A feathery, puffy slit greets him in the morning.
It doesn't make Tenna gawk like it should, as his dreams of late have exclusively been of such a sight. They just so recently bathed together, so the glimpses turned ogling of the meal between Spamton's legs was to blame. He recalled it vividly. As Spamton wiped the grime of daily life off of him, Tenna couldn't help but watch his hands gently coax through his own feathers. Then, of course, river water smoothly traveling down his hips was ever so distracting. Naturally, Tenna's gaze was driven down to Spamton's perfect backside, an unrivaled rump that Tenna wished to knead like dough. And when Spamton bent over to wash his face, tail lively in the natural glee of becoming clean, he'd present Tenna with the heavenly view of his lips peeking between his thighs.
Regardless of his own unbecoming lust, Tenna knew to keep his hands to himself. He was far too dingy and, well, too big to take Spamton with the gentle intimacy he deserved. Spamton wasn't frail, no, but it was undeniable that the difference in their stature would lead to some… complications, to put it lightly. It was easy to envision something going wrong, Spamton more pained than pleased as he tried to adjust to his size, or one of Tenna's looser parts coming undone and exposing his tangled wiring to ruin the moment. His self-imposed celibacy was for Spamton's safety, though even he wasn't as dense to not notice his lover's growing sexual frustration. Spamton was biologically wired to be mated, a heat wracking through him monthly that made him crave nothing but to be filled and bred proper, though Tenna could only provide his own clothing for comfort. The guilt was immense, especially as Spamton's keens kept him up at night, but Tenna would never forgive himself if he brought any harm to his wife.
Even in his own dreams Tenna was restrained, so for now, he simply kept himself laid back and allowed himself the indulgence of being a voyeur.
But something about this was different.
For one, he lacked the weightlessness of dreamery, the serene slackness that pried away any pain of his joints or gears. The ghostly throbs where his second arm should be remained, as well as the dull weight in his legs from lack of maintenance. Secondly, the scenery lacked the romantic atmosphere that usually persisted in his fantasies. The waterfall washed familiarly in the distance, and their tattered, scavenged bedding barely softened the ground of their makeshift hideout. Thirdly, while Spamton's pussy was delectable on its own, it wasn't like him to imagine his dove faceless. Sex was wasn't nearly as appealing with only a small part of his lover present.
A sudden tug on one of his antennas confirmed the unthinkable.
This was no dream.
The tug continued, hard enough for Tenna to clench his teeth, and Tenna wondered what in the world Spamton could be doing until he tried to whip his antenna away, to no success.
Ah. They were stuck. Coiled tight around each other while he slept, he assumes. Spamton's fingers trailed against the knot of rusted metal, feeling along to see if there was any give in the tangle to get them untwisted. There was not. Spamton, annoyed, puffed hot air through his nose in irritation. It tickled Tenna's frame, and it took all of Tenna's willpower to not giggle at the sensation.
The urge subsided. Shame quickly replaced it.
How could he be— be leering at his lover when he was simply taking care of him? He didn't take himself to be a disgusting, lecherous pervert. Some kind of husband he was. He ought to beg for forgiveness, perhaps even die for his degeneracy.
…But, god, the temptation was driving him mad.
Spamton's knees were originally pressed together against the edge of his box, but his legs spread apart to grant himself a better reach. His folds widened slightly, permitting Tenna a hint of his hole, clenching and unclenching around nothing as he continued his handiwork. His jacket teasingly framed his wiggling hips, stark black against chiffon white. The hood of his clit hung down and swayed with him, the finest dessert topping the main course.
An all-consuming hunger brewed in his belly. Desire stretched its greedy hands and plucked at the thinning threads of his resolve. He kept his arm lame at his side, but the remnants of claws unsheathed and stabbed through his glove. His vents were overheating, though it couldn't compare to the blistering arousal in his lower half.
What was wrong with him? When did he become so incapable of controlling himself? Their first time shouldn't be in squalor. Tenna refused to succumb to depravity, even as Spamton's cunt taunted him mere inches away.
His breaths grew heavier.
…Just a taste couldn't hurt, right? Tenna could chalk it up to dream antics that made their way to real life. They've both been patient. Sex was just another form of connection. Spamton wanted it just as much, why else would he be whining Tenna's name during his heats?
Drool oozed from his lips.
One of Spamton's hands brushed against the glass of his antenna. His palm curled carefully around its dented shape, thumb rubbing smooth circles around its width. He brought it closer to his face— first just warm breaths enveloping the casing, then soft lips to a superficial yet sensitive crack in the glass.
Tenna's hand shot up to the small of Spamton's back before he could even think, and he pushed down hard enough for Spamton's legs to fold and finally close the distance between his cunt and Tenna's waiting mouth. The blooming taste on his tongue from the first lick made him instinctively groan, and he was grateful that his tongue was wide enough to envelop Spamton's wetness from lip to lip.
"[Dear dear,] what are you— doing?! [hurriedly, S-Spaaamton G. Spamtonnh]" Spamton cried. He attempted to lift his hips, but Tenna kept him nice and pinned to his screen.
"I'm sorry," Tenna mumbled against slickened folds, already addicted. He apologetically laid a kiss to his cock. "I'm sorry."
He wasted no time in digging in, lapping the space between Spamton's legs and collecting all the essence that dripped from it. It was Spamton's natural scent but more— hot and tangy and smooth down his throat. Rhythmless, Tenna frantically ran his tongue up and down Spamton's pussy, traced every inch of it with the very tip to sample what he denied himself for so long. Spamton's fluffy labia parted with every pass of his tongue, the wet smacks of Tenna's messy eating loud enough to overtake the falls.
His dove was helpless to his hunger, the moans against his box only encouraging. Spamton snatched the parting lines of his antennas and pulled them like reins. Tenna gladly followed Spamton's whims, lived for affection and praise, but with his thirst unquenched, he wanted nothing more than to be a misbehaving mutt. Spamton shook helplessly, his grip weakening. Within a few licks, Spamton released his antennas, relinquished control, fell slackly forward and beautifully hummed, and Tenna rewarded him by taking his clit into his mouth.
Spamton practically squealed. The noise made Tenna's hips buck into the air. Despite being untouched, Tenna felt the loose fabric of his trousers wetly clinging to his throbbing cock. He didn't often lament only having a single arm, but he was so hard it ached.
Tenna suckled Spamton's risen clit, circling it with uncoordinated rolls of the tongue. The rest of Spamton's cunt rutted against the edge of his frame, gushing with enough slick to soak the neck of his button up. Tenna gathered enough spit to drown the cock in his mouth, and Spamton groaned as he tried to follow Tenna's pace and fuck the flat of his tongue. Tenna let him to make good use of his mouth before drawing his lips up and off, and his poor wife punched his border in what could only be described as horny rage.
[Wait a second, you wet blanket,] I was almost— come on," Spamton whined, bumping his dick to the seam of Tenna's lips. It nearly broke Tenna's remaining composure, but he persevered, somehow. "Don't stop now [urgently, Spamton G. Spamton]"
Tenna swallowed. The air between Spamton's legs was clammy but intoxicating. He could live between Spamton's thighs, dedicate his existence to keeping him wet. "Don't stop?"
"[Duh, doofus]" Spamton huffed.
"Okay," Tenna grunted. "I won't."
Tenna did as he was told, easing his tongue into the warm tunnel of Spamton's cunt. Spamton immediately tightened around the wet muscle, moans lilting. His insides growing narrower did little to stop Tenna from exploring. To think there was a part of Spamton that Tenna hadn't committed to memory. Starting from the top, his tongue cruised further into Spamton's hole. A sponge-like ceiling. Silky passage. Firm wall. All while Spamton's delicious slick coated his taste buds.
With more confidence and sexual delirium, Tenna pushed and prodded his walls, writhed his tongue to learn where Spamton's moans got especially pitchy. After some experimenting and a fair amount of teasing, Tenna soon learned that Spamton loved to have his hole stuffed full, his neglected cervix plunged into with Tenna's battering ram pace as if he was trying to tonguefuck his womb.
"[Hold on ho—ney,] too much, t-too much! [desperately, Spamton G. Spa—aaa]aaah!" If his mouth wasn't full, Tenna would've retorted with a 'you told me not to.'
Tenna didn't know Spamton could get any cuter. Little coos and chirps fell from his dove's lips, a strung out melody to overlap over the harsh squelches from Tenna's ravaging. His tiny feet stomped along his shoulder pads, kicking in attempt to escape feather-puffing pleasure. But Tenna wouldn't let his prey free, not until he drank Spamton into dehydration.
Tenna recognized the faint wisps of Spamton's tail batting through the air. His hands held onto Tenna's frame for mercy, claws digging into his border and scratching loose paint. Chittering louder, feral, on the brink.
Tenna crammed his tongue as far as Spamton's cunt could take, keeping Spamton so close to his screen that his clit was trapped between glass and his own body weight. It was enough, more than enough, Spamton convulsed and shrieked and a fluid thinner than Spamton's slick dribbled onto Tenna's lips, then into Tenna's open mouth. Salted nectar— and Tenna wriggled his tongue inside Spamton's quivering core to coax more of it into his maw.
Tenna was content to continuing making out with Spamton's pussy, but a stern yank from above pried him off. Tenna let his arm fall, and Spamton whimpered as he pressed his hands to Tenna's face to ease off Tenna's mouth. His tongue fell from his swollen cunt with a wet plop, and seeing Spamton's sex wet with a mix of his own fluids and Tenna's spit lit a fire in the depths of his stomach.
He tilted his head to get just one more taste, but Spamton hopped off his face before he could get another swipe. His wife inched backwards to instead nuzzle into his throat, and Tenna was reminded that he needed to catch his breath. The rise and fall of his chest lifted Spamton in time, and Tenna was more than happy to be a living pillow while Spamton rested.
"[Hey there hot stuff,]" Though so much for resting, as Spamton was quick to coyly get on his knees and trap Tenna under a knowing stare. "It looks you could use a little… 'help.' [flirtatiously, Spamton G. Spamton]" He aimed his thumb toward the undeniable tent in his pants.
"Ah, um, well." It would be rude to say no. A lie, too. Tenna's cock was so stiff that it seemed possibly permanent. "I would, but—"
"[Come on CRT,] let me do this for you." Spamton begged. His hands joined together, and his head curved to a pitiful angle while his lashes fluttered. It was a low blow to bring out that look. "Please? Pretty please? [cutely, Spamton G. Spamton]"
"Mmmmn." Tenna toiled with it. The imaginary angelic TV on his shoulder shouted, 'you can't, it'll be too much for him!' The imaginary devilish TV on his other shoulder shouted, 'and what? tell Spamton 'no', instead?' The vision of a pouting, disappointed Spamton was enough to make a decision. "…Okay."
"[Can't take it back, cherry boy!]" Spamton immediately skittered off to sit on Tenna's groin, tail wagging. Cherry boy— Tenna didn't know where Spamton learned slang like that. He didn't dare to ask what it meant. Ignorance was bliss. Plus, who cared about that when Spamton was sliding his jacket off, revealing his slender back and precious wings. Tenna couldn't resist reaching out to trail a finger along Spamton's spine, just to hear his crescendoing chirps. He deserved the hiss and slap to his knuckle. With much reluctance, he led his arm back to their bedding.
"[Let's see what's under the hood, love]" Spamton was gifted with his hands. He combed through Tenna's internals with the delicacy and precision of an aged mechanic, so it was an incredibly easy task to make quick work of his buttons and zippers and waistband and—
Tenna could have imploded from embarrassment with how fast his cock sprung out. Even though Spamton sat in the way of it, he could see his cockhead poking over his lover's head. It risked slumping over under gravity, but Spamton caught it with his hands, held it straight. His cock twitched against his palms.
"[Woah mama… whew,]" Spamton breathed out, warm air draping his already drooling cock. "I knew you were packing, but… this is something else. [excitedly, Spamton. G Spamton]"
"I, um, ah—" Tenna attempted to speak, but Spamton's fingers molded around his width and coasted up and down his shaft.
"[Shhh, stand down, soldier]" Spamton assured, squeezing the taut flesh as his soft hands traveled along his cock. He giggled in a way that pushed a bead of pre up to his tip. "I've been looking forward to this for a long, long time. [eagerly, Spamton G. Spamton]"
With no further warning, Spamton scooted forward, bumping his velvety chest and stomach against his dick. Thighs surrounded the base, and Spamton abandoned using his palms in favor of wrapping his arms around Tenna's cock, almost hugging it. It was the hottest thing Tenna had ever seen. Or felt. His cock pulsed so feverishly he feared it would quite literally explode.
Spamton's pillowy legs closed ever tighter, suffocating his dick for a brief moment, and the pressure was perfect, a bitcrushed moan slipping past his speakers.
Spamton did it again. And again. Then his arms joined the rhythm, and Tenna's vents were fuming over how lewd his dove looked bouncing in place while smothering his cock. He was just so— small. His cock overtook him in height, for goodness sake. Spamton was so tight on his tongue, he couldn't imagine what his cock would do to him. Spamton would be so— stuffed with him. Forced to loosen around his shape. Tenna could carve his girth into Spamton's guts, birth a desire that only Tenna could satisfy. And— and Tenna could fill him until he was swollen with his seed, fertilize the eggs that Spamton swore would never be viable. Oh, he could wake Spamton's dormant womb, breed him until his body had no choice but to carry his babies. Spamton would look so gorgeous pregnant, rounded with their kids after being fattened up with enough cum to gift them triplets or more. Mated. Claimed. All his.
Drunk off the fantasy, Spamton leaving a messy, open mouthed kiss on his cock completely took him completely off guard, and Spamton's rapid worshiping licks were enough for him to boil over, a wave of seed erupting from his tip. His hips stuttered as the rush coarse through his wires. A spark crinkled underneath his chest, a gear so overheated that it simply gave out. Worth it. He grinded into Spamton's grip until his release came to a slow trickle.
Spamton— was covered with his spend. As his wife let go of his softening dick, instead of grimacing from the sticky mess, his mouth parted wide enough for his tongue to circle his lips and cheeks. As if it was his regular preen, he was lost in a trance as he licked what he could reach on his limbs, suckling the cum off his feathers like it was honeydew.
If Tenna were a newer model, his cock would've towered over him again, but his machinery was too worn for another round.
Once Spamton finished grooming himself, he tucked Tenna into his trousers, though not without a chaste kiss goodbye to his shaft, that little minx, and scampered back to Tenna's rumbling chest. "[Saludos sweetheart,] how are you feeling? [curiously, Spamton G. Spamton]"
Tenna scooped his lover into his hand and brought him back to his screen. "Good." He kissed Spamton's forehead. "Great." He kissed Spamton's cheek. "Amazing." He kissed Spamton's lips. "I love you."
"[I love you more, insect]" Tenna couldn't fathom the possibility, but he wouldn't argue. "I think we could both use some fixing up, huh? [brightly, Spamton G. Spamton]"
"Later," Tenna mumbled, setting his love back down on his torso, palm draped over him. "I want to stay like this for a little while."
"[Whatever you say, weirdo]" Spamton cooed, eyes half-lidded with fond exhaustion. His breathing soon slowed, eyes drawing to a close, and Tenna followed, lulled by the image of Spamton plump— because of him.