.
Alan-One has him seated between his knees on the armchair, left to brace himself on his desk as his maker instructs him by the touch of his hands.
The direct input against his patterns feel like everything he had ever wanted; peace, love, empathy, purpose, belonging, care, efficiency—
He whimpers, pools of energy gathering in his patterns, trickling down his frame everywhere Alan-One touches.
His maker sighs and a distant part of Tron feels young and sheepish. "Kid... This is dangerous."
He answers what he hopes is an intelligible apology even if it's mixed with a thin hide of begging for him not to give up—he will be good, he will—
"Oh you will, indeed, my Spark."
As Alan-One speak, he feels his desk melting beneath his hands.
"I won't corrupt your session just because you keep being distracted."
But he tries, he really tries, he protests... before realizing that he is talking back to his User even as He is going out of His way to humor him. That is when he notices the black solid data of his desk thicken and fold over his hands, keeping them wide apart and flush against it.
"Much better..."
Now that he doesn't need to be restrained, radiant white arms soften across his chest.
When Alan-One notices his faint shaking, he pauses, hands pressing on his backbones like a question.
"[I am not used to be...trapped]." —Before his maker can even think about falling back on his agreement in this play, Tron quickly add up:— "[But it will stop eventually]."
No matter what he tries to shut down or adjust, he can't seem to still his shaken frame.
Then "Here." A radiant white hand comes up to his front and he finds the pattern from his maker's chest brought to the palm of its nacked skin.
The hand carefully, moves down to press on his upper chest, where the four dots of his integrity keys rest.
Alan-One's signature is easily recognized. It passes in his processes, sync with his current key for the second time this cycle, and spread a safe true, a peace beyond compare to his tense handlers.
"It's okay, Tron; it's me. I've got you, here."
He feels the warmth of his inner security functions to grant writing-permissions a second time.
"[Thank you, Alan-One]."
.
An expended version of this flashfic will be posted as a stad"alone fic. (Thank you for your imminent review. (ꈍᴗꈍ)
