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It was one of those nights again. One of those late, hyper-busy nights, the kind of night that made the air crackle, hot with buzzing lights, panicked staff, and ever-flowing energy.
Spamton’s small, glossy dress shoes quietly tapped across the hall as he scurried past, avoiding the bustle of stacked Shadowguys and hopping Zappers. He wasn’t here to be part of this madness, though he’d inevitably found himself roped into a few upkeep tasks—mostly testing sound devices and delivering props. He’d staunchly refused to do any sort of labor—big shots like him shouldn’t be taking out the trash or sweeping the stairs! He was just here to deliver the transcribed e-mails and schmooze a bit with the TV World locals.
Yet all this time, the one person he actually wanted to talk to had been so busy, he’d only caught sight of him rushing by a few times, a practical whirlwind of excitement. Mr. Ant Tenna, literal television personality extraordinaire, Spamton’s business partner and…perhaps maybe a bit more… He had been the actual purpose for coming here…but how could he have known it was going to be one of those crazy TV marathon nights?
Mr. Tenna’s various employees seemed exhausted, dragging themselves to and from sets, into the rafters, the closets, and the dressing rooms, meanwhile the man himself still looked as fresh as ever, despite having been onstage for four straight hours. Honestly, by now, Spamton was starting to get a bit impatient. But as he sat at the snack bar, crunching through a bag of premium bagel chips, he couldn’t help musing over his partner and his current situation.
Sure, Tenna had lots of lackeys to do the heavy lifting, but he had to be somewhat tired by now. No one could keep up his typical level of TV host hijinks for this long and not shed a drop of sweat. Spamton himself remembered posing for five different ad shoots in one day, and even that had been tiring. Maybe he needed a break, but just refused to admit it.
Finishing off the last of the chip bag, Spamton checked his suit jacket for crumbs—the same red jacket and yellow tie combo that matched Tenna’s. A snack, huh…had Tenna even gotten to have a snack today? A little jab of worried affection was poking at his heart. Regardless of their unknown personal relationship status, he couldn’t deny that inside…he found himself caring for him a lot. And thus far, he’d been giving him a lot of special treatment and little signs of affection in return.
Kicking his embarrassingly short little legs and hopping down from his seat, Spamton made up his mind. No, this time, he was going to make sure he got a moment to speak to Tenna, even if he had to be a bit rude and wait for him just offstage. It would just take a little assertion, a little gumption. Fortunately, he’d chosen an opportune time.
As soon as he arrived at wood-beamed backstage area, a flood of hired Shadowguy audience members rushed past, probably heading to squeeze the poor watercoolers for all they were worth. There was an actual commercial break coming up. A little shiver of anticipation wiggled through Spamton’s small body. One day soon, these commercial blocks would be his, and he couldn’t wait until he could take over the spotlight at a time like this. But for now, he had to focus.
At last, Tenna’s comparatively towering form approached, and a smile returned to his screen when he took notice of Spamton. But once he’d arrived, before he could say anything, Spamton reached out, placing a concerned hand on his knee.
“Hey…I know you’re having fun and all, but…have you even stopped to eat anything today?”
“Eh?” It was just barely visible to the little salesman, but Tenna’s antennas twitched, his wide smile shrinking just a bit. “Maybe this morning? I can’t rightly recall! But no worries, Spammy boy, I’ll be good to go another hour or two.”
“I don’t doubt you could, but…” Spamton pulled his tiny hand into a fist. It was just so frustrating. How did you tell someone that seeing them neglecting their needs was painful, that you desperately wanted to help, that you cared for them so much it almost hurt? And… unreasonably so? Tenna was perfectly healthy, though he did look a little fatigued right now. But after his own dinner break, he couldn’t help thinking about how he was always running from one place to the next. How rare it was for him to just sit a while and enjoy a meal, instead of cramming down a slop and coffee between programs. Not to mention, with his size… even when he did get a proper meal, he doubted it was enough to fill him up. It was a damn good thing he mostly relied on electricity for fuel, or else he’d have already turned into a shriveled husk.
Tenna swept down, bringing his face-screen close, to get a better look at Spamton’s downcast expression. “Hey, now, what’s with that look? It’s fine, my little pal. Everything’s going to be right as rain.”
Though Spamton cringed at being called “my little pal”, he had to take this moment to seize control. “No.” Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the end of Tenna’s nose, staring up into the space normally reserved for eyes. “It’s not. I’m sick of this. I won’t let you ignore it anymore. Once the shows are over—I don’t care what time—I want you to meet me backstage. We’re having dinner. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“Ah…” For a second, Tenna just stared back, dumbfounded. No one would ever dare give him an order like this, and if it had been anyone else, he might have simply ignored the demand and walked away. He was the one who called the shots around here, and everyone was under contractual obligations to obey his wishes. Everyone except Spamton. Except Spamton, who was practically his equal, who was, in a way, even greater than him—the wave of the future. Except Spamton, who, at least Spamton hoped, was very important to him.
With a hearty chuckle, Tenna finally pulled his nose out of Spamton’s grasp and rose back to his incredible height. “That’s one of the things I always liked about you. That DRIVE! How could I possibly refuse after such an impassioned demand?”
Spamton smiled and laughed a little in return, relief bubbling through him. “I am a well-seasoned salesman.”
“Makes perfect sense!” Tenna did an enthusiastic little bounce in place. “We shall rendezvous again soon!”
Only a moment later, upbeat music began blaring from behind, and he had to rush back to the set, but Spamton was buzzing with anticipation. Now he had a mission—and one that was weirdly thrilling.
His frantic footsteps echoed as he scurried from the wings and off towards the green room. It was odd…that he cared so much about this. But he truly did, maybe even more than he’d realized. And sure, he’d expressed his gratitude for their partnership in plenty of other ways, but this…this was something deeper, something more intimate.
In their time together thus far, Spamton had gotten to know Tenna on a deeper level than most everyone else at the studio. He was full of ego and bravado onstage, but privately, when he wasn’t performing, he could be a little…anxious, as if he never truly relaxed. Tenna’s usual habits ran contrary to everything he’d imagined the life of a celebrity to be. It was rare for him to engage in pure pleasure and self-satisfaction—he was always working to please, to entertain others, not himself. Perhaps basking in all the attention was the only pleasure he needed, but…
Spamton arrived at the green room, to confused glances from a few Pippinses in a corner. Thankfully, Ramb was absent from the counter—he did not want to answer any questions from that one.
There, he emptied out most of the vending machine, stacking up a pile of TV Dinners. Not the most original or romantic of foods, but, hey…these were just the appetizers. Putting on his loudest, most demanding voice, he commanded the Pippinses to fetch a water cooler from storage, and got two Zappers to transport one of the sofas to his specified destination. There were probably a bunch of losers hanging around there right now—he’d have to clear them out later.
A Deluxe Dinner and a snack basket joined the food pile, but Spamton knew this wasn’t good enough yet. If he wanted to truly, completely fill up that towering television’s tummy, he’d need to make use of the kitchen. Fortunately, that particular set had already been used much earlier in the day, so it was currently vacant.
The set used for cooking show segments was outfitted with a few stoves and ovens…but everyone knew the real cooking was done by the concealed contraptions underneath. Said contraptions—wacky metal boxes with several compartments—were conveniently above ground now, probably because they’d had to be cleaned after use. Well, it looked like they were about to need a second cleaning. And it was a good thing they were available, since Spamton was, admittedly, not a great cook.
Snickering to himself, he got to work starting them up. In no time at all, a pink-frosted cake popped out of one, and a bottle of milk shot out of the other. After a few pre-rendered meals, he got an intriguing idea, and tried flipping every setting to “pancake”. It took much longer to generate this time, but when it did, an enormous pancake puffed out of the top, unfolding and bouncing up into shape like an unpackaged foam mattress. Perfect. It was difficult to heave it onto the counter by himself, but he managed, filled with jittery excitement. At last, he dumped a jar full of berries and few bottles’ worth of syrup onto it, and was satisfied with his work.
Once again, Spamton rushed to find another group of resting minions and interrupt their well-deserved break time to make them cart off the generated food. This time, though, he also roped Shuttah into taking several pictures of the pancake for him. He could just imagine the eye-catching clickbait he could come up with under the image—“World’s Biggest Pancake, Find Our Secret Baking Technique Here!”
The camerathing blinked its weird hand-eyes at him, questioningly, but it obeyed, and soon enough, everything had been safely transported, the photos developed, and it was almost time.
The snack bar was Spamton’s chosen spot. It was normally a hangout space for staff during off-times, but no one was getting to party here tonight. Given how run-down they looked, though, they were better off going straight to sleep. At least that’s how he justified kicking them all out.
In the moments before the overhead lights shut down, signaling the end of today’s programming, Spamton stood before the scene, wondering whether he was overdoing it a tad. The couch from the green room was set up behind the counter, and the spread of snacks and dinners and the giant pancake was lined up down that counter, almost as if on display.
Had any of the staff figured out his intentions with all of this? But then again, who cared? They were insignificant gnats compared to him and Tenna. He couldn’t help imagining the rumors, though, and feeling a bit embarrassed. Ah, well, whatever kept them entertained. A part of him hoped rumors would spread back to Cyber City that he was dating the ruler of TV World. Imagine the look on Queen’s stupid face.
Nervous energy sparked through Spamton’s system, making him jump to life, as soon as the lights overhead snapped off. A gentler ground-level glow illuminated the area now, the soft mood lighting for downtime, and he followed a trail of floor lights back to the wings, where another flock of Shadowguys was slowly dispersing.
It took a while before Tenna finally cut through the shadowy crowd, looking a little droopy. No matter how long it stretched on, he was always disappointed to pack it up and call it a day. Given the opportunity, he’d probably keep performing until he literally passed out. It was definitely a good thing that the Lightners never kept their TV on for more than 18 hours.
Though Spamton knew he (unfortunately) could never compete with the attention and affection of Lightners, he hoped his company and his gifts would brighten his mood.
Already, Tenna’s drooping antennas perked up once he’d swept all the Shadowguys aside and arrived before Spamton’s tiny, beaming form. His mouth reappeared, a more subdued smile. “That’s right! We have a little plan, don’t we, Spammy?”
“We do indeed!” Spamton’s voice came out a little louder than he’d anticipated, and it almost made him jump. “C’mon, sweetcheeks, it’s time for the mandatory after party!”
Why did I call him sweetcheeks?! Beads of sweat formed at Spamton’s swept-back hairline, and his lidded Addison eyes pinched in. His own grin felt silly on his face.
But Tenna just chuckled, ignoring the flirtatious term. “Lead on, then, my good man. Let’s see what you’ve got in store!”
Spamton was thankful he could turn his back for a little while, as his internal voice was screaming at him, and he could feel himself flushing pink. Hastily, he took deep breaths and composed himself as he brought his large partner through the halls.
Tenna was understandably confused when they finally stepped into the snack bar together. “WHOA, mama! That’s a whole lotta dinner!” He paused just past the doorway and awkwardly fiddled with his yellow tie. “You didn’t…get this together all by yourself, did you?”
“You bet your sweet tube I did!” Proudly, Spamton hopped onto a stool and swept out his arms, presenting the feast as if it were one of his shiny new Cungaderos. “With just a little help from our cook-o-matics back there. We should really work on getting those things out on the market, by the way.”
Tenna tapped the bottom edge of his frame as he took in the sight, and a few small pink blush lines displayed on his cheeks. “Well, shucks, Spammy, you didn’t have to do all that. I could’ve just asked Mike to--”
“I wanted to!” Spamton blurted out, and the visible pink dots of his own blushing appeared. He hadn’t meant to be so direct…again, his mouth was betraying him before he could think of the proper phrasing, and his mind whirred to life, trying to think of any other excuse. “To…to test it out. Yeah. You know, make sure it could handle mass production and all. Eheheh.”
Tenna’s antennas twitched, but he grinned down at the panicking little salesman. “A fine idea. I like that you’re not afraid to get a little HANDS-ON.”
In an effort to move things along, Spamton eagerly nodded towards the sofa on the other side of the counter. “Here, here, have a seat! Please, let’s have a nice dinner to unwind. I insist.”
“Ah…” Once again, Tenna’s indeterminate gaze swept down the line of meals on the counter, and he gave an awkward little smile. “You might’ve gone a bit overboard there, buddy boy. That’s…a lot of food.”
“Well, you’re a big guy!” Spamton once again mentally smacked himself and felt like dissolving into the plastic seat of the stool. Why did I say that?!?!? God oh God oh God!!! Quickly, he threw his arms into the air, up and down, trying to indicate his height. “I, uh, wanted to be sure there’d be enough for you. If I only got enough for someone my own size, it would just be like a few crumbs to you, you know? I want us both to be able to have as much as we want.” That was true, and maybe articulated a bit better this time.
Spamton was now nervously pulling on his own matching yellow tie. It was a habit he’d picked up just from seeing Tenna do it all the time…more and more, he was noticing these little instances of subconsciously mimicking him. God, it was bad.
“I have to admit, that’s awfully considerate of you. Aheh…looks like you’ve once again made me an offer I simply can’t refuse.” Tenna was still blushing (adorably), but this time, he gave a bright smile. “One moment, I’ll make SUPER-DUPER sure this is a private showing…”
While he briefly left to force a couple of Zappers to guard the entrances, Spamton took the opportunity to physically shake out his nerves. Everything was going great! He’d agreed, even if he might still suspect this was all a plot to butter him up. It might be a challenge to convince him that there were no string attached, especially when attaching strings was usually Spamton’s modus operandi. But no matter what, it was happening.
When Tenna returned, it only took a second for him to hop over the counter, and Spamton wondered how he didn’t create earthquakes every time he jumped. Must be something in those big, banana-like shoes.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll finish it all, but I’ll be sure to have a bit everything. Heheh, you’re really quite the sweetheart, aren’t you?”
“Ah, it’s no big deal. You deserve a treat after today’s hard work.”
Is this flirting?!?! Spamton quivered a bit as he slid over the first stack of TV Dinners. He wished he knew for sure, cause, damn, he’d go all in.
Though he wasn’t all that hungry, he took one for himself before nudging the rest towards Tenna. The sofa was still too low to the ground for him, and his knees poked up below his chest as he reached for the stack, but at least it was long enough that he could also sit sideways and put his legs up if he wanted. Spamton wanted to see that…he might have to encourage him to do so.
They opened the square-shaped trays at the same time, ripped open some plastic utensils and finally started eating. In just two forkfuls, Tenna was finished, and he awkwardly reached for another one. Spamton had barely started on his own.
“You know, I’m not actually supposed to eat these.” Tenna finally spoke up, after one more half-dinner. “They were made with the Lightners’ tastes in mind. Not that it’s bad, of course! Just…I never pictured myself eating it.”
Stuck in mid-chew, Spamton tried not to let the frown show on his lips. There it was again… He’d always thought that Tenna spent a bit too much time trying to please his Lightners. It was his job, his very purpose for existing, yes, but…Spamton, himself, believed there should be something more to their lives. And he wished he could bring him around to his own way of thinking.
“Hey, you gotta use your own product! How else will you properly endorse it?”
“You speak a lot sense, Spammy. That’s why you’re the marketing PRO.”
Quicker than he’d anticipated, Tenna had already finished the stack, licking the last piece of mush from his tiny fork. Damn, he must’ve been hungry—probably more than he’d realized before finally starting to feed himself.
“Here, try the cake next!” Spamton eagerly hopped up on his stool and slid the pinkish confection over. “I wanna see how it came out!”
“Dessert already?” Tenna patted his mouth with a napkin that had somehow appeared out of nowhere. “That’s not usually…”
“Who cares about that?” Spamton insistently told him. “You ought to have whatever you want. You deserve to live it up a little more! Someone in your position ought to be living the high life! That’s what I’ve always said.”
“That’s what you have always said!” Tenna chuckled. “Alright, let’s shake it up a little!” And he grabbed a new pair of utensils, cutting himself one-third of the cake and then taking a sizeable bite. “Mmm, pretty good!” he assessed. “I’d give it an A-Rank!”
“That means I gotta go for an S next time,” Spamton declared. Next time?! Why was he already thinking about that? Would there be a next time? God, he wanted a next time. And a time after that…and after that…
From there, the two of them fell into an informal chat about plans for next week’s programming and the latest sales trends. Spamton scraped at the remainder of his TV Dinner, just so it appeared that he was still eating, and meanwhile, he couldn’t help just watching Tenna.
It was weirdly kind of…cute? The way he ate was polite, but eager, small smile upturned into a bulged cheek. And from his low angle, Spamton could easily see each bite. Sometimes, when he took a big bite, he could see his stubby, pointy fangs for a few moments. Usually, Tenna did his best to mask them, deeming them “not family friendly”, and the only time he got to freely display them was during “Halloween Spooktacular” season, when he dressed up as a vampire. But Spamton wished he’d show them more often. They were kind of endearing, at least in his eyes.
A fresh line of blush trailed across Tenna’s screen when he realized he’d finished the cake, and Spamton tossed over a snack basket, but he accepted it without a word. The various little bags of chips and pretzels and cheese puffs were soon crumpled and empty, and he paused for a moment, looking in the direction of the remaining treats.
For a moment, Spamton wondered if he was actually full, or just thinking it was time to stop. But just when he was about to open his mouth and probably make some other terribly intimate encouragement, Tenna seemed to make up his mind and fetched the first pre-made cooking machine meal, laying it out on the counter in front of him. This one was some sort of artfully arranged fruit bowl—probably a good refresher after all the salty snacks.
It was just…wonderful. Seeing Tenna finally eating everything he wanted, everything he needed…just enjoying himself, enjoying the food, enjoying the company, and letting his own desires lead. He’d never normally eat this much, but it was clear he wanted to eat this much, and it was so, so good, seeing him fully satisfying that need, that inner craving.
All done with the fruit dish, Tenna licked a trailing drop of strawberry juice from his glove (which magically, didn’t stain), and uttered a soft sigh. Spamton watched, enthralled, as he shifted himself on the sofa, leaning back against the right armrest to stretch his legs out…and suddenly, his body pulsed, with a little “zzp!” sound, and he brought a fist below his nose, covering his mouth.
“Boy, Spammy, you sure do go ALL-OUT. I’ll have to work hard if I want to outdo you.”
“N-No need, no need!” Spamton hated the awkward shiver in his voice. It had to be super obvious by now that he’d just been pushing his crumbs around for the past ten minutes. He probably knew what he was trying to do. Please, please don’t stop now! he wanted to beg. There was still the huge pancake…there were still a few more dishes…a few more TV Dinners. He’d been eating so well, so contentedly…he didn’t want it to end yet.
Spamton’s eyes traced the movement of Tenna’s hand as it swept down to rest right over the middle buttons of his jacket…his stomach.
“Did you have everything you wanted already?”
“Uh…yeah!” Spamton scratched the side of his face, wondering if his blasted cheek dots were showing again. “I actually had a snack earlier, so I wasn’t terribly hungry.”
“That’s good!” Finally, Tenna sat up a little more, but he remained seated sideways, reluctant to scrunch himself forward. “I’m eager to try that nifty new pancake of yours. If you don’t mind, ah, bringing it closer.”
“Not at all, not at all!” Spamton fully jumped up on the counter, scurrying to the side of the large pancake plate. It had been a request—just another happy reminder that Tenna saw him as an equal. If he’d been anyone else at the studio, it would’ve been a demand—a “hey, bring that over here now”. So, with a little skip in his step, Spamton shoved the pancake down the counter with all of his strength.
Tenna grinned and sat forward just long enough to grab hold of it and delicately set it on his lap. Spamton couldn’t help imagining stepping on top of the pancake, letting him carry him along with it. He could easily hide himself inside it and pop out, like a showgirl in a cake. There was an idea…
With a wave of his hands, Tenna summoned a large knife and fork from his cartoon pocket dimension and carefully cut a good-sized piece. Was that a “world ruler” thing, or just a him thing? He’d have to ask sometime.
“Quite tasty!” He exclaimed, after his first bite, and eagerly took up another one. Spamton watched him gingerly mop up a bit of extra syrup from the plate with the next pancake chunk. “This is a genuine HIT! Perhaps we should have a special pancake episode next time. It’ll be a competition to create the coolest pancake or the tallest pancake stack!” And with another buzzing hiccup noise, he merrily dug back in.
Spamton let him ramble on about new ideas to spice up the cooking show, and just watched. And he had to admit to himself…it was gorgeous. Beautiful. Tenna smiling like this…a natural, heartfelt smile, little fangs free to show…a few sticky droplets clinging to his cheek…the soft, light, rosy glow of his screen… Spamton had always found him attractive, but this…this was on another level. And now he knew for sure… he wanted to know him…every little private, intimate piece of him.
Gradually, the pancake diminished, berries rolling from the top, before being snatched up on a tine of the fork. Said fork slid between those soft, manifested lips again and again. Only a few bites left and a pool of syrup…and from his position, standing on the counter, Spamton could see something else rather breathtaking.
Above his golden belt buckle, pressing at the buttons of his jacket…Tenna’s belly was beginning to bulge out a little…a rounded, tightened curve nudging itself out. Wow…wow, that was incredible. And oh, gosh, it made Spamton’s poor little heart flutter with affection. There it was…there it was, plain as day. Visible, tangible proof that his belly was finally nice and full. So very satisfied, so abundantly nourished. It had taken so, so much to fill it to this capacity, and that was the beauty of it. He’d done it. He’d finally done it.
As if pulled in by its gravitational field, Spamton crawled down off the counter, closer, right before the sofa.
“Hhaaaahhh…” With a contented sigh and a clinking noise, Tenna set his utensils down on the big empty plate in his lap.
“S-So glad you enjoyed it!” Spamton squeaked, and he chuckled in reply.
“I, uh, haven’t enjoyed a meal like that in, well, a very long time.” Once again, his screen was flushed all over, and the top of his pointy nose was a little scrunched. Even without eyes, it was clear that his brow was also a little pinched. He was so flustered, and good heavens, it was adorable.
Spamton slid the empty plate out, balancing it on top of his head and quickly transferring it to the counter behind him. “That was the point, darling. I wanted to…I wanted you to get all this and more! Uh, all that you could hold. Um.” Spamton cursed his nervous habit of slipping into flirty adspeak. That sounded horrible.
And his insides started frying even more as he watched Tenna cup his producing belly in one gloved hand and gently rub circles over it. There was that awkward, almost shy, wavering smile pinching his lips. Automatically, Spamton’s own hand lifted, yearning to join in, but he forced it back down at his side. Instead, he shuffled up beside him…and just placed that hand reassuringly on his elbow.
Tenna’s screen turned to look at him, almost poking him in the forehead with his long nose. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, much softer than usual, a little lower in pitch. “Do you…like this?”
Spamton felt his heart desperately pounding. Oh, he wanted to say it, he wanted to say it so badly, but a terrible fear paralyzed his tongue—the fear that once he did, Tenna would pull away, call him a freak, never eat anything with him again. But then, one soft finger brushed over the top of his head, and he was looking into a screen-face gone blank and pure red.
“Because if you do, I…just for you, I…I-I’d do it. I don’t mind, I… I’d eat things for you. I-I-If that’s what you want………”
Relieved, overwhelmed tears flooded into the corners of Spamton’s clenched Addison eyes, and he fought the urge to literally scream. His little hands grasped the edges of Tenna’s boxy frame, just a few inches from kissing him. “Y-Yes!! Yes, yes, I do, I-I want that! Yes, please! Yes, yes, yes!”
“Ahahahahaha!” Tenna’s mouth and nose sprang back to life, and Spamton got an incredibly close-up view of his darling teeth before finally letting go. “I knew it! The look on your face was just PRECIOUS! I loved it, it felt so good to see that, Spammy.” His typical tone was back, but he still had that lopsided, rosy grin.
“If you feel alright, then…could you keep going?”
“I feel alright.” Tenna once again rubbed his full belly, massaging in a bit with the tips of his fingers. “I feel heavy and really full, but it doesn’t hurt. It, uh, feels kind of nice, actually.”
Spamton couldn’t help himself, now that the truth was out there…he pressed one tiny hand against the slightly bulged side. It was so warm…his stomach must be working hard at processing all that extra fuel—extra fuel that it wasn’t used to receiving.
“If you don’t mind, though, I’d…prefer to get a bit more comfortable first.” Without even waiting for a response, Tenna unbuckled his belt…and a bit more of his belly swelled into the space, though it still remained pinched a bit by his pants waistband. Before he could even consider what he was doing, Spamton reached in, giving it a pat. Thankfully, Tenna only gave a fizzy little chuckle, and then proceeded to loosen his tie and unbutton his jacket.
Insane, how they’d gone from worrying about whether or not they were flirting, to one of them starting to undress himself. But this had always been there—this had always been there, simmering between the two of them, and now it finally boiling over.
Between the open jacket flaps, Tenna’s dress shirt was a bit looser, but the curve of his satisfied belly could still be seen poking up against it. So good…so happily filled…and apparently, about to be filled even more.
Remaining on the counter was a grilled fish dish, a steak with a side of potatoes, and the final stack of TV Dinners. Spamton thought about everything that was in that spacious stomach already—a cake, a huge pancake, several TV Dinners, a pile of snack bags, and a fruit bowl…not to mention the tall glasses of water he’d been slurping between meals. Oh gosh…It was impressive, how much he could put away. How had he let this hidden talent go to waste for so long?
Dutifully scampering back and forth, Spamton gathered the remaining food, setting it within reach of Tenna’s long arms, and then…something rather unexpected happened. His small feet lifted off the ground, his body elevated, clasped firmly under the arms by a white-gloved hand. And he was brought down, standing between Tenna’s knee and the back cushion of the couch.
“You should have the, uh, the best seat in the house, dear viewer.”
He should have realized. Spamton grinned and blushed like a tiny idiot. Of course. His precious partner loved performing, loved being the center of attention, all eyes on him. He lived to put on a show. Of course, he’d love putting on this little show for him, no matter what it was.
“Hooray!!” Spamton clapped, indulging his hunger for applause, urging him on. And Tenna gladly delivered, grasping the grilled fish plate and once again setting in on his lap, though it was only a fraction of the pancake’s size.
This time, he ate a little slower—either because he was already full, or because he wanted to give Spamton as much “viewing time” as possible. It was still wonderful, though, and the little salesman hopped closer, inching up beside his hip, keeping an eye on both his mouth and his stomach.
In no time at all, the fish had been reduced to a few thin bones, and Tenna took a moment to down another glass of water from the watercooler (which was looking pretty empty by now, and perhaps somewhat disgruntled about it). TV Dinners were only a few bites each for him, so he easily munched down another two right after, and…his shirt slowly tightened over the rounding swell.
“Hzzllpp!” Tenna’s antennas twitched side-to-side as another big hiccup of labored digestion rocked his body. “Uh, you’ll have to please excuse these rude little noises…”
“That’s all part of the act, baby!” Spamton was growing bolder, letting all of his desires fly free. He slid himself closer still, kneeling in the little nook beside him. And he let his hands reach out, pressing tiny palms to the comparatively large, rounded lump, one towards the center and one towards the side.
Oh…..stretching his arms out over it like this…he could really feel the roundness. There was a joyful little excited spark inside him, just feeling it, and his hands began to caress it—up, down, circling, pressing little fingers into the shirt fabric, sensing the pliable firmness beneath.
Tenna released a few more static-lined hiccups in succession and began to idly stroke a few fingers through Spamton’s hair. That was something he’d done before—playing with his hair a little. Apparently, he enjoyed feeling it—as he didn’t have any hair of his own, it was a novel and pleasant sensation.
“Can you…do you think you can…finish it for me?” Spamton urged, voice whispery with desire. And then, he realized what he should be doing… “You’re doing so well. Such a good job. Can you do a little more?”
“Hhhggggp!” Tenna had tried to suppress another hiccup, to no avail, and his screen-face went bright pink again. His antennas grew a little wobbly, curling and scrunching themselves in and out. Oh, yes, that was the ticket. “O-Of course!” He yanked over his next TV Dinner, arm shivering. “It’s not over yet, folks!”
Spamton turned his head up, watching intently as Tenna dug in with renewed vigor. One…two…then three… Six eager bites, six parcels of mushy food pressing down into that overfilled tank, enough to leave the average-sized Darkner stuffed.
Tenna huffed and panted as soon as the last dollop went down, and his belly…oh, his belly… His shirt was clearly stretched around it now, outlining the rounder ball of it. It had begun to nudge into his lap, and the button of his pants was fighting to contain it.
“That was incredible,” Spamton murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, and he couldn’t help it—he embraced the big, round ball in front of him, laying his entire body around it. Even stretched out all the way, he couldn’t encompass all of it. “You’re so, so good, Tenna. This makes me so happy. You’re eating so, so well for me. So wonderful…”
With a groan and a softer hiccup, Tenna rubbed the side of his own tummy, thumb bumping into Spamton’s hand. “It’s…it’s so tight, Spammy. I gotta… If you really want me to finish, I gotta…” And his index finger poked at the stubborn pants button.
“Go right ahead,” Spamton happily mumbled, cheek nuzzling against the big, warm, engorged pouch. “It’s time to go for that bonus round.”
“PHEW!” Such a big sigh puffed out of Tenna as soon as he slipped his waistband open, it came out in his emphatic WordArt. Spamton felt himself being shifted as the belly relaxed, pooling a bit further downward. A pleased little hum buzzed through him, and he thumped with one hand, a firm, congratulatory pat.
“A little more room now? C’mon, I know you can do it.”
“Oooof, ah…y-yeah. There’s not much left. Th-that…that helped. Your, uh…your hands are really small, but they’re helping too…”
“I’m so glad.” Spamton resumed his hugging massage. “Really, really glad. Now…eat up for me.”
The surface of Tenna’s screen was practically sweating. But with a little wiggle-shiver of his antennas, he grabbed the final dish—the steak dinner. It wasn’t big, at least for him, but it was fairly dense.
“Eat up,” Spamton fondly murmured one more time…and Tenna obliged.
The side of potatoes went down easily enough, but then the steak itself… Spamton listened, rapt with attention, at the little grunts of effort coming from above—noises he’d never thought he’d get to hear from his professional, squeaky-clean stage partner. There were also…softer, yet more distinctly pleased little moans. Oh, he hoped he was enjoying this too. Not just enjoying the attention and praise…but also the feeling of fully stuffing himself, more than ever before, more than he’d ever allowed himself.
Gently, gradually…Spamton felt his body being pushed a bit backward…Tenna’s sweet tummy puffing, stretching out, fuller and fuller. With his head pressed to its taut surface, he could start to hear a soft glurping, gurgling noise…all that food in there shifting, processing.
And at last, at last…Tenna gulped down the final mouthful of steak, a bit of sauce coating his lips, and his arm fell limp, letting the empty plate clang against the floor. “Efff…hafff… t-t-ta-dah…”
Spamton stretched his head upwards, nose squashing flat, just to get a good look at his face now, and oh, was he glad he did. Tenna gazed back down at him, all rosy and shivery and quivering, and his tongue poked out, licking up the remaining globs of steak sauce. “T-There you have it—hhhp! All gone.”
An equally warm, tingling affection bloomed in Spamton’s heart. He nestled back down, nuzzling and embracing this beautiful, round, fully stuffed big belly with all that he had. “Oh, you did so incredibly well, my dear. This is…the best, this is simply the best.”
He might have been laying it on a little thick, but, man, was it truly incredible. It was just an amazing achievement… This tummy, usually so hollow and cavernous, just barely sustained…now so very, very filled, so overly satisfied, so absolutely brimming with sustenance. He hugged it, clung to it, slid his arms over it possessively, as if it was a beautiful, precious, massive, ripe fruit. So resplendent, so happy, so satiated at last. So much yummy nourishment packed tightly away in there.
That whole massive feast he’d prepared…all settled in there, bulging out so tight and round. Dear Tenna…such indulgence, such decadence. Eating and eating until his dear tummy was topped up to the very brim, popping out and happily swelling with fullness. He deserved to be like this much, much more often. No matter how much food it took.
Underneath him, Spamton felt his steady in-and-out breath, a little winded. Suddenly feeling a touch guilty, he spoke up. “You…you alright? Does it hurt?”
“F-Feels achy and sore,” Tenna huffed out, followed by the low grumble of a suppressed belch. “But kind of…cozy? Golly, that’s despicable.”
“Not at all,” Spamton objected, and snuggled in again. “It’s perfect.”
For a few quiet minutes, they just sat, taking in the warm, contented glow of this moment. Spamton continued rubbing around the globe, and Tenna’s fingers tenderly ruffled through the fluff of his black-dyed hair. It was the most comfortable either of them had been in quite a while.
Tenna was the one to finally break the silence, voice low, soft, and intimate again. “So, uh…we’ll…do this again another time, yes?” With one last stroke, raking his hair back into place, he pulled away.
“Absolutely,” Spamton assured him…and stretched himself up, tapping his flat plastic chin. “But next time, I want to see more of those pointy whites.”
“You actually…like them?” One antenna twitched down towards him, curiously. “Well…it’s a special private late-night program, so… Aww, shucks, if you really do like them, then why not?”
Spamton gave that happily protruding belly one last hug and a pat with both hands before he finally tore himself away, sliding from the couch.
“You’re welcome to—hzzp!—to stay the night, if you want. Goodness gracious, I feel so heavy, I wish I could fall asleep right here, but I must be ready for tomorrow’s early morning news broadcast.”
Briefly, Spamton wondered if he could just get the guard Zappers positioned outside to carry Tenna back to his room, but he probably didn’t want them seeing him in this state. The watercooler had been their only witness, but fortunately, she was constrained to only saying things like “buble” and “bobie”.
“Think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Normally, Spamton greatly preferred to go back to his luxury room in Queen’s mansion, but at this late hour, inter-Dark-World commute probably wasn’t worth the effort.
Now that his head was beginning to cool off, he found himself kind of stunned. What…what was this? He imagined himself bragging to those multicolored losers back home…about how he’d snagged the affections of a world ruler using some sort of feeding fetish. But was it more than that? Did he want it to be more than that? Was that how Tenna saw it? What on earth had they just done?!
Spamton smacked his pink-dotted cheeks, and his gaze shifted back, gluing itself to the sight.
Tenna pressed and pushed and moaned and burped, wrestling his stuffed gut back into his pants. Squeezing the firm mound into the sharp, pinching waistband, he hissed and winced in pain. Spamton sure hoped he’d take it out again as soon as he stepped into his private room.
Awkwardly, he shifted upward, almost rolling himself back up on his feet. With a shiver, Spamton imagined standing directly toe-to-toe with him, looking up and seeing the roundness of his tummy eclipsing his head and most of his nose.
Next time… Oh, maybe he could hand-feed him himself, using some kind of ladder. Maybe he could make a game out of launching sweet pastries into his mouth. Maybe they could take it to their own private chambers, so they wouldn’t have to worry about moving themselves afterward. There was…a lot to be discussed, if they ever did discuss it. But meanwhile…
Tenna beamed down at him, a bit of shy blush still dusting his screen, but a natural, heartfelt little smile in place as he held his stuffed belly steady. “Thank you, Spammy.”
And Spamton knew, no matter what…all of this was worth it.