TRON fic: Kallisti
ZOMG, it's been a while, guys. Well, seeing Tron: Legacy has sparked the creativity within me, so expect more fic in the future! Horray. :D This is me de-anoning from the kink meme, btw.
Title: Kallisti
Author: Ani (ani_coolgirl)
Beta: none
Fandom: TRON
Pairings/Characters: Clu/Flynn
Rating: PG
Warnings: slash, literary allusions!
Word Count: 1,800+
Summary: Written for this prompt on the kink meme: “I'm wondering why an apple triggered Clu's memory about Flynn. There's totally a story there. Pretty please, anon, I would love to know the sentimental value behind the apple. Make it funny/angsty/sweet/dark, I'll love it no matter what. Just no apples up any butts, please.”
Author's Notes: The fic hit me as soon as I read the prompt. It’s a bit longer than I meant it to be, but meh. It’s all good. Everyone who can name my literary references gets an internet cookie!
“You do not need to eat here,” Clu says, studying his creator with a critical eye.
“Yeah-huh,” Flynn agrees, twisting the pixelated object in his hands. He frowns, apparently not approving of the results, and crushes the object between his palms; a shower of blue sparks emerge from between his fingers.
“Then why are you trying to create food?”
Flynn doesn’t pause, building up another bundle of information in his hands to start again. His attention is only half on Clu, something Clu finds rather annoying. The User always seems to be doing two things at once - he needs to focus on one or the other. Right now, Clu would prefer it be him.
“To see if I can, man,” Flynn replies finally, holding a yellow curved thing analytically up to the light. He breaks off one end and peels the sides down. Its insides are black. Flynn makes a face and tosses it over his shoulder. “Don’t slip on that.”
Clu sighs at the User’s flippant reply. That is the answer he receives to most inquiries about Flynn’s more… frivolous projects. “You mean it serves no purpose.”
That brings Flynn to a full stop. He looks at Clu oddly, as if he’s unsure why the program would say such a thing. Clu doesn’t like it when Flynn looks at him like that. It doesn’t happen often, but Clu hates feeling that he’s missed something. “Users,” Tron would say with a shrug. Maybe, but Clu thinks it might just be Flynn.
“It’s not pointless, man,” Flynn argues, eyes fixed on Clu, though he still twists data about in his hands. “The whole point of the Grid is to push the boundaries, to see what can and can’t be done. To experiment.”
Clu crosses his arms. “And to create the perfect system.”
Flynn nods absent mindedly and returns to the item in his hands. “That too.”
Clu watches the User work for a few more minutes without interruption. Originally, they were planning more city expansions for Clu to work on in Flynn’s absence. Clu suspects that is no longer on the schedule. They’re alone on the outskirts of the budding metropolis, where half-finished buildings touch the edge of the untamed outlands. Around them is nothing but rocks and a jagged city skyline. Tron’s off chasing gridbugs and no one’s around for miles; there’s no one Clu can count on to nudge the User’s attention back on course.
Flynn’s concentration sharpens; the corners of his eyes crinkle and a grin twitches on the corner of his lips, the tell-tale signs Clu knows to mean “breakthrough.” The hazy blue lines of code solidify into a vaguely round, solid white object. Slowly, color, dark and rich, blossoms over its surface, dyes it a deep red. Clu’s seen Flynn bleed only once, accidently slicing his finger toying around with his own light disc. He caught a glimpse of the crimson liquid before Flynn stuck his finger in his mouth, and the thing in the User’s hands now is the same color. Clu finds it oddly fascinating.
“Voila.” Flynn holds his creation up, studying it from every angle. He grimaces slightly; half of it’s still white. Flynn shrugs. “Huh. Well, you take what you can get, I suppose,” he says, nonetheless satisfied.
Flynn presents the object to Clu, obviously awaiting his approval. Clu takes it hesitantly. The food is firm, its surface smooth. Clu isn’t entirely sure what to do with it. This obviously isn’t the reaction Flynn is looking for, judging by the man’s expectant stare. “What is it?” Clu asks finally. Flynn rolls his eyes and takes the piece of food back.
“This is an apple,” he proclaims. “Sort of. Hopefully. The real test is yet to come.” He brings the apple up to his nose and sniffs; the smell is apparently satisfactory.
Clu’s ignorance has not been alleviated. “An apple,” he states slowly.
“Yeah, man. An apple.”
“Why an apple?”
For a moment, Flynn looks as perplexed as Clu. Then he glances at his feet, where his previous attempt lay. “Because bananas are too hard.” He snorts under his breath like he made a joke. Clu doesn’t get it. “I mean, I needed to try something simpler, basic. Apple’s the first thing to come to mind when someone mentions fruit.”
Clu nods like he understands. “Why apples?”
Flynn thoughtfully manhandles the fruit. “Huh. Good question. Because of symbolism, I guess. Apples appear everywhere - books, myths, fairytales - have for a long time.”
“I see.” He doesn’t, not really, but he wants to. “What do they symbolize?”
Flynn arches an eyebrow. “You’re weirdly interested in this. What gives?”
Clu shrugs. He doesn’t really know why he cares either. “I want to know how an apple can help create the perfect system.”
“It doesn’t, not really. Not in a way I can see yet, in any case,” Flynn admits. He pauses, giving Clu another one of his looks. “It’s just an experiment, Clu.”
“I know,” Clu replies calmly. Flynn appears startled, then frowns to himself a little. Clu wonders what he said. “So, what do they symbolize?”
“Lots of things,” Flynn replies, tossing the apple between his hands. He seems grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. “Sexuality, love, beauty…”
Clu watches the fruit, passing back and forth between his creator’s hands, and sees none of these things. It’s a curiosity, to be sure, but he cannot see beauty hiding between its curves or spy sensuality within its skin. There’s nothing there to love; he doesn’t understand how Users can apply such abstracts to something that is nothing but sustenance. An apple is simply an oddly shaped little thing, with no symmetry to its figure. Clu finds beauty in orderliness and precision. As Flynn proved with the dual-colored fruit, there is nothing precise in an apple’s construction.
He turns his eyes to Flynn’s hands. He observes the supple way they toss the apple, the ease of their movements. Flynn always moves with such ease, straddling the line between laziness and confidence. It’s not the same liquid grace that Tron possess when he fights, but smooth none the less; an uncalculated flow from point A to B.
Clu watches Flynn as he chatters and thinks that terms like sexuality and love and beauty apply much more easily to a User than an apple.
Flynn is still talking. “…youth, life, knowledge.” He finally stops his game of catch. “But most people probably think of temptation.”
Temptation. It lights a fire along Clu’s circuits.
Clu looks at the User Kevin Flynn and that word, temptation, is suddenly all too applicable.
“But enough of that. An apple’s only any good if you can eat it.” Flynn eyes the apple as though it might bite him instead of the other way around. “An apple a day,” he says to himself, raising it to his lips.
Clu catches Flynn’s arm before the fruit can reach his mouth, plucking the apple from his grip. Flynn protests, but Clu ignores him, reaching behind his back to retrieve his identity disk. He activates it and with a careful and exact flick of his wrist, cuts the apple down the middle, right where red meets white. Clu replaces his disk, leaving half an apple in each hand. He considers each piece for a long moment, as if weighing them, before handing the red half to Flynn.
“You could’ve just asked,” Flynn gripes, but accepts the apple slice. He holds it dramatically before his face. “Ready?” he asks gravelly.
“Ready,” Clu confirms. They bite into their respective portions at the same time.
Flavor, sharper and more acute than he’s ever experienced before, blossoms over his tongue. The shock of it almost causes Clu to spit the apple out, but he forces himself to chew and swallow. Taste is a rarely used sense in his world - programs only consume energy, and while a few have experimented with energy flavoring in places like the End of Line club, nothing within those shapely glasses could compare to this. He’s more prepared when he takes his second bite and can now put a name to the flavor in his mouth: sweet. At End of Line, they call it “pink flavor,” but Clu knows the proper word is sweet. And the apple is a thousand times sweeter than anything produced at End of Line, almost overwhelmingly so.
It’s amazing.
Flynn isn’t nearly as pleased with his half of the apple. He makes a face, nose wrinkling in distaste. Nibbling it once more, his expression doesn’t change. “Too sweet,” he complains, “and bitter.” Despite this, he finishes his slice, tossing the core aside. “Weird. How’s your half?”
Clu’s polished off his portion as well, discarding the core. His fingers are sticky, he notices, then begins licking them clean. It’s not until his index finger is in his mouth that he notices Flynn studying him with an absurd amount of intensity. Clu proceeds to clean off his fingers much more slowly than he originally intended, watching for the User’s every reaction. When Clu’s finally done with his thorough cleaning job, Flynn suddenly seems to realize what he’d been doing for the past few seconds and looks away, unconsciously licking his lips.
Flynn’s fingers are probably sticky too.
“It was sweet,” Clu answers, then takes Flynn’s fingers into his mouth.
Flynn’s fingers do indeed still taste like apple - though, judging from Flynn’s reaction to his piece, this isn’t the way apples are intended to taste. Flynn is frozen as Clu laps wetly around his hand. The not-apple flavor disappears all too soon until Clu is left with the taste of Flynn’s skin… which Clu decides isn’t all that bad either. He takes the fingers in deeper. They twitch to life in his mouth and one gently strokes his tongue.
Suddenly, Flynn jerks away - in the distance there’s the roar a light cycle rapidly approaching them. He wipes his wet hand off on his jeans and Clu mirrors the action. Flynn looks towards the city, trying to spot the approaching vehicle, but really just avoiding looking at Clu. Clu frowns at Flynn’s behavior, but doesn’t comment.
It’s Tron’s cycle, naturally, coming over the ridge. “He’s getting faster,” Clu says approvingly. “It took him nearly twice the time during the last gridbug outbreak.”
“Maybe there were just less bugs, o ye of little faith,” Flynn replies, risking a well-meaning smirk. Clu returns the expression, though his eyes are much darker. There’s intention within them; he has knowledge he didn’t have before. Knowledge he now shares with Flynn.
Flynn quickly looks away again.
Tron arrives at their location not too much later and Flynn instantly begins barraging him with questions about the attack. Every so often though, Flynn’s mind seems to drift, and his tongue will pass inconspicuously over his lips.
Flynn’s lips had probably been sticky too.
Clu smiles. That’s a temptation he’ll save for another time.
Title: Kallisti
Author: Ani (ani_coolgirl)
Beta: none
Fandom: TRON
Pairings/Characters: Clu/Flynn
Rating: PG
Warnings: slash, literary allusions!
Word Count: 1,800+
Summary: Written for this prompt on the kink meme: “I'm wondering why an apple triggered Clu's memory about Flynn. There's totally a story there. Pretty please, anon, I would love to know the sentimental value behind the apple. Make it funny/angsty/sweet/dark, I'll love it no matter what. Just no apples up any butts, please.”
Author's Notes: The fic hit me as soon as I read the prompt. It’s a bit longer than I meant it to be, but meh. It’s all good. Everyone who can name my literary references gets an internet cookie!
“You do not need to eat here,” Clu says, studying his creator with a critical eye.
“Yeah-huh,” Flynn agrees, twisting the pixelated object in his hands. He frowns, apparently not approving of the results, and crushes the object between his palms; a shower of blue sparks emerge from between his fingers.
“Then why are you trying to create food?”
Flynn doesn’t pause, building up another bundle of information in his hands to start again. His attention is only half on Clu, something Clu finds rather annoying. The User always seems to be doing two things at once - he needs to focus on one or the other. Right now, Clu would prefer it be him.
“To see if I can, man,” Flynn replies finally, holding a yellow curved thing analytically up to the light. He breaks off one end and peels the sides down. Its insides are black. Flynn makes a face and tosses it over his shoulder. “Don’t slip on that.”
Clu sighs at the User’s flippant reply. That is the answer he receives to most inquiries about Flynn’s more… frivolous projects. “You mean it serves no purpose.”
That brings Flynn to a full stop. He looks at Clu oddly, as if he’s unsure why the program would say such a thing. Clu doesn’t like it when Flynn looks at him like that. It doesn’t happen often, but Clu hates feeling that he’s missed something. “Users,” Tron would say with a shrug. Maybe, but Clu thinks it might just be Flynn.
“It’s not pointless, man,” Flynn argues, eyes fixed on Clu, though he still twists data about in his hands. “The whole point of the Grid is to push the boundaries, to see what can and can’t be done. To experiment.”
Clu crosses his arms. “And to create the perfect system.”
Flynn nods absent mindedly and returns to the item in his hands. “That too.”
Clu watches the User work for a few more minutes without interruption. Originally, they were planning more city expansions for Clu to work on in Flynn’s absence. Clu suspects that is no longer on the schedule. They’re alone on the outskirts of the budding metropolis, where half-finished buildings touch the edge of the untamed outlands. Around them is nothing but rocks and a jagged city skyline. Tron’s off chasing gridbugs and no one’s around for miles; there’s no one Clu can count on to nudge the User’s attention back on course.
Flynn’s concentration sharpens; the corners of his eyes crinkle and a grin twitches on the corner of his lips, the tell-tale signs Clu knows to mean “breakthrough.” The hazy blue lines of code solidify into a vaguely round, solid white object. Slowly, color, dark and rich, blossoms over its surface, dyes it a deep red. Clu’s seen Flynn bleed only once, accidently slicing his finger toying around with his own light disc. He caught a glimpse of the crimson liquid before Flynn stuck his finger in his mouth, and the thing in the User’s hands now is the same color. Clu finds it oddly fascinating.
“Voila.” Flynn holds his creation up, studying it from every angle. He grimaces slightly; half of it’s still white. Flynn shrugs. “Huh. Well, you take what you can get, I suppose,” he says, nonetheless satisfied.
Flynn presents the object to Clu, obviously awaiting his approval. Clu takes it hesitantly. The food is firm, its surface smooth. Clu isn’t entirely sure what to do with it. This obviously isn’t the reaction Flynn is looking for, judging by the man’s expectant stare. “What is it?” Clu asks finally. Flynn rolls his eyes and takes the piece of food back.
“This is an apple,” he proclaims. “Sort of. Hopefully. The real test is yet to come.” He brings the apple up to his nose and sniffs; the smell is apparently satisfactory.
Clu’s ignorance has not been alleviated. “An apple,” he states slowly.
“Yeah, man. An apple.”
“Why an apple?”
For a moment, Flynn looks as perplexed as Clu. Then he glances at his feet, where his previous attempt lay. “Because bananas are too hard.” He snorts under his breath like he made a joke. Clu doesn’t get it. “I mean, I needed to try something simpler, basic. Apple’s the first thing to come to mind when someone mentions fruit.”
Clu nods like he understands. “Why apples?”
Flynn thoughtfully manhandles the fruit. “Huh. Good question. Because of symbolism, I guess. Apples appear everywhere - books, myths, fairytales - have for a long time.”
“I see.” He doesn’t, not really, but he wants to. “What do they symbolize?”
Flynn arches an eyebrow. “You’re weirdly interested in this. What gives?”
Clu shrugs. He doesn’t really know why he cares either. “I want to know how an apple can help create the perfect system.”
“It doesn’t, not really. Not in a way I can see yet, in any case,” Flynn admits. He pauses, giving Clu another one of his looks. “It’s just an experiment, Clu.”
“I know,” Clu replies calmly. Flynn appears startled, then frowns to himself a little. Clu wonders what he said. “So, what do they symbolize?”
“Lots of things,” Flynn replies, tossing the apple between his hands. He seems grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. “Sexuality, love, beauty…”
Clu watches the fruit, passing back and forth between his creator’s hands, and sees none of these things. It’s a curiosity, to be sure, but he cannot see beauty hiding between its curves or spy sensuality within its skin. There’s nothing there to love; he doesn’t understand how Users can apply such abstracts to something that is nothing but sustenance. An apple is simply an oddly shaped little thing, with no symmetry to its figure. Clu finds beauty in orderliness and precision. As Flynn proved with the dual-colored fruit, there is nothing precise in an apple’s construction.
He turns his eyes to Flynn’s hands. He observes the supple way they toss the apple, the ease of their movements. Flynn always moves with such ease, straddling the line between laziness and confidence. It’s not the same liquid grace that Tron possess when he fights, but smooth none the less; an uncalculated flow from point A to B.
Clu watches Flynn as he chatters and thinks that terms like sexuality and love and beauty apply much more easily to a User than an apple.
Flynn is still talking. “…youth, life, knowledge.” He finally stops his game of catch. “But most people probably think of temptation.”
Temptation. It lights a fire along Clu’s circuits.
Clu looks at the User Kevin Flynn and that word, temptation, is suddenly all too applicable.
“But enough of that. An apple’s only any good if you can eat it.” Flynn eyes the apple as though it might bite him instead of the other way around. “An apple a day,” he says to himself, raising it to his lips.
Clu catches Flynn’s arm before the fruit can reach his mouth, plucking the apple from his grip. Flynn protests, but Clu ignores him, reaching behind his back to retrieve his identity disk. He activates it and with a careful and exact flick of his wrist, cuts the apple down the middle, right where red meets white. Clu replaces his disk, leaving half an apple in each hand. He considers each piece for a long moment, as if weighing them, before handing the red half to Flynn.
“You could’ve just asked,” Flynn gripes, but accepts the apple slice. He holds it dramatically before his face. “Ready?” he asks gravelly.
“Ready,” Clu confirms. They bite into their respective portions at the same time.
Flavor, sharper and more acute than he’s ever experienced before, blossoms over his tongue. The shock of it almost causes Clu to spit the apple out, but he forces himself to chew and swallow. Taste is a rarely used sense in his world - programs only consume energy, and while a few have experimented with energy flavoring in places like the End of Line club, nothing within those shapely glasses could compare to this. He’s more prepared when he takes his second bite and can now put a name to the flavor in his mouth: sweet. At End of Line, they call it “pink flavor,” but Clu knows the proper word is sweet. And the apple is a thousand times sweeter than anything produced at End of Line, almost overwhelmingly so.
It’s amazing.
Flynn isn’t nearly as pleased with his half of the apple. He makes a face, nose wrinkling in distaste. Nibbling it once more, his expression doesn’t change. “Too sweet,” he complains, “and bitter.” Despite this, he finishes his slice, tossing the core aside. “Weird. How’s your half?”
Clu’s polished off his portion as well, discarding the core. His fingers are sticky, he notices, then begins licking them clean. It’s not until his index finger is in his mouth that he notices Flynn studying him with an absurd amount of intensity. Clu proceeds to clean off his fingers much more slowly than he originally intended, watching for the User’s every reaction. When Clu’s finally done with his thorough cleaning job, Flynn suddenly seems to realize what he’d been doing for the past few seconds and looks away, unconsciously licking his lips.
Flynn’s fingers are probably sticky too.
“It was sweet,” Clu answers, then takes Flynn’s fingers into his mouth.
Flynn’s fingers do indeed still taste like apple - though, judging from Flynn’s reaction to his piece, this isn’t the way apples are intended to taste. Flynn is frozen as Clu laps wetly around his hand. The not-apple flavor disappears all too soon until Clu is left with the taste of Flynn’s skin… which Clu decides isn’t all that bad either. He takes the fingers in deeper. They twitch to life in his mouth and one gently strokes his tongue.
Suddenly, Flynn jerks away - in the distance there’s the roar a light cycle rapidly approaching them. He wipes his wet hand off on his jeans and Clu mirrors the action. Flynn looks towards the city, trying to spot the approaching vehicle, but really just avoiding looking at Clu. Clu frowns at Flynn’s behavior, but doesn’t comment.
It’s Tron’s cycle, naturally, coming over the ridge. “He’s getting faster,” Clu says approvingly. “It took him nearly twice the time during the last gridbug outbreak.”
“Maybe there were just less bugs, o ye of little faith,” Flynn replies, risking a well-meaning smirk. Clu returns the expression, though his eyes are much darker. There’s intention within them; he has knowledge he didn’t have before. Knowledge he now shares with Flynn.
Flynn quickly looks away again.
Tron arrives at their location not too much later and Flynn instantly begins barraging him with questions about the attack. Every so often though, Flynn’s mind seems to drift, and his tongue will pass inconspicuously over his lips.
Flynn’s lips had probably been sticky too.
Clu smiles. That’s a temptation he’ll save for another time.