Archive of Our Own ^beta

Things had gone from bad to worse ever since that guy decided to get up and run away.

It happened so soon, without warning. Tenna in particular didn’t see it coming, and he was the one left most affected. 

Neither Battat nor the other “Mike”s saw him for the next couple of days after that. He had isolated himself in that room, declining any sort of interaction– even from them. When they finally managed to get to him, it took some more time to open up between choked sobs and hiccups. 

Nobody knew why he disappeared, not even Tenna. He told them that nothing had been out of the ordinary that day until Spamton got a call mid-contract, one that made his face go pale with dread and leave without a word. After failing to get in contact with him again, it was clear to Tenna that the salesman had abandoned him. Stuck between rage and grief, the old business room was violently thrashed by the TV, ripping up the posters that served as evidence of their relationship and punching the mirror that mockingly reflected his poor image until it was reduced to a hundred broken pieces of glass. He broke everything he could land his eyes on.

Everything but the phone. Battat recalled the memory bitterly: He managed to get the door open and found Tenna sitting down huddled against the corner of the room, clinging silently to the black rotary phone like it was his own soul. Surrounded by destruction and decay, screen blank and absent, not moving an inch as he waited for it to ring. 

But it never did, and it would never do again. 

The TV would cycle between angrily shouting about how Spamton scammed him at the last second, their friendship nothing but a facade for ulterior motives, and bargaining about how he would definitely reach back any minute now, with perfect explanations that would make everything go back to how it was. 

It was a rough season, made worse by the declining viewership levels.

Taking care of Tenna in this state was a handful, but luckily that’s why there were three of them to begin with. They managed to keep things running in his absence, and after he came back they took turns consoling him and hearing out his woes. Working for him and playing pretend at the same time was exhausting by itself, but this took it to another level.

All three of them were currently winding down in Mike’s room after another day of work. Battat was startled by the lapel mic on his suit crackling to life. All of their mics turned on, in fact. They briefly played harmonized static until Tenna’s voice came through.

… What should’ve been Tenna’s voice, that is.

“Oi, Mike?” Ramb’s voice came through the receiver instead. “Get here and pick up Mr. Tenna if you can, will ya?” 

Faintly, in the background, unintelligible protests could be heard from who could only be their boss.

“What’s the situation?” Jongler picked up the mic to ask.

“I cut him off from the bar, but the lad refuses to leave–” There was a scuffle, and now Tenna’s slurred voice was on. “Dddon’t listen to him Mikey, I’m fiiine–” Another scuffle ensued until it was back to Ramb. “He can’t get home by himself like this.”

With that, the transmission was cut. The three Mikes shared a look. 

“... He’s a heavy guy,” the Zapper began saying. “I cans–”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll do it.” Battat interrupted them, already walking over to pick up the headpiece of his disguise. “You might be all muscle, but Tenna will want someone to vent to, and we both know you aren’t the best with words.” 

Jongler visibly relaxed, not bothering to pretend they weren't glad about not needing to go. “Das right… I’m not the brains of the team.” 

The Shadowman, lounging over on the long couch with his hat covering his face, played a low, inquiring tone. 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll just drive him home, tuck him to bed and come back. How much can that take if he doesn’t throw a tantrum, twenty minutes?” 

Battat looked at himself in the mirror to check that everything was in order. The mic-shaped headpiece’s visibility was a little low, but he could still navigate and make out his surroundings. These days, it felt like he looked more at the mask than at his own face.

That didn’t matter, though. Tenna didn’t need him, he needed Mike. And he sure knew how to put up a good Mike. 

“Alright, off I go!” The fake impression came on as soon as he finished putting on the whole disguise, like a switch had been flipped. “I’ll see ya in a bit!”

“Do call if youse need reinforcements,” Jongler told him, backed up by a supportive saxophone sound from Pluey. 

“Won’t need to!” 

While they were a team, the Pippins still held a degree of jealousy over the Mike position. He had been the first, and he continued to be the one who took it the most seriously. There was some pride in being able to handle the responsibility alone at times, knowing that Tenna’s gratitude would fall solely on him.

… Not that he cared about that, of course. It just felt good to get recognition for a job well done.

Battat made his way down the studio, over to the green room. It was rather late and most of the other employees had already left. It wasn’t long until he was greeted by the visage of Tenna hunched over the bar, barely fitting on his seat despite having shrunk down a bit. Ramb took notice of the Pippins’ presence and waved at him, relieved that the problem was going to be taken off his hands.

“Thanks for coming,” the plug greeted him, cleaning a dirty glass to keep his hands occupied. “You got here just in time. He’s on the verge of conking out.” 

“Nuh uh uh!” Tenna retorted while wagging a finger, not bothering to lift his head up. “I’m not on the verge of anything, I’m… I’m awaaay of the edge by a good amount. Proper safety guidelines and all that.”

Battat sighed, ignoring Ramb altogether to focus on Tenna. He was shit-faced beyond hope, it was a mystery just how many drinks he had downed tonight. He never drank this much– or at all, for that matter– before… It was a bad habit he picked up from that mailman on their time working together. 

“C’mon boss, there are no more scheduled programs for tonite,” He approached Tenna with an apologetic smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You need some rest to be up and ready for tomorrow’s show.” 

Tenna scoffed. “What show? For all I know, I could get thrown out into the trash tomorrow…”

His screen had an overlay of faint static on top of a flushed glow. One of his antennas kept twitching at random. It was uncomfortable to see his boss, who was supposed to be standing tall and proud, reduced to this.

“You know that ain’t true! That’s just the alcohol speaking. You’ll see you’re talking nonsense in the morning after a good night’s sleep.” 

Tenna groaned in protest as he was forcefully dragged to his feet, but luckily didn’t put up any resistance. Battat wasn’t tall enough to offer a shoulder to lean on, so Tenna ended up using him more as a cane. The TV glared at the bartender.

“Who do you think you are, huh?” he asked. “Acting like you’re the big guy ‘round here… watch your tone or next time I’m gonna… make sure you NEVER get to touch those points, you hear me?” 

Ramb only smiled back and nodded, knowing better than to get confrontational. If experience meant anything, the game show host would end up coming to apologize after sobering up.

“He gets the idea,” the Pippins urged him to keep walking, struggling to support his weight. “W-We better get goin’, or else your bed will get cold!” 

Thankfully, Tenna didn’t try picking up a fight. They went directly to the studio’s parking lot, where his car stuck out like a sour thumb against the rest. It had been a gift from Spamton: A shiny red model from his own business. Just another way that the greasy salesman had left his mark on Tenna. Bastard probably only gave it to him to serve as a walking advertisement…

The only upside to that was that it gave him accessibility to drive it. He had to lower the seat for what felt five minutes straight, but eventually his feet could touch the pedals. 

Tenna barely fit inside the car. His head pressed uncomfortably against the ceiling, but he didn’t bother to shrink down. 

“Up and running, we should be there in no time.” 

Battat didn’t need to be given directions. This wasn’t his first time going to his boss’ house. He lived rather close, but still insisted on coming to work in his car. 

The streets were fairly empty. Few people remained around at this hour, making for a serene ride home. The Pippins patiently waited for the moment Tenna would crumble and start venting whatever it was that troubled him tonight, but the man remained eerily quiet. It seemed it was up to him to get him out of his shell.

“...So,” he began carefully. “Any reason in particular we were drinking tonight? Celebrating anything?” 

There was a brief silence before Tenna replied.

“... Just reminiscing.”

“About?”

“Better times. I saw that brand and I… I remembered he liked drinking that one with me.” 

The mention of “he” made Battat unconsciously grip the wheel harder. 

“He was never good with moderation… said that the only fun thing about rules was breaking them. I knew I should’ve not followed his example, but… it was thrilling. He… He made me feel young again.”

Tenna’s voice brimmed with nothing but longing. It was sickening.

“... Mike, I saw his face. I don’t think he really meant to–”

“We’ve already been through this, Mr. Tenna.” Battat interrupted harshly. “That man’s a fraud. He got what he wanted and decided to leave. The trash took itself out, in my opinion.” 

He never liked Spamton. Not one bit. His whole persona screamed “fake” at him, from the way he talked to the way he carried himself in public. He could tell the salesman had constructed an image for himself that he hid behind, masquerading his true nature.  

He had tried to warn Tenna, oh how had he tried, but the executive did nothing but play along with his games, swearing up and down that he knew his tricks and was in turn wrapping him around his finger.

Look how far that had taken him. 

The Pippins quickly glanced over at his copilot, catching a downcast expression on his face. It made him briefly regret his words.

Nothing else was said until they arrived home. Even in the dark, Battat knew the path to his room. Tenna sometimes ended up asking Mike to come over, either for discussing business or as a cheap excuse to have some company, whenever seeing him in his room at the studio wasn’t enough. It made it easier to not feel like he was an intruder within the dark home. 

Battat audibly sighed with relief when Tenna’s bed got into his line of sight. 

“Here’s the finish line!” He announced triumphantly, leading the tumbling TV to lie down. “Mission accomplished, boss. How are ya feeling?” 

“...Fuzzy,” Tenna replied, rubbing at his screen. He wasn’t attempting to get under the covers at all. “The world’s revolving…” 

“That’s what happens when you drink enough to kill a horse,” Battat joked. “Hope that’s enough to make you think twice next time!”

Tenna chuckled weakly, not really looking at him, until he returned to just breathing softly. That uncomfortable feeling started to settle the more he lingered about.

“Well, uh, guess that’s my cue to leave the scene! I’ll be–”

An uncharacteristically strong grip on his sleeve prevented him from walking away.

“Don’t.” Tenna muttered. “I… I need help…”

His whole demeanor made Battat’s chest stutter. Seeing him this fragile felt wrong. It shouldn’t make him feel so bad. 

“Yeah? What do you need?” 

“I, haha, this is embarrassing… then again, I’ve acted so embarrassingly all night…” The TV hesitated. “... My fingers are very clumsy. I need help to undress.”

The Pippins stood there, silent. Yeah, valid request. He was too drunk to walk alone, of course he’s too drunk to accomplish refined movements like taking off his clothes. And no one would like going to sleep wearing a full suit. It makes perfect sense that he’s asking for his help.

Then why does the inside of his disguise feel so hot out of the sudden?

“Easy peasy,” if there was any internal conflict going on, he didn’t let it shine to the surface. “You know you can count on me for anything. No task is too big for good ol’ Mike!” 

However, Tenna made no attempt to get up or sit at the edge of the bed. He remained splayed out, looking up at him expectantly. 

“...Boss?” Battat called him out with a tense smile. “Are you… going to sit up? I can’t reach you all the way there.” 

There was a flicker on his screen. Visible recognition over his words.

“Yes, sorry…” he apologized, struggling to raise himself up. “I thought you would’ve…” 

The words trailed off, left unfinished. Battat frowned with confusion, but refused to pry further. 

You’re just helping him get to bed, he thought to himself. He just wants to get comfortable enough to go to sleep. Don’t make it weird.

His hands began their work on his suit jacket. The red garment slipped off of his shoulders and down his arms, left discarded on a nearby chair for the time being. Next were the gloves, peeled off from his robotic hands and placed neatly on top of the nightstand. 

Battat gulped when his eyes landed on the dumb-looking, TV-shaped belt. Don’t make it weird.

He gently fumbled around with it until he got it to open up, the characteristic clanking sound serving to make his face feel hotter. He scowled at himself over the intrusive scenarios rearing their ugly head into his mind, giving scandalous suggestions of what usually happens after you unbuckle another man’s belt.

Damn it, stop making it weird! You had ONE job! ONE!

“Mike…” 

Tenna’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and back to the real world. 

“You’re not… You’re not going to leave, right?” Tenna mumbled, looking down at his feet. “Not like he did…?” 

He hadn’t noticed, but the game show host had been subtly shrinking down this whole time. Something he knew he only did when his spirits were down on the floor. Right now, he nearly reached his height, and that was bad.

“... Of course not, boss.” Battat reassured him, snapping out of his internal panic to continue his task. 

“Just Tenna is fine. We’re off the job, we don’t… we don’t need to continue with that.” 

The statement left a weird taste in his mouth. What did he mean by that? It’s not like he magically stopped being his boss just because they were out of the studio…

“If you say so,” he replied, undoing his tie and setting it aside. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Tenna softly swayed back and forth, accidentally bumping against the Pippins at times. All that was left was undoing his undershirt. He was so close to being out of the wolf’s den. So close to escaping whatever weird atmosphere had been created in that cramped room.

“Not even if you find a better offer?” Tenna asked. 

Battat snickered. “Do you think I’m like that conman?” 

He jumped, feeling Tenna rest one of his hands on his wrist. 

“Maybe.” It was all he said.

“Maybe?” Battat’s fingers stuttered to continue undoing the buttons. Tenna’s hand was warm. “In a good or a bad way?”

One, two, three, four…

Tenna softly tugged at his wrist when he reached the fifth button. Battat raised his face to look at him, waiting to hear what he wanted. 

It felt unreasonably slow, the way the TV stared at his face before leaning in and clumsily planting a kiss on his lips. No prior warning, no questions asked, no reasons given. 

Battat froze up, hands still grasping at that fifth button. He blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He opened his mouth, a million things on his mind, but nothing came out. Tenna wasn’t saying anything either after the fact, only going back to that blank unreadable stare. 

What? 

Had he imagined it? Gotten a sudden, vivid hallucination for no reason? 

Because Tenna wouldn’t do that. 

No, Tenna has never–

He nearly whimpered when the man pulled and kissed him again. 

Battat knew he needed to do something. Do anything. This was his boss, his drunk boss, his clearly emotionally damaged drunk boss. There was no way he was acting with a clear head on his shoulders. 

… But the way his tongue caressed his, the way one hand went to the back of his neck while the other tugged at his waist, wordlessly telling him to come lay with him… 

It was doing things to him. Things he had only felt late at night when letting his imagination run rampant… letting himself indulge whether Tenna would ever…

… No, what was he thinking? He had to put a stop to it before it went too far! He would be no better than that sleazy salesman if he just let him continue acting like this for his own gain.

Battat grabbed the TV by the shoulders and gently pushed him away. 

“Boss, I can’t–”

“Yes you can,” Tenna hissed, between a growl and a plea. “It’s fine, Mike.”

“You’re way too drunk for this–”

“I’m sober enough to know what I want. I’m not… some broken thing to be pitied over.” 

The hand on his waist shamelessly glided over to press against his crotch. Battat gasped, taking notice of the growing pressure between his legs for the first time that night. 

“Don’t say you don’t want me.” 

“T-Tenna, is not that–”

A moan escaped his throat when Tenna stroked him. His hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more stimulation against his wishes.

“Then you do?” The TV asked, leaning his head to the side heavily with a loopy smirk. “You want me, Mike?”

Battat bit his inner lip, frustrated with himself. The way Tenna looked with that dumb smile on his flushed screen had the same effect as sirens guiding sailors to their doom with their voices. 

He shouldn’t encourage him. He really shouldn’t.

“Tenna, please…” the Pippins attempted again to abort the situation. “S-Stop moving your hand…”

“I’m not moving anything, Mike.” 

Confusion gave way to hot shame after he looked down and confirmed his claims. He hadn’t realized that he had started gently humping his palm after the initial stroke. Battat immediately stopped, horrified, but the reaction only made Tenna chuckle. 

He leaned over, resting his head on the Pippins’ shoulder to speak into his ear.

“Stay.” 

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

Battat gulped down.

… Shit. 

He was no better than that sleazy salesman.

Next thing he knew, they were both on the bed. Tenna’s mouth felt both electrifying and numbing, very messy in the way he kissed him, but that made it feel somehow more intimate. Battat allowed himself to explore his mouth while tracing the sides of his head, his fingertips sinking into every line and crevice that it stumbled upon. The TV was heating up fast, hot air visibly dissipating through his vents to cool him down.

Battat hated himself for finding everything wrong with this situation incredibly thrilling.

Having his intoxicated boss moaning into his mouth, laying half-naked under him as his hands tried to guide his hips into meeting his half-baked humps, got him on the verge of tears from how good it felt. He was sweating buckets inside of the disguise that had become his personal inferno, punishing him for his sinful indulgence. Taking it off wasn’t an option– it would blow up his cover and ruin everything–, but surely it would be safe to only let out one unidentifiable part of himself… it’s not like Tenna would recognize his dick after this, anyways.

“B-Boss…” It was a herculean task to keep doing the Mike impression at this point, but it was one of the job’s requirements. “Permission to… r-release myself?”

Tenna did him the favor of doing it himself. He felt around the front of his pants until finding its opening, unzipping it, and letting out his erection. Battat’s eyes widened as he watched how he pulled his own pants low enough to expose himself, ribbed cock coming out to lay flat against his.

“Granted, big shot.”

Tenna rolled his hips, and once was enough for Battat to completely come crumbling down and forget the concept of shame entirely. He held onto Tenna for dear life and eagerly frotted against him, each movement pulling an embarrassing sound out of his throat.

“T-To think you wanted to do this with me, Mr. Tenna…” he whimpered with a laugh, eyes darting down to behold their prominent size difference. It drove him crazy just how big Tenna was in comparison to him. “I hope I’m… living up to the expectations?”

Tenna hummed affirmatively, his grip on the Pippins’ hips getting tighter. Battat stared down at him, at the disheveled clothing that barely clinged to his body and the hypnotizing glow of his face, and couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of warmth that flooded his chest. 

He was so pretty like this. He sounded so beautiful between the small whines and the purring of his inner system. He was being so vulnerable right now, showing him the little panel in his stomach that gave access to his insides, and it was all just for him. Because of him, in fact. 

It made him wonder… had it been anyone else that had brought him back home, would the same scenario have played out? Or had this been the result of Tenna’s previous fantasies coming to life?

Battat bit his lip, breathing hard. Had Tenna thought about this before? Even if it wasn’t about him, if it was related to Mike… at the end of the day, he is Mike. He’s the one wearing the suit, the one playing the part, the one to take care of his every need. 

If Tenna fantasized about Mike, then by proxy it meant he fantasized about him. 

He fantasized about him. 

His hands drifted over the TV’s outer casing, up his chest and up to the frame of his screen, and kissed his parted mouth. 

“Did you want me too, Tenna?” Battat muttered the question against his lips fervently. “All those nights working with you, did you really w–” 

“Mike,” 

Tenna interrupted him bluntly.

“Don’t talk so much. I can’t… I can’t concentrate.” 

The warmth in his chest was snuffed out.

But that’s my whole thing, Battat thought. Is that not something you like about Mike?

His hips stuttered until coming to a halt. His brain was overthinking it, but the indirect rejection had started to make him feel out of place. He didn’t belong there, in that cozy room with his boss. He was intruding in the real Mike’s role. He was–

The Pippins yelped at how he was suddenly manhandled and pushed down on the bed. Tenna had flipped their positions, now on top with a desperate look on his face.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he reprimanded him, but the whine in his voice stopped any chance of him sounding intimidating. “Why did you stop?”

“I-I got distracted, sorry–” 

The TV took matters into his own hands. He placed his whole weight on top of Battat, trapping him and giving no option but to lay there as he grinded down. 

“What could you possibly be thinking about?” 

His heart began beating erratically when realizing that he really couldn’t shove him off. He could only submit to the shocks of pleasure forced through his spine, brought forth by every roll of his hips.

Tenna chuckled, slow and distorted. It was a pitiful sound.

“Am I really doing it so bad?” 

“No, boss, you’re doing great!” Battat was quick to compliment him, more out of habit than genuinity. 

His breath hitched. The game show host took Battat’s hand and guided it up his body until it reached the slot opening of his panel.

“Am I?” 

It was obvious to Battat that he was trying to fish for praise. Nothing new coming from Tenna, but knowing that didn’t stop him from falling for it.

“Yes,” his fingers sinked in and opened the cover, revealing a mess of wires and a small dial at the near bottom. He was afraid of getting told to shut up again, so he kept it short. “You… You feel good against me.” 

During the times Tenna called Mike in to give him his antenna massages, Battat recalled being told about how the reason he didn’t ask for help checking up on his internal components was because they were very sensitive to the touch, and it would be very embarrassing– not to mention unprofessional! – to have it make him act up in front of someone else. 

He got his hand inside the opening, grabbed a handful of loose wires, and gently pulled.

Battat’s brain ping-ponged between thinking that this whole thing was a mistake and being grateful for being alive to experience this. At that moment, when Tenna arched his back and let out an unrestrained moan in response to his action, his brain leaned hard into the latter. 

“D-Do it again,” Tenna begged. 

The Pippins complied, head fuzzy from the arousal building up inside him. He was rewarded with another moan.

“Again.” 

The TV would grind down harder with each pull. The amount of hot steam coming out of his vents was slowly making the room hot and humid. He was uncomfortably close.

“D-Don’t stop, please.”

Battat ventured further, examining what else he could get his hands on. He gripped blindly, touching more wires and metal structures just to see what caused a stronger reaction. 

Tenna threw his head back and cried out when his thumb began to play with his dial. 

“Oh god, Spam, please–!” 

Whether Tenna hadn’t noticed the slip of tongue or simply did not care, it was a mystery.

It should’ve mattered to Battat. It should’ve infuriated him, made him upset, made him feel anything, but for what? What would’ve been the point? 

Tenna already called him by a name that wasn’t his own. Thought of him as someone he was not. What would another person’s name on top of it matter?

It was a strange sensation to dwell on that while being currently brought to the brink of climax. Tenna’s movements had become frantic, blabbering incoherently as he tried to reach his high by any means necessary. Even after the Pippins twitched and whimpered over his own release, he mercilessly kept frotting against his oversensitive body until coming undone with one last broken moan. 

A little warning about the electrical shock would’ve been nice. It didn’t seriously hurt Battat, but it scared him for a split second until it washed over. 

Tenna did not get off him afterwards. He kept still for a moment, panting over him to catch his breath, and then simply plopped down without a word. 

Battat could barely breathe, buried under him. A weird part of him liked it, but his lungs couldn’t disagree more.

“Boss, if you could just…” he wheezed out, pushing his shoulder to get the point across.

Tenna grumbled in protest, but moved. Barely. He still kept his arms and one of his legs wrapped around his smaller frame, virtually keeping him in place.

Neither of them wanted to be the first one to speak.

“... Tenna, I can’t stay the night.” 

It wasn’t a matter of if he wanted to or not. It was too risky to sleep over, knowing that Tenna could figure out his disguise while he was asleep.

“Why not?” Tenna asked, voice laggy from exertion. He clutched him slightly tighter, not being subtle about his wishes. 

Battat should hate him, just like how most of the other employees hated the game show host. Tonight only served to show that he was a selfish man who did not care about using others for his own gain, prodding and nagging until they eventually bend to his will. Greedy, manipulative, inconsiderate, fame hungry…

And yet, when his hand cupped the side of his screen and the TV reacted by leaning into the touch, all he could muster to feel was heartwrenching yearning for someone who would never care about the real him.

“I just can’t.” 

Tenna stayed quiet, but slowly began to untangle himself off him. 

“... Okay.” he replied defeatedly.

At the end of everything, Battat still ended up needing to tuck him to bed. Made sure he was comfortable, gave him an entirely too long goodnight kiss, took a second to clean himself in the bathroom while doing everything to not catch a glance of himself in the mirror, and he was out of there.

The studio wasn’t that far. Before he could start to ponder the time, he was already on his way to his room. His feet dragged him on autopilot, only stopping when a familiar voice brought him back to reality.

“You’re back.” 

Battat looked behind him. 

“Why are you still roaming?”

“I was worried.” Jongler answered. “Youse said it would only be twenty minutes tops.” 

“Well, I had to come back walking, so there’s that.” 

Even Jongler could notice the tense atmosphere.

“Everything went okay?” 

Battat didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to burden his friend with his newfound mixed feelings. He just wanted to go to bed and pretend this whole ordeal didn’t blow a hole into his self-worth.

“Could’ve been worse,” he joked. 

Jongler knew something was wrong. They had known each other long enough to be able to pick up on the subtle signs, but they also knew better than to try prying right away.

“I see.” The Zapper placed a hand on his shoulder as he walked past. “We cans talk about it in the morning, if ya want.” 

Battat patted their hand affectionately in response and tried to show them a smile.

“... Yeah. Maybe.” 

The worst part of it all was that he knew it wouldn’t stop him from getting into the same situation in the future, if it presented itself.

If Tenna called, he came right away. If Tenna asked him to do something, he did it.

That’s just how things were.