Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is a developing sequel to Tampering. :] I wrote this small preview today to break off some of my rust, considering I haven't touched this MP3 program pairing since my last piece. They really are gorgeous together. Rinzler is out of the picture now, but hopefully the new plot will be just as interesting! I do not own Tron, Guy, Thomas, or any familiar settings or names from Legacy.
Mending (verb): To make whole, sound, or usable by repairing. To progress toward recovery.
Thomas touched Guy's arm lightly as they mixed in the dim, silver-walled DJ booth, watching over the harem of drunks and flirts that seemed to congregate there during the same late hours every night. Guy's lights were strobing with the bass and they flashed awkwardly when he sensed the touch, looking towards his partner with pixelated blushing cheeks.
Cycles had passed, and with their invisible aging had come a silent forgiveness and healing; Guy had never told Thomas of that evening in the alley or the data that had been lapping at his brain. He had lived in anxiety for quite a while, no longer wandering into the dark streets of the city or lingering too long on memories of their past explicitness with the rumbling servant.
Thomas had gone through a period of passiveness towards his partner that was soon followed by intense passion. Some late evenings Guy would enter their room only to get pounced upon and ravaged in almost painful motions of unrestrained affection. He lay practically helpless under his partner program, playing victim to erotic groping and exploration. It began to eat up their time together and when it was developing into an addiction an apparent wave of calming control broke over Thomas and their nights became soft with cuddling.
This evening had been particularly straining on their systems from the lack of rest and Thomas sought to comfort Guy's fizzling well-being.
"Smile?" Thomas prompted his partner, squeezing his forearm lightly with a gloved hand. A cheerful face appeared on Guy's visor and he had to fight the urge to step closer to the program.
"TIRED," Guy responded in bold letters, adjusting some settings on the small switch board in front of him.
Thomas was leaning towards him when the booth door opened and one of Zuse's right hand programs stepped in, looking stern and callous as usual. "You're off," he remarked plainly, picking a piece of lint from his sleeve. "Zuse has another MP3 program covering until the morning." With that loving announcement he was gone.
In the deep darkness of the early morning the program's room seemed enormous and endless. Guy lived entirely in Thomas's quarters, which was not discussed or acknowledged. Thomas's heightened nervousness since Guy's late arrival had been a factor; Guy found that if he passed out in his own room he would wake to find himself with his partner again.
Guy's helmet was rippling with color, yellow to orange, orange to red, red to purple, purple to blue, as he shrugged out of his stiff white jacket, crawling weakly onto the mattress in his black nylon shirt. Thomas tapped impatiently on the keyboard of their desk computer, eventually slamming out of the program in frustration and unzipping his jacket in one swoop of aggravation.
Guy waited until he felt the bed shift with new weight before he turned to face his partner program, his colors in a slow, hesitant pulse. "THOMAS," his visor read in plain, capitalized text and Thomas's own screen lit with question marks. "THAT NIGHT…" he trailed off, battling with himself so roughly inside that his stomach was beginning to threaten painful cramps. "I WENT… I WAS…" Thomas was motionless in patience. Guy sighed. "RINZLER FOUND ME."
Thomas sat up so quickly that Guy jumped back, somewhere in the recesses of his mind thinking that his partner was possibly, irrationally throwing a punch at him. Of course the program did no such thing but was frozen, his spine curved tight.