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Tenna is expressive, indefinitely. But the man has his limits, especially with facial expressions. So, to make up for what he lacks to express on his screen, he exaggerates his body language and speech to be more theatrical. His movements are always bold and animated, carrying a flair and dramaticism that is almost irresistibly endearing, at least to Spamton, that is.
The addison doesn’t mind Tenna’s anatomy; he never did. He understands that Tenna is less organic than he is. Yet, that doesn’t mean Spamton doesn’t get curious at times. And this time, with the help of a few alcoholic drinks, Spamton’s curiosity was able to break free to face Tenna head-on, right in the middle of their after-work cuddle time.
“Don’t you…can control your [100 cm Display for Sale]?…” Spamton pauses to hiccup, giving his head a chance to catch up to his mouth, formulating a more coherent question. “Can’t you show your own set of [See The Windows to Your Soul]?” Spamton says with a drunken mushiness in his tone that borders on whining, gently, and repeatedly, patting the pinkish screen of the big guy he is currently straddling.
“My what?” Tenna questions as he catches Spamton’s hands before they smack his face again. The action earned him a little pout from Spamton.
It’s not often that Tenna gets to see his partner like this, absolutely hammered with alcohol to the point of being completely out of character for the little addison. Usually, Spamton refrains from overdrinking, knowing his drunken self would only bring him shame and regret come morning, but tonight, someone pushed him to drink more than he could handle.
It was surprising to see Ramb and Spamton talk for hours on end throughout the day. The last time Tenna checked—of course, he would check—the two were not close whatsoever. If only it wasn’t the busy weekend. If only he had spare time to eavesdrop.
“Ramb said I had beautiful eyes,” Spamton hums, mumbling as he leans down to hug Tenna, “he said eyes were the windows to one’s soul.” Spamton nuzzles himself closer to Tenna, feeling the bigger man's plastic skin slide against him as he buries himself in Tenna’s embrace. “He said you can see [Find out her true feelings?] hidden in the sparks behind their eyes.”
Spamton is usually colder, less physical, and less talkative. Occasionally, it even feels like Spamton is actively trying to distance himself from Tenna. And Tenna hates it. He despises the way Spamton flinches when he gets too clingy or desperate. But it seems he is not the clingy one tonight.
Tenna brings a hand up to pat his addison, gently rubbing the drunk’s back. “Spammy wants to see my eyes?” Tenna coos, trying his best to control his envy meter from blowing up. Even though Ramb only gave Spamton a simple compliment, knowing that other darkeners find his partner beautiful still leaves a sour taste in his mouth. It’s a good thing that Spamton is snuggled up into the crook of his neck, so he can’t see the jealous frown on Tenna’s screen.
“Yeah,” Spamton answers as he starts to nibble on the wires that are meant to imitate the sternocleidomastoid muscle. “I’m tired of staring at your [Here’s How to be VERY Attractive] fangs.” A sentence that could absolutely short-circuit Tenna, especially with the almost whiny tone Spamton used.
If only Spamton got drunk more often. Tenna could get used to this.
“I don’t really know if I can.” Tenna really doesn’t know. He’s never even thought of the idea. However, in theory, it could be done. He just needs to project a pair of eyes on the top half of his screen. But how would he even look with eyes? He probably doesn’t have them naturally because it won’t look right. “Spammy, let’s just get you to bed.”
“No,” Spamton immediately declares. The nibbling that he was doing turned into a full-on bite that sent a shock through Tenna. “Do it,” Spamton demands as his hand finds its way to the gap that runs down the middle of Tenna’s chest, slowly digging the tips of his fingers in and feeling Tenna’s hard plastic skin lighting another fire in his gut. “Do it,” Spamton repeats, moving his body to the side, giving himself the room he needs to pop open Tenna’s left chest cavity.
Spamton has always enjoyed messing with Tenna’s insides, pushing the limits of his robotic body in ways that were creatively sadistic. And Tenna loves it. Spamton knows Tenna loves it; the act is intimately enticing. It’s as if they have a level of trust and understanding that extends beyond conventional physical intimacy.
Tenna flinches, feeling the smaller man’s hands squeeze through the tight bundle of wires meant to be the pectoralis major, grazing past the hard rubber ribcage, fumbling his way to the heart-shaped object that beats slightly behind and to the left of the metal breastbone.
It’s all too much, so much, the stuffiness in his chest, the tingling sensation of having his insides explored, the hums of satisfaction from his addison. It’s all perfect.
Tenna effortlessly submits to Spamton’s touches as he moans in glitches and pleas. Even in a drunken daze, the addison can still navigate the tangled mess of robotic anatomy like the back of his hand.
Normally, Spamton doesn’t hesitate to pull, squeeze, or mess with anything inside of Tenna. However, right now, he hesitates. He freezes right before he reaches Tenna’s heart.
“Go on,” Tenna reassures, “You know it’s all yours.” Yet, the words seem to fly right over Spamton's head as he takes his hand out and looks at the exposed wiring, then back at his shaking hand as he slowly closes the chest cavity he forced open.
“I really want to [hopefully never know]...” He stops himself and sits up to stare at where Tenna’s eyes would be if he had them. He wants to get it right. He needs to say it correctly.
The expression the addison now wears is somber. Or maybe it’s closer to fear.
Tenna can’t tell. But as the words “I want to know your true feelings” fall out of Spamton’s mouth—raw and sincere enough to break his voice—Tenna finally understood.
“Goodness, the drinks really did a number on my Spammy.” Tenna says softly, bringing a hand up to rub the addison’s cheek. As he does so, he uses his other hand to block Spamton’s view. “Hold on.”
Spamton complies and waits patiently, keeping his attention on the hand blocking his vision. Yet, through the cracks and sounds, he can still make out a few things. First, a flash of light escapes, followed by static. After that came a sigh, laced in nervousness. Then, silence consumes the two men. So Spamton keeps waiting, unmoving, unbothered in the other’s presence, just patiently waiting.
A few minutes pass by before Tenna finally breaks the silence with “Are you sure you want to see me like this?” Since he is unsure about how he looks, he’s hesitant. He doesn’t even know how to imagine himself with eyes. However, seeing his deceitful partner be so genuine caved Tenna. “Don’t laugh if it looks bad.”
…
“Spammy?”
…
Tenna moves his hand, and the smaller man falls forward onto him, completely passed out.
