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What a fucking night.
Initially, he'd recoiled—the sight of Mr. Peanutbutter, leaning in and pursing his lips in grotesque anticipation, was enough to put him off his lunch.
But then, growing louder and louder as they kissed, was something BoJack knew he couldn't resist: the crowd.
There was still a small, yet insistent part of him that got a thrill from hearing an audience react. It reminded him of his days on Horsin' Around, where every dumb, hackneyed punchline was rewarded by uproarious laughter, and often applause. He liked that. He liked winning the approval of thousands of people, a balm to his fractured ego. And now, here was another audience, ready to shower him with affection.
His hands, frozen in midair, moved of their own volition and reached the scruff at the back of Mr. Peanutbutter's head, pulling him closer. Hearing the crowd roar, BoJack felt his heart pumping, and he thought "escalate it." So he opened his mouth and let Mr. Peanutbutter's tongue slide in, and this time a few people went ooooooooh. But not enough. Especially not when that bastard decided to beat him at his own game, grabbing his ass and squeezing, making the crowd go wild. BoJack seethed. That son-of-a-bitch couldn't go two seconds without ripping him off somehow, and earning all the glory. The throngs were calling his name, not BoJack's. He jerked his hand away, but the damage was done.
Well, fine. Two could play at that game. He moved his trembling hands down to Mr. Peanutbutter's blazer, undid the lone button, and yanked the jacket off his body, flinging it at Daniel Radcliffe, who by now was beside himself with excitement. He was about to undo the immaculate bowtie when he heard Mr. Peanutbutter mutter something into his mouth.
BoJack pulled away. "What?"
"Fifteen seconds to air."
"Wha--oh, shit," he said, and scrambled back to the podium. Daniel tossed Mr. Peanutbutter his jacket back, and he slipped his arms inside, smoothed himself out, and turned to greet the audience.
Then BoJack looked down, with a sudden sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach, and he was very glad to have a podium covering his lower half.