TRON FIC: A Flynn/Tron oneshot
My first Tron fic has nothing to do with Castor. I'm a bit surprised, myself.
Title: Right to It
Pairing: Kevin Flynn/Tron
Time: The late 80s
Word Count: 803
Summary: A complete and utter PWP
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: The Tron kinkmeme is a wonderful, beautiful, shameful place.
Right To It
Tron's back slammed into the wall, his lips savagely conquered by Flynn's demanding mouth. Their tongues entwining at a feverish, reckless pace, Tron willingly drowned in the overwhelming sensation. His hands roamed swiftly and slipped inside Flynn's leather jacket, gripping his shirt and yanking their hard bodies together. Now within reach, Tron blindly fumbled for the user’s belt.
He was barely able to find the buckle before he was dragged to the floor.
Flynn’s weight crashed down onto him, the impact breaking the kiss. They both laughed, uneven and breathless as Flynn casually leaned in and raked his teeth across the synthetic flesh of Tron’s neck. The program let out a dark moan of satisfaction, then one of protest as Flynn sat up, straddling him. Hair falling into his eyes, the creator had never looked so mischievous as when he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and peeled his shirt up and over his head. Tron marveled at the sight of him, as awestruck as he was interested.
Flynn leaned down and planted his hands on either side of Tron’s head, nuzzling his mouth up against his companion’s ear.
“Now you can undo me,” he whispered.
Tron quickly set to work as Flynn sat up once again, watching with eager, amused eyes. The buckle now released, Tron had to pull once, twice and a solid third time before he’d fully freed the belt from its place. He let it drop to the ground beside him, hands already unbuttoning the jeans…coaxing the zipper down…reaching inside.
Flynn’s eyes slid closed just as Tron’s went wide.
There’s something to be said for rightful arrogance.
The feel of Flynn was almost daunting, yet Tron had never desired anything as much as he wanted to have every inch claim him as many times as he could stand.
Flynn slowly rocked back on his haunches and stood up, ready to push his jeans down to his ankles.
His command was solid, effortless. “Strip.”
Tron deactivated his suit and it melted away from his body as Flynn tossed his jeans to the side. Flynn knelt down, Tron sat up, and their mouth met with a flat, crushing force. Tron wrapped his arms around the user’s neck and they fell back to the ground together, their bare torsos meeting decadently. Tron felt a capable arm wrap around his back and a second later he was flipped over on his chest.
Flynn drifted a hand down the length of Tron’s spine.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a low voice.
Pushing himself up onto all fours, Tron nodded without hesitation. The sharp strike of leather to his ass made him cry out with surprise.
Apparently, Flynn had remembered the belt.
“Tell me,” the user insisted, cracking his new toy against the wall as a warning.
Tron gasped, stunned at how the stinging pain was only feeding his passion. “I’m ready for you.”
Taking hold of Tron’s hips, Flynn made himself slick with saliva before easing into him. Tron let out a deep exhale as his arms trembled, the size of Flynn giving him life and stealing his breath all at once. They rocked gently at first, the occasional crack of Flynn’s belt punctuating their sensuous movements.
When Tron had adjusted to taking him full on, he started gradually picking up the pace. Sensing the new rhythm, Flynn readily matched the speed. Each man encouraged the other, writhing until they were dripping sweat but nowhere near exhausted. When the creator saw fit to use it, the belt’s snapping was fierce, sharp, and Tron welcomed it with encouraging grunts. Tron had to lower himself to his elbows in order to take Flynn’s deliciously relentless motions.
Out of nowhere, Flynn leaned forward and looped the belt around Tron’s neck, pulling him up and backward. In a move Tron could barely comprehend, his shoulder blades smacked into Flynn’s chest and his legs spread out, settling beside his partner’s. Tron cried out from the new depth of penetration as Flynn balanced their weight and started grinding into him with renewed fervor. The belt went slack around his neck and Tron seized it, swinging the crisp leather down onto Flynn’s leg as he bounced harder, faster.
Flynn held Tron with one hand, and reached around with the other, gripping the program by the hilt and working him in tandem with his thrusts. Tron dropped the belt, too delirious from the new contact to concentrate on anything else. His head dropped back against Flynn’s shoulder as they slammed together with so much impact that they erupted in unison, exclaiming at the top of their lungs. They rode through their climaxes, swearing and gritting their teeth with the enormous effort. When the rapture had passed, they collapsed in a spent heap of limbs and perspiration.
It was damn worth it.
Title: Right to It
Pairing: Kevin Flynn/Tron
Time: The late 80s
Word Count: 803
Summary: A complete and utter PWP
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: The Tron kinkmeme is a wonderful, beautiful, shameful place.
Right To It
Tron's back slammed into the wall, his lips savagely conquered by Flynn's demanding mouth. Their tongues entwining at a feverish, reckless pace, Tron willingly drowned in the overwhelming sensation. His hands roamed swiftly and slipped inside Flynn's leather jacket, gripping his shirt and yanking their hard bodies together. Now within reach, Tron blindly fumbled for the user’s belt.
He was barely able to find the buckle before he was dragged to the floor.
Flynn’s weight crashed down onto him, the impact breaking the kiss. They both laughed, uneven and breathless as Flynn casually leaned in and raked his teeth across the synthetic flesh of Tron’s neck. The program let out a dark moan of satisfaction, then one of protest as Flynn sat up, straddling him. Hair falling into his eyes, the creator had never looked so mischievous as when he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and peeled his shirt up and over his head. Tron marveled at the sight of him, as awestruck as he was interested.
Flynn leaned down and planted his hands on either side of Tron’s head, nuzzling his mouth up against his companion’s ear.
“Now you can undo me,” he whispered.
Tron quickly set to work as Flynn sat up once again, watching with eager, amused eyes. The buckle now released, Tron had to pull once, twice and a solid third time before he’d fully freed the belt from its place. He let it drop to the ground beside him, hands already unbuttoning the jeans…coaxing the zipper down…reaching inside.
Flynn’s eyes slid closed just as Tron’s went wide.
There’s something to be said for rightful arrogance.
The feel of Flynn was almost daunting, yet Tron had never desired anything as much as he wanted to have every inch claim him as many times as he could stand.
Flynn slowly rocked back on his haunches and stood up, ready to push his jeans down to his ankles.
His command was solid, effortless. “Strip.”
Tron deactivated his suit and it melted away from his body as Flynn tossed his jeans to the side. Flynn knelt down, Tron sat up, and their mouth met with a flat, crushing force. Tron wrapped his arms around the user’s neck and they fell back to the ground together, their bare torsos meeting decadently. Tron felt a capable arm wrap around his back and a second later he was flipped over on his chest.
Flynn drifted a hand down the length of Tron’s spine.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a low voice.
Pushing himself up onto all fours, Tron nodded without hesitation. The sharp strike of leather to his ass made him cry out with surprise.
Apparently, Flynn had remembered the belt.
“Tell me,” the user insisted, cracking his new toy against the wall as a warning.
Tron gasped, stunned at how the stinging pain was only feeding his passion. “I’m ready for you.”
Taking hold of Tron’s hips, Flynn made himself slick with saliva before easing into him. Tron let out a deep exhale as his arms trembled, the size of Flynn giving him life and stealing his breath all at once. They rocked gently at first, the occasional crack of Flynn’s belt punctuating their sensuous movements.
When Tron had adjusted to taking him full on, he started gradually picking up the pace. Sensing the new rhythm, Flynn readily matched the speed. Each man encouraged the other, writhing until they were dripping sweat but nowhere near exhausted. When the creator saw fit to use it, the belt’s snapping was fierce, sharp, and Tron welcomed it with encouraging grunts. Tron had to lower himself to his elbows in order to take Flynn’s deliciously relentless motions.
Out of nowhere, Flynn leaned forward and looped the belt around Tron’s neck, pulling him up and backward. In a move Tron could barely comprehend, his shoulder blades smacked into Flynn’s chest and his legs spread out, settling beside his partner’s. Tron cried out from the new depth of penetration as Flynn balanced their weight and started grinding into him with renewed fervor. The belt went slack around his neck and Tron seized it, swinging the crisp leather down onto Flynn’s leg as he bounced harder, faster.
Flynn held Tron with one hand, and reached around with the other, gripping the program by the hilt and working him in tandem with his thrusts. Tron dropped the belt, too delirious from the new contact to concentrate on anything else. His head dropped back against Flynn’s shoulder as they slammed together with so much impact that they erupted in unison, exclaiming at the top of their lungs. They rode through their climaxes, swearing and gritting their teeth with the enormous effort. When the rapture had passed, they collapsed in a spent heap of limbs and perspiration.
It was damn worth it.