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The door slams shut behind Tenna, and he sags against it. Little knocks come from the other side, Spamton’s voice filtering from behind the door.
“Tenna, you okay?” His voice is filled with concern.
“I-I’m okay! I… just don’t feel very good! I think I’m gonna head to bed.” Tenna chokes out.
He wasn’t lying. He had felt sick all day, nauseous and dizzy. He had been surviving off of drinks of water and juice, but Spamton wanted to eat, and Tenna wasn’t one to tell him no. Eating had made the entire thing worse, he was barely able to swallow his food. His stomach churned with each bite, nausea wracking his frame.
Spamton had noticed something was off, worry filled his expression when Tenna had nearly doubled over at the table, before running away.
“...Are you sure? I can try to help-”
“P-Positive! I’m good! Great, even!” Tenna says, trying to sound chipper. He could hear Spamton hesitate behind the door.
If Tenna was honest, he does wish he could let Spamton in. He would want nothing more than to be doted over when he doesn’t feel well, especially by him. But…
Tenna’s head drops to look down at his crotch, wincing at the tent he finds there. He always had this issue when he got sick, the churning of his stomach sending heat to his cock, leaving him hard and dripping. Tonight wasn’t any better. He was only lucky that Spamton hadn’t noticed.
“...Alright, Tens. Feel better, okay?”
“You got it!” Tenna chokes out.
He doesn’t bother to listen for Spamton’s footsteps fading away, stumbling further into the room with a hand pressed tight against his mouth. The bed bows under his weight as he collapses on it, laying on his side.
Nausea curdles in his gut, making his head fuzzy. His cock throbs in his pants through the waves of sickness. He can’t stop himself from reaching between his legs, rubbing the length of his cock through the fabric. Tenna moans quietly, panting into the quiet room.
Images of Spamton fill his mind as Tenna gently strokes his cock through the fabric. The little mailman seemed so worried about him today, even if he tried not to show it. He brought him water, tried to get him to stomach something small, all while playing it off as if it was no big deal to him.
Tenna bites his lip as his stomach twists, the arm around his middle hugging tighter, the hand on his cock squeezing harder. Sparks of pleasure shoot up through his circuits. He can feel a damp spot growing on his slacks, precum soaking the fabric. He paws at his fly, popping the button and sliding the zipper down. He whines when he teases the head of his cock between his fingertips.
He wishes Spamton were here. He wants it to be those little hands teasing his cock through his boxers. That voice laughing and asking what the hell was wrong in his head that made him like this. What kind of freak gets turned on from being sick? Tenna chokes out a moan when his stomach lurches.
Would Spamton suck his dick? Even when he’s like this? Would Spamton rub his upset stomach with one hand and jerk him off with the other? Tenna groans at the thought, his hips twitching into his touch. He wanted to be inside Spamton, the other forcing him down until he vomited all over himself. Wanted to hear Spamton belittling him while Tenna came deep inside, telling him how disgusting he is.
Tenna’s stomach lurches again, and he hiccups, letting go of his cock to put a hand against his mouth. He can feel bile threatening to climb up his throat. He tries to breathe through the nausea crashing over him, taking steady, practiced breaths. His mouth waters.
Then again. Tenna quickly pushes himself up, gagging into his hand. He scrambles to get off the bed. He needs to get to the bathroom now, or the carpets are going to need to be deep cleaned. Again.
He keeps his hand pressed against his mouth, walking quickly towards the bathroom. He gags again, bile coming up his throat and filling his mouth with an acrid taste. Nearly stumbling, he runs the rest of the way to the toilet, crashing to his knees in front of the bowl and doubling over.
Tenna breathes shakily, panting open mouthed over the toilet bowl, drool dripping from his teeth and lips. The bit of bile that came up his throat is spit into the water. He grips the toilet seat with one hand, the other fumbling with his pants to shove his boxers down under his cock. Precum is dripping down his length, dampening his gloves when he wraps a hand around himself.
Nausea slams into Tenna and he retches, his entire body lurching forward. Watery vomit spills from his lips, burning his throat and splattering into the water of the toilet. He hadn’t eaten much of anything, luckily, so it came up easy. He whines, drooling against the toilet seat, the hand around his cock pumping in small, jerky movements.
Tenna moans, unable to tell if it was pleasure or sickness making his head fuzzy. His glove dragged against the sensitive silicone of his cock, sending pulses of heat up his spine.
“Sp-Spamton…” Tenna whimpers. His face fills Tenna’s mind, his perfect body, his voice. Tenna wanted everything from Spamton. What would he say if he saw him now? Kneeling pathetically on the floor with his cock out, and a toilet full of bile?
Tenna’s stomach flips again and he gags, retching. More bile rushes up his throat and spills out of his mouth. He squeezes his cock hard as his body jerks, gasping at the hot pleasure-pain of his grip. He gasps once the wave of nausea passes, hips rutting into his hand.
Resting his head on the toilet seat, Tenna pumps his hand faster. He can’t stop the desperate whines and whimpers coming from his throat, his voice scratchy from the acid. His toes curl in his shoes, and his hips thrust into his grip. He can feel his climax growing closer, his belly tensing.
His voice pitches higher, pleasure growing overwhelming. The nausea falls away for a moment, and Tenna gasps as his orgasm crashes into him. His hips twitch hard, ropes of cum spurting from the tip of his cock and onto the base of the toilet, his glove, and the floor.
Tenna whimpers, but before he can relax, his stomach lurches hard and he scrambles to sit up on his knees, retching violently into the toilet bowl. Tenna gags, vomit splashing into the toilet. He’s hit with another violent jerk, another mouthful of bile into the bowl.
Once he’s done, Tenna sags back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
A clatter from the doorway startles Tenna, and he whips his head around. Spamton stands in the doorway. He looks completely shocked. Tenna feels like an ice cold bucket of water was just dumped on his head.
“S-Spamton.” He gasps. “How… How long have you been standing there?”
Spamton laughs nervously, tugging at his collar. “Long enough.”
Tenna feels tears welling up on his screen. “Why did you come in?! I said I was fine!”
“Y-You! You started- making noises! Whining! Then I heard my name! I got worried, so I came in!” Spamton stammers. His face is bright red, and he shuffles his feet.
“Why didn’t you leave?!”
“I-I- um.” Spamton laughs again, rubbing a hand down his face. Tenna finally takes a good look at him, noticing his flushed state. His gaze travels down his body, and notices a slight bulge in his pants. His jaw drops.
Spamton seems to notice as well. He looks down and jolts, his hands darting to cover his crotch.
“I-I should go. I need to- I gotta go. We’ll talk later, okay?” Spamton says, already walking backwards out of the bathroom.
Before Tenna can say a word, Spamton scampers from the room, slamming the door behind him. The bathroom is quiet. He becomes acutely aware of the state he’s in. His clothes are damp from artificial sweat, his glove is dirty with drying cum, and his cock lay soft poking out above his boxers. And Spamton saw everything.
Tenna buries his head in his clean hand, groaning.
Well. If that little showing from Spamton was any indicator, it seems like he liked what he saw. A wobbly smile stretches across his face.
He’ll have to clean up and find his little mailman later. There’s a conversation they need to have.