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It was wonderful to return to what he loves the most after a long break. Every corner of the studio bustled with activity. The noise of everyone's busyness was sweet, Tenna appreciated it. While waiting for the broadcast, it was pleasant to simply puff on a cigar and listen to everyone fussing and bustling around, completely absorbed in the work process.
But of course, not all days were like this.
The Knight's attack had left its mark; no magic could completely heal such wounds. The cut, made with a single, precise swing, looked like a clear line with a downward incline of half an inch difference, from his left leg to his right. The cut was almost beautiful, but the solder that replaced it was not. Disgustingly thick, crooked, asymmetrical lines now encircled his legs. For most of the day, the host didn't even think about it. Only when his palm laid and covered these scars, he remembered what he had experienced.
Sometimes pain would overwhelm him, reminding him of that day, of the terrible thing he had to go through. Healing magic did help him endure it at such moments, but it couldn't take it away. The pain would fade for a while, giving him a break, and then it’d return again.
There were moments when, upon waking, he'd fall into a mild panic. Half asleep, it seemed to him that he couldn’t feel his legs again. At such moments, he'd toss the blanket aside (not caring that the sudden movement would cause Spamton to fall off the bed) and gaze anxiously at his legs. They were always there, but the feeling didn't disappear even when he stood on them, even when he took a few uncertain steps. Sometimes the solder would ache and burn where it tightly held the severed limbs, causing Ant to become incredibly sullen, his tail swinging sharply behind his back like an angry cat, fangs showing from under the corners of his lips, and claws sticking out. On days like these, everyone at the studio tried to be quieter, to disturb their boss as little as possible, preferring to come to the salesman over the host.
But on the worst days, Ant literally couldn't stand. The pain was unbearable, all the disgusting sensations blended together, turning his day into endless agony, making him unable to even get out of bed. Ant hated those days especially because he had to accept too much help from others, which he considered humiliating, and also because he had to cancel broadcasts, which the TV darkner took very painfully.
Today was like this.
The night was quiet and unusually dark. The moonlight timidly disappeared behind the thick clouds that filled the sky. A comfortable silence reigned in their bedroom, interrupted only by the soft ticking of the clock and the rustling of fabric.
He slept poorly – several times he woke restlessly in the middle of the night, flipped his pillow, and roughly nudged the sleeping puppet beside him, whose quiet snoring infuriated him. The bed felt warm, but a chill ran through his body. And early in the morning, pain pierced him – searing and sharp, pulsing in his legs and creeping up through the wires inside, enveloping his entire body. Every metal plate, every socket and wire, every microchip – everything was filled with painful suffering, and Tenna felt as if he again was there, back in that day when, weakened by every ragged breath, he crawled through the cold snow, wet flakes falling thickly on top of him, as if talking him out of fighting for his life, as if whispering that it’d be much easier to simply give up. He couldn't even move his toes, his breathing quickened from the unpleasant sensations and memories.
As on that day, so now his salvation – to his happiness, irritation and shame – was a deformed puppet.
Gritting his teeth, he shook Spamton, who was fast asleep, wrapped in the blanket like a cocoon, and, without waiting for him to fully awaken, demanded the little devils. They appeared, flapping their tiny wings, and immediately snuggled up to Tenna, a fleeting feeling of easiness washed over him as the pain, just for a moment, but subsided. The devils disappeared, and the other darkner groaned in pain, as if it was transmitted between them through the exchange of health. After a while, the man found the strength to get up, and then, wobbling slightly, silently left to get breakfast. The TV darkner watched the small puppet go, listening to the soft sound of plastic touching the parquet floor. Although the pain had subsided, his legs felt so weak that Tenna immediately realized that trying to get out of bed would certainly end in failure.
After some time, the salesman came back carrying a large tray of food in his hands. The puppet stepped carefully; thin and weak wrists were clearly struggling with the weight of the tray. Step by step, the man climbed the steps onto the gigantic bed – gigantic because Tenna didn't want to give in and refused to sleep unless he was at least ten feet tall. But Spamton didn't see a problem with that; on the contrary, he enjoyed losing himself on such a large mattress, his entire body pressed into the softest pillow, and having such a massive body, that generated a gentle warmth even in his sleep, nearby.
“AWW [u] P00R TH1NG,” Spamton purred, helping Tenna with breakfast (and clearly enjoying and taking advantage of his rare vulnerability), "LL00KS L1KE I’MM GONNA BE thTHE 0NE [in and out] CHARGE O-OF THE [Download FL Studio] OИCE AGA1N.
"As if you mind," the host grumbled, "just bring the documents home."
“AH, [babe], DD-DON’T YOU wWANNA JUST [Rest API Definition for Beginners] T-TODAY?
"Unlike you, I have official duties."
"[ok], I GET YOU," the salesman shrugged. He liked to argue with Tenna, but not when he was in pain, buried in pillows and heavy blankets, so he gave in.
When breakfast was finished, Spamton jumped off the bed, taking the plates with him, and headed toward the kitchen. He lingered there for a bit, then came back, taking off his pajamas as he went. He would’ve been flattered if Tenna were watching him at that moment, but CRT remained motionless on his back, his tail, the tip of which stuck out from under the blanket and dangled over the side of the bed, was swaying displeased, the plugs knocking against each other. Perhaps because Tenna wanted to look, but he just couldn't, and it irritated him. Spam chuckled at the thought.
“WH1LE I'M HERE, D0 [u] NEED [Press F1 for help] h-H-HHELP WITH AИYTH1NG? WWWANT ME 2 TAKE YOU TO THE- TO THE- TO THE- TO THE-”
The man grabbed his jaw, which trembled and clicked. On days like these, when Tenna couldn't get out of bed, the most humiliating part was that if he needed to go anywhere, he had to shrink down so Spamton could easily pick him up and carry him. Ant felt extremely vulnerable in the puppet’s arms, which he hated and despised to the core.
“No, no need.”
Spam nodded. The man quickly dressed, put on his chains and rings and was ready to say goodbye when suddenly his husband spoke.
"Come here.”
Spamton obediently climbed back onto the bed. Then he walked across the fluffy blanket to Tenna's chest and leaned against it, looking into the dim screen, the faint light from which glimmered across the white plastic skin.
"I need the blue folder, in the first shelf on the right. Get the calculator," Ant reached out weakly and carefully brushed the puppet, tucking away any stray hairs. "Make sure the Shadowguys finish the suit for the new segment. And tell someone to take the script from the stand on the set to my office."
“IS-S TH-THAT ALL?” Spamton pressed himself against the hand that lingered on the back of his head. Even though he seemed like he wasn't listening at all, Tenna knew he’d do everything. It's a miracle that he can trust him so much again, isn't it?
"Oh, right, there should be a single contract lying somewhere on the table – throw it in the shredder."
"WHAT, S-S0MEBODY CHANGED THE1R M-M-MIND AB0UT [The case for quitting]?” the salesman chuckled, tilting his head to the side.
A faint smirk appeared on the host's lips, and his antennas rose stately and proudly.
"WELL, I'LL G-GET G0ING. G0T A W0RK 2 DO, [Cathode]."
Spamton straightened his shoulders slightly, gathering his courage, moved closer to the screen and lightly pressed his teeth to the other man's lips. When he tried to quickly pull away, Ant grabbed him by the collar of his turtleneck with a claw and pulled him back, planting a couple of lazy kisses in return. No, the two of them weren't tender, and Tenna didn't allow that often, but sometimes gave in to his own desire to give and receive affection and care. Especially when he was so unwell and in pain. Besides, he thought it was nice to spoil a little both himself and his husband sometimes. Not giving Spamton time to enjoy the sudden tenderness, he roughly pushed him away.
"And don't you dare to even go near the safe. I'll know if you try, Casanova." The TV man slid his claws along the other man's jaw, gripping it tightly. Then, still holding the puppet's face, he pulled back the collar of the turtleneck and lovingly left a couple of warning, thin scratches on the neck.
“I-I WW0ULD NEV3R, [Silver Screen]!” his husband narrowed his eyes slyly, holding his breath in hope of more.
"Alright. Now go," the host said blankly, poking the puppet in the plastic chest, pushing the other man away.
Chuckling, the smaller darkner jumped off the bed again, then smoothed the collar and lapels of his jacket, adjusted the chain around his neck, briefly covering the new scratches on it with his palm, and walked out into the hall.
“D0N’T MISS M3 TOO M-MUCH, [sweetheart]!" he said goodbye, closing the door behind.
Silence fell over the room. Tenna's lips curled, the cold light of the screen changed slightly to a very faint pink, as the man raised his hands to the nose, pinching it as a familiar itch gathered at the tip. He didn't like these nicknames. At all.
A flickering glint caught his attention. In the quiet semi-darkness, broken only by the glow of his screen and a thin strip of light timidly creeping through a crack in the curtains, the silver of his wedding ring shined brighter than under the spotlights. With an almost uncharacteristic tenderness, Tenna gently twirled it on his finger, then took it off to admire the engraving inside.
"Odi et amo" – I hate and I love. It suited them so well.
Ant put the ring back on. He himself found it very unusual to see it on his finger. Both Tenna and Spamton wore gloves most of the time, so it was hard to tell from the outside that they were actually married. But even that was hard for Tenna to think about. Whenever he suddenly thought of Spamton as ‘my husband’, he felt shivers run down his spine, and then remembered that this wasn't some silly dream from the past that was never meant to happen, but a truth, a fact. That they finally sleep in the same bed, and the salesman doesn’t run away from him at the first opportunity, that they also share breakfasts, that they don’t live separately in different cities so far from each other, but together. Spamton often, though a bit teasingly, but still loudly and proudly called Tenna his husband in front of everyone, and the host himself, well, seemed to still be processing this fact. Although it's been a couple of months since their (admittedly rather spontaneous) engagement, Ant has never publicly called Spamton his husband. Perhaps he simply didn't find it necessary, since the status of relationship was an already well-known thing around.
Ant exhaled tiredly, sinking in the softness of the bed. Alone. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms over the chest. The wait promised to be long. The man moved his legs slightly, his knees creaking pitifully, and the solder, sliding across the sheets, suddenly reminded him of itself with an itch. The scars ached more intensely, and Ant clutched his antennas in frustration, practically growling as the pain once again coursed through his body.
"Angel, I swear if he lingers anywhere, I'll kill him," the darkner hissed under his breath, praying for his dearest husband to come back as soon as possible.
The salesman walked inside the beautiful and large building. Zappers at the entrance greeted him with a slight bow. Spamton's smile seemed even wider than usual, flashing the polished gold of his single gold tooth. He walked the corridors as if the entire studio and every employee had become his property. But his show-off didn't last long – he quickly found an unoccupied Pippins, whom he ordered to take the script, then carefully checked out that suit, imagining how wonderful his husband would look in it, and finally went into the office. Methodically gathering everything he needed, he stole a glance at the safe, dreamily thinking about all the kromer with which he could fill his pockets. Finally, he watched as the resignation letter was being shredded into the pieces, and, satisfied with his work, left the studio, clutching a thick folder and a calculator to his chest.
He thought that Tenna might doze off by the time he’d come back. However, his husband was wide awake and seemed to have barely moved an inch.
“You kept me waiting again. Why do the easiest tasks always take you so long," CRT complained grumpily. The corners of Spamton's mouth twitched upward – oh, he missed him.
The salesman went into the kitchen and made him some hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows to soften his ‘long’ absence. Finally, he returned to the bedroom, noticing the disgruntled wagging of the tail, and carefully climbed onto the bed, handing the other darkner a large mug. The antennas immediately leaned toward it with interest, causing the salesman to grin – he found it amusing that he could calm his temperamental partner so easily. Then, after waiting for Ant to take a couple of sips and get comfortable, Spamton slowly and methodically spread the papers across his husband's broad chest, who was occupied with the sweet drink. The salesman pulled his rectangular reading glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on instead of the colored ones. That multicolored disaster didn't help his terrible vision at all, but, as the salesman himself claimed, they looked ‘stylish’ – a statement with which Tenna, of course, completely disagreed. Perhaps it was the color combination that he didn’t like, as the host honestly thought that the frame shape suited Spam.
The salesman occupied himself with the documents with impressive attention – counting, scribbling, muttering under his breath. He didn't allow Tenna to do this, and although such audacity would’ve infuriated the host on any other day, today he didn't argue. Ant was actually quite calm, watching the other man’s work. It had a touch of piercing melancholy, for it reminded him of the past – when Addison would sit with the documents for hours, with a pince-nez adorned his long nose. It suited him so well. His neat, handsome face took on a wonderfully stern expression at such moments. The way he slightly furrowed his brows, slowly licked his lips, the way his pupils thoughtfully glided over the endless lines, the way he contentedly closed his eyes with a slight smile when the work was finally done...
Now, of course, Spam looked completely different. His face had elongated and lost its softness, became rougher and got too many sharp lines. His exposed teeth looked grotesque, and his slightly sunken eyes, having witnessed too many horrors, could either fascinate or frighten. But this didn’t stop Tenna from calmly watching him. The way he adjusted his hair, the way he tapped the tip of the pen on his gold tooth, the way he narrowed his eyes as he intently read the small lines, the way he snorted and shook his head, pressing the calculator buttons with skillful movements. TV darkner, just as before, could watch him for hours, slightly irritated by the fact that some things, apparently, truly never change.
The light in the room was soft and subdued. It was slowly getting dark outside. The curtains swayed gently in the light breeze that peeked into the house.
Ant missed the moment when he dozed off – probably the hot chocolate and the silence, interrupted only by the muttering and rustling of papers, lulled him to sleep. But now he slept comfortably, easily. Having finished with the documents, Spam gathered them back up and then set the folder aside with satisfaction. He'd never been a fan of paperwork, and over the years that he’d spent making street deals in back alleys and around his broken car, he'd completely lost the habit, so now it was taking him twice as long as he'd expected. But it had to be said that he was good at it – a natural gift almost. All the paperwork he handled was always completed on time, clearly and understandably written, and perfectly calculated.
Spam looked at the sleeping darkner. He moved closer to his face, lightly ran his fingers over the off screen, pressed his face against the gently rising and falling chest, then slid down to the big palm, gazing adoringly at the silver ring that adorned the ring finger.
When Ant woke up, Spamton wasn’t there. His antennas immediately jumped up as the CRT listened. He caught a quiet rustling in the hallway and calmed down. The bedroom door suddenly opened, and the puppet walked inside, with a towel on the shoulder.
"H0W ARE [u] FEELING?" the man asked, climbing onto the bed.
"Terrible. What is that?" The host's calm voice showed no emotion.
"A W-WARM T0WEL," Spam replied, sitting down leisurely on the broad chest and moving close to the other darkner’s face.
The fabric was indeed pleasantly warm, and most importantly, dry enough. The small puppet carefully ran the towel over the top of the monitor, wiping it with slow movements. It wasn't necessary, but the sensation was pleasant, and Tenna found himself relaxing, letting his husband take care of him without complaining. Then the puppet carefully reached for the antennas. Turning the towel over, he wiped them, both pairs. Then he set the cloth aside and began gently massaging the long ones, as they were the sensitive ones. He slowly twirled them with his fingers, then, applying pressure, ran his fingers up and back down, and so on again.
"F1," the host's hoarse, sleepy voice brought the puppet out of his thoughts.
Small copies of himself appeared above his head and immediately clung to the TV darkner. Spamton winced as the pain coursed through his body with a pleasant tingling sensation, as if dozens of needles were piercing him at once, slowly penetrating into the cracks between the joints – where it hurt the most.
“Th-THAT BAD, HUH?”
The question went unanswered, but the host's silence often spoke louder than words, so Spam understood everything anyway.
“W-WANNA [Smoking more now – but enjoying it less? Have a-] SMOKE?” Spamton winced as his voice cracked slightly. "L-LOOKS LIKE [u] NEED ONE.”
"Yes, I could use one,” CRT agreed, relieved he didn't have to ask.
The salesman stood up and left, fussing around in the rooms, and then returned with quick steps. He handed the host a cigarette when the larger man slightly opened his mouth, and then lit its end. Inhaling the smoke from the other darkner’s puff, he lay down on his husband’s stomach, moving the ashtray a little closer, placing it in front of his face. Ant flicked all the ash into it, but Spamton didn't lose hope, patiently watching the bright, smoldering end with a wide smile. For added effect, he even gently tugged at the collar of his turtleneck, as if casually giving his partner a hint.
“Mmm, how cute,” Ant said in a perfectly even tone, grinning slightly, and then blew smoke straight into the other darkner’s face. "Nice try, but not today, Casanova."
“[Aw, shucks!]. TH0UGHT I D-D-DESERVED S0ME [A Prize in Every Box!] FF-FOR A GOOD J0B,” the smaller man watched as the cigarette hovered thoughtfully over the ashtray.
“For a ‘good job’, huh?” the CRT mused, lightly tapping his claw on the cigarette paper. "I suppose I can't really leave you without a little present?"
The puppet was delighted. Spamton sat up and shifted slightly, waiting impatiently. Ant took a drag and beckoned his husband with his finger. The smaller man moved closer, his trousers sliding over the other darkner’s pajamas, leather gloves cracking as his fingers dug into the fabric and pulled the collar aside, revealing a slender neck. Tenna covered the smaller darkner’s back with his palm and brought the smoldering tip to his neck, teasing. He pressed the claw of his thumb against the puppet’s chin, pushing so that the salesman’s head was thrown back. The cigarette slowly moved around while Ant enjoyed his partner's impatient tremble. Excitement was visible in the eyes behind the glasses, the puppet's shoulders were shaking a little. Finally, the bright flame touched the plastic, hissing softly as the host twirled the cigarette, burning a perfect circular mark. The salesman straightened his back and whined, his shoulders shaking with light laughter and pleasure. Then Tenna took another drag and left a second mark, right next to the first. The other man's smile twitched, his teeth grinding in satisfaction.
"More?" the host purred, bringing the cigarette to his lips.
Receiving an enthusiastic nod, Ant took a final drag and pulled his husband closer, drawing him into a kiss. He inhaled the cigarette smoke into the other man’s mouth and immediately pressed the cigarette hard on the neck. A joyful whine, sated with pleasurable bliss, drowned out the hiss of the flame against the plastic skin and was lost in Tenna's mouth as the host lazily run his tongue over the puppet’s teeth.
Ant pulled back and grinned, tossing the cigarette butt into the ashtray. Then he reached to the thin neck and ran his fingers over the rough burn marks, gently pressing on them.
“Satisfied now?”
“AAHH—HH, [honey] YOU ARE S-S-SUCH AN [[angel]] SO [The hottest chicks for every taste --> click here now!!], [Rabbit Ears] Y0U’RE TT-THE BEST, THANK YOU-THANK YOU-THANK YOU-,” the other man mumbled savoring the long-awaited pain from such beloved touches.
Such a lazy day was like a torture for a workaholic like Tenna. He spent dinner at the table to which Spam carried him. Then they returned to bed. Even though Ant had spent almost all of the day lying down, he still quickly felt tired – his body demanded rest. And so he relaxed, listening to Spamton's chatter, his tail gently fell on the small legs, the large cord curled up, and the plugs dangled, laying in the little palms, allowing the segmented fingers to fiddle with them. Soon, with a typical click, the screen went dark, and the man fell asleep.
He slept peacefully and didn’t dream of anything. All the pain that had lingered in his body throughout the day seemed to leave him, allowing him to enjoy an untroubled sleep. He felt so relaxed, peaceful, caressed by the calmness. However, in the middle of the night something suddenly brought him out of his sleep. Not abruptly, he simply felt the need to wake up – as if something needed to be sorted out. With a loud click, the screen turned on, illuminating the darkness with a dim light. He propped himself up on his elbow and saw Spamton lying on his stomach, his legs gently swinging.
“B-BAD DREAM, TTT-T[THE 15 BEST Things to Do in Tennessee] T-TENS?” he asked.
"No," Ant turned his head to the side and glanced at the clock. Almost one o'clock in the morning, “it's quite late. Why aren't you sleeping?"
“[AdGuard] GUARD1NG. YOUR. [Sleeping Beauty] S-SLEEP, [Silver Screen].”
“Why?"
The puppet shrugged.
“Y-YOU’RE STILL HH-HHH-H,” Spamton grabbed his jaw and cracked it, forcing it to the side. Then he sighed wearily, glitches running through his body as he held back what he didn't want to say. He didn't like listening to the audio tracks of himself screaming in pain after his body was burned by acid. So he had to concentrate to finish his thought, “ HURT.”
Tenna frowned slightly, but suddenly felt a very light tapping. His body was filled with the familiar feeling of easiness, he experienced during healing. Ant looked up and saw little devils fussing around his antennas. They looked pretty tired. Then the host turned his attention back to the puppet. The man was rolling a dark, star-shaped candy between his fingers. They didn't heal much, but for some reason Tenna was sure his husband's jacket pockets were stuffed with them. And if he’d asked where he got so many, he clearly wouldn't get an answer.
“WW-WANT S0METHING SWEET?” the salesman asked, noticing how the antennas had lowered slightly toward the candy in his hand. “I сС-C0ULD GO GRAB [u] S0METH1NG. W-WHAT D0 YOU SAY? LEMME SP0IL [u], [Hotshot]!”
He immediately rose from the other man's body, smoothed out his jacket (the pockets of which were clearly filled with those candies) and trousers, and as he turned to jump, a large, heavy hand caught him. Ant pulled him back, laying him face-down and pressing him tightly to his chest, and rolled over onto the side.
"ANN-TTT yYOU, HHAH, WHAT-" the puppet froze in his grip.
Angel, it had been so long since they'd fallen asleep cuddling. Bodies pressed together, chest to chest, their arms wrapped around each other (as much as possible given their size difference). Receiving no answer, Spamton giggled contentedly and immediately pressed himself against the large darkner, slowly caressing his broad, gently rising chest with his palms. Tenna had forgotten how pleasant it felt.
"HH-HA, AM I THE sSWEETNESS YOU WANT R1GHT N-N-N0W?" he said the most obvious nonsense. Because of course, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to tease Tenna with his silly flirting.
"Shut up. I want to sleep," Tenna decided not to answer.
The room quickly fell into a comfortable silence. Any pain that had been tormenting him all day finally gave him the peace he deserved. Holding the smaller man close, the TV darkner sleepily thought he'd like to somehow repay him for the care he truly valued, but would never openly admit it.
The next day, the host was feeling much better. They showed up at the studio just an hour late, and Tenna immediately set about making up for lost time. He only saw Spamton at lunch, when they both arrived at Tenna's office, which they shared due to the studio's lack of spare room. There, they sat down at the host's large desk, with Spamton, of course, climbing up onto it. The salesman picked at his lunch with disinterest, eating only about a third of it, and the host himself was so busy with work that before he knew it, the food had completely cooled.
Tenna was deep in conversation, fingers pressed to the side of the monitor, when there was a timid knock on the door and Pippins hesitantly entered. Seeing his boss being busy, Pippins glanced at the salesman and whispered softly.
"Sorry for interrupting.”
He then walked towards the table as the puppet just shrugged and returned to the food, twirling the fork lazily.
"Okay. Mm-hmm. Yes, leave it like that," Ant was distracted when Pippins carefully handed him the papers, “Ah, this. Put it on my husband’s table," he waved it off, returning to the conversation.
Next to him, Spamton suddenly sat up, a shiver of indescribable delight running down his spine. His shoulders trembled slightly, he impatiently bounced his leg, glancing at the tall darkner. Pippins, holding the papers, blushed slightly and seemed as surprised as Spamton. He quickly turned away, awkwardly walked to a much smaller desk, and placed the papers there. Then he practically ran to the door, hurriedly leaving the office. When Tenna finished the conversation, he didn't rush to turn back to the small puppet.
“W-WHAT DID [u] J-JUST [Call-progress tone] M-ME?” Spamton purred, moving to the side to catch the host's evasive glance.
"My husband," Tenna muttered, immediately occupying himself with the papers scattered across the table.
"CAN [u] R3PEAT TH-THAT? I DIDN'T C-CATCH IT, [Rabbit Ears]-”
"You caught it just fine!" Ant threw the papers at him, listening to the puppet’s laughter breaking into a static wheeze. The TV giant covered his mouth, he lost a full foot of his height out of embarrassment, his cable tail wagging shyly, the RCA plugs hitting the chair legs and tangling up.
‘My husband’. The two words that fell so softly on his tongue, leaving a sweet aftertaste, came out so easily, as if they had always been meant to be spoken. He idly thought he wouldn't mind repeating them out loud over and over again.