TicTacTempo
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Spamton ran a finger around the edge of her screen, following it down the long line of her neck to toy with the edge of her open collar, so close to the smooth contours of her soft, silicone chest. Borderline obscene, especially for how professional Tenna liked them to be, but who was he without a little risk? A sharp bite of static shot through him, and he leaned in to whisper against her vents.
“C’mon [[gorgeous]], I wanna see how much you missed [[little ole me]].”
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Running on the high of another successful season, Spamton and Tenna take a moment to indulge in each other.
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His big idiot TV had never once asked for something Spamton wasn’t already willing to give him. Always more than happy, blushing and eager as he spread himself open, to take and take and take until he was a stuttering, staticky mess. He didn’t push. They hadn’t even needed to talk about it. Besides, Spamton was more than familiar with what Tenna was working with. It would be impossible. Next to impossible. So of course there was no point in dwelling on it. Obviously.
But.
His hands.
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Spamton considers giving Tenna a rare reward, despite knowing better. Or so he thinks.
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Studios needed employees and employees ran on work, and even he could see that a studio that provided nothing, made nothing, would soon have nothing left to its name. A has-been business by a has-been man. It was only a matter of time.
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Tenna considers the past, the future, and receives a phone call.
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Billie took another sip. Wasn’t bad. Well-balanced, even. “I like the sour.”
“I can tell. You look like you’ve been sucking a lemon the whole time you’ve been standing here. Date stood you up?”
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Billie Gibson waits for a message that never arrives and meets someone new.
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He took a sip, grimaced, and wondered when Francis Crozier’s opinion had come to mean so much to him.
It didn’t, he told himself. Not really. Only that Francis was one of the best working photographers in their field, arguably in the history of Erebus Images, and James had found a strand of grey in his hair this morning.
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A small change forces James to confront some hard truths about himself. Francis is there to help.
A Model AU
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In another place, in another world, where would he go with his lover? (Spamton didn’t like that term, lover, but Spamton was not here to object.) He let his screen flicker and dim, immersing himself instead in a land of pixel and code, image transposed upon an endless void. Much of his work in bending the reality of this land was done with nary a thought and the snap of his fingers, but he found that this, he wanted to do piece by piece, square by square. He chipped away at the nothingness, breathed out stale air, and breathed in the sea breeze, sand appearing underneath his rosy-pink palms, trees rocketing towards the yawning manufactured sky in fluorescent tones, evergreen and magenta and cerulean, surrounded by sweet, sanitized waters.
Tenna wanted more. He wanted the romantic getaways together, the candlelit dinners, the public declarations of love and sweet serenades and enormous bouquets of flowers and picnics and breakfasts in bed and learning pottery with Spamton’s arms around him and breakfasts in bed and a ring –
Instead he had this. Which in the end was nearly just as nice.
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a fic for spamtenna week 2025! prompt: TROPIC OF LOVE.
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Spamton refuses to prepare ahead of time for his late-night infomercial show. No one's going to watch it, so why bother?
That all changes when he discovers that the product of the night is a sex toy, and he ropes Tenna into helping him sell it.
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spamtenna swap au by @/Diionysan on twt/x !
Tenna and Spamton finally reunite after their whole dramatic fiasco. Nowadays, they just get in each other's pants, especially Spamton.
So what happens when Tenna's all alone and pent up, needing sweet relief?
Well, he comes up with an idea to help get himself off, literally!
tldr; tenna eats himself out
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Spamton lowered his gaze to the tiny being nestled in his palms, cradling her with trembling care.The hatchling was no bigger than a coffee mug, all soft downy feathers the colour of fresh paper. Two thin antennae, tipped in faint blue, curled up from her small forehead, quivering at every sound. When she breathed, a faint shimmer of static danced across her down, a living echo of the glow that had been inside the Pipis. Moments ago he’d had nothing; now, it felt as though he was holding the world within his hands.
___A Spamtenna reunion in Castle Town with an added member to the family
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Noelle's house shatters around her, and Spamton awkwardly tries to pick up the pieces without cutting his hands.
(Which he would have had no problem doing, if his neighbor hadn't been his ex-boyfriend.)
Series
- Part 1 of All roads lead to Rome
Bookmarked by TicTacTempo
11 Sep 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
I’ve read this fic twice in 24 hours characterization of a life time I DO believe in second chances