Another, er, ‘contraction’ hit as the CRT started straining again. Genuine pain and discomfort marred his staticky features as he strained, body tensing. The pipis inside shifted and clacked, but no new egg-shaped object joined the present clutch. With nothing better to do, he rubbed his hands up and down his partner’s swollen belly. His touch seemed to sooth his partner some, shoulders relaxing. No popping a boner no popping a boner- NO POPPING A BONER AT YOUR SITUATIONSHIP’S ADMITTEDLY EROTIC SUFFERING.
“So, uhh, [the boys] are really packed in there, huh?” Spamton said, hoping to break of the stiffing atmosphere with something other than Tenna’s pained groans and panting. “Is it usually this [full-body workout]?”
“No,” Tenna admitted, antenna drooping. “I, uh, usually do this every couple of weeks or so. I’ve been neglecting it recently. I didn’t realize they’d multiply this much on me in only a few months.”
“0h…” Pipis did tend to do that. Why were they even spawning in Tenna, anyway? It wasn’t something the TV host was able to do in the past. When Spamton himself materialized a new pipis, the thing always popped out of thin air in response to his magic.
More pushing and staining later, and still no new pipis. It wasn’t helping that Tenna’s strength was flagging and his already slashed energy reserves waned. Another issue to crop up was the TV’s rising internal temperature. Even with his vents working up to a steady hum, puffin out breaths of hot air every second, Tenna’s casing and screen remained unusually warm to the touch.
“It’s was fine earlier,” Tenna whimpered, body sagging. The most recent attempt at pushing out more pipis -another failure- leaving him struggling to hold his head up. “Even at this size they usually just pop right out.”
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about Tenna, on his back, legs spread, port stretched around the wide birth of a pipis as it popped free with a wet noise. Don’t you dare think about this happening several times, every few weeks. Stop getting horny off the mental image of your ex-partner laying what are objectively, probably, your pipis. Shame on you for wondering if the panting CRT in front of you could get even bigger, even fuller with your not brood. This wasn’t the time to fall back on old fantasies of Tenna sporting a stomach swollen and heavy with something beyond pipis. Hands cradling the bump tenderly in anticipation.
No, enough. Spamton smacked his cheeks, using the slight sting to ground himself. It was clear that something was wrong. Tenna said they usually just pop right on out naturally, and the pipis nesting together on the ground confirmed the TV’s size wasn’t the issue. Which meant the problem was probably inside.
“Spamton…” Tenna’s voice sounded so small and meek. “I- I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you, um,” His tail swished nervously, thumping sluggishly on the ground. “I’ve been having trouble moving my arms for most of the day, now, and usually when I have trouble emptying, I… I’ll check certain places where issues might arise…”
He wasn’t asking him to- He didn’t- Tenna trusting him to feel up in there? “T[10/10] you don’t mean…?” His partner ducked his head shyly, refusing to meat his pink and yellow gaze. Fuck, he was. Well, it wasn’t like the big guy had much choice, unless he wanted to be stuck like this all night. And ask someone else to mess around with his insides probably through his maintenance hatch- something that was infinitely more intimate and daunting for the mechanical darkner. Asking Spamton to reach and arm up from below was the less trust-taxing option. He tried not to wince too much at that thought.
Shucking off his dirty coat, the puppet darkner settled between his partners legs. Rolling up one sleeve, his hand descended to hover over the opening. Just be clinical about this, he was just getting things unstuck in there. Tenna’s port was still so open and slick from pipis laying that Spamton’s hand met almost no resistance. The noise his partner made as he breached him was a lot more pleasured and relaxed than the panting and groaning until now. It wasn’t long before he reached his destination. His fingers skimmed the smooth shell of a pipis part of its way into the lower tunnel. Shoving the pipis back up, hoping to heaven that reset whatever blockage had occurred.
Easing his hand out with a wet squelch, he wiped his palm on the bottom of his shirt (as much as he’d love to lick it clean and reacquaint himself with the CRT’s taste) before placing both back on his partner’s enlarged tummy. Helping things along, he gave the distended surface a careful, measured push to get the ball- er, pipis moving. He watched with rapt attention as the baby blue object emerged, nosing puffy folds open from within as the round object was squeezed out. It fell to the ground with a wet pop, joining its kin on the ground. The sight was all that he’d hoped for. Immediately, the next one began working its way down to his partner’s port, birthed with just as much ease as the first.
Tenna hadn’t been exaggerating when he said these things normally popped right out all on their own. It was like watching a gumball machine dispense its treats. Just wetter, and with NSFW, and with a lot more grunting and groaning. They encountered a few more hitches along the way, requiring Spamton to reach a small hand up into Tenna’s entrance each time to reset things. What was probably happening was the ungodly number of pipis crowding the escape hatch eventually caused a traffic jam when more than one tried to exit, causing the one in transit to become wedged in place. The worst of it seemed to be over when Tenna’s stomach shrank to a gentle curve. Still incredibly noticeable, just not as heavy and swollen as before. This was usually when the CRT would trigger his body to empty itself of its load.
Massaging the abused abdominal muscles with gentle kneading and soothing little circles rubbed tenderly into the dark silicone, he pressed a kiss into the bottom curve with every pipis freed. The time between each ‘birth’ grew a little longer. Now that not as many were crammed in Tenna’s body like hard sardines, it was up to his partner’s exhausted body to get them into the exist passage. They were in the home stretch now.
“Good [For the boys], almost done.” Not too many still remained in the tank. “You [shore] you don’t want to [break five]?” He’s asked that earlier, right around when things started slowing down.
“I’m -hahh- sure. Once their all out, I can pass out until I don’t feel like an emptied tube of toothpaste.” The same answer as before.
Before too much longer, Tenna’s belly smoothed out to almost as flat as he’d once remembered it. Only a slight curve remained, totally invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. He could feel it there, under his roaming fingertips. One last pipis remained. At least, he was fairly certain it was just one. There was still the firm resistance of something tucked away within the quivering silicone. It just, felt different from the others, like it was bigger. There was no faint clacking to indicate two or more of the blue objects remained, but he could ways be wrong. Weight shifted as the object settled low in his partner’s gut, followed by a telltale groan indicating it was in position. Nothing happened for more than a minute. Even after kneading near the area to loosen things up, the pipis just remained there, suspended in place.
If it was still possible, a cold sweat would have beaded above his brow. Was there an issue? Above him, Tenna was partly dozing off, head propped up against the wall. The big guy was pretty thoroughly spent, and this didn’t seem like too bad a stopping place. He could finally get his partner to take that break he’d been recommending for a while now. It, just, wouldn’t hurt to make sure everything was okay in there. Tenna didn’t even so much as whimper as he slipped his hand back inside. Groping up, his fingertips eventually touched the rounded end of a pipis. There didn’t feel like any obstructions, no other pipis to get wedged in and cause a traffic jam. Pushing further inside, he risked pushing into Tenna’s pipis pouch. Nope, nothing. He was right about this pipis being the last, couldn’t feel any others but the one.
Only, this was a pipis, right? He was only able to work off of feel, so there was no way to confirm the color, but the shape felt right. Just, pipis were always only a couple feet in length, measuring from end to end. Never too big, but not tiny either. The pipis under scrutiny was larger, it felt like, much larger. Large enough to make him doubt that it actually was a pipis. That thing object might be something else entirely that, like his pipis, had somehow gotten inserted in his partner’s brooding pouch by a means he wasn’t yet certain of-
“Ah! S-spammy, we’re- we’re done! She stays right there!”
Startled, Spamton jerked back, wrenching his hand from Tenna’s body more forcefully than intended. The CRT yelped, sex convulsing at the pleasure-pain. He immediately darted to the other’s side.
“You [a okay] [boob tube]?” He asked anxiously.
“Fine, I’ll be fine.” Tenna assured him, still a little weak and strained.
Good, good. “What did you mean? There’s still [all for one and one for all] inside?”
“Yeah, I, um, know.” Red pixels created abstract constellations across the bigger darkner’s screen. “She’s a bit too big to fit though when I’m this small. And I usually just leave her inside…”
“[It’s a girl]?”
“I, probably owe you an explanation. You have a right to know, not just because of the help.” Did this have to do with how the pipis got in there in the first place? “Do you remember the gift you gave me before you disappeared?”
He nodded. It was part of the reason he’d been compelled to visit Tenna tonight. Finding out if his old partner had kept it or not, and the ramifications that choice had for their relationship.
“Well, after you, left, I was an emotion wreck. I was angry, I was hurt, I felt betrayed. When it was clear you weren’t coming back, and I couldn’t get a hold of you in Cyber City -no one could. None of your old contacts would give me a straight answer, pretending you never existed unless I really, really pressed them. I’d convinced myself you’d scammed me and moved on to greener pastures. It, was better than thinking you were dead in some ditch.”
Ouch, but fair. He had admittedly though largely the same about Tenna after that horror movie of a night, when none of his calls would make it through. The number you are dialing is not available please try again eventually turned into the number you are dialing is no longer in service. As much as he wanted to believe Tenna was different from Swatch or his old Addison ‘buddies’, it was hard to believe the best of a person you couldn’t even reach. Not when people were betraying you left and right, and the world had opened up under your feet.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of your things, scrub your existence from my life. No mater how much I thought I wanted to. Certain things happened, the biggest of them being the fallout between Tori and Gory. During that emotional low, I eventually settled on what felt like the perfect hiding place for my most cherished gift and deepest shame. A place no one would ever look, a place that would keep her with me all the time.”
No… He didn’t mean…
Tenna chuckled nervously. “I, ah, just didn’t anticipate how well she’d take it. Or that she could replicate. She grew first, until she was a size only my stage size could push out. I’m lucky all the others are her old size, I was in a pretty glooby mindset when I first needed to do, this.”
Well, that explained why Tenna could lay pipis. And it also explained the foreign pieces of code, and why they were both so analog and so comfortingly familiar. The original must have somehow leached off some code from Tenna, which was passed to the copies that spawned naturally from it. Her? Pipis didn’t have a gender; they were strings of code pasted together with magic. Then again, the gifted pipis could no longer be considered as ordinary.
“[boob tube], you did keep it. You really do care.”
“I never fully stopped. You were just too important to me; it was why losing you hurt so damn much.”
Spamton launched himself at the CRT. Grabbing either side of the flushed screen, he captured his old partner’s lips into a kiss fueled by a decade of loneliness, hurt, and desperation. It was a messy thing, a smooshing of two nearly flat surfaces (his teeth and Tenna’s screen) as he shoved his tongue into the other’s mouth. Tenna’s warm appendage surrendered to his own, submitting without resistance as his own entwined with his, coiling around like a snake ready to strangle prey.
A long-lost taste greeted him like an old friend; toasted sugar, like the surface shell of a crème brulé, and a bubbly fizz like carbonation. He drank up the heady whines spilling from his partner’s mouth, savoring this moment like morning dew in the desert. Wetness smeared both their mouths as they pulled away. Tenna gifted him a soft smile, just like old times. Nestled between the TV host’s legs were several dozen freshly laid pipis, cradled inside his partner’s stomach was another, incredibly special one. A mark, his mark, on the boss darkner. A claim that could never be rubbed clean.
“I need to [father forgive me for I have sinned] something.”
“What is it?” It came out in a purr, sultry and molasses-thick.
“You looked like a [hot MILF], all b1g and [bun in the oven] with my pipis. If you weren’t already [laboring] them, I would have [made for TV] you [keep the music playing] them [the inside scoop].”
“Well, there’s always next time. Our darling just loves making trouble for me. She got it from a certain someone.”
Groaning low and hard, he ground his crotch against the curved plastic plating of his partner’s chest casing. Look what you did to me, what you’re doing to me right now. He’d been ashamed of how arousing watching Tenna pop out his pipis was, what dusty desires had been stirred up in all the excitement. Desires that still throbbed and burned, longing to be sated. Longing to sate himself with his partner’s body.
Some things just never changed. Adapted, yes, but still wholly recognizable as what they once were, and what they’d always be. His love, their love, was like that. Their shared passion had been buried under a blanket of cold resentment and pain, an icy armor to protect their fragile souls from the confusion and distress their forced parting had brought. Now that the frost was let to thaw, it was free to bloom again just as radiant as before. Altered, but not warped.
The bulge rutting against clothed lilac was unmistakable question from himself to his partner. He could see the recognition etched across the other’s screen, plain as the scarlet flower blooming suddenly from his nose. Reaching out a hand, he stroked the crimson petals adoringly, feeling the velvety texture beneath fingertips that were some impossible fusions of plastic, wood, and porcelain. Irrefutable proof that his feelings were reciprocated.
“I don’t think I’d be up to anything penetrative, but I do have an alternative I think we’d both enjoy.” Tenna’s voice was soft, demure and coy. He gazed down at Spamton with his own equivalent of hooded eyes.
He hadn’t anticipated anything too substantial. It would have been unfair to the other to even ask to fuck his port. For as sexy as it had been seeing his partner lay his pipis, it wasn’t lost on him how staining and potentially uncomfortable the situation had been. Especially towards the end. Honestly, he’d initiated things expecting a blowjob or something at best, if the TV host was up to anything frisky. It wasn’t as if the salesman anticipated lasting long, anyhow. The last time he’d had the pleasure of sex with another person had been with Tenna, in the days leading up to that disastrous night.
A sluggish tail nudged their blue hoard back some, creating just enough room for the taller darkner to fold his long legs together, tucking them beneath the rest of his body. Plush black silicone was squished together, mimicking the push and suppleness of body fat. The contrast between such softness and the firm resilience of his plastic casing had always been a treat. At least, in Spamton’s eyes it was. To hold and fondle, even if his partner always had trouble believing anyone could adore such a body up close.
Innocently, Tenna’s tail curled into his lap, the plug tip resting in the slight gap made between pressed thighs and pelvis. Oh my, so that was his idea. How scandalous~. Clamoring down the other’s torso, he pressed a chaste kiss into that soft tummy, taking a moment to admire what he had. The little giggle from the owner of said tummy sent his hear aflutter. In the hours leading up to this, mustering and fortifying his resolve, he’d prepared himself for the worst. All the little hints from last night could have meant nothing in the end, he could have meant nothing to the Lord of Screens in the end. This was the first time he was happy to be proven wrong.
Straddling shapely closed thighs, jointed fingers popped the button holding the front of his stained white pants closed. Immediately the pressure, teetering on unpleasant for the last few minutes, lessened, drawing a sighed breath from wooden teeth. Dark, like the blackest of ink he’d once used to scrawl words onto paper, the tapered head emerged slowly from the fly of his pants. The moist surface glistened in the low light with an oil-slick sheen, leaving wet tracks invisible against the dark color of the inner silicone as it trailed up. It was a miracle he still had something down there, albeit as warped and changed as the rest of him.
Against what felt like his better judgment, Spamton risked a glance up at Tenna. He was scared, the wriggling shadowy tentacle thing between his legs was so different from what he used to be packing. It had freaked him out, the first time he’d seen it. He’d finally worked up the courage to survey all the changes the transformation had inflicted on his body, and down there had been the last place he’d checked. It had a habit of wiggling and squirming with a mind of its own, even when he wasn’t feeling particularly aroused. Maybe this had been a bad idea. He could still shove it back in his pants and pretend nothing had happened, right?
Rather than look disgusted, Tenna looked, flustered? He was nibbling his bottom lip, bashfully attempting (poorly) to avert his gaze from the tendril crawling up his leg. It was the same nervous, shy look he’d given Spamton’s dick the first time they’d finally gotten intimate (and just about every clandestine encounter in the sheets thereafter), complete with the same restless shifting of his legs. Was the TV seriously getting hot and bothered by this? Okay, he didn’t have a leg to stand on, considering what had prompted him to pop a stiff one in the first place. Aaand maybe with the revelation this was the same guy who though it was a sound idea to shove some object he knew next to nothing about up his you-know-where, and didn’t consider getting egg-stuffed every month as a reason to take said object out, it wasn’t all that shocking. Tenna was a certified freak, and that was doing so much for his confidence right now.
Gripping his partner’s hips of leverage, his dick began pressing its way inside the tight pocket of space hinted to him earlier. And tight it was. He really had to put some force behind it, feeling the squish of inner thighs and pelvic mound drag against him. It was almost like thrusting into the CRT when he shrank to such a tiny size. As he pushed deeper between those familiar thighs, the top side of his dick slid down the outside of the other’s port. Soft folds rubbed across the length of it, christening the tendril in warm slick. A soft moan stammered from Tenna’s lips, finding the sensation just as pleasing.
Flushed pelvis to pelvis, Spamton savored this. The firm weight of a body in his arms, the tight embrace swaddling his dick, the familiar warmth of his partner’s sex. This was perfection. He’d chased blindly after heaven for years now, never once did it occur to him that his heart’s desire was already within reach. Pulling his hips back, Tenna’s outer folds glided across the top of his dick as smooth silicone snagged at the underside. The contrast in sensation was heady, addicting. Already he felt like a pipe about to burst. A few more frantic thrusts, pacing be damned ‘cause he wasn’t going to last long anyway, and sticky hot cum practically exploded from the tip. It oozed between the nooks and divots between Tenna’s squished legs, staining the black and the lilac a rusty blue. A satisfied groan ripped itself from his throat, the first truly satisfying orgasm he’d had in what felt like forever.
Wiggling himself free, he tucked his limp tendril back into his pants. The way his cum dribbled down those amazing legs in fat globs, delicious. So fucking amazing. Too bad he didn’t have much time to bask in the afterglow. Tenna’s body slumped forward, screen the dimmest it had been all night. That was going to be hell on the CRT’s shoulders and back if he left him like that.
“Alright, [ten-star review], lets get you [tucked in].”
Helping Tenna recline onto the ground, Spamton couldn’t help but give the room another once over. His dumpster in Cyber City had looked more homely than this- and all he’d added was a beat-up pillow to lay on.
“D@mn, [boob tube], why the [minimalist] decor?”
“I, didn’t think it would mater.” Tenna admitted quietly. “Susie had promised she’d help find me a new owner, so I got it in my head that I wouldn’t be here for long. A bed felt like permanence, if that makes sense.”
Not really, but it was too late to argue. A bed would have been nice to cuddle on, and probably better for Tenna’s healing shoulders and pelvis than the cold hard ground. He knew old CRT was prone to emotional irrationality, a trait that had probably grown worse after the split. He’d strong-arm his partner into getting a bed some time tomorrow. Or maybe go straight to the fluffy boy prince and demand one for the room. It was a shame he didn’t have the NEO body, then he could lay the other on his chest (as comfortable as that would be) and swaddle him up in brightly colored wings.