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Tenna loosened his tie and grinned to himself, buzzing with joy as he entered the green room. The sound of applause of the live studio audience faded away as the door swung shut behind him.
“Darling! That was electric!” His glamorous co-host greeted him, standing at the bar holding two celebratory glasses of pink, glittery champagne. One metal arm extended out and shoved it into his hand.
“All thanks to you, sweetheart!” Tenna took a sip, feeling warm and staticky all over as the bubbles entered his system. “We make a stellar team of TV personalities.”
Mettaton coiled an arm around Tenna, pulling the CRT close and capturing him in a kiss. Tenna’s shoulders relaxed. He smiled against his partner’s lips.
“Ah yes, but you’re the brains behind it all,” Mettaton praised. “That new physical challenge tonight? How grand.”
Tenna gleamed. His newest challenge was an intricate, neon, inflatable obstacle course where contestants had to bounce and crawl their way to the finish. Slip and fall off the course and they’d end up in a lake of glooby slime. Collect TV-shaped coins along the way for extra points! And the grand prize for the first-place winner— a shiny, brand new sports car straight from Cyber World. It had been a hit, garnering howling laughter from the audience, and (mostly) harmless fun for the Darkner contestants.
“I still think we should have amped up the risk,” Mettaton added, fangs glittering. “Some swinging axes? Perhaps a pit of electric eels?”
“Darling, we talked about this. That’s all too violent, even for late night TV. The censors will kill us.”
Mettaton finished his drink and smirked. “You’re no fun, Mr. Tenna. What’s a good show without a little danger?”
“We work hard to build up a following of devoted viewers, we can’t afford to put them in peril,” Tenna joked. He set his glass down on the bar. “Dead fans can’t exactly ‘tune in next time’ .”
“I suppose. I still think it would improve our ratings.”
Tenna leaned against the bar. He shuffled off his blazer and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Their show had run late into the hours of the night; Mike, Ramb, and the Pippinses and the rest of their crew were packing up and soon to be headed home. It was only he and Mettaton left, per usual, to unwind off-stage and have some quality time to themselves.
Ever since the wildly popular ‘Mr. Ant Tenna’s TV Time’ had rebranded itself to ‘Tenna and Mettaton’s Variety Show,’ Tenna had found the type of fame he'd always vied for. Nowadays he was swamped with fans asking for autographs, roses thrown at his feet, piles of postcards— finally, fanmail!
All with his flashy pink co-host by his side. Tenna had found success on his own, but Mettaton had shown him luxurious stardom.
“Oh, look at these!” Mettaton had grabbed a tray of what appeared to be cupcakes. Looking around, Tenna noticed all the splendors in the room: gifts from fans, probably hundreds of gifts, and notably most of them were food. Boxes of chocolates, cakes, cookies, all sorts of home-baked goodies of every color and shape.
The cupcakes Mettaton had picked out were undoubtedly made for the popstar—decadent dark chocolate cakes, topped with hot pink frosting, dusted with silver glitter and heart-shaped sprinkles. Some of them were decorated with edible candy versions of Mettaton’s face.
“How thoughtful!” Tenna’s face lit up. Oh, their fans were so talented. He wondered if they’d honed their culinary skills by watching his baking channel. A hand-written note was attached to the tray. Tenna plucked it off and read:
“Listen to this! Dear Mr. Mettaton, I am SUCH a huge fan! Ever since I started watching you, I’ve been practicing dancing and singing. I even entered my school’s talent show and did one of your routines! I hope to be on your and Mr. Tenna’s TV show some… some… day…?”
Tenna’s voice fizzled out—interrupted by the pleased moans and chewing of his partner, who was scarfing down desserts, and clearly not listening.
The TV stood, open-mouthed, watching. As Mettaton picked each cake off the tray, he brought it hastily to his lips—his pink, wet tongue and pearly fangs gulped down each treat with ecstasy. His lashes fluttered closed as he savored each bite. And Tenna could practically see the lump moving down the robot’s throat, accompanied by wonderful, guttural swallowing and little groans of pleasure…
Holy cow, he’d never really… seen Mettaton eat before? But this was something else. Tenna felt his internal fans kick up a notch.
“Delicious,” Mettaton purred, and licked the frosting from his fingers. He glanced at Tenna and quirked an eyebrow. “Hmm? Something wrong?”
The CRT felt his screen blush pink. “No— no! Just, ah,” he waved the note in his hand, “I-it’s nice to hear from the fans. Sounds like you’ve inspired some young monsters out there to become entertainers.”
Mettaton wiped his mouth, and perked up. “Oh! Yes, it’s lovely to hear.” The robot gave Tenna an apologetic look. “Sorry if I’m distracted, dear—I should spend more time reading the fans’ sentiments, but I—” he grabbed a chocolate-dipped cherry and popped it in his maw, “I have an insatiable sweet tooth that I must indulge.”
“N-no need to apologize.” He struggled to pull his eyes away as Mettaton ate three more cherries. “Hard to control yourself around all these sweets, isn’t it?”
Mettaton’s fingers dragged across the bar, curiously looking at each plate. His eyebrows raised as he picked one out. “Here, these are most certainly for you!”
It was a plate of adorable sugar cookies—some shaped like TVs, some like video game controllers, others simply decorated with lettering, spelling ‘WE LOVE TV!’ Reading that phrase set off a warmth inside of Tenna, heart bouncing around inside his circuitry.
He had already indulged a bit before the show, feasting on little sandwiches and mini quiches and croissants. He wasn’t exactly hungry. But these cookies—they were for him. Made with love! A love for TV! How could he resist?
He bit into one and let the flavors melt in his mouth. It was wonderful. Sweet and soft, baked to perfection. He tasted another, humming as he chewed away. Entranced by the perfect harmony of flour and sugar and butter, Tenna quickly slipped into a daze, guiding one cookie after another into his mouth.
The plate emptied, and Tenna looked up. Mettaton smirked at him. He himself had finished off the cherries, and was now eating some type of chilled pudding in a glass.
“So, were they good?” he asked, spoon hanging teasingly out of his mouth.
Tenna was suddenly a little embarrassed. But he pushed the feeling down— there’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself, he thought. It was only Mettaton here, and they both deserved to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
“Splendid!” the TV admitted. “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”
Mettaton smirked. “What do you say we bring all this over to the couch and get comfortable? My feet are killing me after that long show.”
Without waiting for Tenna’s input, the robot set to work, piling up plates on his long, extended arms. He strode across the room and laid out the bounty on the coffee table and end tables, surrounding the sofa with desserts. He settled himself on the plush couch and reached out to grab all the remaining sweets from around the room, pulling them close.
“All—all of that? H-how much of that are you planning on eating? I figured we’d save all this for everyone to share tomorrow. Heck, all these goodies could last the cast and crew a week!”
Mettaton laughed, a glint of something sinister in his eyes. “It’s not how much I’m planning on eating, darling. It’s how much we are going to eat. Now come, join me.”
Tenna whimpered as Mettaton’s arm lashed out and grabbed his shirt collar, gingerly tugging the taller man to the sofa. Tenna sank into the cushion and Mettaton quickly straddled him.
“S-sweetheart,” Tenna spoke up, quivering underneath Mettaton’s thighs, “I don’t have the, ah, sweet tooth that you do—I don’t know if I can keep up with your appetite.”
Mettaton placed his hands on Tenna’s head, tilting it up slightly. “Look around! These are all gifts from our adoring fans! Clearly they want to fill us with affection and cake, so let’s put on a once-in-a-lifetime show for them…”
Tenna laughed. He glanced around nervously. “Uh, honey? Nobody’s watching.”
“Oh, but a good TV host should always act as though they’re putting on a show.”
He placed his thumb on Tenna’s lower lip, coaxing his mouth open ever so slightly. Mettaton grabbed a forkful of red velvet cake and eased it into Tenna’s mouth. The older device let out a soft moan. Oh, that was tasty. The thick, cream cheese frosting was to die for. He happily let Mettaton feed him another bite.
“That’s it!” Mettaton mimicked snapping a photo. “Look at that perfect face—obedience, gluttony, pleasure. The audience is loving it!”
Tenna shakily swallowed. He fought down a smile and looked away. Mettaton gently tipped his face back to attention, first shoving a rich forkful of cake into his own mouth, then one in Tenna’s.
“Consider this our own little physical challenge.” Mettaton’s eyes lit up. “Oh, what’ll we call it? ‘Snack Attack!’ No, no— ‘Stuffing With a Killer Robot’?”
Tenna chuckled through the mouthful. “You’re ridiculous… how about—mmph— ‘Fan-Feeding Frenzy’ ? Or ah, ‘Mettaton’s Munch Marathon’?”
“Ooh, those are good! We’ll workshop it in the writer’s room. For now I want to see you perform. Alongside me, of course.”
Tenna’s lips involuntarily fell open, waiting for more cake, but was shocked to see they'd already cleared the plate.
Mettaton was quick to find something else to fill their bellies—a dense, heavy cheesecake, dripping with red cherry syrup. That looked daunting, way too rich for Tenna to handle right now. Already a touch full, his tummy grumbled at the thought.
On the other hand, Mettaton’s mouth seemed to be watering.
“Reach around and undo my belt for me, darling? I’m going to need room for this.”
Tenna reached around and clicked the button to release the thick metal belt around his partner’s waist. Mettaton instantly breathed a sigh of relief, his pliable, soft middle now free to expand. Tenna felt a heat growing between his own legs.
With a serving knife, the robot cut the dense dessert into four heaping quarters. He wasted no time picking up the first chunk, and practically unhinged his jaw to gulp it down. A look of unmatched ecstasy painted his face as he chewed. Swallowed. Panted for breath afterwards. Tenna awaited his turn but it didn’t come yet—no, Mettaton continued to please himself, gulping down a second piece, then a third. Tenna wasn’t sure what to focus on, the delicious way each piece traveled down the popstar’s throat, or the way his soft, synthetic belly wobbled and grew with each slice.
“S-sorry, love,” Mettaton breathed out. He let out a few stuttering burps, and patted his belly. “I’m so greedy. I’ve almost eaten this whole thing myself.”
Tenna trembled. He was sure his face was glowing red—this was… hot, hot, hot! Hotter than any adult movie that cable had to offer!
“Go on, then,” Tenna urged, suddenly feeling confident, and picked up the remains of the cheesecake with his gloved hand. “We can’t end on a cliffhanger. Give the audience the thrilling conclusion they crave.” He smirked.
Mettaton’s mouth excitedly fell wide open, and Tenna took the opportunity, fed him each and every decadent bit. Once he’d swallowed, the diva grabbed Tenna’s hand and eagerly licked it clean. The older machine tingled all over, thrilled, and only a tiny bit scared that his partner might bite his fingers clean off.
Mettaton leaned back and let out another satisfied belch. Tenna couldn’t help himself, he reached a hand down and squeezed and kneaded the robot’s soft, engorged belly. He found he loved this material. It was like a warm, velvety rubber. It had an amazing squish to it, apparently even when full. And the sounds that came from Mettaton were divine—he squirmed and moaned beneath Tenna’s fingertips.
After a while Tenna eased off, and Mettaton returned to the “challenge” at hand. His hand lunged for a pie dish: neon green, presumably a key lime pie, topped with huge dollops of whipped cream.
“Your turn,” he crooned, plunging an enormous serving spoon into it.
“Oh, goodness. I can’t eat all tha—!” Tenna started to protest, cut off by Mettaton jamming the goop into his mouth. He whined, but swallowed obediently. The flavor was pleasantly tart, a refreshing palette cleanser from all the sugar and chocolate.
“Don’t give up on me, sweetheart, we’re in this together.” With his free hand, Mettaton slowly and teasingly popped open each of Tenna’s shirt buttons. Oh, sweet relief. “Let me help you. You’re going to need a lot more room to grow.”
He patted Tenna’s belly for emphasis, then pried open the TV’s tight belt and pants button. Tenna whined pitifully through another heaping mouthful.
He glanced down. He looked huge. His pale, swollen belly was rounding out by the second, growing and pressing up against Mettaton’s soft gut. This was so pathetic, so vulnerable! He was so used to being put-together for the camera. Buttoned up and tailored and slim. Not this —disheveled, heaving, messy. What would the audience really think if they saw this?
Pretty soon the pie was gone, the whole whopping thing settling heavily in Tenna’s belly. Mettaton returned the favor of rubbing his middle. Tenna’s head lolled back.
“That feels marvelous,” he moaned out. He let his knees fall slack, granting his gut as much room as it needed.
“You feel marvelous, sweetheart. So big and nourished and full.” Mettaton leaned in and kissed his face.
“I’m— urp —enormous, is what I am. You’re going to have to roll me out of here.”
Mettaton chuckled. “I’ll gladly roll us both out of here. We’re not done yet.”
Mettaton’s arm snaked out to the table and pulled in another heaping tray, this time full of thick, fudgy butterscotch brownies. It came with a sweet note written delicately in cursive. Tenna held it between his sugar-coated fingers. His antennae perked up; he recognized the stationery immediately, a lavender paper with white filigree. He’d received a few postcards and gifts from this fan.
For my favorite TV host, from a long time viewer. Thank you for making this mom smile! - T
He smiled warmly. He huffed and shoved a brownie in his mouth, despite the tummy ache.
“You’re doing amazing!” Mettaton excitedly praised. He drummed his fingers on Tenna’s belly. “This tank isn’t full yet, folks! He still has plenty of fight left in him.”
“Oh, shush,” Tenna scoffed, and shoved a brownie in the host’s mouth. “Less talking, more chewing. We have a lot to get through.”
—
“That was— oh god, ughff —that was the last plate, right?”
“Think so, darling.”
“That was… yowza. That was a lot.”
“I’ll say so.” Mettaton belched and laid a hand on his sloshing belly. He had long since crawled off of Tenna’s lap, both of their bellies too massive to fit. They simply sit next to each other, pressed up against each other panting for breath.
Tenna shifted uncomfortably. He pulled his pants down lower, hoping to give his poor bloated belly as much room as possible. It groaned and gurgled in protest at the slightest movement. Heavens above, he was full, more full than he’d ever been and probably ever would be. He laid both hands on his tummy, rubbing slow, soothing circles.
“So,” Mettaton struggled to sit up a little, “Tell our audience, Mr. Tenna, after muscling your way gloriously through all that frosting and cake, how —urpp —how did you manage to do it?”
Tenna groaned. He wanted to be annoyed so badly, but smirked and played along. “It wasn’t easy, but with the help of my devious co-host, I gobbled up every bite.” Tenna quirked an eyebrow at his partner. “So, what’s my grand prize?”
“The gluttonous satisfaction of a huge, full belly. And my adoration.”
Tenna smiled. Mettaton rocked himself forward and stood up with great effort.
“God, it feels wonderful. It’s been so long since I've gorged myself like this.”
The robot’s arms cradled his wobbling gut. He kneaded and caressed it with pure, unadulterated satisfaction. Showed it off. Like he was proud to be massive and greedy.
Tenna groaned—he was reaching a boiling point, for sure. His internal fans were in overdrive, trying to cool him down. He felt groggy, overpowered by arousal and food bliss, like all of his cords were drenched in thick sugary honey. He might need a full reboot.
“How can you even stand up right now? I feel— ughff —I feel totally immobile.”
“That’s the wonderful thing about this body, darling.” Mettaton patted his belly with pride. “I can stuff my face with all the food you can dream up, and it’s all converted into pure electricity. It takes a while to metabolize, sure, but I don't mind waddling around like a beachball for a bit."
Mettaton drew closer, belly bumping up against Tenna’s. “And, not a pound of this will stick around. My iconic figure won’t grow an inch from all these calories." His fingers danced along Tenna’s waistline. "But you... you are a bit more… humanoid, aren't you, sweetie? Tell me, how does food affect this body?”
Tenna swallowed shakily, feeling a bit embarrassed. It was a valid question, but a stinging reminder. Mettaton really was a new age piece of technology, huh? Beautiful and glamorous and efficient… Meanwhile he was outdated and bulky, all vacuum tubes and burn-in. Yes, he knew, all the calories from tonight would affect him, pack on the pounds and fill him out with soft pudge. It’d be a miracle to fit back into his suit for tomorrow’s show. He’d pushed it out of his mind until now.
“I’m not so lucky to be built like you, sweetheart.” He looked away guiltily. “It sticks around. If I eat like this all the time, I’ll plump up beyond recognition.”
To Tenna’s surprise, Mettaton’s eyes sparkled with joy. “More of my co-host to love? Sounds divine!”
The television felt his face burn bright red. “H-hey, don’t get any ideas, toots. I have to keep a TV-ready figure just like you. Viewers don’t want a fat, blubbery host on their screen.”
“Says who?” Mettaton chided, eyes not-so-subtly roaming over Tenna's midsection, with devious intent. “I’d bet money that our views would grow right along with your chubby, jiggling waist… after all, consumers are buying bigger and bigger televisions nowadays. They like their technology big and wide.”
Tenna’s head reeled. Holy cungadero! Oh no, no no, this was doing strange and unusual things to him.
“Y-you tease. I think that’s just what you want.”
Mettaton snickered. “We can always run a focus group, see what the people think! What do you say, let’s tape a test run of a new little segment—me feeding you until your fat ass bursts out of that painted-on suit?”
Tenna’s screen was red hot. “You feeding—? W-what about you? Why am I the one getting fed?!”
“Hmm, I could eat right along with you. Clearly, I could eat far more.” He gave Tenna's belly a soft jiggle. “But no! Your belly will be the star, dear, it’ll urge our viewers to tune in next time! The promise of seeing you blimp up fatter and fatter every time they watch.”
“You’re despicable.”
“And the possibilities for games are endless! Call in now to guess Mr. Tenna’s weight! Feed the TV, but watch out, he might explode! Or perhaps a pie-eating contest— who can out-eat our deliciously plump host?”
Pixelated beads of sweat ran down his face display. “Oh, sh-shush! We’re not running any programs j-just to make me fat and cater to your sick fantasies! Don't go storing those ideas in that little hard-drive in your head.”
Although Tenna couldn’t say he hated the ideas. Mike, if only you were here right now— I need someone to write these down, damn it!
Mettaton’s fingers danced playfully in the wires of Tenna’s chest panel. “Honey, I’ve been in the biz for years, I know what people like. I’m confident Fat Tenna could be our next hit. Of course it comes with a boatload of benefits for me. I’m selfish, I admit it.” His fingers tugged on a wire, and Tenna whined. “Maybe I just want a huge, soft, heavy host to fuck me until my brain resets.”
That was it— it felt like a fuse blew in Tenna’s head.
Lucky for them, Mettaton’s dressing room had a huge, plush heart-shaped bed for times like these when Tenna couldn’t wait to get up to their penthouse. He swept the devious pink robot away, ready to drag this glamorous, self-indulgent night out even longer.