TRON fic: Talk
Title: Talk
Words: 1,228
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: CLU/Jarvis
Prompt: Jarvis actually has a British accent. CLU only lets him use it during sex.
Disclaimer: Characters/etc. belong to Disney.
Prompt given by napoldeinlove.
Jarvis can tell when CLU’s watching him. It makes him nervous as hell but if he wasn’t good at keeping his composure under stress he’d hardly be qualified for his job. He continues sorting through the numbers and symbols on his console, trying to continue his assessment of the project status. CLU still hasn’t told him what goal they’re working towards, but he’s managed to stifle his curiosity so far.
Now, however, the project drifts from his focus and Jarvis’ processing shifts to the sparking heat in his circuits as CLU’s optics rake over him. He knows he’s watching. CLU knows that he knows he’s watching. Jarvis waits, trying to remain perfectly still as he wonders how long CLU wants to play this game.
And how far it will go.
After several nanocycles, he speaks up.
“Sir?” His voice cracks, the sound low and trembling in his throat, though not out of fear. CLU punishes him plenty, sure, but he never stares like this beforehand. Staring means something else entirely. Jarvis doesn’t turn around to face CLU - not yet.
“Yes, Jarvis?” Jarvis’ knees go weak and he has to steady himself on the platform nearby. CLU’s voice is charged with electricity so potent it makes Jarvis feel as though the program is right behind him, hands already all over his circuits. His commander has to be manipulating the room because suddenly Jarvis is too hot under the collar and itches to derezz his suit. He licks his lips, mouth dry.
“Is there something you require?”
Jarvis can hear the smile in CLU’s voice when he responds. “Yes, Jarvis.”
Jarvis swallows thickly, contemplating turning around. His thoughts are scrambled - he never was good at mind games, not with CLU. His processing was meant for facts and figures, not the double entendres and tricks of higher processing, of thought akin to Users. CLU was always so much more special than any other program on the Grid. Jarvis swallows again, mouth dry.
“Come here, Jarvis.”
Relieved with the certainty of a command, Jarvis complies, turning on his heel to face CLU. He sits spread-legged on the couch, as usual, coat on and helmet off. Jarvis approaches him steadily, unconsciously squeezing his console against his chest. CLU gestures behind him at the large, transparent glass at the front of CLU’s ship. They’re docked high above the city, so there’s no way anyone could see them. Jarvis still finds himself self-conscious and anxious as he climbs onto CLU’s lap, settling against his commander snugly.
CLU grips Jarvis’ ass firmly, pulling their hips together and grinding almost lazily against Jarvis. Jarvis can feel the pressure of his arousal and the effect it has as his own body responds eagerly.
“Talk to me, Jarvis,” CLU says in a low voice, sounding completely at ease. His hands flirt over Jarvis’ backside down to his thighs and then back again. “Give me a status report on the Grid.”
Jarvis’ circuits are rushing, making him feel light-headed. “The new recognizer bay-”
CLU squeezes painfully hard, making Jarvis gasp. “Not like that,” he commands. CLU dips his head to Jarvis’ neck, derezzing the suit there and partway down his shoulder, chest, and back. He scrapes his teeth along Jarvis’ circuits as he talks against them. “Talk like you were programmed to.”
Concentration is difficult to summon as CLU traces his tongue up and down Jarvis’ circuits, making them flash brightly. He obeys, however, retrieving the vocalizer data that’s hardly been used since he began working for CLU. One internal command and his pronunciation and articulation change to their original programming. Jarvis mumbles to himself, feeling his mouth shape words differently. The feeling is familiar and yet distant; CLU long ago banned him from speaking like he was programmed.
With one exception.
“Talk,” CLU commands again, gloved hands sweeping the base of his back.
“Yes, sir.” Jarvis watches CLU’s circuits light up as he speaks, and quickly continues along his previous tangent. “The new recognizer bay in Zeta sector is fully functional and is to begin receiving traffic in two milicycles.”
CLU hums against Jarvis, hands derezzing his suit along his backside. The sensation of his commander’s gloves against his circuits makes Jarvis’ voice waver.
“How is our progress towards the ultimate initiative?” CLU asks as he purposefully rubs his erection against Jarvis. Jarvis’ arms tremble. CLU knows what their progress is.
“On schedule,” he replies, fidgeting. He realizes that his console is still in his hands and he pulls it up and looks for some sort of reference to prompt some coherent words. “The increased security sweeps are producing ample supply of programs for both the Games and rectifica-aahhh!”
Jarvis can’t help the gasp when CLU’s gloved finger probes his entrance and his face warms considerably. Jarvis’ back arches to give CLU better leverage even as the single digit makes his skin burn. He bites his lip as CLU’s motions halt with his words.
“Did I say you could stop talking?” CLU’s voice is scathing.
“No, sir,” Jarvis breathes. He looks back to his console. “Erm, the security swee-eeps…” CLU pushes his finger in and out and waits hardly a nanocycle before another one joins it. “They are providing additional programs required for rectification and are catching all wayward programs on the Grid…”
“That’s good to hear,” CLU says into Jarvis’ shoulder, licking up his collarbone and neck before biting hard. Jarvis gasps again. “Any problems to report?”
Jarvis hesitates; a third finger joins the others inside of him, pushing in hard and he sputters. “A-a few small groups of rebel programs threatened your command and were planning a terrorist attack on your reign, sir-”
CLU pulls all three fingers out and Jarvis - he can’t help it - he whines at the loss. The burning stretching of the intrusion doesn’t matter; Jarvis yearns for CLU’s touch. He twists in his commander’s lap, trying to continue his report.
“-but, um, they were quickly apprehended by the Guard and rectified. No problems there.”
“Perfect,” CLU mutters, and Jarvis is distracted for a moment because CLU almost never uses that word when he’s praising someone - anyone - and he can’t actually be talking about Jarvis but then CLU is positioning himself against Jarvis and suddenly Jarvis realizes he’s derezzed his suit and-
“Ohhh.” Jarvis drops his console as CLU pushes into him, hands reaching to wrap halfway around CLU’s neck. He stops himself halfway and settles for gripping desperately at his shoulders. CLU’s hands are at the juncture of his butt and thigh, grip so hard Jarvis can feel his circuitry ache in the strangest way. As CLU slides roughly into him, Jarvis bites his lip so hard he’s surely injuring himself - but CLU commands his attention, stretching Jarvis further than he’s been prepared to take and he groans. “CLU…”
CLU jerks up into Jarvis and he bucks - from pain and pleasure. “Talk.”
Jarvis can’t think; words spill from his lips without proper thought. “I am at your service, s-sir. For as long as you’ll have me… for as long as I am still of use to you.”
CLU bites his neck again and rocks into him roughly. “And when you become useless?”
He doesn’t think - he can’t think about what he’s saying or else he’ll falter. “You will dispose of me.”
A satisfied growl emanates from CLU’s chest.
“Perfect.”
*
Words: 1,228
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: CLU/Jarvis
Prompt: Jarvis actually has a British accent. CLU only lets him use it during sex.
Disclaimer: Characters/etc. belong to Disney.
Prompt given by napoldeinlove.
Jarvis can tell when CLU’s watching him. It makes him nervous as hell but if he wasn’t good at keeping his composure under stress he’d hardly be qualified for his job. He continues sorting through the numbers and symbols on his console, trying to continue his assessment of the project status. CLU still hasn’t told him what goal they’re working towards, but he’s managed to stifle his curiosity so far.
Now, however, the project drifts from his focus and Jarvis’ processing shifts to the sparking heat in his circuits as CLU’s optics rake over him. He knows he’s watching. CLU knows that he knows he’s watching. Jarvis waits, trying to remain perfectly still as he wonders how long CLU wants to play this game.
And how far it will go.
After several nanocycles, he speaks up.
“Sir?” His voice cracks, the sound low and trembling in his throat, though not out of fear. CLU punishes him plenty, sure, but he never stares like this beforehand. Staring means something else entirely. Jarvis doesn’t turn around to face CLU - not yet.
“Yes, Jarvis?” Jarvis’ knees go weak and he has to steady himself on the platform nearby. CLU’s voice is charged with electricity so potent it makes Jarvis feel as though the program is right behind him, hands already all over his circuits. His commander has to be manipulating the room because suddenly Jarvis is too hot under the collar and itches to derezz his suit. He licks his lips, mouth dry.
“Is there something you require?”
Jarvis can hear the smile in CLU’s voice when he responds. “Yes, Jarvis.”
Jarvis swallows thickly, contemplating turning around. His thoughts are scrambled - he never was good at mind games, not with CLU. His processing was meant for facts and figures, not the double entendres and tricks of higher processing, of thought akin to Users. CLU was always so much more special than any other program on the Grid. Jarvis swallows again, mouth dry.
“Come here, Jarvis.”
Relieved with the certainty of a command, Jarvis complies, turning on his heel to face CLU. He sits spread-legged on the couch, as usual, coat on and helmet off. Jarvis approaches him steadily, unconsciously squeezing his console against his chest. CLU gestures behind him at the large, transparent glass at the front of CLU’s ship. They’re docked high above the city, so there’s no way anyone could see them. Jarvis still finds himself self-conscious and anxious as he climbs onto CLU’s lap, settling against his commander snugly.
CLU grips Jarvis’ ass firmly, pulling their hips together and grinding almost lazily against Jarvis. Jarvis can feel the pressure of his arousal and the effect it has as his own body responds eagerly.
“Talk to me, Jarvis,” CLU says in a low voice, sounding completely at ease. His hands flirt over Jarvis’ backside down to his thighs and then back again. “Give me a status report on the Grid.”
Jarvis’ circuits are rushing, making him feel light-headed. “The new recognizer bay-”
CLU squeezes painfully hard, making Jarvis gasp. “Not like that,” he commands. CLU dips his head to Jarvis’ neck, derezzing the suit there and partway down his shoulder, chest, and back. He scrapes his teeth along Jarvis’ circuits as he talks against them. “Talk like you were programmed to.”
Concentration is difficult to summon as CLU traces his tongue up and down Jarvis’ circuits, making them flash brightly. He obeys, however, retrieving the vocalizer data that’s hardly been used since he began working for CLU. One internal command and his pronunciation and articulation change to their original programming. Jarvis mumbles to himself, feeling his mouth shape words differently. The feeling is familiar and yet distant; CLU long ago banned him from speaking like he was programmed.
With one exception.
“Talk,” CLU commands again, gloved hands sweeping the base of his back.
“Yes, sir.” Jarvis watches CLU’s circuits light up as he speaks, and quickly continues along his previous tangent. “The new recognizer bay in Zeta sector is fully functional and is to begin receiving traffic in two milicycles.”
CLU hums against Jarvis, hands derezzing his suit along his backside. The sensation of his commander’s gloves against his circuits makes Jarvis’ voice waver.
“How is our progress towards the ultimate initiative?” CLU asks as he purposefully rubs his erection against Jarvis. Jarvis’ arms tremble. CLU knows what their progress is.
“On schedule,” he replies, fidgeting. He realizes that his console is still in his hands and he pulls it up and looks for some sort of reference to prompt some coherent words. “The increased security sweeps are producing ample supply of programs for both the Games and rectifica-aahhh!”
Jarvis can’t help the gasp when CLU’s gloved finger probes his entrance and his face warms considerably. Jarvis’ back arches to give CLU better leverage even as the single digit makes his skin burn. He bites his lip as CLU’s motions halt with his words.
“Did I say you could stop talking?” CLU’s voice is scathing.
“No, sir,” Jarvis breathes. He looks back to his console. “Erm, the security swee-eeps…” CLU pushes his finger in and out and waits hardly a nanocycle before another one joins it. “They are providing additional programs required for rectification and are catching all wayward programs on the Grid…”
“That’s good to hear,” CLU says into Jarvis’ shoulder, licking up his collarbone and neck before biting hard. Jarvis gasps again. “Any problems to report?”
Jarvis hesitates; a third finger joins the others inside of him, pushing in hard and he sputters. “A-a few small groups of rebel programs threatened your command and were planning a terrorist attack on your reign, sir-”
CLU pulls all three fingers out and Jarvis - he can’t help it - he whines at the loss. The burning stretching of the intrusion doesn’t matter; Jarvis yearns for CLU’s touch. He twists in his commander’s lap, trying to continue his report.
“-but, um, they were quickly apprehended by the Guard and rectified. No problems there.”
“Perfect,” CLU mutters, and Jarvis is distracted for a moment because CLU almost never uses that word when he’s praising someone - anyone - and he can’t actually be talking about Jarvis but then CLU is positioning himself against Jarvis and suddenly Jarvis realizes he’s derezzed his suit and-
“Ohhh.” Jarvis drops his console as CLU pushes into him, hands reaching to wrap halfway around CLU’s neck. He stops himself halfway and settles for gripping desperately at his shoulders. CLU’s hands are at the juncture of his butt and thigh, grip so hard Jarvis can feel his circuitry ache in the strangest way. As CLU slides roughly into him, Jarvis bites his lip so hard he’s surely injuring himself - but CLU commands his attention, stretching Jarvis further than he’s been prepared to take and he groans. “CLU…”
CLU jerks up into Jarvis and he bucks - from pain and pleasure. “Talk.”
Jarvis can’t think; words spill from his lips without proper thought. “I am at your service, s-sir. For as long as you’ll have me… for as long as I am still of use to you.”
CLU bites his neck again and rocks into him roughly. “And when you become useless?”
He doesn’t think - he can’t think about what he’s saying or else he’ll falter. “You will dispose of me.”
A satisfied growl emanates from CLU’s chest.
“Perfect.”
*