This is the fic I wrote for Yuletide! Well, not THE fic--just a 'treat' I wrote after I wrote my real thing. yuletidetreasure . org, it's awesome. take out the spaces. :B Anyway, I actually wrote the first version of this very very last minute, and uploaded it right at the deadline, so I had no time to come up with a title or summary for it or anything, heheh. And I hadn't even seen this movie in a long time--I just REALLY love it. But, I happened to catch it on tv (lucky me!) and decided to re-write it and make it better and stuff. So, hurray for Tron. Thanks for reading (o:
A dark world of dormant, computerized life. Kevin Flynn found himself staring into the de-saturated eyes of a program that had somehow taken the shape of a human being.
"You know of the User, Alan-One?" Tron spoke, suddenly earnest—the type of earnest that slapped a reproachful look on Flynn's face.
"Yeah, I do," Flynn replied surprised with Tron's curiosity, since the subject of Flynn's being a User had long since past. His eyes peeled painstakingly over Tron's overwhelming interest. It reminded Flynn of his own four-year-old face on Christmas morning. The crease at Flynn's brow was a physical manifestation of his caution—but it was not the sort he'd develop when faced with a challenging video game. He was unsure what to gather from Tron's outward expression: there was an unsettling sort of admiration in those dark eyes. So much so, in fact, that all attention was drawn away from the vibrant blue circuitry of his body, and absorbed solely into those deeply entrancing pixels, (or whatever they were, but either way, they were the kind that kept Flynn searching.) "He's a friend of mine." Flynn used the term loosely—it wouldn't exactly get 100% on a lie-detector test. Flynn almost felt as if the situation was not suited for referring to Alan as if he was not present, for his presence was in the familiarity of Tron's face.
The violent yellow-orange of the Solar Sailor's light-path licked at Tron's mixed expression from directly behind Flynn; a moment previous, Flynn had been redirecting the path with the cosmic power apparently only a User had. Yori was at the controls, and well out of range of their little rendezvous. Tron had been the one to yank Flynn back onto the safety of solid Solar Sailor. It was like a dream come true for Tron, or something like that. Flynn couldn't very well differentiate the feeling from his own experience—being in this very world was something of a dream come true for him. Initially, it had been a dream, or at least he thought it had been. Stumbling into Alan, who wasn't really Alan, but a program created by him, was something of a comfort in this exotic, yet strangely cozy world. It was awfully like a video game, and that was the nice part. There was something also exceedingly nice about having an Alan that had no recollection of Alan's general disregard towards Flynn.
"What is he like?" Flynn found Tron's question to be expected (although not quite, seeing as they were in the middle of an attack on the powerful, manipulative MCP that could 'de-res' them in a heartbeat—did they have those?—and all). In any case, who didn't wonder what God was like? Okay, maybe that was a bit of a stretch.
"He's, uh… he's like you," Flynn fumbled, not exactly enjoying the subject. Quite honestly, now that he thought about it, Flynn was grateful for the differences between Alan and Tron. "Anyway, shouldn't we get back to… y'know, this whole MCP thing?" He leaned in, giving Tron a 'look.'
"Yes…" Tron admitted, albeit with a suspicious reluctance. That wild exuberance still danced in his eyes like neon lights, and as much as Flynn would have liked to stop staring, he couldn't. Tron's benevolence towards Flynn was pleasant, coming from what Flynn recognized as Alan's face. It was a demeanor Alan had not used with him since Lora. Flynn, being the kid who refused to grow up that he was, had never quite out grown anything experimental. Maybe that was why Lora had broken up with him. Now that he thought about it, maybe that was why he had always felt a questionable desire to make friends with Alan. Maybe that was why he found Tron's ignorance so agreeable. And, maybe, that was why he found his hand grabbing Tron by the back of the head, pulling him forward, and driving his lips against his own; despite the lack of color, there was no lost passion, and pixels even had a taste. And as expected, (and the thought made Flynn giddy,) Tron put up no resistance. And although his eyes were squeezed shut, Flynn knew of Tron's surprise through his engaged mouth. Flynn's boyish longing glistened through the kiss, curling the tips of his fingers and the corners of his mouth however passionately he was involved. Before it ended, (and it felt ten times longer than it actually was,) Flynn was unable to prevent the thought of Alan from slinking into his mind's eye, that it was Alan he was kissing, back in a world where games were played with a screen clearly separating reality and simulation. But then it was over, and Flynn and Tron were two very separate beings again, and the kiss had suddenly become ten times shorter than it should have been.
Now Tron's eyes were still just as enraptured, but had been ostracized to the size of memory discs. Flynn almost laughed to break into some sort of awkwardness: but before his mouth could crack through the leftovers of the kiss, an enormous ship attacked the Solar Sailor, forcing Flynn and Tron back to the 'reality' of this simulated world.