Author's Note: If I were able to give each chapter a rating I'd give this one an "M" for "Mature". Just a heads up.
We Are Pilots
12
"Older models," Tron says as he leans over from his lightcycle to pull up a display on Sam's, "have a slot for specially modified data cards inscribed with the coordinates to your destination. With these-" He traces a line from a seemingly arbitrary spot in Enyo's sector to the heart of the city. "-whatever you input here will transfer to your disk, and you can always bring up the map if you're lost."
"Why would I get lost?" he asks as he studies the route; it's a circuitous path that he guesses is meant to avoid the more troublesome areas on the Grid, which can also be easily avoided by using a shortcut. "I have you."
Apparently the security program has other ideas and he's not sharing. Instead he just smiles and brushes his index finger along the white circuit on Sam's forearm as his head disappears under the gleaming black helmet. Next thing Sam knows Tron's lightcycle is half a city block away and making a right at the intersection.
"Oh I see how it is," Sam says, a bit breathless from the electrifying touch.
He shakes his head as he lowers himself on the lightcycle; the back extends to lock on his disk and with a rush his mind floods with the memory of a marked map. A sudden burst of acceleration takes his breath away as his lightcycle leaps forward and the buildings on either side of him become a black and cyan blur.
The race is on.
Adrenaline junkies like Sam live off of the thrill of the chase; it's fuel for his racing heart, a high that courses through his circuits like fire and warps his mind until all he can see is the blue lightcycle ahead and all he can think is that he has to catch Tron and finish first. With that in mind he urges his lightcycle to breakneck speed, reaches the point where he hears nothing but the whistling wind, the lightcycles smooth purr, and the pounding blood in his head as he follows Tron down streets and slingshot around corners and curving turns.
No matter how hard he pushes his lightcycle or cuts corners Tron maintains his lead as they weave through the sector; as they near the next one Sam spots an overpass and swerves left towards it, hoping it'll give him a slight advantage.
He wishes he hadn't. Up here there are no street circuits or lit buildings to show the way; he is the only source of light on the highway. Confused and uncomfortable with the drastic shift in atmosphere Sam looks over his shoulder; behind him Rho Sector is bright and lively but here, near the border with the next, everything's dark and quiet. Not even Enyo and Crystal, with all their know-how and expertise, could make their chosen sector fully functional, and the anxiety over what's expected of him as the Grid's new creator starts eating at the simple joy of racing someone from Point A to Point B.
"Focus," he tells himself, voice distorted by the shield in front of his face, as he looks for a way back down to ground level.
He spots a ramp coming up and tilts his lightcycle towards it, leaps into the air and lands halfway down the slope just in time to see Tron streak by under the overpass. Sam swears and gives chase, tilting the lightcycle at such an angle that his knee almost scrapes the ground.
This sector is as straightforward as one can get; aside from the overpass all the streets are laid out in a perfect grid; one just has to pick a direction and keep going to reach the other side. Dark towers loom on either side as Sam follows Tron through the area; some of them, he notices with brief glances as they fly by, look like they've been ravaged by something.
Up ahead is a colorful glow. The map in his head is already starting to fade into a series of impressions and Sam glances down at the body of the lightcycle, tries to remember where Tron pressed to bring up the map. He's still looking down when they hit what looks like a wall of light; the transition into color is brutal on his eyes and he winces, almost tucks his head against his upper arm. Just in time he remembers that he's on a moving lightcycle - and his helmet is in the way - and straightens himself at the last second to swerve by two stunned programs standing in the middle of the street. He waves to them as he goes by, grinning at the stupefied expressions on their faces.
The deeper they go into this sector the more crowded it gets. The wide sidewalks are bursting with blue and green streaks but he doesn't take his eyes off the lightcycle ahead of him to look around-well, he does but only to find shortcuts that'll cut into Tron's lead. Is he imagining things or is Tron actually putting more distance between him and Sam?
"No way," he mutters, jumps the sidewalk and scatters programs, streaks through the corner of a city block, and almost crashes into an unoccupied tank that's sitting just out of sight.
"Shit!"
At the last second he changes direction and his lightcycle skims across the armored skirt covering the tank's wheels before hitting the ground. Sam's chest crashes into the lightcycle's hard curved surface, knocking the breath out of him; when he kicks it back into gear Tron's almost out of sight.
"That was close." He glances at the tank, swallows his heart back down his throat, and goes after Tron.
Following Tron closely - or as closely as he can get, seeing that Tron's at least seven lightcycles ahead of him - pays off, since the path the security program takes carries them away from the heavy traffic. They race through main streets, alleyways, overpasses, and tunnels and Tron's still in front; Sam finally manages to pull up the map without crashing into someone or something, and starts looking for a shortcut.
They enter the next sector without slowing down and it's like plunging into ice-cold water, which Sam has had some experience with but doesn't like to linger on. Like the one next to Enyo's it's dark but there's something threatening about the silhouettes rising up around him and the few programs loitering by the entrance of the one light tower in the area. They look up when Sam passes by in a jerky fashion, like they're genuinely surprised by signs of life in this place, and it weighs on his shoulders. The distance between him and Tron grows for several seconds as Sam slows down to take in the sector's cold silence.
Where are all the programs?
The answer comes to mind swiftly - the Rectifier, the Game Grid - and Sam shivers, shakes his head, and looks up to see Tron's lightcycle tilt left at a distant intersection.
A quick glance at the map shows him what route Tron's taking and which shortcut best serves Sam's interest. He minimizes the display and sends his lightcycle through the dimly lit streets and alleyways, weaving a diagonal path to where Tron will be. He catches a glimpse of a blue blur as he streaks by other streets and alleys, and then merges onto a larger street right behind Tron. A quick burst of acceleration has him draw even with the program while the buildings drop back, leaving them on a wide curving overpass taking them to the sector at the center of the city.
The towering landmark that housed the End of Line Club looms before them, dark and cold, a relic of Clu's thousand-year reign. The actual construct that held the club is gone and Sam thinks about the MP3s, wondering how one of them got the crack on its helmet. His mind wanders to Zuse's limp and Crystal's bitterness over Gem's alliance with him, and the thoughts start crowding out the things Sam would rather think about. He blinks several times, scattering them, and then looks at Tron; the helmeted head is tilted in his direction and Sam can easily imagine the expression Tron's wearing underneath it.
"It's nothing," he says loudly, even though only he can hear himself
The smaller towers and buildings around the abandoned skyscraper are half-lit, scattered windows and long circuit lines glowing half-heartedly in cyan. It's quite a contrast to Sam's only visit to this sector; no tanks or Sentries patrol the streets, monitoring all activity to root out a User. The few programs out here are by themselves and they don't even look up as Sam goes by them, so keen are they on getting from one place to another with as little trouble as possible.
This sector is a ghost town. Tron lives here?
Sam sees him make a right at a nearby intersection and quickly follows, relieved to put the skyscraper behind him. They're on a narrow street lit only by a few occupied buildings and two programs on the sidewalk, who turn their heads to watch Sam go by. Tron makes a right turn two intersections down, then a left, leading Sam deeper and deeper into the sector. The security program's lightcycle decelerates and Sam hits the brakes, watches Tron pull to the curb in front of an unremarkable, easily forgettable building. The street itself is ordinary at best, the structures dark and the area empty of activity, but he can see the glow of the city in the skyline and despite everything it's simply incredible. Maybe that's why Tron chose this place.
Tron's already walking inside when Sam parks at the curb and sits up on the lightcycle, glass doors sliding open with a quick tap on a blue-white panel on the wall. Sam catches the sideways glance in his direction and quickly dismounts, swipes up the baton just as it finishes compressing the lightcycle, and almost stubs his toes as he hops up onto the sidewalk. He looks up, eyes tracing the narrow blue circuit scaling the building.
The lobby is lit with thin rectangular panels lining the border of the floor. The interior decor is severely lacking - or rather, nonexistent - and the only thing worth inspecting is the cylindrical elevator shaft at the back. His footsteps echo off the concave walls as he crosses the floor to Tron, who's watching the display above the elevator door.
"So we're playing hard to get now," Sam says, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
Tron says nothing, but as the elevator arrives he reaches over and slides his fingertips down the long white circuit curving over Sam's left shoulder. Sam gasps, closes his eyes as heat ripples through his body, and shudders as Tron breaks contact. Pinpricks of light cloud his field of vision as he draws in one shaky breath after another and he blinks rapidly to clear them away. When he looks up Tron is waiting for him in the elevator, circuits radiating a bright and blazing blue.
The door slides shut as he steps inside and the elevator stutters like it's hesitating over its task. Sam stares at the backlit floor panels and shifts from foot to foot as it finally decide to go up; he raises his head as a pair of feet appear in his field of vision and considers the intense look on Tron's face as he lets himself be backed into the wall. He hits the transparent rail behind him, braces himself against it, and angles his hips up, widens his stance to let Tron slide in. It feels like he belongs here, up against Sam, bright and solid and running hot. Tron presses his thumb on the circuit line on the right side of Sam's front and slides up slow and with just enough pressure; it's like fireworks on his senses, so many things going off at once and leaving him breathless and lightheaded as pressure starts to build and build.
Sam tilts his head back against the wall, trying to catch his breath while his body hums from the stimulation; a second later Tron leans in, gripping the rail to bracket Sam between his arms, and follows the curve of his jaw with an open mouth. Sam swallows hard, shivering from the sensation, and then groans when Tron shifts against him, circuits sliding against each other. What experience Sam's had with other people just can't compare with what feels like lightning racing through his nerves, a hot-cold rush that leaves his heart pounding and his mind reeling. He reflexively presses against Tron, hips thrusting up, and the friction creates a power surge that rolls through him in a relentless wave; if not for his death grip on the rail he'd be on the floor.
Tron slams his hand against the wall, trembling on his feet and rumbling so loudly the whir ricochets off every flat surface; he's so bright, face illuminated as if by some inner glow, and he looks so inhuman that Sam's afraid to touch him, fearful of in some way marring the perfection standing in front of him.
Then Tron carefully, experimentally, moves against him, mimicking the very human reaction to sexual stimuli, and Sam loses it.
"Fuck!" he gasps. "Shit. How-is that supposed to-" and then Tron is kissing him, derailing him completely as he's shoved up against the wall.
Tron's tentative at first, shifting from a hard but chaste press of lips to licking at his mouth like an afterthought, but soon enough he starts mirroring Sam, sliding in slick and hot, and mapping its shape with uncharacteristic recklessness. With a groan Sam blindly reaches for him, slides his hands up to cup the program's face and bury his fingers in the dark soft hair while deepening the kiss. The rumbling drops a decibel as Sam curls his tongue around Tron's and sucks on it; the growl as Tron reasserts his control travels down Sam's throat and settles with a heady thrum in his circuits.
It's glorious and vertigo-inducing, and Sam desperately needs a breather. "Wait, wait," he murmurs and Tron stops, pulls back while Sam leans against the wall, heaving for air. His lips are swollen and sore, and he's aching all over from pent-up need throbbing in his circuitry; Tron looks impossibly composed in comparison except for where his circuits pulse a shade of blue that's almost violet and he keeps staring at Sam's mouth like it's the most fascinating thing on the Grid.
He's also carefully maintaining his distance, which to Sam is an impossible feat since he'd like nothing more than to wrap himself around Tron and never let go. Tron remains tantalizingly close, though, and he decides to do something about it.
"You learn fast," he says as he slides the palm of his hand along the side of Tron's face. Tron presses against it, eyes closing for a brief moment while his circuits flare, and Sam swears he's purring.
"Never said I didn't know what to do," Tron replies and he sounds wrecked.
"Yeah? Well how about with a User?"
Whatever Tron tries to say Sam swallows with his mouth; he licks his way inside, tongue prickling with static at every stroke and caress. He drags the program closer, presses up against him with a roll of his hips, and shivers at the needy noises escaping Tron's throat. Tron pushes back, responding in like, creating heated friction that electrifies every nerve, every inch of his body. He traps Tron's bottom lip between his teeth, worries at it before letting go to mouth at his jaw; his hand slides down the program's chest, feeling the thrum of living heat under his palm.
Sam closes his eyes against the intensifying glow of their circuitry as he scrapes his teeth along the long line of Tron's neck; there's a stutter in the rumbling whir and a shudder before Tron pushes down on the circuit sitting on his hip with his thumb. Sam hisses, jerks forward against the program, and his hand presses hard against the circuit on Tron's chest. He's entirely unprepared for the surge of electricity roaring through him in a dizzying rush, bangs his head against the wall while everything whites out in a long heart-stopping moment; Tron cries out and buries his face in the crook of Sam's neck, shaking violently while the elevator comes to an abrupt halt and the light panels go out.
A deep breath and the world comes into focus, lit with the glow of bright circuitry. Sam stares blankly at the elevator door, his heart thumping loudly in his head; he doesn't think he can move, not without his knees buckling under and bringing them both down to the floor. Slowly he slides his free hand along the wall and brings up the coding, coaxes the elevator to move again with shaking fingers; a few seconds later the ceiling and floor panels flicker rapidly and then light up.
He laughs weakly at the absurdity of what just happened - they broke the elevator, what the hell - and lifts his head off the wall, looks down at the program in his arms. Sam gently strokes the back of Tron's head and he trembles and keens, circuits brightening with each touch and casting everything in shades of blue.
"So, uh, that wasn't supposed to happen," Sam says and his hoarse voice sounds impossibly loud. "I think."
Tron responds with a loud Rinzler-like purr and it vibrates through him as the program presses a slow, lazy open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his jaw; he stays curled up against Sam until the elevator starts losing momentum and slows for the impending stop. Reluctantly he lifts his head and steps back, leaving Sam feeling cold and aching for his presence, his touch. He resists rubbing at the slow-burning imprint on his jaw, instead sweeps his eyes over Tron and takes in the unsteady stance, the disheveled hair and flushed circuits, and the controlled, intense gaze.
His mouth goes dry as the drumming starts up again in the back of his head.
The elevator stops and Sam sways against the rail from the loss of momentum. The door slides open and Tron breaks eye contact to look over his shoulder. Sam notices darkened circuits marking the walls of the dimly lit hallway at uniform intervals like doors and wonders how that works. He supposes he'll find out soon enough, once they get out of the elevator.
Slowly he pushes himself off the wall and takes carefully measured steps to Tron, touches his arm to get his attention, and nods in the direction of the hall.
"So, gonna show me your place or what?"
The circuits running along the walls are doors after all. Tron touches the line of a set of circuits far from the elevator shaft and they glow under his touch, bluish-white light spreading through the lines and carving out a tall narrow doorway. Sam glances up and down the hall as Tron walks through the entrance; nothing else stirs or flickers to life on his floor and he wonders if they're the only ones here. They might be the only ones in the entire building, and the thought makes him shiver uncomfortably. Did Tron choose this sector because it's so far away from everything else, secluded and lost in the midst of empty streets and towers, or because it's at the heart of the Grid and this is where he should be? His throat constricts at the thought and Sam swallows hard, pushes the questions aside for another time.
Once he steps into the foyer the missing chunk of wall rezzes back into place, sealing them inside. Sam looks up at the circuits marking the entryway and then turns around, watches Tron walk into the middle of the room and survey it like he's never been here before.
Only one of the six light panels on the walls works; Sam presses his hand on a nearby panel and it flickers to life, glowing steady soft white, but dies as soon as he takes his hand away. Frowning, he brings up the display and finds the broken line, inputs the missing code bridging the pieces together, and watches the panel come back to life. When he minimizes the display and lifts his hand off it the light flickers once and continues to glow. He then turns around to look at the rest of the apartment; it's basically a tiny, unfurnished loft with a high ceiling and plain walls adorned with nonfunctioning light panels and marked with dark lines lacing through the off-white surface.
He reaches out to touch the nearest circuit to see what happens - How do they work? What else can they do? - but something glints out of the corner of his eye and he looks up over his shoulder at the wall-sized window behind him.
The bluish glow of the active sectors define the cityscape, an entrancing incandescence outlining the silhouettes reaching for the sky. Here and there lines and pinpricks of light mark occupied towers, and to the left is the skyscraper at the heart of this sector. Sam crosses the floor to the window, wondering if he can see the I/O tower from here. He tilts his head, looking for the line of light - or the telltale star in the sky - and leans on the glass; his hands go through with little resistance and he stumbles out onto a small balcony.
"Holy shit!" Okay, so that wasn't glass.
"I'm sorry," Tron says somewhere behind him. "I should've warned you-"
"It's fine. I'm fine. No harm done."
He shakes off the sudden shock and leans on the translucent railing, looks out at the city. The building is several stories taller than he thought and up here the wind is brisk, like splashing cold water on his face. He shivers as he takes in the eerie silence and relative inactivity, unusual for a city of this size and utterly alien for someone who spends so many of his days in the beating heart of Los Angeles. It's not hard to imagine how phenomenal the view must've been in the Grid's heyday, but even now the haunted glow of the dying city takes his breath away.
He wouldn't mind the solitude of this place, the small room in the empty building with the faulty elevator, if he can see this and watch it come to life whenever he comes up here. And that thought has something hot and tight curling in his chest. He bows his head, takes a deep breath to calm himself down, and turns around.
"Impressive," he says, gesturing to the cityscape. And wincing inwardly at his word choice.
"I know."
Tron hasn't moved from the middle of the room; he'd been watching Sam the entire time. Sam leans against the rail, studying him; it slides into indulgence, his gaze traveling up the long lines of the security program's body and admiring the lean build. He smirks at the mussed hair, rubs his fingertips together as he imagines what he can do to make it worse, and then notices that he's not the only one with a roaming, appreciative eye.
"So we're just talking about the view, right?" he asks, casual and with a slight, rough drag. He leans back against the rail, angling his hips up and widening his stance; anticipation thrums under his skin as he watches Tron's demeanor change, shifting from a focused calm to something dark and intense. Almost predatory. Rinzler-like.
"Maybe," Tron says, voice low and carefully controlled.
They don't break eye contact as Tron walks through the transparent barrier out onto the balcony; in two strides he's pushing Sam up against the rail, a hand gripping it tightly while the other slides up Sam's front. He's running hot, circuits glowing brilliantly in the sunless sky, and it draws Sam in like a moth to the flame. He leans up and against Tron, trailing kisses along the side of his face, feeling him shudder with each lingering touch. Rather than end at his parted, waiting lips Sam continues down his neck, tracing the taut line with the tip of his tongue and teasing out a low rumbling moan. Tron shudders, then abruptly wraps his hand around the back of Sam's head and tilts it up for a kiss.
Tron's an even quicker study than Sam expected, and fast becoming addicted to kissing, if the way he fits his mouth over Sam's so easily and presses inside with a smooth, practiced slide is anything to go by. Sam doesn't mind at all, lets Tron indulge himself while he lets go of the rail to slide his hands up the program's front, exploring the hard planes of his body. It's been so long since he was this close to anyone physically - years, maybe, and there's a brief glimpse in his mind of a college bar and too many beers - and to let himself go like this, to take the time with someone he cares about on such a personal level, thrills him more than it probably should.
Heat and hunger burn through his circuits as he drags Tron to him and tries to take control, tongue stroking and curling around the program's as he thrusts his hips up; energy snaps through his circuits, setting his nerves on fire and filling his vision with stars. Tron rumbles, raking fingers through his hair and leaving him shivering from the sensation, and starts pulling him back inside the apartment. Sam stumbles along, one unsteady step at a time, unwilling to let go for even a millisecond. His hands slide everywhere, on Tron's shoulder, his upper arm, his side, his neck, keeping contact, keeping the program close. They make it through the transparent barrier separating the Grid from the relative solitude of the small room, and the change in pressure startles him, makes him stumble and almost bring them down to the floor. Tron grabs him by the upper arm and steadies him, and Sam huffs a laugh as he presses his forehead against Tron's shoulder, feeling like an idiot.
"Well, shit," he breathes out, heart thundering in his head for the wrong reason.
His eyes lock on the strange violet tint of Tron's circuits; curious, he flicks at the circuits under Tron's ribcage and Tron flinches, inhaling sharply while the glow becomes violently purple for a few seconds.
"Is that normal?" he asks.
"For us, yes," Tron says, voice trembling. "I don't know about you."
He's stroking the circuit running over Sam's left shoulder and down his back, fingers caressing the white line as it curves around his shoulder blade; Sam clenches his teeth, tries to breathe as white-hot pleasure grips him from head to toe. It's insane the way things work on the Grid, from the lack of functioning equipment to how the stimulation on these circuits throb deep in the core of his DNA-turn-code makeup, threatening to unravel him completely and utterly. It's exhilarating more than disturbing, an unfamiliar and heady rush of clarified want and need taking him so high, and fuck he might completely lose it just standing here while Tron does-keeps doing-fuck.
"Okay," he says hoarsely as he forces himself to step back from Tron and recollect himself. Tron lets him go reluctantly and watches with too bright eyes as he looks around the room. "Okay. Um. Tell me there's more to this place than..."
Tron walks by him, purposefully bumping his shoulder, and touches a single circuit line on the wall underneath one of the broken light panels. It glows bluish-white and races along the line, spreads out to all the other circuits running along the walls of the room; Sam stares, jaw going slack, as things unfold from the walls and rezz into existence. A low bed, a couch, a coffee table, and shelves fill in the space, and the apartment suddenly looks livable.
"Whoa." He walks over to the bed and nudges it with his foot to make sure it's actually there, and then looks over at Tron. "Now this is impressive."
"Someone showed me how to do it," Tron says softly as he leans on the wall next to an empty shelf. The fond, faraway smile on his face tells Sam enough. "It was...it was a long time ago."
Sam sits down on the foot of the bed and his heart sinks as he watches the smile fade. Tron looks lost, looks like the program leaning against the lightcycle when Sam emerged from the replica of Flynn's Arcade ages ago. His past keeps dragging him back no matter how hard he tries to move forward and it hurts watching it happen time and again. Sam knows what it's like, knows how hard it is to let it all go, and wonders if this is why he started to feel the magnetic pull to the program. All he really wants to do is erase that deep, aching sense of loss, even if it's only for a little while.
"Hey," and Tron looks up at him. "Come here."
Tron hesitates, wavers before walking across the floor to the bed. Sam reaches out, curls his fingers around Tron's, and pulls him in between his legs. Tron watches with questioning eyes, then closes them, shivers as Sam slides his hands up his thighs. Sam leans in and presses a careful kiss to his left hip, looks up at Tron as he then kisses the nearest circuit.
The reaction is instantaneous; the circuit flares up against his mouth, hot and electric, while Tron shakes, drags his fingers through the short hair on the back of Sam's head as a low, broken moan vibrates up his throat. Breathless and more than a bit curious, Sam flicks his tongue out and strokes the short bar of violet-blue light; it's like licking pure energy and it snaps through his circuits, wracking his body with heat and cold and blinding need. Gasping, he presses his forehead to the program's stomach, hands clutching at his hips. Tron's doubled over, face pressing into the crook of Sam's neck, trembling and rumbling loudly.
When Sam opens his eyes he sees violet circuits and fluctuating light at the edge of his field of vision. The light panels in the apartment are flickering, even the broken ones. He looks down at the bright white lines on his legs and feet, and then remembers what happened in the elevator.
Don't want that happening again, Sam thinks as he lets go of Tron and starts pulling himself up the bed. The program looks at him in bewilderment and he can't help smiling at that.
"Come on," he says. He leans forward and wraps his hand around Tron's wrist, tugs him up onto the bed. Tron follows slowly and uncertainly on his knees, not sure of Sam's intentions, and it's endearing. "You don't do this often, do you?"
"No. Not like this," Tron says. He looks at Sam expectantly, the question unspoken but clear.
Well Sam's not one to explain things. He just wraps his hand around the back of Tron's neck and kisses him slow and languorous, pressing into the hot energy-tinged mouth. There's a muffled moan as Tron leans into it, inches closer and curves his hands around Sam's face. His hands are warm, Sam thinks; so warm and so careful. They pull back slowly, Sam breathing heavily and the edges of the irises of Tron's eyes glowing blue-white.
It's so quiet in the room. All he can hear is the pounding in his head, the whirring hum from Tron. He looks at the program's bright gray eyes and the flickering, reflective pupils, slides his gaze down to the swollen parted mouth and then to the blue-violet glow of his circuits. Tron shifts, leaning in as if to kiss him again, and Sam smiles, buries his hand in the soft dark hair as they meet in the middle. He slowly pulls the program down on top of him as Tron presses into his mouth, tongue sliding against his and seeking to map every inch of it. Tron is still so careful, easing himself along as he follows Sam's touch, but the edge is there in his kiss, in the way he braces himself above Sam and slides forward abortively with his hips. Circuits press, flare from the friction, and Sam curls his fingers against the back of Tron's head, moans into his mouth.
It feels so good the way it throbs through the white lines on his body, pulsing hot and needy, so needy. Tron tries to get up on his knees and Sam hooks his foot around the back of the program's knee, stopping him.
"Don't," he mumbles, slurring a bit from the pleasure high. Already it's sinking back down, leaving him cold and desperate for more. "Don't go."
"I'm not," Tron says, rough and quiet and warm, and his voice wraps around them. "I'm not going anywhere."
Sam tries to say, I know, that's not what I meant, but Tron bows his head and kisses him, caresses his mouth and his lips, and it's almost enough. There's still too much space between them and Sam tries to pull him back down, wanting contact, wanting to feel the weight of him, but Tron still won't budge. It's like he's oblivious to what happens next, and a thought crosses Sam's mind - What exactly do you do? He knows the program isn't completely clueless, so why-it's because he's a User, isn't it? Tron wouldn't hesitate with another program but with Sam he's mirroring every move because he doesn't know what to do with a User, and Sam hasn't shown him what happens next.
Well, he can work with that.
He pushes Tron back; the program rumbles, displeased, and tries to kiss him again. "Wait," he says hoarsely, pressing his thumb against Tron's lips and keeping him in place. "Hang on-"
His breath hitches when Tron sucks his thumb in; he can feel the heat through the simulated fabric, tongue swirling around the digit, and he flushes as he imagines that tongue elsewhere on his body and circuits. He glances at the hand braced against the bed next to his head, eyes skimming over the circuit lines on the back of Tron's fingers, and then shudders when Tron scrapes his teeth against the pad of his thumb.
Sam slowly slides his thumb out, rubs it along Tron's bottom lip as he tries to catch his breath. "That's…that's a new one."
Tron tries to kiss him again but Sam has something else in mind, brings his knee up and pushes the program over. He moves before Tron can get up, slides on top of him and presses him back down with hands on his shoulders. He grins as Tron furrows his eyebrows in confusion and tries to flip them over; he rolls his hips, pressing against the circuits low on Tron's front, and a thrill rushes up his back as Tron arches against him, keening while his circuits flare bright and violet. Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath while Tron sinks back down, leans over and says, "Let me."
"Sam-" His voice is harsh, thick with want. "What-"
"I just want to show you." Sam slides a hand down Tron's arm, pressing his thumb briefly against the circuit on the inside of his elbow, and tangles their fingers together. "That okay?"
There's the briefest flash of fear in Tron's eyes and his heart skips a beat. But Tron curls his fingers around Sam's, places his other hand on his thigh like it belongs there, and says, "Okay."
Slowly Sam moves his hand from Tron's shoulder down his front, splays his fingers over the circuits on the program's sternum. Tron inhales sharply, pupils flickering blue; Sam leans down and bites at his swollen lip, swallows the low broken moan out of his mouth, and then moves.
The first slide brings out a deep growl as Tron jerks up against him, hand gripping his tightly; Sam hisses as the friction ignites his senses, tries to catch his breath and think through the haze settling in his mind. Another roll of his hips and this time Tron meets him with a perfectly timed thrust, leaves him gasping and shaking from the sudden rush of heat and pleasure. He lets go of Tron's hand to brace himself, closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against the program's.
"Oh god," he says, voice breaking. "Shit."
He moves again and his other hand slips on the four circuits on Tron's chest; the program makes a choked, needy sound, grabs at the bed with his free hand as he arches up against Sam. Frustratingly he won't put his hand elsewhere, and Sam really wants that hand elsewhere. Preferably on him.
"You can-" Tron tilts his head up, seeking his mouth and Sam obliges with a deep, questing kiss. The program rumbles and the hand on Sam's thigh curls with a well-placed stroke of his tongue. Sam sucks on his bottom lip and then tries again. "You can touch me, you know. I won't-fuck-"
Tron had been waiting for him to say that. His hand lands on Sam's shoulder blade, right on the circuit line, and follows it down the curve of his back; it's like he knows where to touch, where to press, where to slide, where to make Sam unwind completely and it's eerie, uncanny, and so fucking good. Sam grinds down reflexively, shaking from the blinding rush of pleasure, and thrusts down again when Tron's hips buck up against him. The weight of Tron's hand on the small of his back, on his ass, is a constant presence as the program encourages him to keep moving, and it becomes a rhythm, push and pull as the pressure builds and builds. The air is heavy with static and ozone, prickling bare skin and his lips, and he feels rather than hears the loud whirring hum vibrating through him.
Sam mouths at the side of Tron's neck, scraping his teeth along the taut line and provoking a deep growl; Tron jerks against him, fingers digging on the circuits on his hip as he breaks the rhythm. The world abruptly tilts, goes sideways, and Sam's on his back, breathing hard and staring up at deep violet circuits while the program settles against him. There's something dangerous and thrilling about the way Tron's looking at him, eyes dark and focused on Sam and Sam alone. It makes his heart race, makes his body flush and throb with need.
"Come on," Sam says, curling his leg over Tron's hip and pulling him down. "Show me what you got."
Tron obliges with a kiss and a thrust, sliding into his mouth and along his body. Sam presses up against him, sucking on his tongue as he rakes a hand through the program's hair and strokes the short circuit at the back of his neck. Tron rumbles loudly and grinds down hard, doesn't wait for Sam to respond before thrusting again and again. He's relentless, moving his body surely and with such inhuman grace, never breaking rhythm for even a second; it's all Sam can do to keep up, dragging his hand along the program's side onto his back for leverage as he rolls his hips up and loses himself to the friction, to the electric thrum through his circuits and under his skin. His other hand slides down, fingertips on the undulating curve of Tron's spine, and rub against the circuit low on his hip. There's a stutter in the push and pull, a harsh broken noise and a sharp intake of breath as Tron bucks under the touch and his circuits flare like fireworks.
It's like Sam's straddling lightning, with Tron radiating so much heat and unadulterated energy. He wants it, craves it, reaches up blindly to wrap his hand around the back of Tron's neck and pull him down to crush their mouths together and taste it. It's a bruising kiss; Tron is merciless with his tongue, thrusting in and stroking every inch of his mouth. He tastes hot and sweet, bitter and addicting, and Sam doesn't ever want to let go. He bites on Tron's bottom lip when the program pulls back and a growl drowns out his ragged breaths as Tron thrusts against him, pushing him higher and stretching his nerves until they're voxel-thin.
Something seems to cross Tron's mind; he bows his head as if to do something to Sam's neck but stops and instead pushes himself off Sam. The most pathetic sound comes out of his throat as Sam tries to pull the program back down on him; it almost hurts not having Tron against him, hot and thrumming and here. His breath hitches when Tron grabs his wrists and presses them down on the bed above his head, and even the program looks surprised by it.
"Are you-" And shit, just hearing Tron talk in that sex-rough, breathy voice is doing things to him. Sam squirms, pushes at the back of Tron's leg with the heel of his foot to bring him back down; Tron rocks against him but it's a light, teasing slide and it almost hurts being left like this, aching and desperate for release. "Sam, are you-"
He knows exactly what Tron's asking and flexes his hands, feels Tron's grip on his wrists relax. "I'm fine. Didn't expect it, though."
Tension leaves Tron's body as he lowers his head to Sam's right shoulder; he breathes over the circuit and Sam moves helplessly against the hands on his wrists, digging his heel into the bed as he shivers from the tantalizing promise of pleasure. He can almost feel the program's lips move as Tron says, "I don't remember adapting…like this."
"Like what?"
Tron's response is to cover Sam's wrists with one hand and slide the other down his chest, caressing the circuit line with the back of his fingers, and Sam arches up at the electrifying rush, swearing something incoherent as he feels himself unwind. Gasping he opens his eyes and tries to focus on the face above his as a loud, Rinzler-like rumbling fills in the heavy, ozone-tinged air.
Where the fuck did you learn that? "Okay, that…that might've been when I…your disk. Shit." His heart is pounding incessantly in his head and his body's thrumming with pent-up energy and need that's got nowhere to go. "Might've transferred something over, like…making shit up-"
Tron cuts him off with a kiss, drawing out a long, low moan. "I know," he says and his voice is deeper, harsher. "Like this."
He lowers himself down, pressing against Sam from chest to hip, and swipes his tongue over the circular node on Sam's shoulder. Their circuitry glows white-hot, heat and pressure bearing down and pushing out; Sam pulls hard against the hand pinning his wrists down, gasping, fingers curling tightly as Tron strokes the circuit again with his tongue. He drags the program's hips down against his, shudders at the slide of their circuits, and thrusts up with a choked cry when Tron grazes the circuit line with teeth. He's not the only one affected; Tron moans, grinds down and then again, trembling and on edge. His grip on Sam's wrists loosens and Sam wriggles out his right hand, presses it against Tron's side and slides up his back to curve on the slope of his shoulder blade. His palm rubs against the circuit there and a strangled noise interrupts the rumbling as Tron thrusts hard, shaking against his shoulder.
"Sam," the program says in that hoarse voice, and god. "Sam-" He cuts off with a growl as Sam slides his thumb against the circuit on his back.
Circuits thrum and burn brighter and brighter as the pressure builds to some incomprehensible level. Sam knows he's close; he's stretched too thin, every inch of his body on edge and focusing on the electric heat sliding against him. He feels Tron slowly lose control, every move stuttering and stricken with want, and suddenly he needs to see Tron wrecked and undone, needs to see him come. The lights are too bright, though, and the roar in his head is deafening; heavy heat is uncoiling in his chest and he's starting to see stars with every erratic thrust of his hips and every hard press of Tron's fingers on his circuits.
It's almost enough and he's right there, and then Tron bows his head, presses his mouth to the circuit line on Sam's sternum right as he rocks his hips up against the program's; the friction and the surge of lightning through his circuits are too much, are just enough, and Sam's gone. He arches up as hot-cold pleasure seizes his body and overrides his mind, cries out as everything goes white.
Sam sinks back down on the bed, shaking and hypersensitive, gasping and keening as aftershocks wrack his body. He hisses as Tron slowly lifts himself up, feels the bed shift ever so slightly and the hum vibrate through the sweltering air. He doesn't think he'll ever come down from the high.
When he finally opens his eyes it's to see Tron kneeling over him, a trembling arm braced against the wall. He looks as exhausted as Sam feels, but he's smiling and it's weightless, free of burden. The irises of his eyes seem backlit, shining in myriad shades of brilliant grays and blues, and his hair is tousled and he just seems to glow everywhere. Sam lifts a trembling hand up and caresses his face, curves his hand to the shape of Tron's jaw line and rubs the pad of his thumb slowly over the swollen bottom lip. Tron closes his eyes and shivers at the touch, rumbles softly and presses into the palm of his hand.
"Hey," Sam whispers, or thinks he does; he doesn't think he has enough strength to form the one word.
Tron sounds just as gone as he says, "Hello, Sam."
With a deep sigh he drops his arm and Tron slides his hand down the wall, lowers himself down next to Sam. He's still running hot and it draws Sam in; he turns on his side and curls up next to him, pressing his forehead to Tron's chest right next to the blinking blue circuits. Sleep sinks in as he slides his hand across the short inches between them and strokes one of the blue squares; he feels Tron rumble at the brief touch as the program draws in around him, wrapping a protective arm around his back right under his disk and pulling him even closer.
Sam closes his eyes, smiles and listens to the soft whirring hum as he drifts off to sleep.
The warmth is what Sam notices first. His fingers twitch against a soft surface and he furrows his eyebrows as he slowly wakes up, wanting to go back and dream of electric sheep. He's not interested in rousing himself when he can't remember the last time he was able to relax and ignore the demanding world. The warmth is comforting and he wants to slide closer to it, let it lull him back to sleep, but something holds him back. It's the strangeness of the warmth, the unfamiliarity of the presence next to him, carding fingers through his hair-
It hits him so suddenly that he tenses up, breath caught in his chest. Between one loud heartbeat and the next the fog of sleep clears out of his head and he realizes that he's on the Grid, curled up on his side next to Tron in a small room somewhere in the city. The memories start crowding each other out, makes his skin crawl and his chest tighten with anxiety as he becomes painfully aware of the program's presence. He needs to run, needs to escape the paralyzing fear spreading through his body, needs to get the hell away before he fucks it up; his fingers dig into the sheets underneath as his heart palpitates and he tries to form awkward words in his head. The rest of his mind catches up in time to realize what he's doing and clamps down, forces him to stay still.
What is wrong with him? He's done things without a second thought, done a lot of stupid things to make a statement or just to see what'll happen – it's what first got him onto the Grid, after all – so why is waking up next to someone pushing him towards a panic attack?
Tron.
The bed shifts and he freezes, holds his breath and waits for something to happen. Then he feels heat hovering over him, a gloved finger tracing the curve of his jaw; as he shivers and draws his knees up to his chest Tron whispers his name like he's committing it to memory.
"Sam."
The voice draws him out of his anxiety-wracked shell and he opens his eyes, blinks at the blue circuits glowing just inches from his face before slowly tilting his head up. Tron is on his side, leaning on his arm and watching Sam with a blue-gray gaze that's both warm and guarded. It's a front, Sam thinks automatically; there are already cracks in the carefully composed façade, an aching weariness in the practiced curve of his mouth. He's resigned to the worst, to Sam saying that this-that theyare a mistake, and he's come to that conclusion because Sam's acting like it is.
An entirely different kind of panic takes hold of Sam as his heart pounds in his head, the kind that tells him that he absolutely cannot lose Tron.
Not you. No. No, no, no, no, no.
He sits up so fast that he almost collapses back on the bed from the violent sway of vertigo; he presses his hands to his head and squeezes his eyes shut, waits for the world to stop tilting in every direction. A hand on his shoulder steadies him and he focuses on the warm solid weight to center himself while the light-headed rush drains away. He takes a shuddering breath after another, trying to relieve the pressure in his chest, but the heavy cold knot won't loosen and disappear.
And all the while Tron is a quiet reassuring presence, offering support over the smallest human thing even when he's expecting the worst from Sam, and it's just too much.
Why me? he thinks bitterly. I can't-I'm not cut out for this, so why did you choose me?
He finally looks up when Tron lets go of his shoulder. The program is still here. He hasn't said anything else, hasn't given any indication that whatever Sam did offended him. He's just…waiting for an explanation. He's giving Sam a chance.
So Sam takes it, because he can't let Tron think otherwise about him.
"Look," he says. "This isn't…I'm not-" He wavers, voice cracking, and he swallows hard, tries again. "I wasn't…around a lot of people, growing up. I was always by myself. Always thought I'd be by myself."
He rubs at the side of his foot with a nervous finger, doesn't dare look at Tron again for fear he wouldn't be able to continue. The tension roils and he feels sick.
"I don't do this. Never did. It's not that you're the…you're not the first, but." Deep breath, because the walls are closing in on him, crushing him. "You're the one I care about. You're the one I don't want to screw it up with. After everything you've been through I can't…. I'm not okay, but you know that. Don't you?"
He stops again. Talking about himself like this to Tron is like flaying himself alive, peeling back the layers he pulled on over the years to protect himself from people who could hurt him, and from people he could hurt.
He can barely hear himself say, "I've never done this. Never. I just need time."
It's while he's waiting, dreading what the program will say that he realizes that for all his doubts and fears about himself, about the kind of damage he could inflict on others, he wants to be where Tron is. Nothing's changed since they were in the Outlands and he was outracing deresolution, nothing's changed since the I/O tower and when he approached Tron in the club hours ago.
I screwed up. I'm sorry. But I'm trying. I'm trying, please understand me.
The longer Tron doesn't respond the more the fear takes hold. Sam's paralyzed, unable to bring himself to move or blink or even breathe. This is the most vulnerable he's been since the night he found the Grid and watched his father sacrifice himself to save him, and now he's faced with the same painful helplessness that he swore to never feel again. He's laid out all his cards and all he can do is wait for Tron to say something, anything.
Something touches the inside of his left arm and he glances down, watches Tron slide the flat of his hand down over his wrist and lace their fingers together. Warmth flows up from every point of contact, a soothing thrum making his circuits glow soft white. The paralyzing chill dissipates, the knot in his chest loosens, and Sam breathes.
"I don't know where we're going either," Tron says quietly, and Sam lifts his head, looks at the small, uncertain smile that always goes straight to his heart. "But I think that's okay."
The relief is so overwhelming that all Sam can do is smile back, bow his head and lean against Tron's shoulder. "This is crazy."
"Is it?" Tron asks and the warmth of his amused tone curls around them.
"Yeah."
Tron squeezes his hand and moves ever so slightly to press a kiss to the top of his head. Sam sighs as the program slides fingers down the side of his face, lets him tilt his head off the shoulder and up to kiss him. His lips brush over Sam's, a fuzzy and warm sensation much like static; Sam licks at his mouth, hums as Tron strokes his jaw with his thumb, and then wraps his free hand around the back of the program's neck and pulls him down.
There's hushed laughter, Tron pressing his forehead to Sam's; he's running hot again, sinuates himself between Sam's legs and hooks their ankles together. Sam slides his hand up the program's neck, tangling his fingers in dark tousled hair, and tilts his head up to press another kiss. Tron responds with a pleased, deep rumble as he slides his tongue inside and relearns the shape of his mouth.
"So we're good?" Sam murmurs when he pulls back.
Tron nods and it's the only answer he needs.
We're okay. Everything's going to be okay.
Sam opens his eyes. He stares up at the bluish glow on the ceiling and then tilts his head to his left, watches Tron sleep. His gaze sweeps over the peaceful expression on the program's face and he slowly, carefully raises his hand to brush aside the stray strands of hair. He then tilts his head the other way and looks out at the city through the transparent wall.
A bright star is shining over the silhouettes and the scattered lights of TRON City. A chill washes over him as he slowly maneuvers himself out from under Tron, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. He runs a hand through his hair, breathes out, and stands up.
The sleep sheds from him as he walks through the barrier out onto the balcony. Sam leans on the translucent rail and stares at the beacon of light, tries to ignore the apprehension rising up in the back of his throat. He bows his head and then looks over his shoulder at Tron, who's awake and watching him. Sam turns back to the star in the sky and starts counting down the time.
The portal is open.
