Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Spamton G. Spamton, Lord of Advertisements, did not under any circumstances brood. He did not grit his teeth. He did not sweat through his expensive linen shirt, nor did he pace around his office nervously as if a solution to his dilemma could be summoned by walking in circles. Because there were no unsolvable dilemmas in Ad World, absolutely nothing to be nervous about! The very notion was laughable.

In Ad World, there was only sweet relief and even sweeter indulgence. And right now, Spamton was indulging in hungry, restless thoughts about that second-rate rip-off salesman.

At first, he took him as just another one of the Addisons. Sure, Spamton didn't really recognize the guy, but it wouldn't have been the first time a new Darkner spawned in his domain without prior notice. He could have very well been some new site Toriel had clicked on, which would be plenty annoying in itself. Catching newbies up to speed was always troublesome, especially when they refused to let themselves be pushed through the standard mentorship program and insisted on being taken directly to the one in charge - as was this guy's approach.

Spamton considered himself a benevolent ruler when it suited him, so of course he had no choice but see to it. Especially when the mystery man was taking up the precious time of his hard-working employees - wasting time was wasting deals which was as good as laying down to waste away in the cold. It'd be easier to just deal with him face-to-face if that's what he wanted.

The stranger pulled up in a car just outside of Spamton's headquarters, an absolutely gaudy thing that nevertheless seemed like something someone on his team might have been advertising. Seeing it in the stranger's possession immediately ticked Spamton off. Was the newbie already trying to assert his dominance by stealing from him? If that turned out to be the case, Spamton wouldn't hesitate in dishing out a magnificent fine that would have the guy working for him to pay it off for the rest of his miserable existence.

Spamton's agitation only grew when he saw the car door open, and the figure that stepped out to greet him could only be described as eerie. His complexion was a ghostly white, matching Spamton's exact shade - with the sole exception of rosy cheeks, reminiscent of a painted ceramic doll, a red so bright it threatened to burn out the pixels in Spamton's corneas. The color on his face was further accentuated by a crimson pinstripe suit, remarkably out of fashion but fitting with his stupid choice of a car model. Unlike any other Addison, his hair did not match the rest of his body, black locks perfectly curled.

His movements were smooth, almost fluid, and to anyone else the way he carried himself would have read as charming, but every bit in Spamton's body screamed that something was wrong. Nothing about the stranger seemed threatening, but it felt like Spamton should not have been allowed to look directly at him.

The strange salesman's face contorted into an effortless, confident smile, but Spamton instantly saw through it - but not because he wore the exact same one each and every day. Angel above, no.

What he told Spamton made no sense at all. He insisted that he was an alternate version of Spamton himself, who had somehow teleported here from another world under some bizarre circumstances. Very quickly, Spamton tuned out his increasingly complex but ridiculous explanations, figuring Toriel must have caught some kind of computer virus. Sure, Virovirokuns usually looked way different, but constantly evolving was kind of their thing, right?

Just as he was reaching for his glasses to contact the nearest Ambyu-lance, a second passenger stepped out of the car. Much larger than his companion, he struggled to shuffle his way out of the vehicle.

Two antennae shot out straight into the air the moment he manged to pull his boxy head free… A television Darkner. And not just any television either - a clunky, outdated CRT.

"Casanova, it doesn't seem like you are getting anywhere with him-"

"I told you to wait in the car. I have it under control, Tenna."

That was the moment the nervous pacing had started.

There was no precedent for how to proceed with something like this. Now low-res video tutorial or even a scammy article kept behind a 4.99$ paywall, with a 3 month trial for the subscription to a bunch of stolen content to get you started. Unless he found himself desperate enough to reach for answers in cheap science-fiction flicks, Spamton would have to figure out how to deal with his fucking clone all by himself. For now, his solutions amounted to keeping the other Spamton and his boobtube locked up in a hotel room somewhere across the street until he figured out what to do next.

If he was the type to wince, the sound of 'the other Spamton' would do the trick. He would rather not call his copy that, acknowledging him as someone on his own level. There was only enough space in the endless expanse of Ad World for one King, the King of Only! At a loss for any other term, Spamton had taken up that silly nickname the TV knock-off muttered out… Casanova.

He could not imagine how the guy had earned it. He was not suave at all… he was tacky! His level tone of voice had drained all the life out of Spam in the few minutes of conversation that they shared. Though at least, the familiarity inherent to the term left no ambiguity about the kind of relationship the two impostors shared. Having to dance around figuring that out would have been awkward as all hell.

Speaking of awkward entanglements between business partners…

Tenna, his Tenna, knocked on the door to his office, only to let himself in without waiting for an answer. He had the decency to look sheepish about it.

"Spamton? You're still, uh… thinking?"

He didn't stop in his tracks as much as he slowed down, just enough to glare back at Tenna. How long had he been thinking by his lonesome exactly?…

"If I was done, I would be out there instead of here, taking care of the urgent business. Do you need anything?" Spamton barked out.

"Oh, no, all's good my end! The family is settling down for the day… Tori seemed really interested in that new mixer one of your ad things on sale by the way!… But the kids being put to bed also made me think of how it's starting to get late and you've been shucked up here for hours on end-"

"You're rambling, Tenna." Spamton did freeze in place then, noticing that the TV started walking the same circle as him directly behind him.

His partner shot him a shy smile. "Right, let me just get straight to the point then - I want to help!"

"…I have this under control." He tried to smile back, tense. For some reason, straining his muscles made an image of that dishonest prick appear in Spamton's mind again. His act had been so obvious, it physically pained Spamton to think back to.

Could Tenna see right through him like that too?

If he could, he certainly knew better than to comment on it. He looked back at Spamton with that signature giddy glint shining on his screen. "I am not saying you don't - you always do! But I know you're all about efficiency and as they say, two heads are better than one!"

"It's not exactly efficient if I have to catch you up to speed on all the bullshit leading up to your barging in here just now!" Spamton threw up his hands, only to fall onto his cushy desk chair, somewhat placated. He hated Tenna seeing him worked up more than anything, especially knowing Tenna had become so special that he was the only one granted such a 'privilege'.

"Walking me through it is better than walking in circles! Maybe you'll find that we can approach things from a different perspective."

Instead of taking a seat opposite of him, Tenna placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward with a searching gaze. There was clearly no dissuading him - Spamton could do nothing else but play along. Releasing a heavy sigh, he wordlessly conceded. If he gained even a fraction of clarity while talking to Tenna then the effort would be worth it.

"So…" Spamton tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Where to even start? With how much of an inconvenience the freaky impostor had been to him in a brief 10 minutes of interaction? How much he creeped Spamton out?

"So?…" The CRT's antennae inched towards him. On any other day, Spamton would have found it cute.

"What is it that you know right now?" He grimaced. "I'm sure everyone is already talking, speculating…"

"Most still think it's just some new programs showing up. Obviously, the secrecy of it all makes the sneakier types suspicious but no one's spinning a coherent story out of it yet - oh, and the fact that it was two brand new additions! We never had two show up at the same time before!"

Tenna acted as animated as he always was, modulating his voice and flailing his arms around, but then he dropped into a more conspiratorial tone. Just another display of his dramatics.

"Mike did brief on how… you said that they said they were us from an alternate dimension?"

Spamton nodded solemnly.

"How is that even possible?!"

"Hell if I know!"

Tenna pretty much gawked at him. "What, you didn't ask them?"

Spamton sneered. He didn't really have to ask, what with Casanova's clearly well rehearsed introductory spiel with the cadence of a door-to-door solicitor, but had hardly been in a state to pay attention to any of that.

"Why in the world would I be asking them? We cannot trust them, Tens! Before we know it, they'll try to stab us in the back and take over the city! I am not letting years of hard work be stolen from under me by some bootleg!" Spamton was not the type to raise his voice, but the volume of his own words startled him.

"Woah, Spam, calm down!" Tenna reached over to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. Their size difference, with the TV looming over him, made the gesture feel more patronizing than anything. Spamton brushed it off, scoffing and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do you have any evidence for this whole scheme you've cooked up?" Tenna tried again, gentler this time. "Or is this you speculating now?"

Not unless you count hot-wiring one of Yellow's stupid pieces of junk as evidence…

If he already wasn't self-conscious about acting petulant, he would have rolled his eyes. Just knowing himself, the type of person an Addison had to become to be a big shot, his assumptions were far from unreasonable. No matter how much tackier the other Spamton was, he must have been capable of roughly the same things as the far superior original.

"It's no use talking to them without a game plan."

It was Tenna's turn to sigh then. "You're not going to compose a stronger game plan without more info - and you're not going to find more info by pacing around here!"

"I was not pacing around! I was strategizing."

He hated that Tenna made a good point. The bright ideas of the shining CRT were one of the reasons Spamton still kept him around, but it was still a huge blow to his ego each time Tenna made a good point against his own arguments specifically.

Spamton started drumming his fingers on top of his desk. If he was going to seriously consider talking to Casanova more openly, he would have to keep his guard up anyhow. Refine the details for the optimal ratio of the inevitable push-and-pull, so that he could squeeze all that Casanova had to offer without much to give himself. The biggest catch being the fact that Spamton still had no idea what sort of deal he'd be walking into…

"What was the other me like?" Tenna half-whispered, recapturing his attention when for a second Spamton nearly forgotten he was in the same room as him.

Truthfully, Spamton did not see nearly enough of the other Tenna to make a judgment, not even a snappy one like the sentence that already loomed over Casanova.

"He has more of a temper than you." He spoke before he could think twice about it.

Immediately, Tenna deflated. He begun anxiously scratching alongside the vents on the side of his head. "That… does not sound the least bit pleasant."

It was not Spamton's intention to scold the TV - really, he wasn't quite sure why he had said - but it was apparent Tenna was already getting in his head, shrinking ever so slightly. Spamton did not want to deal with having to talk him out of another unsubstantiated spiral on top of everything else. It would be the most frustrating end to what already was an absolute shitshow of a workday.

"You're right." These words alone were usually enough to breath some spark back into Tenna.

"I will talk to him. Set up something in Pink's cafe after hours." It seemed like enough of a neutral ground to possibly get him to open up.

"Him? Not the both of them?"

It was another weird slip of the tongue, though inexplicably this one had Spamton rather flustered. He tried to wave it off.

"I-I don't want them depending on each other, you see! It'd be far too bothersome."

Slicking back the hair that fell onto his face at some point, Spamton attempted to give Tenna one of his more charming smiles. It still didn't lay on him quite right. "If these two are anything like the two of us, you know they'd get all hush-hush, keep backing each other up and end up outsmarting me before I even caught wind of what was happening."

"Haha, that's true! I guess we do make a good team ourselves." Tenna grinned, forgetting all about Spamton's subtle snide remark, thank the Angel.

"Do you want me to talk to the other Tenna too then?"

"That won't be necessary." Before Tenna could retort, Spamton strode over to him and pat him on the shoulder. "I appreciate the help, but don't worry too much about this, Tens. You're not my secretary or anything - you're my talent. So if anyone wants to talk to you, they have to get through me, not the other way around!"

By the end of his impromptu pep-talk, Tenna was all but beaming. Spamton moved his hand down from his shoulder to caress his arm, feeling the tense muscle underneath the off-white suit ease up.

Spamton found that the words rang quite true when he said them - there was a hint of protectiveness that shamefully showed itself whenever he had the CRT at his side. Without him coating it in affection, Tenna might have pointed out how condescending he was acting again - not wanting Tenna to even as much as talk to a stranger, subtly implying he could not handle himself at all. Though, in the present circumstances it was just in both of their best interest, Spamton reasoned.

…But then why did he feel so bitter at laying it on so thick? Why did his fingers still twitch nervously as he fiddled with Tenna's sleeve, like he was trying to cover up more than just his overblown worries?

He audibly swallowed down the sick feeling in his throat. Tenna was now tracing Spamton's cheek with his thumb, his touch far too kind.

"It's all settled then, isn't it? Maybe you can call it an early night and lock up?"

More often than not, an early night for Spamton was still sometime nearing midnight. Even after Toriel shut down her computer after being nagged by her husband about scrolling online market-sites late into the evening, there was still traffic he could catch onto from the other Hometown residents. And even then, when the most sleep deprived midnight dwellers conked out, there was still that weak link he maintained with Queen and the world wide web that meant the work was pretty much never ending.

Ad World rarely ever rested. Tenna kept putting in his best effort to make its ruler slow down every once in a while though.

"I will, soon. Just have to make some calls first. Don't wait up, I'll see you at home."

Tenna nodded eagerly, not thinking to shut the door behind him as he left Spamton's office. If Spamton heard the faint ringing sound echoing down the hallway, he pretended not to. He certainly didn't hold in his breath and try to listen in on the distant whispers.

His own calls took him no more than 30 minutes, giving out orders in a similarly hushed tone when usually he'd be barking them out even over the phone. Though he loathed the lingering smell of smoke anywhere near his office, he indulged in just a few puffs to calm his nerves before going out.

Spamton did not think too deeply about whatever it was that he'd do next, heading down straight towards Pink's cafe.

Chapter Text

Pink's cafe was emptier than Spamton had ever seen it by the time he arrived.

In truth, the only 'after hours' the place experienced were the rare times in which servers were shut down for maintenance or, Angel forbid, went down because of some idiotic Light World issue. Late into the night on a typical day, Darkners still hung around closing deals over an overpriced drink or two, putting their hard-earned points back into Spamton's pocket.

Pink had done a sufficient job disposing of those few stragglers, probably having to shove them out the door, bill in hand. The only ones that hovered around now were a couple appointed staff members - and, of course, the man of the turbulent hour himself.

Casanova made himself plenty comfortable. He was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, leaning back in a plush armchair in the center of the large hall, sipping a cup of tea with his pinky finger outstretched in a comically theatrical display of manners. He was obviously still wearing the offensive pinstripe suit, but he chose to drape his jacket over the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off surprisingly lean forearms, nauseatingly yellow tie adorned with an overly indulgent logo still hanging loosely from his behind his shirt collar.

Spamton did want him to feel relatively at ease - it was the entire reason behind ordering for the guy to be hauled off here, risking him being overseen by more questioning Ad World denizens, instead of cornering him in a stuffy hotel he was already kept at. Feeling like prey with their back pressed up against the wall was not good for exchanging information, Spamton reasoned.

Now, he was beginning to think that he might have miscalculated there, as Casanova looked way too in his element. The staff as well was eyeing him wearily, as if awaiting further instructions. It made Spamton uncomfortable, seeing this ghostly man lounge around like he had not just appeared out of who knows where mere hours ago.

"Ah, come on in and take a seat! I was wondering when you'd finally show up." The bootleg Addison only proved Spamton's point, brazenly welcoming him in like this was his house. Next thing he knew, he'd audaciously ask Spamton to take off his shoes before entering, lest he dirty the carpet.

"I apologize. You can't imagine how much work I had piled up." He smiled instinctualy, sitting down opposite of Casanova. His body resisted the expectation to stay still, which manifested itself with him impatiently tapping his foot.

"I see." Casanova hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows raising as he sized Spamton up. "So you are capable of basic courtesy."

The tapping sped up. "I don't see what you are getting at."

"Shutting down my polite introduction, only to lock me and my business partner up in a hotel room with no service until you suddenly decided you needed me after all is not exactly a show of good manners."

This fucking guy. Spamton got a feeling this was going to be a long night after all, longer than any night he spent pouring over the most mind numbing work, flipping through engagement statistics and financial records.

"I should apologize for that too. You can't blame me for my reaction, I mean, who wouldn't get a bit shellshocked in these circumstances!- but usually Ad World visitors are given a much warmer welcome. We can discuss compensation if you'd like - we offer vouchers for all sorts of services around here!"

Casanova shook his head with an amused grin. What exactly did he think was so funny?

"Don't bother, it's all water under the bridge. The pity cafe date is a nice touch though."

Managing to shuffle his chair forward without scratching against the floor tiles, Casanova extended his hand for Spamton to shake. "How about we just start over? Name's Spamton G. Spamton - but I don't think I need to tell you that."

Spamton resisted the urge to scoff, annoyance fighting with that customer service smile stretching over his face. "Same deal here, pal."

He expected Casanova's business handshake to be the firm, insistent type, but the touch of his fingers felt feather light. Before Spamton could properly register what was happening, the other turned his hand over in his palm and brought it to kiss lips for a similarly delicate kiss.

"A pleasure to properly meet you." He felt Casanova's breath tickle his knuckles, before he dropped his hand down unceremoniously. Spamton had been so stunned he nearly let it flop onto the table just like that.

"R-right. Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to business." He recovered graciously, tapping that same hand against the table.

"You're awfully tense. Not even going to order a beverage for yourself? You have one hell of a house blend here, I hope you know that."

Spamton allowed himself to actually scoff at that. Like he'd willingly subject himself to any of the poison Pink was peddling to all his underlings. He was quite certain the knock-off didn't really like it either.

"You're awfully cheeky considering your situation, Casanova." He let the nickname slip without thinking, slapping a hand over his mouth once he realized what he had said.

The rip-off perked up, but he didn't seem all that surprised. If anything, every little thing that Spamton did appeared to entertain him. "Only my sweet little angel gets to call me that. But… given our special 'connection', I suppose I can make an exception for you too. Really, I'm flattered."

"Don't read into it. I just heard your Tenna say it and it stuck with me, is all."

Casanova nodded along, though it was clear he had no intention of letting it go. Through his own mind-numbing frustration, it was hard to get a read on what the guy was trying to do, but Spamton needed to come up with a way to gain better footing here and fast.

"Do you mind if I borrow a nickname for you as well then? I heard some of the Addisons calling you 'Spammy'. It's cute. I think it really suits you."

Already struggling to maintain a clear-headed focus, the 'nickname', as Casanova described in a pantomime of innocence, had Spamton seeing nothing but red.

"You don't get to say that to my face." He hissed out.

"Ah! I see, it is one of those things one only says behind your back. Good to know."

So this was his strategy - to immediately try to rile him up. A cheap trick for a cheap looking fake. Spamton could not let himself for it, no matter how much his head buzzed already and how much heat he felt rising to his face.

"What is the 'situation' that I should be so concerned about, anyway? I thought we were just talking." Casanova continued when in his silent seething Spamton failed to come up with a measured response.

Polite was not going to work. It was not the most professional thing to do, acting this rash, and going on the defensive would blatantly signal his uncertainty… But if the other was going to stoop so low, maybe intimidating Casanova would give him a better chance at getting the upper hand…

No, what was Spamton thinking - he did have the upper hand! All his impostor had was a pretty face and empty charm.

"You are, as it would seem, stuck in my world. Whatever game you think you are playing, it is going to be my rules - and trust me, I will use everything at my disposal to make you cooperate. So while we're still only talking, cut the bullshit and tell me what sort of sick plans you have here in Ad World." He punctuated the statement by reaching for Casanova's teacup across the table, gulping down what remained of his drink in one go. Gross.

For a moment, Casanova stared at him speechless, and Spamton let his muscles relax a little, thinking he might have helped the other realize his pitiful position. He must have been mentally scrambling, figuring out a way to explain himself with more respect! Or at least, that is what Spamton thought for but a second before Casanova burst with boisterous laughter.

"Haha, so territorial! Believe me, I did not come to this hick town of yours out of my own free will."

Oh, how he wished to jump across the table and strangle the bastard with his ugly tie. The insult was so enraging he had nearly missed a vital piece of information that was flung right at him. He furiously shook his head, letting his glasses nearly fall off his head, trying to regain his composure.

"What the hell are you doing here, then?"

"I was hoping you can help figure that one out, actually." He trailed off. An unexpected crack in his confident facade, Casanova begun lightly tapping his foot to some unsteady rhythm. At that precise moment, Spamton stopped fidgeting in that same way himself, completely still for the first time since he sat down.

"What is that supposed mean?! How did you even end up here?"

"For that, I might have a few ideas." He cast a casual glance around the room. "I don't know if I should be talking about them out in the open like this though. You never know who might be listening in on us."

"Did I not tell you to stop bullshitting me just now?" Spamton really was mere seconds away from launching himself across the table and grabbing Casanova down by his collar.

But there was nothing to get so worked up about. He held all the cards, he just had to play them right.

With great effort, he unclenched the hand that had apparently maintained an iron grip on the poor teacup this entire time. "All of the people in this restaurant are my trusted associates. You have nothing to worry about."

Casanova furrowed his brows a bit, giving him the hint of a mocking smile, like Spamton wasn't catching onto something incredibly obvious. Still, he leaned over on his elbow, inching just a bit closer in a conspiratorial manner. His voice dropped to a soft whisper.

"Well, you know… it might seem obvious but the voice over the phone probably has something to do with it."

Spamton felt his code run cold. Casanova's subtle smile turned into a full-blown shit eating grin.

"You do know about the voice over the phone, yes?"

"O-of course I know about the phone! Who do you take me for?"

"It should be an easy fix then. Make a call to sort this all out."

It was more than humiliating to have Casanova speak to him like he was giving an order, only made worse by the fact that Spamton could fulfill it.

"…That's not gonna happen."

"And why not? Aren't you eager to get me out of your hair?"

"Are you kidding me? You should know how the… phone guy is. Just because you're aware of the connection doesn't mean I suddenly trust you enough to let you interfere."

Casanova knew he was lying. Spamton wouldn't think it he was too obvious with anyone else, no clear tell in his voice or posture this time around. And in turn, nothing gave Casanova away as to him catching onto the lie, tapping his foot all the same with no hitch.

There simply wasn't any use lying to your own reflection, no matter how warped or twisted the image was.

"Fair enough." Casanova shrugged, choosing to play along. The ruse must have been somewhat advantageous to him as well. Spamton would have to keep that in mind. "Do you have any other bright ideas then? Because I don't."

"Not yet. Having your clone show up at your doorstep is not something you make a contingency plan for."

"Is there anything I can do to gain your trust then?"

Spamton shrugged. "I can always put you and your idiot box to work with the others." It would buy him some time more than anything.

"…That's not gonna happen either." Casanova spoke shortly, curtly, more tense than he had been the entire exchange up to that point. Of course.

Of course his other self would be pissy about being put in place with the other Addisons. Finally, he stumbled upon a quite obvious weakness he could exploit rather easily. Actually seeing Casanova dawn one of the Ad World work uniforms, stand in line with all the advertisements felt like a form of psychological torture specific to make Spamton uneasy himself. He'd rather keep it in his back pocket as a more distant threat. He hummed to himself in delight.

"Then I suppose that brings us to a stalemate. Unless you're ready to stop being so vague and cough up the story of how you magically swapped dimensions or whatever."

Casanova sighed. "Without the voice's intervention, knowing the gruesome details does not make that much of a difference. But if you insist… me and my Angel were just driving back home from Cyber City after meeting with Queen- there is a Queen in this reality as well, yes?"

"There sure is." Spamton grumbled.

"Hah, so she's just as bothersome across time and space, is she?" He seemed genuinely gleeful to get to briefly complain about her, his face lighting up for just a second. "We took the long road down the telephone wire. It started feeling disconcertingly long. I thought I might have taken the wrong exit, only to end up driving down an impossibly dark passage…"

Casanova narrowed his eyes, searching for some kind of a reaction out of Spamton. What was he supposed to be reacting to? He too leaned closer to Casanova across the table, if only to seem more intent on listening to the story.

"Eventually, we saw a light at the end of the tunnel. It was almost a relief, but something was still wrong - the place where we were headed is not exactly known for being bright, least of all at night. Then, there was a flash, some bizarre noise and we ended up right outside your flashy town!"

So in reality, Spamton had not reason to get so upset about the car - the two had not stolen it from him, driving into Ad World just like that. It explained why the vehicle offended his aesthetic sensibilities so badly, if it came from the same world as the tasteless hack. He could consider giving it back to Casanova for good behavior at some point…

Casanova was right though - the story, if it was true, hardly explained anything or provided any leads. The part about Queen and the telephone wire highway, however… It was more likely a dead-end than not, especially since him and the laptop were not exactly on good terms, but it was worth investigating. Especially if it gave him an excuse to not address the whole… phone ordeal for just a little bit longer.

"Not much of a difference, yeah. You're becoming a real nuisance, Casanova."

"Aw, please, you're making me blush. I do mean what I said though - I have zero intentions with whatever you have going on here. I'd like to get me and Tenna back where we belong as soon as possible."

"Our goals are aligned there then. Let's call it a reluctant partnership."

Casanova nodded. Spamton was happy that neither of them decided to go for another business handshake to seal the deal. The idea of feeling the other's touch again was far too frightening.

"If that's what you want, then I have some conditions - you have to let me and my Angel roam free."

"Absolutely not."

"Oh come on. We can earn your trust this way - no funny business! It will be so much easier to brainstorm escape routes if we get to explore. Plus, you have eyes everywhere, no? How much trouble can a measly add and an oversized CRT really cause when Ad World's ruler has everything under control?"

Did he really think a transparent appeal to his ego would actually work? The absolute gull to keep alternating between petty insults and the most empty of praise, like Spamton could be so easily fooled.

"Spamton…" Casanova purred his name, instantly startling him out of his boiling anger. "Is babysitting the two of us really worth the time of a hot shot like yourself?"

Spamton hated it. Hated the sound of Casanova's sweet murmur, hated how unsubtle and tactless he was. He detested how his own hands started to shake with the desire to do something, how he could feel his cheeks burning up, his eye twitching. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible, this farce had went on for far too long.

"F-Fine. But you can't tell anyone who you actually are. Make whatever cover-up identity, I don't care, just don't make anyone think you're associated with me!"

"Naturally."

He exhaled a steadying breath. That would have to do for now. The end of negotiations was in sight and soon Spamton would be ale to leave, pretend like this whole interaction was just a bad dream. And maybe it was! Maybe he'd return home to his own piece of tacky, outdated tech, then wake up in Tenna's arms the next day realizing it was all just a horribly convoluted nightmare.

The thought spurred some last minute confidence into him.

"I look forward to collaborating with you on solving this whole situation as quickly as possible." Spamton summed up the minefield of a conversation, slipping back into his polite persona and shooting Casanova his best corporate smile as a last ditch attempt at saving some of his dignity. The other gave a small nod again, not even giving him the courtesy of mirroring the faux enthusiasm.

"One last question before you go though." He spoke just as Spamton was about to stand up, causing him to freeze in place.

"Make it quick."

"Why did you want to speak with me and me alone?"

The question made him feel just as guilty as when Tenna had uttered it.

"…I thought you would have understood that it is more sensible this way. The cathodes would talk our ears off for hours before we'd be able to get anywhere if they were here."

Casanova shook his head. Up until that point, his face had been stuck in that signature close-eyed Addison expression, but all of a sudden he let himself peek at Spamton, squinting at him with something mocking but determined.

"That's not the reason." He spoke coldly. The statement felt like a judgment, but not a condemnation.

"What are you saying- Wha!-" Spamton felt a shoe run down the side of his leg, moving upwards from ankle to calf and hiking up his slacks. The sole scraped against his skin, a far cry from the gentle touch of Casanova's lips on his hand earlier, but it set his flesh ablaze.

"Don't be so nervous - I am rather fascinated by it, really. You know, I cannot wait to get this charade in 'Ad World' over with, but… in the meantime, I am curious about where this perversion of yours will lead."

"Quiet down! I have no damn idea what you're talking about."

"I don't see you moving away though." His shoe moved up and up, teasing him in a manner that was anything but playful, up until it pressed up against-

Spamton stood up from the table suddenly enough to knock his chair backwards.

"Let's circle back to this on a different date, shall we? Goodnight!"

He marched off with decisive steps, not sparing the Addison who opened the door for him as much as a word or a glance. His staff would later inform him that Casanova stayed at the cafe for a little while longer after that, treating himself to a couple stronger drinks that he said they should put on Spamton's tab.

Once Spamton stepped inside of his home, he immediately collapsed onto his couch, telling himself he decided to sleep there instead of heading towards his bedroom to not wake up Tenna up. No matter how much he had wanted to, he could not purge Casanova out of his mind for the remainder of the night.

Chapter Text

Spamton decided to step away from the matter for a few days. He had given Casanova plenty of attention for now, more than a week's worth.

The most important takeaway from their little meeting had been this: the fake did not intend on becoming more of a nuisance anytime soon, or at least he wouldn't keep wasting Spamton's time with new demands or disturbances. Time that could be better spent in meetings with Spamton's many underlings, or chasing Virovirokuns and Poppups off after they scurried over from Queen's dumpsters, or even reviewing new products no one really needed but they'd desperately want to buy anyway. He had that kitchen mixer lead from Tenna to follow up on too…

Spamton felt Tenna grow a bit distant in those few days. Though it shouldn't be anything to think about too much either. After all, summer break was about to start and the CRT always got overly excited about that, jumping around at the prospect of getting the Lightners' undivided attention for a short while… rather ironic considering his origins. Years of barely being used inside a public school, only brought out on the rare occasion a poor substitute teacher decided to give up on life, had turned the audience starved TV into a bit of an attention whore. It usually pissed Spamton off to see him clambering for the Dreeemurs' approval, but the sting of it felt rather dull at the moment. Whatever.

It was not unusual for them to be busy, in their own worlds. And it was not like Spamton had been locking himself away in his office purposefully, compulsively reviewing security camera footage with a very specific target in mind.

Casanova stayed in the same hotel room Spamton hid him in on that first night, though he was no longer secluded to it. Even in the absence of having an actual job, Spamton could already see him developing a steady routine. At the dawn of each day, when the digital clock would strike 6:00, Casanova exited out of his room in nothing but a pair of slippers and a robe - Spamton still had no idea where he got those from. He'd walk down to where breakfast was served, taking hefty portions on two plates - presumably for himself and his Tenna.

Most of the time, he wouldn't emerge again for a while after that, but when he did he'd be fully dressed in that stupid suit. It was an assault on the eyes grave enough that Spamton had considered sending one of his tailors over to the guy, get him fitted with something that wouldn't stand out in the most horrific way possible. There was a high risk of running into issues though, what with Casanova's abrasive personality, and it would be another massive waste of time if Spamton had to get involved in the fitting - for the time being, he stored the plan away in his thoughts, compartmentalized right next to demoting Casanova back to being an Addison.

Dressed badly or not, Casanova would usually walk around Ad World in the midday, looking at various storefronts on different islands and chatting up whoever passed him by. It frustrated Spamton to no end that the footage featured no audio, so he couldn't actually make out what the guy was saying - hopefully he kept his word and wasn't prattling on about anything too revealing. Sometimes, the other Tenna would venture out of the room at this time of day as well, though whatever he did bored Spamton. One look at the awkward television bumbling around, and he'd switch over to a Casanova centric view in the matter of seconds.

For dinner time, the two fakes always went out together. They seemed to have no qualms parading their relationship around, the other Tenna pretty much draping himself all over Casanova every chance he got. The PDA made Spamton wince. He was lucky that no one from his staff said anything about the obnoxious behavior from the strange doppelgangers of their boss and his business partner, but long working hours tended to exhaust questioning out of even the most dutiful of Darkners. The problematic pair was slowly making their way through dining at every joint Ad World had to offer too, Casanova putting all of their date nights on Spamton's tab.

It sickened him to no end. The impostor wasn't doing anything to help figure out a way out for himself at all! He was just leeching off Spamton's endless generosity.

He had to reel all this back - it required an intervention, as embarrassing as it was so early in their "collaboration". If only Spamton wasn't so busy with important matters, that is… Looking over his schedule, he realized the earliest opportunity to confront the Casanova would come during one of his lunch break's. He had planned to spend it with Tenna, reconvene after the quiet days that settled over them.

The CRT surely wouldn't mind too much… He was probably so caught up in preparing his own programming that he wouldn't even notice Spamton missing the occasion. He'd leave note on his desk just in case Tenna came looking for him, but otherwise it shouldn't have been too much of a problem.

One last, long glance at the camera footage told Spamton that Casanova was heading down the main street of the main island - Mainest Street. Instantly, he was hurrying down the Big Shot Tower elevator. Once he'd step outside of the building, the walk would not be far. Spamton could have very well send his hologram to deal with the nuisance, but he felt apprehensive with this idea. It'd be far too impersonal. Casanova's head was massive enough that he'd take huge offense to something like that.

Citizens of Ad World waved at him as he walked down the sidewalk, the celebrity that he was, but he paid them no mind. He wasn't even in the mood to give out his trademark salesman grin - the one that was supposed to come for free with a shiny new contract these poor bastards would be working under for the rest of their days. If they had any complaints, Spamton would just wipe their poor reviews off the record

Finally, once he spotted Casanova engaging in his weird pastime of window shopping, Spamton took a moment to fix up his appearance. He didn't know why, but he stayed away from mirrors these past few days when usually they beckoned him over.

Right now, having neglected his hair and skincare, he looked like what Tenna would describe as "scruffy" and "grumpy". After their last encounter, he could not allow Casanova to see him at anything below his best though. He fiddled with his tie, smoothed out his shirt and jacket (no, he had not been sleeping in his day clothes at his desk, thank you very much) and attempted to make his hair into something you could reasonably call 'artfully messy'.

Looking at his reflection in a nearby window, Spamton could confidently state that his efforts elevated him from scruffy and grumpy, to just a little grumpy. It'd have to do.

"And so we meet again, Casanova." He spoke, catching the other's attention.

"Spamton. I wasn't expecting to see you today." He smiled in a way that told Spamton he was trying way too hard to seem pleasant. "I was very unsure of when to expect our next meeting."

"I will have someone contact when I need you. Right now, I'm just taking a stroll."

I find that hard to believe evidently danced on Casanova's tongue but he bit it back. He was learning fast. "Would you mind if I joined you for a bit then?"

Without getting an answer, the fake matched his pace as he walked off in a completely arbitrary direction. He knew the city plan like the back of his own hand, Ad World acting as an extension of his own entrepreneur soul, but it was not exactly built for pleasant walks. The most anyone could do here is spin from one storefront to the next, dancing in a hedonist-consumerist spiral. Even more confusing and suspicious that Casanova spent the bulk of his days orbiting his various businesses like that.

"I think I might have been too hasty in my judgment of this place. I'm beginning to see the charm."

The charm? Of Ad World? He couldn't have picked a more ridiculous suck-up lie. Spamton raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Your lovely local cuisine for instance! I never would have thought to literally feed people ads. And the incredibly efficient service you have here is more than impressive." Casanova supplied. He sounded simultaneously more composed and more unnerving than the last time Spamton had seen him, approximating that very first impression he tried to give. Maybe now that the dust had some time to settle, he could manage to keep his agitation under control.

It pissed Spamton off to no end that he could not do the same.

"You know, all those meals you're eating on my dime are not for nothing. You are running up some mighty debt for yourself, and your 'darling Angel'." He finally got around to broaching the subject he stalked out of his office for in the first place.

Casanova pouted, like he was gearing up to take offense at Spamton mocking the cute nickname he used for his partner. It quickly morphed into a shy smirk. "Ah, are you jealous? You know the two of us can have dinner anytime you want - all you have to do is ask."

Spamton balled his hands into fist in his pockets. Here we go again.

"Do you flirt with all your business contacts?" It was a gamble, calling out this dynamic explicitly. The status quo was clearly not serving Spamton, feeling hotter by the minute. He needed a shift, whether it would cause Casanova to finally drop it or-

"Only the ones as attractive as you are."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Not to mention how conceited it sounds, coming from you." He leaned his back against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Bummer. Looks like I can't worm my way out of making it up to you, huh?" He leaned into Spamton's personal space, not quite pushing him further back but way too close for comfort nonetheless. His voice suddenly lacked that persistent, nauseatingly seductive undercurrent. He sounded a bit too energetic to be called jovial, manic.

"I have given it a lot of thought, actually."

"Y-You have?" He should have been somewhat concerned about anyone seeing him fumbling around with some nobody in the middle of the day, but the sudden closeness and shift in behavior had him absolutely stunned.

"Yes indeed." Casanova drew back, rocking back on his heels like some school girl. "I have been steadily working on earning your trust."

"It's going to take a lot more than lazing around with your stupid TV to earn my trust."

"Could you let me explain myself before you get all worked up?" He clicked his tongue, then proceeded to walk further away. Spamton had no choice to follow and even this felt like an infuriating attempt at some sort of power play, getting angrier all while ignoring the fact that he had pulled exact same move moments prior.

"I thought there was not a lot of quality work I could do around here without more 'admin' access - of course, you probably wouldn't appreciate me trying to brute force my way into your system to get some more intricate data-" Did he genuinely think he could get past Spamton's firewall like that? Keep dreaming. "So I turned to the next best thing - observation."

"And you think you could have observed something that my analytics guys don't already know?" Spamton grew more skeptical by the minute.

Casanova shook his head. "Probably not. What about something that they're afraid to tell you though?"

He stopped at a random store front. Spamton reluctantly stalked up to his side.

"Go on, I guess."

"I see the traffic you get here, mostly from the Dreemurrs. I am somewhat familiar with the family myself, and though there are probably some differences across dimensions, the basic formula must be the same - nuclear family, police chief, elementary school teacher, two kids. Other clicks from Hometown residents appear too, occasionally."

He really would make a good Addison, with that level tone and sales pitch mannerisms - insincere, but effective. Spamton could easily see him grinning when his client's gaze followed exactly where he pointed, so much so it was hard to believe he could have started out at the same miserable point he did.

"These are all down-to-earth Lightners, with down-to-earth needs. So, tell me-" He took a step back, tapping the window of the store with his knuckles. "Why are these the types of services that you keep in the center of your world?"

The sign above the entrance proudly featured the name of one of his most well respected salesmen, an Addison responsible for luxury garments with plenty of Mannequin Guys running back and forth. It was true the service had not attracted the attention of the Lightners, sustaining itself on business from Darkners on Spamton's payroll - those who craved the taste of something more exclusive in their sad life, a once in a lifetime treat worth several months of hard earned points. A status symbol more than anything.

"Why is it that, out of everyone in this world, I see the two Hot Singles in My Area being given mighty special treatment, like they're some big shots who get you the big bucks? Do you think Asgore is going to go on one of those dating apps and wreck his marriage anytime soon? Because I don't."

Spamton had nearly forgotten Casanova even had the chance to meet those two, when they all coincidentally ended up having dinner at the same spot, the Hot Singles seated with their new temporary flings on opposite sides of the dining hall. At least their dates looked absolutely over the moon with the opportunity to parade them around for a night.

"Do you plan to get to the point anytime soon?"

"I think my point is obvious - your priorities for what you push to the top page are all pretty nonsensical given your primary target audience." His words were straight from an advisory report, but the condescending tone made it impossible to believe in good intentions regarding earning Spamton's trust.

"You were right - no one affiliated with me would dare tell me this. Not a single Ad World citizen." He muttered through gritted teeth, consciously fit into the shape of a smile. "In case you haven't noticed, everyone who lives here is quite happy about how everything is run." . Of course a knock-off would not appreciate the sanctity of his brand.

"Spamton, Spamton…" Casanova tutted. "We both know that appealing to other Darkners is not really what you're after."

What the hell was he implying? It couldn't possibly connected to those aspirations, the business secrets still kept from him-

"But maybe I'm wrong - Maybe you're just trying to overcompensate for something. Need more drama in your life?"

"I'll show you more drama-" Why give into the pretense of partnership when Casanova was so eager to show how little respect he had for him?

Spamton grabbed the guy by his tie, finally making good use of it, shoving him to clip through a wall into a dead-end alleyway. Infuriatingly, the fake resisted very little when in one moment he stood in bright city lights and the next, his back was pressed up against a worryingly damp wall in an ominously dim corner at the barrier of this digital plain.

Spamton had fantasized about punching Casanova since he first heard him open his mouth, but actually raising a hand against him made him hesitate. He wanted to slap him, but he was scared to see what kind of expression he'd make looking back at him. Hurt and pained were the least of his worries, but he couldn't stand it if the other Spamton would make that familiar indignant, self-righteous face.

He slammed his palm flat against where Casanova's head rested instead. "I thought I made myself clear already - you are in my world. Stop talking back to me if you know what's good for you."

The perpetually amused Casanova now gazed back at him with the look of boredom, like Spamton had somehow disappointed him.

"And here I thought you'd appreciate the feedback. Seems like you can't even be honest with yourself."

"You're one to talk - you have not been honest once since you just… s-stumbled in here! You only try to piss me off. Well, congratulations on succeeding yet again!"

He could tell Casanova was moments away from rolling his eyes. "What I've been trying to do this whole time is bend to what you want. You're the difficult one here."

Effortlessly, Casanova flipped their positions. Up until that moment, Spamton had barely registered the slight height difference between the two of them. His face hovered so close to Spamton's, yet a little misaligned. Casanova missing an inch or two hardly mattered in that moment though, with his absolutely overpowering presence.

Where as Spamton kept his distance, trying to hold himself back, Casanova had no problem pressing the full weight of his body into him. The smell of his cologne had been just as sickening as the rest of him, overbearing, tactless and uncivil.

"It seems that the only way to get through to you is… this".

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're one giant, pathological control freak… but you know, someone ought to put arrogant fools like your in their place eventually."

He was acting like he was berating Spamton, but there was no denying the escalation had him much more engaged. Some of that strange manic cadence to how he spoke had returned.

"Do you have cameras in places like this too?" He whispered against Spamton's neck, making him shiver.

"…You know I've been watching you?"

"I can tell when someone's gaze is on me." He said enigmatically. "You can't get me out of your head, can you, Spammy?"

An angry rebuttal lodged itself in Spamton's throat, but he couldn't force it out. Casanova's proximity made him choke up, and even the sound of the demeaning nickname had him feeling dazed.

Through half-lidded eyes, the other looked so much more life his late night reflection, a reminder of quiet admissions behind a locked bathroom door. Only the mirror would get to hear of how behind it all, he was a fraud.

"Aw, look at you. You look pathetic, hot shot."

Spamton whined, and Casanova's manic eyes turned straight up hungry.

Spamton's moments of weakness always had a visceral element to them. A shiver down his spine, nausea, the weight of it all pulling him down on wobbly knees. Now, his legs felt week as he was pulled forward by his collar, his jacket shoved aside in manner much more forceful than anyone else would have dared treated him.

And then shame turned into relief - indulgence. Casanova's hands on him felt so warm, deceptively welcoming and comforting. To be boxed up against the wall with no choice but to face his racing thoughts was grounding. When the other kissed him, it was as skillful as it was feverish, wasting very little time before shoving his entire tongue down Spamton's throat. He leaned back with a moan, fully surrendering.

It was absolutely intoxicating, the rapid onsets of humiliation and pleasure. He wished the fingernails lightly grazing his neck would dig deep into his flesh and leave a mark. He wished the other Spamton would voice more of those vile thoughts while continuing to touch him so sweetly. His own hands hung limply at his sides with the onslaught of sensations overwhelming him, as Casanova poked and prodded, making him shiver with every light touch.

Just when did he get so sensitive? His job required him to turn himself numb, keep a joyful face as he peddled faulty piece of shit products, but his other self had been able to wrestle out a more vulnerable part of himself Spamton had not seen in years. No one has ever made him feel this much with just a kiss, no matter how heated. How horrifying.

When another moan threatened to escape his mouth, he swallowed it down and bit Casanova's lip. It was wrong, to be this open in front of another no matter how alike they theoretically have been. Spamton hadn't realized his hands had at some point drifted to grasp at Casanova's arm, but he could feel himself tensing and giving a slight push back.

It was Casanova who pulled away first, a reaction to the subtle shift from Spamton. His gaze was cold as he stared Spamton down for an explanation.

"This should not be happening." He stammered out. Anything he saw in and felt towards Casanova just now was nothing but pure projection. The whole 'alternate self' ordeal was crazy, but what was crazier was pretending like they haven't lived two very different lives and like Casanova was suddenly free of ulterior motives.

"What? Because of Tenna?"

And then there was another sobering realization, making shame fully settle with the churning discomfort inside his stomach… Tenna. How could he have forgotten about him completely? Tenna, who was likely taking his lunch break all alone right about now…

"R-right, because of Tenna." The guilt of how much he had betrayed his partner's trust could hardly get through to him when he could still see how shaky the other was, feel his stuttering breath against his own skin. The lingering excitement possessed Spamton to trace a gentle line down Casanova's sleeve with his fingers. "Would your, uh… cathode not mind?"

Casanova stepped back and Spamton instantly regretted saying anything.

"Oh, he minds. I made it plenty clear that I am not giving up any of my freedom for his sake though." He already sounded much steadier, devoid of that hasty breathlessness, which quickly reminded Spamton of how he actually found the guy quite loathsome. "What about yours?"

Casanova was right when he called him a pervert last time.

Recognition spread over the fake's face, looking way too pleased with himself. "Oh, I see. Don't worry about it, I know how to keep a secret."

"But you know, this whole trust thing is supposed to be a two way street. I am giving you so much of myself, while you are still shutting me out. If this is going to work out, I would like to see some progress in our business relationship." Casanova continued.

"…I have thought of something that might help us." Spamton confessed against his better judgment.

"Oh? I'm all ears."

This was not the kind of conversation he thought he'd be having in a back alley after a steamy make-out with a man who he technically met few days prior - not since his Addison days were behind him, at least. Still, he was already slipping back into that professional performance, shelving all of the complicated feelings that just arose for later.

"You said you ended up here after driving back from Cyber City, right? We can take the drive ourselves and check for anything suspicious on the highway. Ask Queen if she knows anything while we're there."

This was not what Casanova wanted to hear, which Spamton had expected, but they both had to compromise if they wanted to get out of this mess. Casanova was impulsive, but thankfully not too impatient and so be thoughtfully nodded along.

"You can request an audience with the Queen on such short notice? I've underestimated you."

He scratched the side of his neck. "…Not exactly. I might need a few days to set the whole thing up."

"Why aren't you working on it then? Do you need me to sign off on this to do anything?"

"I had other things to do. Whatever you say about my list of priorities, no way in hell I am putting you on there."

"Whatever you tell yourself, Spammy."

Casanova took what felt like an eternity adjusting his tie before speaking again. Spamton took note of how his hair had begun escaping from his dainty curls, sticking up in all sorts of directions.

"Well, I'll be off then. I'd hate to take up even more of your oh-so precious time. I trust you'll know where to find me once it's all sorted, yes?" He didn't wait for his response before he clipped out the way that he came in - or rather, the way that Spamton shoved him through.

Left alone, Spamton let himself lean back against the wall for a moment more. He hadn't been out of his office for that long - if he returned too quickly, he'd risk running into Tenna which would more than likely devolve into an onslaught of worried questions from the CRT. Especially with how he looked more disheveled now than he had all week long. It'd not be the accusatory type of questioning either. Spamton could only picture that damn TV fretting over how long it had been since Spamton had last eaten or gotten any decent sleep. Even if Tenna had tunnel vision for entertaining the Lightners during the holidays, he surely had not missed how Spamton had not been home at all recently.

He fiddled with his glasses, laying askew on the top of his head and threatening to fall down. He could have made the call right then, or at any point really, explain himself a little better - not even to ward off Tenna's nonexistent suspicion, just to hear his partner's voice. What naive, dumb cliche of a thought to be born out of even dumber sense of guilt.

He'd just seek out Tenna on another day, hopefully with his act more cleaned up.

Chapter Text

Spamton sat in the director's chair, a crumpled up script in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, the styrofoam denting underneath his tense grip. He had been stuck on set since the early morning, overseeing ad reads that were to appear on Tenna's show in the upcoming week. The ads had been the only part of the broadcast that Spamton maintained complete creative control over, and now that everyone had been informed the Lord of Advertisement would be going away for a business trip to Cyber City real soon, the crew had been scrambling to make sure all the segments were precisely to his expectations.

Spamton was known to be ruthless when it came to giving out feedback. It came through in all his performance reviews and especially the rare termination notices, but also with busy days on set like this. The poor extras could get yelled at for missing their cue by a mere second. Even so, the star of the show himself, who got it worse than anyone else, had always said that the days that Spamton showed up to the studio were some of his favorite. Something about how it motivated him to give it his all, when typically an actor with as much success as him would see a silly ad read as something to phone in for a quick buck.

In a world that sustained itself on promoting anything and everything, an ad slot was as good as prime time television. For what felt like the hundredth time that way, Spamton had predictably torn into Tenna. Still, the moment their break rolled around, the TV run up to him with a bright smile. Spamton couldn't help but grin back.

Spamton had ultimately arrived at the conclusion that what happened with Casanova was no big deal.

Tenna was keeping secrets from him, so how bad could it be to have a few of his own? If anything, what Tenna was hiding from him was of much greater magnitude than any of this personal bullshit. Tenna was not only violating his trust time and time again, by sneaking around to call his mysterious contact, but also by withholding what was a clear pathway to boost business from him. Was that not the grandest possible betrayal in a business partnership?

And yet Spamton, while not really forgiving Tenna in the traditional sense of the word, had enough grace to look the other way whenever it happened. So, really, it did not have to be that big of a deal.

"Are you ready to finally make it up to me for bailing on me the other day?" Tenna sounded absolutely giddy with himself, dangerously close to straight up bouncing around at his side. These taping sessions always left him with a lot of excess energy that he liked to take out on Spamton specifically.

Spamton tapped the side of Tenna's big screen with his stack of papers. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself. We still have a couple hours of work before we get to that."

"And then what? What fancy place will you whisk me off to this time, Mr. Big Shot?"

"If I tell you now, that's all you'll think about for the rest of the recording and we will have to wipe that stupid grin off your face in post."

Spamton hadn't made any extravagant plans that night actually, and it wasn't because of the possibility of running into the obvious nuisance. He simply knew that what Tenna valued most were not any grand gestures more to Spamton's own taste, lavish gifts and expensive wine, but rather some stupidly mushy domesticity with the two of them unwinding back home. Spamton never really felt like he had to make things up to Tenna, but he'd be so damn good at placating him with playing right into his fantasies, if that's what he had intended.

"I will be thinking about it whether you tell me or not!" The TV pouted.

"Good. Keep that look of dissatisfaction up, your next scene is going to be your reaction to the whole kitchen exploding into bits!" Spamton snickered, and Tenna cautiously mirrored his amusement despite being the butt of the joke.

So eager to please. "If you stay on your best behavior, I'll tell you more during our next break. How about that?" Spamton suggested.

"Really? You've got yourself a deal, Spam!" A small flower bud sprouted on top of Tenna's nose, telling Spamton he was already being way too nice if he wanted to maintain some of that natural frustration from the TV in the next segment. Though, it really didn't make that much of a difference - his talent might have been overlooked in his previous place of employment, but Tenna really was an excellent actor.

Spamton envied this about him, sometimes. Tenna was overly emotional, fragile in a sense, a pitiful fool people tended to spare the feelings of because the threat of being hit with that guilt-inducing puppy dog face was just too upsetting… and yet, if he was serious enough about something, Tenna had no problem dropping the act and dawning another. He wasn't a chameleon - he could not play 'stoic' for the life of him and his characters all fell somewhere on the 'larger than life' spectrum.

That was still some skill way above Spamton's own capabilities. Spamton's emotions might have been more shallow, but maybe that's why he could never bury them deep enough to be unnoticeable.

It was hard to tell whether Tenna suspected something, or how deeply it affected him if he did. It was the same with that damned phone. On the nights when Tenna was the one to stay up late, muttering endless nonsense into the receiver, he would put twice as much energy into doting on Spamton the next day. They knew each other well enough that this increased effort was a tell of its own, subtle enough that it nevertheless flew over Spamton's head half the time, but at least it was more dignified than whatever Spamton had been doing.

Shit, had he actually been doing the exact same thing? Compensating?

The thought soured his mood enough that for the remainder of the workday, his criticism was twice as harsh and much more plentiful. Was Tenna's own effort twice as intense today too? Either way, by the end of the shoot they ended up going through the entire collection of spares the prop department had prepared, blowing each and every one to smithereens.

They acted normal enough as they walked down the street and towards Spamton's car, the smaller man getting all up in Tenna's passenger seat to hastily shove near illegible script notes into the glove box. The distance from Tenna's Studio back to Big Shot Tower was not a long one, but Spamton enjoyed the drive no matter how short. There weren't a lot of high-speed roads around unless one ventured further into the outskirts, but Spamton hit the gas as hard as his brand new Cungadero would allow anyway - not like anyone had the authority to fine him.

The elevator ride up to Spamton's apartment suite at the last floor felt excruciatingly long by comparison. Now that they were truly alone for the first time in a while, some nervous energy had entered Tenna's system. He kept twiddling his thumbs, looking down at Spamton hesitantly like he wanted to open his big mouth, then turning around and pretending like the elevator buttons were mighty interesting all of a sudden.

"Ok, enough of this. You clearly have something on your mind so out with it!" Spamton hissed out sometime around when they reached the 6th floor.

Tenna gave a startled gasp at being directly addressed, then smiled shyly. "Oh, it's nothing that important! It's just that, I have been thinking about the, erhm… other me you mentioned."

"…What is there to think about?" Spamton hoped he sounded casual and not like hearing Tenna randomly mention that made him want to throw up.

"Well, I… I know how I can get when I lose my temper, and it's not pretty. And I know you didn't say anything like that, but I can't help but think maybe you didn't want to include him, o-or me, in your meeting because of that." He was not exactly shrinking, as much as he was self-consciously folding in on himself.

"But the more I think about it - I don't think I'd act out more without any good reason! So maybe, something had happened to this other Tenna that made him this way?… But that idea just made me go down a whole spiral of horrible things that could possibly happen…"

…Was that what it was? But what in the world could have made Casanova like that?

"You're thinking about it too much, Tens. In any case, these two are set to be living Ad World soon. Probably as soon as I'm done with that trip." Embellishing the truth a bit had never been that big of a deal in their relationship either.

"Really? They are leaving so soon? That's…" He paused, weirdly hesitant. "…good, I suppose."

"What, did you actually want to meet the other Tenna? See if you can talk him through his troubles?"

"What- no, no! Better not! You never know what could happen then, haha…" Tenna only ever sounded this nervous and unsure when talking around one issue in particular. Spamton didn't feel like prying however, it was much better for him too if they just moved on.

Apparently only a few days of separation made them so out of tune with one another that Tenna decided to continue anyway. "It is all some kind of big mistake, right? We were never really meant see through to this 'other world'… It's… It's better to focus on keeping things as they are, at least for as long as we can. It's good that they are going away."

"…Yeah, you're probably right."

Dinner plans were made a little complicated since neither of them made any effort to stock up the fridge, the only item remaining in there being a half-empty bottle of champagne that Spamton would describe as drinkable at best. Nothing that a quick call wouldn't solve, he supposed. Spamton simply decided to order whatever dish Tenna fancied that day. The TVs pallette was more suited to the obnoxious high-concept menus his underlings leaned towards, so Spamton typically relied on his whims to guide their meals. The delivery was as quick as always, saving them some more of their risky attempts at harmless small talk.

They ended up turning on some movie, their time together feeling much lighter now that there wasn't any expectation for either of them to speak up. It had been Tenna's choice, a rom-com Spamton could swear they already saw before. The main plot beats felt similar enough - the big city, overworked lawyer realizing the faults of her lifestyle as she starts falling for some small town goofball - but then again, that was the formula for pretty much entirety of the genre.

Spamton barely paid any attention to it, but it seemed like Tenna didn't care so much either. They weren't even halfway done with the film before he felt the TV's larger hand leave his, then slide down his thigh. His screen towards him in a question, flickering with a little more luminance, and Spamton gave him a small nod but quickly looked off to the side of the living room.

The Lord of Ads was busy and in spite of the perfect image he liked to project to the rest of the world, he would sometimes get tired. All this to say this scene in itself was not uncommon either, Spamton laying across the couch as Tenna lavished him with affection like the most pathetic treat for a job well done, another day shoving useless garbage down people's throats.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, but something about it felt off that evening. The familiar smell of dusty plastic that made up Tenna's casing displeased him with its weightlessness, and so did the clumsy pressure of his claws tugging on his dress shirt. The sound of Tenna's little whispers properly pained him, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. The discomfort quickly turned into numbing pressure drilling into his temple as he screwed his eyes shut. When the living room dissolved in the darkness behind his eyelids, he could almost pretend he was hearing something else, that the words Tenna spoke to him were not so sweet, something more cathartic-

He pushed Tenna's larger hands away once he started toying with his buttons.

"I don't know if I am really feeling this tonight."

Tenna looked back at him with understanding, as if he was expecting such a turn of events, but the rejection still hit him with how quick he was to back away from Spamton and how his claws scraped against the cushions as he moved.

The evening was still young by the time the movie ended, so Spamton told Tenna to pick out another. The plot blended with the first one, so much so Spamton wouldn't have been able to tell the two protagonists apart or recall their names. He thought Tenna deserved a consolation prize of his own, for being such a great performer, and so halfway through this one he tried to bridge the gap that appeared between them a bit, placing a hand back on top of Tenna's and pressing some chaste kisses to the side of his casing.

They took turns in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. Spamton dared to look up at his reflection again, and he couldn't quite recognize the face he was making. It could have been that it was simply twice as strained as usual.

Chapter Text

As much as he hated having to drive over to Cyber City for any reason, Spamton had to admit he missed the feeling of speeding down the telephone wire highway. Communication between the two worlds had been minimal these days, contained almost entirely within passive aggressive emails… and while that was irritating, at least he had the whole road all to himself with no one going that way or the other. It was kind of refreshing; maybe he needed this after the hectic month that he had - just Spamton, that sweet, sweet breeze… and reluctantly, the intruder in the passenger seat besides him.

"Why are you so quiet over there? That impressed with my awesome ride?"

"Eh." Casanova shrugged. "Why does it have to be this loud? Everything you touch becomes so needlessly flashy." He paused to readjust his rolled up sleeves.

For the purpose of the trip, Spamton finally made the executive decision to get Casanova some new clothes. Who knew how long they would end up staying in the City if their investigation made any progress! He should have some spares. It was nothing too fancy, just some of the more high-end stuff from his biggest department store. Right now, the guy had chosen to wear the cliche combination of dark slacks and a simple collared shirt, keeping most of the buttons undone. A far more relaxed looked compared to that stuffy old get-up. Casanova looked good in it - as good as any other model would.

"Suit yourself." Spamton steadied his eyes back on the road. "Have you seen anything suspicious yet? Any, uh… weird darknesses or blinding lights?"

"I don't know, have you?" Casanova replied in a light, mocking tone. He had been wholly uninterested in talking ever since they climbed into the Cungadero. Did the roaring of the engine really piss him off that badly? "I would have told you already if we passed by anything of note."

"Really? You'd give up information willingly instead of me having to shake it out of you?"

"I think our relationship so far has been a lot of the opposite, Spammy."

Spamton didn't exactly feel desensitized to Casanova's use of the insulting nickname the more the guy had said it. In fact, it only got him more riled up over time, but after that strange moment in the alleyway that they shared… To call those feelings it stirred up in him confusing would be a massive understatement.

Uncomfortable with the return of the silent treatment, he drummed his fingers idly against the steering wheel. It was not a big deal, so obviously neither of them had brought it up since then. Casanova acted no different whenever they reconvened to discuss practical matters related to the trip, or even that morning when they packed up - that is to say, he was as obnoxious as ever, pushing Spamton's boundaries and trying to make him lose his cool. Only now did he start acting uncharacteristically quiet.

"Just so you know, I don't usually… do this kind of thing." Spamton mumbled out. He wasn't even sure if it had been audible over the noise of the car and the whir of the road.

"Hm?" Casanova hummed, half-listening. What he was thinking about for the majority of the drive, what he saw looking out into the endless void beyond the wire, Spamton had no clue.

"Unlike some of my unfortunate copies, I don't usually go making out with people I barely know." He repeated himself, now more self-assured.

"Are you really trying to justify yourself to your affair partner? That's precious." Spamton did not know how to feel about the long-term implications of the word affair. "And don't act like you barely know me, come on now."

"You've been here for a couple of weeks, buddy."

"And yet I'd say I know you quite well." He turned away from where he was gazing out the car and more towards Spamton. At least he looked a bit more engaged then, entertained. "For example- I will take a wild guess that if I open your glove box, I will find… well, a half-smoked pack for certain, paperwork that hasn't seen the light of day in years, crumpled up receipts, script notes, a chewed up pen or two, and-"

Spamton heard the click of the compartment being opened, Casanova rummaging through and making an even bigger mess of things inside, followed by a moment of steady silence. "Huh. I guess that's it."

"What else did you think I'd have in there?!"

"Nothing, nothing!" He smiled innocently, though it only confirmed Spamton's suspicion that whatever he was expecting was nothing short of wicked. He promptly shoved the wide variety of garbage back into the glove box, hesitating with the pack of cigarettes.

"Of course you have these but no lighter…" He sighed with utter disappointment.

Spamton felt around the console, sliding his fingers into the small shelf beneath the car radio and fishing out a small, shoddy looking lighter he half-remembered to be in there. He was pretty sure he pocketed this one from someone at a bar, back when he was still trying to make it as an Addison. Must have had some memory attached to it if he still kept it around, but this was no time to travel down memory lane. He threw it in Casanova's vague direction, still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

"Are you… nervous?" Spamton had not seen Casanova smoke, and if the other's knowledge of his stress smoking habits was any indication…

"Why would I be nervous?" His nimble fingers fished a single smoke out of the pack. "This is not my world, not my Queen, not my stakes - at worst, I return to Ad World having learned nothing and we… simply have no choice but to return to the phone conversation."

It was hard not to keep sneaking glances back towards Casanova, what with the monotony of the road ahead of them, and the way the cigarette hung from his parted lips, the dull focus in his narrowed eyes as he flickered the struggling lighter to life. Spamton still tried to keep some pretense of looking at the road - if not in the unlikely event of some wayward Werewerewire or Mauswheel or whatever else flying across his windshield, then just to save himself the embarrassment of being caught staring.

"…Do you want a drag?" Casanova looked towards him meaningfully anyway. He let the ash fall on top of the otherwise spotless dashboard, and Spamton didn't even have it in him to chastise him for it since that is also what he would have done.

Spamton nodded lazily. Instead of handing him the smoke, Casanova leaned over the console and put it in his mouth himself, increasing the possibility of them falling victim to the most pathetic car crash. Even when Spamton's lips caught onto it, he refused to pull away, watching him carefully as he inhaled.

Spamton blew the smoke in his face.

"You-! You have an appalling lack of any tact whatsoever." Casanova gagged and drew back, letting Spamton chew on the offending cigarette and lighting another one for himself.

Spamton would have liked to consider himself one of the most tactful Darkners around. You didn't become Dark World's most successful salesman without perfecting the silly dance of poise and finesse, striving for that satisfactory customer experience.

It was simply that Casanova consistently brought the worst out of him.

The two arrived in the City a good couple hours before their scheduled meeting with Queen, which was supposed to take place during some sort of high society event later in the evening. Though, to Queen 'high society' obviously meant whoever she found to be the most entertaining embarrassment that week. The damn laptop couldn't even be bothered to actually set time aside for them, squeezing them in-between Swatching cheer-leading routines and her vanity DJ-ing set, undermining Spamton yet again, even after all this time.

The thought pushed its way into the forefront of his mind as soon as his car rolled into the busy Cyber City streets, already getting irritated with the traffic. Spamton booked them a room at a relatively nice place, but one which was situated at the very edge of the City. He didn't really want any of his old contacts to know he was back, or for what purpose, or for them to see Spamton walking around with a clone of himself, one that demeaned him at every opportunity.

And Spamton let him. He put up some resistance, but if Casanova wanted to take things further, Spamton would have let him.

Even his gaze seemed vaguely judgemental as he scanned over their hotel room, neatly unloading his folded up clothes into the large dresser opposite of where their beds stood - two beds.

"What, is my taste in accommodations not up to your standards now either?"

"No, it's fine. I was actually thinking about how this all quite… understated. Compared to what I have come to expect from you."

"Don't get used to it. As soon as we get to Queen's mansion, anything 'understated' is getting thrown out the window."

"Nothing I hadn't come to expect from her." Casanova pursed his lips. "Did you pick any of these clothes with meeting the Queen in mind?"

Again, how uncharacteristically demure for him to ask about something like that.

"Wear anything as long as it's not those hideous pinstripes." Spamton grumbled out, then realized this was actually the first time he ever voiced that opinion. At least now they were even after all the insinuations of his sense of style being too gaudy.

"Aw, you really hate those that much?" Casanova cooed. "I'm quite fond of them, but I suppose some of the charm is lost when I don't have my sweet Angel to match."

Then, as if reading Spamton's thoughts before they properly caught up to him, he added. "Do you want us to match tonight?"

"I-I don't care about anything like that!"

Casanova shrugged, then started sifting through the clothes, picking out an outfit starting with a neat white jacket.

"Suit yourself." With his back turned towards him, Spamton could only look over his shoulder to make sure whatever he was assembling looked at least somewhat coherent. Satisfied with his selection, Casanova strode over to one of the beds and laid out the pieces of his chosen suit on it, then reclined on the pillows right next to it.

"We should rehearse what we tell her. Don't get too excited about me saying this but you were right, these are my stakes - and I can't have you embarrassing me up there with shitty improv." Spamton spoke, sitting up on the edge of the other bed.

"What exactly are you hoping to get out of her?" Even now, fully committed to the plan, Casanova sounded skeptical about being able to glimpse any new information this way. So was Spamton, but hey, this was the time for them to decide on some game plan regardless of any doubts.

"It'd be a gift straight from Heaven if we got anything concrete without prompting her too much… Most important thing to ask her about is if she saw any suspicious activity around the time you showed up. She should know more than me, with her being connected to the library's servers and all."

"I assume you don't want to tell her the truth behind me and your reasons for the sudden visit." Casanova went on, looking up at the ceiling.

"Correct." Spamton paused, then grinned. "We can tell her you're another Addison who materialized all short and messed up, she'd love that."

"How funny." He answered in perfect monotone. "You know what I think? She's more likely to spill if you make her go on the defense."

Casanova sat up on the bed, leveling Spamton with an inquisitive look. "How is your relationship with your Queen?"

"Stop phrasing it like that. She's not 'my Queen', and I am not one of her puny little subjects."

"Strained, then. That's perfect." He was inching closer towards the edge of the bed as well now, kicking his feet up. Occasionally, his shoes would bump into Spamton's leg. "You will imply that you suspect her of spying on you through the wire - subtly enough for plausible deniability if things go south, but otherwise unmistakable. If she knows about anything suspicious going on outside of her control, she will throw it in your face to save hers!"

Leaning his chin onto the palm of his hand, Spamton pretended to think it over. Holy fuck, this guy was good. "…And what will you do?"

"Look pretty. Be your arm candy."

Spamton rolled his eyes, ignoring how that sounded appealing in its own way. Thinking he was not getting through to him enough, Casanova delivered a proper kick to the side of his shin.

"Ow!" Spamton couldn't really act all offended and ask what that was for, when throughout their entire 'partnership' there had surprisingly been very few instance of petty violence.

"I thought the point of me being here was lurking and looking for 'suspicious things' - but if you've changed your mind and don't want me hovering around you like a mobile scam detector, I can always snoop around on my own"

Spamton pulled up his leg closer to his chest, clutching onto it. Casanova was not any more clever than him or anything, so he didn't exactly need to have him be a 'scam detector'. He simply knew certain things that Spamton didn't, and with him having not caught onto that fact yet, maybe Spamton could still fish them out of him. Paying attention to the things Queen would say was just as important of a task as was picking up on Casanova's reactions to them…

"No way. I'll look ridiculous without a plus one."

"You'll look ridiculous either way." A little payback for his earlier comment on Casanova's wardrobe, continuing this endless back and forth. When Spamton didn't reply to his teasing, he tried to ease it off with that fake charm. "I'm kidding, of course. You always look handsome, even with that nasty scowl."

Spamton did not have any desire to reply to that either.

"What is it like between you and your- the Queen from your world?" He tossed out the question rumbling around in his head before he could think twice about it.

"You're getting curious about where I came from now, of all times?"

It wasn't as sudden as Casanova made it out to be. He just thought this might be as good of a time as any to ask his silly questions - especially if the impostor and his TV were set to leave at any moment, if Spamton was so lucky. Maybe what Tenna had said about all those differing possibilities, realities where things had gone down paths he couldn't imagine, stuck with him more than he'd like to admit.

"We have some time to spare." Spamton shrugged.

Casanova kept quiet for an excruciatingly long moment. His body went completely still, feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor.

"I live with her, actually."

"Well, in a way. She was gracious enough to let me rent a room in her palace, but I only stay there half of the time." He added once he saw the look of pure shock which cast itself on Spamton's face.

"Let me guess - you're sleeping with her too?"

Casanova let out a humorless chuckle. "A lot of people think that."

He remained stiff and rigid, unnatural in the opposite way of his usual performative posturing. The sight of it made Spamton shiver. His typically curious state was tracing lazy patterns on the ground, his head slumped forward like a puppet with its strings cut off.

"Make no mistake, I am plenty successful in my own right. I have my own businesses and my own employees, same as you do. Which is why I can't wait to leave this place."

"And what are you going back to? If Ad World is too self-indulgent and decadent for you, what did you do with your success?"

Spamton was plenty disturbed himself with how he could not stop his own curiosity. However, that question turned out to be the tipping point. Life returned to Casanova's body in the form of irritation, a scowl appearing on his face and his fingers gripping tightly onto the sheets.

"Tell me why the fuck are we getting so personal?"

"Hey, it's only fair - you have intruded upon my life, I should know something about yours!" Spamton stood up, standing over Casanova and practically caging him against the bed frame.

Casanova exhaled heavily, then delivered his next few lines with a smile that Spamton could tell was supposed to be threatening.

"If you must know, there is no Ad World where I'm going because another self-indulgent prick already established a TV World. But make no mistake either - I made that place. It would be fully brought to ruin if not for my divine intervention." His grinned ominously widened once he had uttered out that last part.

"Divine intervention? What is that supposed to mean now?"

"Stop asking questions you already know the answers to, Spammy. It makes you sound so dumb. Real clueless."

He swiftly stood up from the bed, taking his neatly arranged suit on his arm. Casanova spared him no glances as he made a line straight towards the bathroom, his footsteps lacking any of his usual grace with how heavy they thumped against the floor, deliberately. To finish his outburst off, he slammed the door shut, the more delicate click of it being locked following right after.

Spamton stared after him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the whole scene. Considering the dwindling time remaining until the main event of their trip, he pushed any tender or heightened emotions as far down as he possibly could, focusing instead on how he hoped Casanova wouldn't hog the bathroom for too long - he'd really end up looking ridiculous at the party then.

One would think the drive towards Queen's mansion would be pretty tense after all that. However, when Casanova emerged from the bathroom again, he was already behaving in a lighthearted manner like none of it ever happened. Spamton was more than happy to follow his lead in that. Knowing how temperamental he could get, Spamton half expected the guy to vent out his anger on whatever poor toiletries he could chuck across the bathroom, but when his turn to get ready came, everything inside had been in pristine condition. Clearly, this too was something neither of them had to make a big deal out of.

They got to the party a little too late for it to be considered fashionable. Distantly, Spamton would have hoped the delay would serve to irritate Queen, but as they had been ushered into the main hall of the giant castle by a Swatchling, he saw the respected ruler of Cyber City unbothered while having utmost fun… watching a scampering dog wrecking her ballroom by knocking all of her tables over. It was impossible to predict what crazy sort of stunt Queen would pull next, but this indeed was somewhere in the ballpark of what Spamton was used to from her.

Casanova didn't look all too shocked either.

"Interesting decor she has here. I thought there'd be more red though." He spoke, staring directly at a giant painting of Queen emerging out of a seashell. At least it wasn't spewing foam on unsuspecting passerbys this time around.

Spamton nodded as a Swatchling passed them by, and Casanova grabbed two flutes of sparkling battery acid for the both them. He didn't necessarily feel like drinking, but it was nice to have something to keep his hands occupied when frustration was already making his muscles constrict, tense up and twitch.

"Should we split up and mingle for a bit?" Casanova suggested, swirling the liquid around ostentatiously.

"No. Trust me, you don't want to get caught up with this crowd." Spamton cringed a bit as he gestured to the sea of Darkners in front of them, still cheering the fluffy rascal on - less out of a sense of joy and more so mirroring their ruler to try to get on her good side. "Half of them already made up their mind about you not being worth their time and the other half will try to scam you- sorry, offer you their services."

Casanova looked a bit dissapointed before his mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk. " Isn't that a bit like your own modus operandi?"

Spamton grumbled into his drink. "Let's just head for the main prize, decide whether want to stand more of this headache after, 'kay?"

Spamton shoved his way through the crowd towards Queen right in the center of the room, using her flying chair to get the best view of the action below. No one bothered to get out of his way, meaning Spamton had to force his way into his own damn meeting with Casanova in tow. Beyond humiliating, is what it was.

Had these Cyber Darkners no respect for their neighboring Dark World Rulers? There was no way in hell the news of him taking over the Dreemurr's domain had not spread, no matter how little communication they had. So what if he was monopolizing the family's attention? So what if Queen missed Kris and Noelle? It was not Spamton's fault! It was not reason enough to be so petty as to keep undermining him when he had more than earned her acknowledgement.

"Queen!" He had to shout to catch her attention, somehow trying to do so with a bright smile on his face. "Can you get down here so we can have a little chat?"

"Damn Who Is That Ant Sized Creature." She perched up her chin on her arm, feigning disinterest. "JK, I Know Who You Are Spammy-Whammy. Good To See You Or Whatever."

When Casanova snickered at her blatant dismissal, Spamton cast him a cold glare.

"Ok But Who Is That Weird Guy Next To You, I Am Serious Now."

Turning back to the Cyber monarch, Spamton slapped that grin back on. "My new business associate. He has some important knowledge related to what I wanted to talk to you about!"

"Oh My. Did You Kick That TV Guy To The Curb. That's Stone Cold, But I Guess It Had To Happen Eventually."

"What?! No, I-" Spamton took a deep breath. He was letting people get to him way too easily. "My partnership with Tenna is still going swell. There was just no reason to drag that poor guy away from his show for this."

"Oh Yeah That Guy Is Like Obsessed With The Shows, He's Like A Middle-Aged Mother That Way."

Deep breaths, Spamton. "Do you think we could talk more somewhere private? I know there's gotta be a room in this huge mansion that is big enough for the three of us!"

"Sure." She hopped off her flying chair, landing squarely on the shoulders of a Swatchling that Spamton realized had been standing in that exact spot this whole time precisely for this purpose.

"Follow The Leader (Me, LOL)." She sauntered off towards a flight of stairs. With those freakishly long legs of hers, it was a bit of a struggle to keep up with her hurried steps.

As she started going up, Queen carelessly threw her near empty glass of battery acid onto the floor below, making it explode. Spamton followed her example - his merely shattered on impact, shards of glass nearly getting flung onto unsuspecting attendees. Whatever. Casanova deposited his own, still full glass on a tray of another passing Swatchling.

Queen's whole demeanor screamed 'I want to get over with this as quickly as possible'. Her visor proudly displayed the letters IDGAF before she turned her back to Spamton.

"I Am Actually Kinda Glad You Still Have The TV Guy. He's Funny, You Should Have Brought Him." She looked back over her shoulder, her gaze zoning on Casanova who had wordlessly and politely elected to walk just behind Spamton. "Are You Funny, Mister…?"

"Oh, no, I'm nothing special. I'm sure your highness has more important things on her plate than asking for names of nobodies like myself." There was bitter venom in his words, but Queen paid no mind to it. In fact, it seemed to go right over head.

"Damn Right I Don't, Short Freak."

They walked down a hallway lined with unlabeled doors, so when Queen finally stopped to usher them inside of one the choice felt pretty arbitrary. It looked to be just an empty guestroom. Far from those corporate meeting rooms that Spamton liked to chew out his underlings in, it all seemed far too casual for his liking. Pretending like they knew each other enough for them to just talk during a random get-together, music still blasting loud enough to shake the walls in every corner of the mansion, for Queen to call him nicknames and have opinions on his choice of company.

She took a seat at a plush armchair in the corner of the room, with a small round coffee table in front of her that she propped her feet up on. There weren't any other seats around, forcing Spamton and Casanova to stand in front of her as if they were about to deliver a late quarterly report.

"So?" She looked at the two of them expectantly. Right at that moment, it only made some resentful part of Spamton churn and turn towards wanting to stall her as much as possible.

"How have you been, Queen?" In truth, he couldn't imagine the answer being anything of note. With the Hometown budget being what it was, any interesting technological advancements were absent from the public sector. Without some spicy news like that, all she could tell him about were Hometown's latest web searches.

"Oh, You Know. Same Old Library. Been Getting Into Those Educational Math Gamez Lately, You Might Have Seen Them Walking Around." A mild thing for someone to look up, but Spamton preferred to hear of that over ads for Female Hot Santas that Noelle never managed to clear from the Dreemurr's family computer.

"I have not, but I wouldn't mind it if you introduced me! That sounds like a great opportunity for you, you know!" He put up one of his own feet on the small table, leaning forward so that Queen and him could be more on eye level.

If she had eyes behind that visor of hers, which Spamton couldn't be sure about, she would have rolled them.

"Don't Think I Don't Know What You're Doing, Spam-Sham." Again, she looked straight past him and towards Casanova. "He Has Always Done This, You Know?"

Did she think she could embarrass him in front of the guy? Or was she looking for a co-conspirator in humiliating him here?

"I am not sure what you mean." Casanova replied cautiously, standing up uncomfortably straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

"You Must Not Know Him Long Then, Huh. Me And This Loser, We Go Way Back."

Spamton took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, we really don't-"

"Back When He Couldn't Even Sell A Cookie To A Poppup-"

"That was one time and on a dare, from you might I add. I am surprised you can recall that with how high and mighty you treated the Addisons before I cleaned the Dreemurr's place up." She hadn't bothered to remember their names either, back when all of them followed the same simple convention.

"Clean-Up, Or More Like Hostile Take Over With Suspiciously Boxed-Shaped Help."

Spamton, with the great privilege of having his glasses perched on top of his head, rolled his eyes where Queen could see them.

"Like you would know anything about clean-up - your city is overflowing with useless programming. When was the last time anyone here has cleared their cache?" He bit back with another petty insult, but it did not make him feel good in the slightest.

Spamton felt his face burning up. He risked a glance back at Casanova, dreading what he must have been thinking about this exchange in all his annoying judgment. Apparently, the guy has shed his nervous tension while he was busy bickering, because right then he was already seated back on the bed, of all places, legs crossed and looking deceptively serene.

"Are you quite done?" It should have probably been addressed at both of them, but Casanova stared directly into Queen as if he were trying to drill a hole directly through her skull. "Can we get to business?"

"Well, At Least Your New Funny Guy Is Sensible. Spill it, Short Freak."

"… It seems you haven't realized the situation that you are in yet."

"Sure Dude. Which Is Why You Should Spill."

His face twisted into a nasty grin, trying to appear intimidating. So much for sitting back and looking pretty. "We know what you've been doing, your highness."

"That Does Not Narrow It Down. Like, At All. I Do Lots Of Awesome Things, All The Time."

"There's suspicious activity with the internet connection." Spamton jumped in, not wanting to hand over the reigns to Casanova so easily. "You're either trying to sabotage Ad World or spy on me."

"Ok, Now That Is Some BS. Why Would I Do That."

"For the same reason you can never just be civil about our affairs - you're jealous." He did not have to name the topic of that jealousy, it was immediately apparent.

"Excuse A Damn Hot Laptop For Being Bothered That Her Favorite Children To Torture With All Available Information All Of The Time Have Been Stolen From Her-"

"You're always on that, even though you know I don't give a shit about the Lighners like that-" Or at least not enough for him to go psycho and start clambering for their exclusive attention like Queen was suggesting.

"Ok And I Do. It Isn't Fair." Queen's voice was always a steady monotone, perfectly unbothered, but the sentence was the closest Spamton ever came to hearing her get earnestly emotional.

No matter what, it was not going to suddenly inspire any pity in him. "So you admit it? You're trying to hurt my business?"

"I Didn't Say That. I'm Not That Desperate."

"Oh, now you're saying that I am desperate?!" He didn't even register the moment at which he started raising is voice.

Queen shrugged, tipping the armchair back and balancing its weight with her legs on the coffee table. "I Didn't Say That Either. But I Guess If It Hits, It Fits."

Spamton opened his mouth for another retort, but Queen shut him up by putting her hand up.

"Swear On My Processor, I Have No Idea What You're On About, Spammy-Scammy. Bold Of You To Accuse Me As My Guest And Semi-Valued Contact. And Especially As A (Former) Major Loser."

"None of your belittling could be considered a defense, I hope you see that."

"You Seriously Want Me To Defend Myself Against A Random Accusation With No Evidence, No Nothing?"

Spamton bit his tongue. He should have prepared for this better instead of just going along with what Casanova had suggested. His mind was telling him to bring up Kris and Noelle again, as it was the only thing he could say that'd make any sort of impression. He knew the young Holiday girl had stopped visiting as often as she did back in the day. He knew the older one had at some point stopped responding to his various targeted emails - something had to be there for him to spin a worrying enough story for Queen to reel back.

All of this hinged on the shaky assumption that Queen had any helpful information in the first place… Maybe instead of digging his grave here further, Spamton should have conceded and searched for his other contacts scattered about.

Casanova relieved him of the burden of making a decision before he could make up his mind. Spamton heard the distinctive click of a command window being opened.

"Please, take a look at this." He beckoned Queen over.

She turned her head towards him, but did not move a finger. For a moment, both of them sat completely still like that, Queen looking more than bored while Casanova smiled up at her with all of his teeth on display.

"Just stand up and show her already!" Spamton barked out at him when the moment dragged on for a bit too long. Hatred radiated off Casanova as he moved, but he wordlessly complied with the order.

"As you can see here," He spoke, enlarging the window and bringing it closer to Queen's face. "…we have intercepted a pretty concerning signal, not more than two weeks ago. We can't be sure what it was, but thankfully we caught onto it before it could reach Ad World and cause any damage."

Spamton scanned over the display Casanova had pulled up. Evidently, it was all fabricated figures, a garbled mess of code dated to the same day as Casanova's mysterious appearance. Spamton had poured over the data enough times to be sure nothing suspicious had happened that day on the back end of things, but at first glance the whole thing looked convincing enough. Just when did he have time to prepare all this? Going against what he had said earlier, the fake must have hacked into Ad World's security to achieve this after all.

"Why Does This Have To Be Me Though. It Could Be Any Dumbass Lightner Falling For Some Virus."

Casanova shrugged. "Could be. Don't you think it would be easier to identify though? Viruses and damaged programs come and go pretty much every day, but none of them look anything like this."

At that, Queen seemed to actually consider Casanova's words. She raised her pointer finger in the air, brazenly urging them to keep quiet and let her think.

"Ok, I Think I Might Have Found A Solution. Just Send Over Your Logs And I'll Find The Source Of Your Problem So You Can: Stop Whining."

"What?! No way-" Spamton interjected. "I am no giving you a single fucking thing if you might be spying on me!"

It was a bit ridiculous, for him to get riled up as if the simulated scenario was a real problem for Spamton to solve. Queen's blatant disrespect and sheer audacity of her made it way too easy, making Spamton actually worried whether she might have been conspiring against him behind the scenes for real.

"I Don't Know How To Make It More Clear That I Am Not. Seriously. I Do Not Care Enough."

"You realize you are contradicting yourself? Just a few minutes ago you cut me off to tell me how much you care!"

"I Meant The Lightner Kiddos. And You Know You Wouldn't Be Monopolizing Their Hyperactive Attention Span Without That Silly TV Guy."

She couldn't be bothered to remember Tenna's name either, but she should have kept it out of her mouth regardless. "Will you keep telling yourself that when you're left behind in the dust?!"

"Sure Man. You Know Those TV Ads Are Just A Fad. Keep Burning Wireless Connections And Wait And See Who Will Wake Up All Alone On A Friday Night Around Here."

His whole body was itching to move and do something, but Spamton sucked the urges in, leaving only a faint tremble of his closed fist. None of what Queen was saying was true, obviously! TV might have been a dying medium, but that didn't matter. Relying on Tenna did not matter when any day now Spamton would snatch that receiver out of his claws and be the sole owner of his secrets to success. No one cared how many bridges you've burned as long as the journey lead you to the top.

Spamton would not be left behind. He would stay at the top, above Queen, whether Tenna was with him or not-

"Would you quit running your mouth already?!"

Casanova's tense voice cut through his running thoughts. Yet again, Spamton prickled thinking he was the one spoken to, but the fake paid him no mind. He was only staring down at Queen with what Spamton recognized to be resentment, jumping on top of the coffee table and looking Cyber City's monarch straight in the face.

"Your voice is seriously grating."

"Huh? You're One To Talk-"

"You're the one who is biting her time before you're outdone, getting everything handed to you just like that, not realizing you're just a few moments away from someone more deserving getting a hold of your secrets."

"I Don't Need Secrets, Short Freak. I Am An Open (Mac)Book." She was sneering at him.

"Oh really? Would you tell us what you are hiding away in your basement then?"

The significance of the basement eluded Spamton entirely, but the mention of it ticked Queen off more than anything else he had seen. It was an ominous sight. Almost as ominous as every single detail about Casanova at that moment, with such a stark change in his disposition. His impostor had always been so put together, which was flattering, in its own way but…

Then, before Queen could get another word in, it all boiled off and the aptly nicknamed short freak fully went off. Spamton was so stunned, he could not even make out half of the insults he hurled Queen's way. The sound of his raised, hoarse voice made his ears ring. Queen looked less upset and more disturbed, looking for an opening to get rid of them both. Midway through a run-on sentence about her audacity, Queen picked Casanova up by the back of his shirt and removed them both from the room with a swift kick of her high heeled boots.

So they didn't really get anywhere with Queen, as expected. Needless to say, any opportunity to hover around and fish for intel at the party proper was also out of the question. Queen was likely already calling a horde of Swatchlings over to escort them out, meaning it was for the best for them to just start walking as quickly as possible.

Instead, he stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, trying to catch Casanova's gaze. The other had been stubbornly staring in the direction that Queen walked off to, no doubt a hateful expression still etched onto his face.

He wanted to say something - to thank him. Which was beyond ridiculous, because whatever Casanova shouted hardly constituted being helpful or saving him from humiliation. If anything, he was going against the one thing Spamton explicitly told him not to do and embarrassing the absolute shit out of him in front of the damn Queen, behaving like that.

Casanova was not defending him. It was simply like he had said earlier - not his world, not his stakes. A once in a life-time opportunity to spill his guts, acidic biting thoughts, in front of someone who looked similar enough to the target of his resentment.

It was immature and ugly. Spamton did not do immature and ugly.

When Casanova finally moved, it was a sharp turn with a slam of his fist against a nearby wall. As he stalked up closer towards Spamton, leaning into his side, all sense of urgency to get out of there was knocked out of him.

"You're so fucking useless, Spamton." Casanova hissed out. "Letting her walk all over you, like a tiny bug squashed under her shoe. Where's the Lord of Ads now, huh?" It might have been an unconscious thing on Casanova's part, but Spamton could feel his foot getting crushed underneath the other's heel, his nerves on fire as Casanova got closer and closer.

Glass was cold, rigid, hard to the touch, but Casanova was soft and warm.

Casanova did not grimace. He did not wince or lose his focus, not letting insignificant people cloud his judgment with insignificant matters. Much like Spamton himself, he was steady, he was commanding and he kept his priorities in check.

But at that moment, the mask had slipped off just a bit, revealing a sliver of the truth beneath it. Casanova was angry. He was restless with frustration that had been building up that night, something way too indulgent to be worth exploring.

It should have been a poignant moment, seeing the other act like that. A realization that would hit him with the full weight of everything he kept locked away, his back constantly against the door of the closet where he kept his skeletons so that it wouldn't burst open.

Instead, all that Spamton could think about is how he wished to be the outlet for that anger.

"Go start the car. We are leaving." Casanova muttered out, the corner of his eye visibly twitching.

Spamton didn't need to be told twice.

Chapter Text

Spamton was nervously jumping his leg up and down in the driver's seat, his hand gripping the wheel tight enough to make his knuckles ache. He got the keys from the valet, started the damn car and now what? Where was that Casanova and why the fuck was he making him wait?

He slammed his head directly onto the horn, hoping it wouldn't leave a stupid looking indent on his forehead. The sound of the honk reverberating down the empty alleyway honestly helped him let off some steam.

"Quiet down! Fuck." Casanova suddenly appeared in his rear view window before he could do it again.

Spamton whirled his head around, just fast enough to see the fake jumping into the passenger seat.

"What are you gawking at? Drive."

Being made to wait like he was some dumb chauffer turned him pretty resistant to Casanova's demanding tone all over again. Still, having avoided Queen's full wrath up to that point pushed him to comply, reason momentarily winning over any petty feelings. The car slowly rolled forward, before Spamton pushed it into high gear and the two drove away with a haunting roar.

"What took you so long, asshole?!" He shouted over the whirring engine, rushing into traffic.

His driving was causing quite the commotion, with him swerving in between the lanes and really putting his premium Cungadero model to good use as he sped way above the already ridiculous limit. The other City drivers have long been desensitized to scenes like this, having to deal with Queen on their roads, but some passerbys he nearly ran over were properly pissed enough to flip him off. Spamton pretended not to notice, continuing his high speed chase against no one but his own pent-up frustration.

If he was going to be recognized during the trip, this would have been the moment. Spamton G. Spamton, the former disgrace, would make the top of Cyber City news the next morning for causing a number of near-collisions, all with that audacious fake fuming in his passenger seat.

"What's gotten into you?!" Casanova was holding onto the leather upholstery for dear life, sounding equal parts mad and stunned.

"I could ask you the same fucking thing, hot shot! What were you thinking back there, blowing up like that?!"

"Obviously, I was making up for your sorry excuse of a strategy, you-!"

Spamton floored the gas pedal, effectively shutting Casanova up with a small gasp. The substance of the argument did not actually interest him one bit, as much as he could feel the burning tension building up from where his feet worked the pedals to his flushed face. The fact that Casanova seemed completely oblivious to this was just one more reason for him to rush back to that hotel room as fast as the car would let him.

Casanova's gait was uncertain as he stepped out of the vehicle, shaken up by the crazy drive. His previous scowl returned to him once he heard Spamton slamming the car door shut, walking off without another word. He raced to their room while anxiously fiddling with the keys, letting Casanova catch up to him. He could hear him grumbling under his breath all the way down the hotel hallway.

Spamton could not let the fake open his mouth again to fill his thoughts with absolute nonsense. The door to the room had opened, and swift fingers turned the lock in an instant. Not wanting to hear Casanova utter a single complaint, Spamton grabbed him by his shirt collar and kissed him.

Casanova straightened his back against the door, but it only took another eager peck and nibble for Spamton to feel him smirking into it.

It was completely different from the last time they did this. Spamton felt none of that instant relief as he sunk into it, wrapping his arms around the other's shoulders. Casanova was taking it deliberately and infuriatingly slow, gently caressing the side of Spamton's arm and refusing to lean into him any deeper. There was no point to any of this if he was going to keep it this sweet and chaste! It angered Spamton, made his head buzz with a want for more and fast.

One of his hands came up to tangle itself in Casanova's hair, roughly tugging on it, forcing him to lean upwards. A dissatisfied grunt escaped the other's lips and Spamton used the opportunity to press his tongue into Casanova's mouth, only for him to bite down on it hard. Spamton awarded him with a pleased hum, the sound turning into something more needy when Casanova sucked on his tongue.

"You look good…" Spamton breathed out after pulling away for a second, dazed. "Even in that ugly suit of yours, you look so damn good."

"And you're a raging narcissist".

Their embrace quickly dissolved into more of a scuffle after that, clinking teeth, and nails digging into flesh, the push and pull he had come to expect from Casanova. Even just this messy make-out was enough to get him weak in the knees, his arousal steadily growing. Spamton felt himself getting closer to reaching that sweet indulgence again, but right as his irritation was about to dissolve, Casanova decided to push him off himself. He obnoxiously wiped saliva off his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

"… Just what has gotten into you tonight?" He leveled him with a suspicious gaze, a hand coming down to toy with his tie and twist it between his fingers.

"Don't you ruin the moment by asking stupid questions!" He tugged on Casanova's shirt urgently, but the guy wasn't budging.

"I'm starting to believe me you dragged me all the way out here just for this…" Spamton detected a hint of annoyance in his voice, but the other quickly covered it up with a sly smile. "Far away from your little employees, that silly, sweet TV… No one to catch us - but I bet you'd like that too, hm?"

The fake charm served to soothe some of the rush underneath his skin. Spamton tried to imagine it - one of the Addisons, or maybe even Tenna, knocking on the door to his office, with Casanova's hands all over him. The door would still be locked, but they could be easily overheard. Spamton would eventually be forced to answer the call for attention as the intruder refused to let it go, coming to open the door entirely disheveled despite his best efforts, shirt crumpled and hair undone. Or maybe they really would forget about the door altogether, someone watching through a crack as Casanova unraveled him on his desk, antennae perched up curiously as he took in the sight-

"You really like that, huh?" Using the leverage he had on his tie, Casanova pulled him closer. He could feel his breath tickling the skin of his neck. "Freak."

The fake moved past him, knocking into Spamton with his shoulder. Before Spamton seized the chance to turn around and snap at him, Casanova pulled on that tie again to make him follow. Breath stuttering as he let himself be pushed around, they ended up walking over to one of the beds. Spamton had nearly ditched the tie when going out that evening, but at that moment he was rather thankful that he didn't drop it in the end.

Casanova sat at the edge of the bed, crossing his legs. His cold gaze was expectant, a silent demand that Spamton kneel besides him. When Spamton didn't immediately take the hint, he was tugged down, nearly toppling over with the sudden force of the pull. He looked down at the floor, feeling too humiliated to stare Casanova in the face, but he could hear the bastard chuckle above him loud and clear.

Did the impostor really think he could just pull something like that out of nowhere, carrying him around on some sort of leash like a dog without as much as a warning? Never mind the fact that he didn't exactly hate it either.

One hand still holding onto his tie, Casanova used the other to trail his fingers down his face. With a surprisingly careful touch, he lifted Spamton's chin, urging him to look up. Casanova opened his eyes very rarely, a force of habit that Spamton had once been all too familiar with, but in that moment he stared back at Spamton wide awake. He seemed curious, engaged, a funny sparkle dancing on the surface of his dark, colorless irises. He threaded his fingers between Spamton's hair, smoothing the locks over and eventually catching onto his sunglasses. After giving them a quick glance over, he simply tossed them aside.

"H-Hey! Be careful with those!"

He didn't answer. Instead, he began petting Spamton on the top of his head, then started using both of his hands to tilt his face into all sorts of different angles. Casanova was methodologically surveying him, and Spamton was tempted to follow his studious gaze. Spamton could very well see it slowly travel from the tip of his nose to the bridge to the top of his forehead, dance over his cheekbones as he swiped his thumbs over them.

They were so similar and it scared Spamton too, which could be why he had trouble immediately grasping the other's identity when they first met. The Addisons all looked alike as well, virtually indistinguishable to any customer, but among their ranks everyone could list out the small quirks of their physique that made them marginally unique. Pointing them out outright was pretty unacceptable though, with how they all strived for conformity. The illusion of conformity might have once been comforting, but Casanova's striking similarities really scared him.

When he crinkled his nose while pressing two thumbs into the corners of Spamton's mouth, forcing it open and swiping over each tooth individually, Spamton recognized the focused expression. When he clicked his tongue while pulling on Spamton's hair, he recognized it. And maybe a clone wouldn't have been so bad if he also didn't use Spamton's face to talk back, to complain and moan and let himself get temperamental, all those things Spamton knew he shouldn't have been doing.

Maybe that was why he allowed this ridiculous form of intimacy, Casanova handling him like a rag doll and searching for something Spamton could not comprehend, but was pretty sure he wouldn't find. It was better to surrender than to keep fighting the type of person he was, the self ultimately inescapable even hidden after the layers of his persona.

For a second, Spamton thought of Tenna… It was clear he wanted to see his own doppelganger so badly, but what would he think if he saw this brash, annoying Spamton instead of the more measured one that he knew? Or if Spamton paid more attention to that other Tenna, would he have glimpsed something new about him, learned more about that temper they kept dancing around? Not wanting to think of his partner while lazily sucking on Casanova's fingers, Spamton banished the thought.

At some point, one of Casanova's feet joined the prodding, poking Spamton in the sides to make twist that way or the other. Less focused and more amused, there was something cruel to Casanova's little laughter as he started to press the weight of his foot against Spamton's chest, causing him to gracelessly tumble back. The charm of whatever spell he had put Spamton under disappeared with the loss of his silence during his appraisal.

"Hey! W-What's your issue? And what the hell even is this? Stop doing that!" He choked out.

"You didn't seem to mind a moment ago." He shrugged, leaning back.

"W-well, I do know, weirdo. Stop looking at me like that and… do-do something! Anything else!"

"What do you want me to do, Spamton?" The question and Casanova's casual honesty appeared bizarrely generous considering Spamton's position of literally writhing on the floor at his feet.

"Something, oh I don't know, more normal?"

"Would letting you suck me off be more normal?"

Spamton blushed furiously at the straight-forward wording. What was wrong with him, to get flustered by something so simple?

"Sure, yeah."

"How wonderful."

One drastic motion had Spamton being tugged closer, nearly falling onto his face and directly in the space between Casanova's parting legs. Deceptive warmth emanated from his body and Spamton had to force himself not to lean into it, not to put his cheek into the fake's thigh and nuzzle into him. After getting manhandled by Casanova for minutes on end, that kind of eagerness would be far too embarrassing.

"What's the hold-up? Do you need instructions of some kind?" Casanova cooed above him. "I wouldn't have thought so, what with you always making use of that big mouth."

Not trusting himself to come up with a response that wouldn't humiliate him further, Spamton thought it'd be best to get to work. Kneeling more steadily, he put two hands on top of the other's legs and shifted his weight forward. Steeling his gaze with an attempt to gain back his confidence, he looked Casanova straight in the eye when he got to unzipping the front of his pants with his teeth. The bastard looked as cold and unaffected as ever, smiling down at him merrily even as he licked him through the fabric.

It felt like a challenge, for Spamton to see Casanova undone by even a fraction of a degree of what the impossible man had been doing to him this whole time. He moved his hand to free Casanova's growing bulge from where it was trapped in his boxers, and what he was met with was… not an unfamiliar sight, although one he had never been granted the pleasure of viewing from this angle in particular.

Of course Casanova would be identical to him in this aspect too, an inky black tentacle slivering from his pants and trying to curl itself around Spamton's fingers at the slightest hint of touch. Spamton indulged the will of the appendage, slick coating his skin when he tried to grasp it, though its owner still didn't look like he shared an ounce of the enthusiasm. The weight of Casanova's dick in his hand felt strangely correct, and so Spamton moved it the way he usually would, twisting around it and lingering at the tip, trying to smear more of the slick beading on the top on his way down.

It was a bit of an out of body experience, and when his eyes fluttered shut for a moment he couldn't shake the feeling he was touching his own body while inhabiting that of an outsider. At that same moment, he could hear Casanova let out the faintest of gasps and he stared back at him, startled back into reality.

Without a moment of hesitation, knowing that moment could be the difference between his best chance at seeing Casanova unravel and him running out of the room in defeat, Spamton wrapped his lips around the tentacle and took it down his mouth the best he could.

He was no stranger to Addison anatomy, the bodies of what were once his buddies and now his lackeys, so the antsy wriggling of the thing didn't surprise him as much as how thick it felt, struggling to swallow it down in its entirety. And the taste. Spamton had caught glimpses of his own taste before, on Tenna's tongue and fingers, but that could only generously be called a sample. Now he could properly feel it, heavy and overpowering. It forced a small moan out of him, met with an annoying lack of reaction from Casanova.

Pacing himself, Spamton managed to get it down to the base soon enough, pressing his nose flush against the fuzz of Casanova's stomach. The other guy, who had been suspiciously hands off throughout all this, chose to teasingly play with Spamton's hair, predictably followed by him pushing Spamton's head back then thrusting hard.

"Relax." He breathed out when he heard Spamton gasp around him. "Knowing that CRT, you- worked with bigger. You can take it."

His fingers twisted themselves in Spamton's hair, curling to the point of tingling pain on his scalp with each coming pull and thrust. Satisfied, cocky groans were heaved out above him as the writhing tentacle kept hitting the back of his throat, Spamton clutching onto Casanova's thighs for support while trying not to choke. Small tears fell down his cheeks with all these overwhelming sensations, flowing in gentle trails until they joined the growing pool of drool dribbling down his chin.

No one had treated him anything like this since his days as an Addison, and no one else ever would. Not even Tenna, especially not Tenna, would get to see him this pathetic and vulnerable ever again. It was a job for his reflection only, exorcising this weakness out of him and making him melt onto floor. And he already envisioned how good it would feel to fully let go, the growing dampness in his pants making his own need apparent.

Just as he was beginning to ease into it, feeling the scales of pain and pleasure dip to the side of pleasure most wonderful, Casanova shoved him backwards and regarded him with a cold glare.

"Alright, I'm getting bored. Get off the floor and strip." He looked off to the side with a scoff as Spamton got off his knees on wobbly legs. The impostor's insistence on disinterest had been humiliating, but even then he couldn't hide the breathless hitch in his command or how his dick still stood proud, oozing slick on the hotel bedsheets - it had been Spamton's bed that they'd be fooling around on too.

The fight had been expertly face-fucked out of him, and so wordlessly Spamton crawled on top of the bed, positioning himself across it. Meanwhile, Casanova sat down at the foot of the bed, leaning back and drilling that watchful gaze directly into his forehead. His eyes visibly slid down as Spamton started untying the knot in his abused, wrinkled tie. Next came the first few buttons of his shirt, opening a small window to his fuzz cover chest. As obnoxious as ever, Casanova didn't even tuck himself back into his pants for this mediocre display, spreading his legs to show off his arousal but not moving an inch to touch himself while observing either.

With anyone else, Spamton would have liked to employ some amount of showmanship. There were elements akin to advertising in seduction, and Spamton fashioned himself highly skilled in both disciplines. His current affair involved a lot of awkward shuffling and avoiding eye-contact, his skin burning up wherever he could feel Casanova's eyes lingering. There was no use in a show when his shadow already knew what was in store, down to every last detail.

Spamton cringed at the feeling of soaked fabric clinging onto him as he forcefully pried away his pants and boxers, throwing the offending articles of clothing down onto the pile of everything else on the floor. Fully bare, he forced himself to look up.

"So now what?" He spoke up, kneeling on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't want to be the only one sitting around here naked, you know!"

"Oh? I thought you liked to see me in these clothes you picked out - your little dress-up doll for the night."

He sat up a little, twisting himself into a truly back-bending pose with his back unnaturally arched.

"You know our figure quite well, picking this out - you've been looking at how it hugs my waist all night, haven't you? How these pants accentuate my ass - right? All while we were supposed to be negotiating - standing our ground, you were just so… distracted. " He trailed his hands down his body, the slight twitch in his spindly fingers making the motion look forced.

"…But I guess, if you want it off… I can oblige if you ask politely. And I really have been missing some hint of compliance from you all evening." The last sentence had been spoken with pure venom, dropping any cutesy pretense with Casanova sitting back on his haunches.

Spamton swallowed hard. Unfortunately, he felt his heart rate spike up at those words and that sudden seriousness.

"P-Please." He muttered out, unable to keep his voice steady.

"Was that so difficult now?"

Casanova shimmying out of his suit was about as awkward as Spamton's pitiful strip-tease, saved only by the ever-present coy but vaguely threatening smirk. Each inch of skin revealed was all too recognizable, no hidden marks or blemishes that would have told a story different from what Spamton already knew. It almost felt voyeuristic, an act he was under no circumstances supposed to see, despite being the one who initiated the whole ill-fated affair in the first place. An experience that felt entirely unreal, but uncomfortable and visceral enough to make hot shivers run down his spine.

The clone stalked closer to him across the bed, placing his hands on Spamton instantly when he entered his range.

"Satisfied with the show?" Spamton's head jerked involuntarily in an approximation of a nod.

"Good. Because now we are switching the channel."

Surprised with Casanova's strength once again, he could not react as he was pushed onto his stomach and had his face shoved into the pillows. One of Casanova's hands was digging into the back of Spamton's neck while the other trailed a line down his sensitive back, the fake using this weak spot to his advantage. Spamton buried his head further into the pillows to muffle any embarrassing noises he might have been making.

His fingers suddenly grasped at the sheets when Casanova went further down, taking back both his hands to spread Spamton's legs further apart while lifting his hips up. One moment he was surrendering to arching his back at the crazy angle, the next he could feel Casanova's hot breath on his slit. The shadow was not getting all up in there to pleasure him yet, just to observe him inside out again, but Spamton still whined into the pillow at the slightest hint of touch. When Casanova brought his thumb trace along the edges of his folds, it was in the manner of careful measurement. A finger, then another, slipped inside of him with ease, and the stretch that followed was slow and unexciting, but Spamton immediately worked his hips back to try get something, anything, more out of it.

Casanova clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "So impatient. Can't you sit still for even a moment?"

Spamton made a truly humiliating noise, a near sob, when Casanova withdrew. Cold shivers run down his skin, trying to make up for the sudden lack of Casanova's remarkably cold fingers. It was not for long however, with the other lazily lining up their hips, teasing Spamton's slit with that slimy tentacle before sharply thrusting in.

He could barely make out with how load his moan had been. In spite of how wet he was, the stretch had still been noticeable, uncomfortable but satisfying at the same time. He bit his lip in an attempt to ground himself, drawing blood as Casanova slowly pulled their hips flush. He leaned down over Spamton's back, also painfully slow, starting to whisper incomprehensible nonsense right above him.

"I cannot believe it, Spammy." He twirled a finger around a stray strand of his hair falling over his forehead, playing with it idly. "All this fight you pretended to have in you, only to let yourself be shoved around like some stupid slut."

It was one bizarre scene after another with this guy, seemingly feeling none of the urgency to just get on with the show that Spamton was bursting with. His whole body felt too tense, too on edge to think of starting to move against Casanova on his own with how much his legs were shaking. Spamton needed him to stop fucking around, and just fuck him in earnest.

"I can't stand to look at you. It's just plain disgusting." Spamton had to stifle another moan at the sound of Casanova's repulsed voice, scared it would make him pull away.

"To have this much power and only use it to sell cheap tricks?" The sensation of Casanova's warm breath on his skin combined with the stillness was maddening.

"Will you ever stop being that worthless Addison?"

He punctuated the sentence by nearly pulling out of Spamton, only to slam his hips back hard. Spamton could not restrain his pathetic noises any longer, as if determined to prove Casanova's point regarding his mediocrity.

The pace he set was relentless, leaving no space for rebuttals, but Spamton had no desire to speak any of them either. All he wanted was this bliss, of being completely overtaken by his shadow. The other Spamton was fully looming over him, pining him down as he fucked any remaining crumb of assertiveness out of him. Spamton was left to writhe helplessly underneath him, a euphoric struggle while feeling so full, practically boneless as he let himself be used. Even the stinging force that held his arms down becoming a grounding pleasure.

"Casanova!-" He sobbed in the pillows, over and over, inter-spaced with a chorus of sharp gasps and whimpers.

His orgasm sneaked up on him with just one particularly harsh thrust. It was absolutely humiliating, how quickly and easily he was brought to his peak, and the thought of this failure only intensified his release. His whole body trembled as he shot ropes of cum onto neat hotel sheets, Casanova continuing to fuck him through it without a hitch.

The added stimulation made it feel like the euphoria lasted forever, the other milking him for way more than Spamton thought he was even capable of. Finally, once the last drop of his release trickled onto mattress, Spamton felt himself overcome by a wave of exhaustion. His body, which had been tense and rigidly raised up mere moments again, slumped forward like it was moving on its own entirely. Everything felt so heavy, his mind sloshing around pleasantly inside his digital skull with Casanova still lodged deep inside of him.

Leaving him no time to recover, Casanova pulled him into his lap, holding him with one arm wrapped his torso. Spamton groaned at the feeling of the tentacle in him shifting within his tender insides. Casanova tilted his chin, gently caressing his cheek with his thumb then giving it a few encouraging pats.

"You look quite cute like this, Spammy." He whispered in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Then came the numbing pain of a slap right across his face.

"That's for making us both look ridiculous."

Another slap with a similarly fervent roll of his hips.

"And that's for thinking you can push me around."

Before his next strike came, Spamton squinted his eyes at Casanova's disheveled appearance.

"For thinking you can make a fool of me."

He sounded and looked crazed, his breath coming out in rapid heaths, hair sticking out in all sorts of directions as he delivered another hit.

"I am not a fool, Spamton!"

It was beyond satisfying to see him like this.

"I am nothing like you."

Spamton stopped counting the hits soon enough, stopped paying attention to whatever Casanova was saying. It didn't seem entirely related to him anyway, or rather not related to their messed up situation but rather pulled from the core of their shared being. If being humiliated was Spamton's relief, then he couldn't deny Casanova his own twisted reassurance. He took it all in quietly, reveling in the tingling heat rising to his flushed cheeks and the dull pressure of Casanova continuously grinding into him.

It was all becoming too much. Having lost his capacity to think, Spamton threw his hands over Casanova's shoulders and pressed his forehead as close as he could in the crook of his neck. Spamton almost wanted to kiss him, or to be kissed by him, which they both knew would have been way too soft and mellow. Reading his thoughts, the other snarled, stilling in an instant. Spamton let out a small pleasured sob before being thrown back, then pushed faced down on the mattress again.

The sensations of everything around him were so intense that he was sure he was about to pass out. Even the small touch of the pillow grazing his cheek was too overbearing to ignore. Cum still trickled down his bare legs, cold and uncomfortable, his own fingers were digging into his palm, his overly sensitive pussy weakly pulsing and clutching at every twitch of the tentacle against his walls. Most mind-numbingly of all, there were words he couldn't quite make out shouted at him and tickling his thoughts.

Spamton wasn't exactly sure how much of this sweet torture he managed to withstand, but his second orgasm had not been nearly as intense as the first, communicated with a fluttering in his stomach and a broken moan. He distantly noted Casanova's release filling him with faint warmth, before the other pulled out with a low groan.

He couldn't have been quite sure what actually happened next, but Spamton could swear his shadow asked him something really important, right before his conscience blissfully floated away from him.