"500 words," I said.
Story: Le Disko
Chapter: Sky Fell Over Me
Fandom: TRON: Legacy
Verse: Pilots & Poison
Characters/pairing: Sam Flynn/Tron
Rating: M
Word count: 1500
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: Sometimes all Sam wants to do is make someone happy.
Author's Note: It started with a fantastically suggestive image in my head, but I had no time to sit down and write porn. So, I asked for a few suggestions for how long the ficlet should be. Majority suggested 500 words so, when I found some time, I sat down and started typing those 500 words.
1,500 words later...
It’s been a long day and Sam wants nothing more than to make someone happy. Anything to counter whatever he did to raise hell with the Board, a stubborn journalist from the equally stubborn WSJ, Legal, a faulty server tower, and a CHP officer hiding in plain sight on the 405.
“I must be the only CEO you catch in speed traps,” he mutters.
“You’re the only one I’ve seen take a motorbike to work, too,” Officer Romero says. “Oh, and the next time I catch you going ninety in bumper-to-bumper traffic I’m taking your license. Have a good night, Mr. Flynn.”
After that, Sam decides not to take any chances tinkering with the Grid tonight. As soon as he goes in he drags Tron off to the portal.
“We’re supposed to-”
“Not tonight,” he says. “You wouldn’t like it if bad luck followed me in here.”
“Who’s bad luck? Should I be concerned-”
Sam turns around and kisses Tron to stop the words. The program follows readily, fingers curling around the front of his jacket to tug him off the sidewalk into the nearest hidden nook in the semi-populated sector. Sam digs his heels in and says, “Not here.”
He repeats himself several times during the half hour flight from the city to the portal, and the twenty-minute ride from the arcade to the apartment, but almost gives in when Tron pushes him up against the handrail in the elevator and slides a hand under his shirt. Unfortunately - fortunately - the elevator stops on his floor and Tron reluctantly steps back. His gaze burns into Sam’s back down the hall to the door.
Sam flings his jacket onto the counter as he kicks the door shut and follows Tron into the living room. Tron turns to him but he doesn’t stop, pushes the program onto the couch and crawls onto his lap.
“What happened?” Tron asks.
“Bad day.” He rakes fingers through thick dark hair and tilts Tron’s head up to kiss him. “Want something to go right for once.”
Tron slides his hand under Sam’s shirt and along the curve of his spine, moves as if to turn and press him down on the couch. “Then let me-”
“No.”
He leans forward, pins Tron against the couch’s back. He brushes his mouth against Tron’s, licks at the swell of the program’s lips as he rocks his hips forward, and earns a moan. He studies the flush on Tron’s face and the hunger in inky pupils while sliding fingertips down his chest. Tron moves against him, seeking friction, and growls when Sam doesn’t react.
“Sam-”
“Let me,” he interrupts. He curls a finger around a belt loop and tugs. “Need to, tonight.”
He hopes Tron doesn’t bring everything to a stop to press the question of why, and almost sighs in relief when Tron kisses him instead. Tron wraps his hand around the curve of Sam’s neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss, mouth moving like he was starved for it. Sam welcomes the distraction, almost loses himself to slick bittersweet heat and the thrum slowly building with each sweeping caress of tongue. Instead he pulls back, puts just enough distance between them to breathe and get his bearings.
“What do you have in mind?” Tron asks softly, voice a low rough purr.
“Something easy.” Sam shifts closer, pressing against the rather conspicuous bulge and drawing a hitching sound out of Tron. “Less chance of fucking things up.”
He presses the heel of his hand against the hard length and Tron bucks against him, keens and digs fingertips into his back. Sam leans in and licks the salt off the side of Tron’s neck, feels his Adam’s apple bob and his pulse race. He smiles and moves his hand up to the metal button, rubs his thumb over the smooth surface before snapping it open. He tugs the zipper down and reaches in, lightly drags his fingernails along the straining cock under damp briefs. Tron writhes under him and makes a broken unintelligible sound as Sam pulls it out.
“Just like that,” Sam murmurs against Tron’s neck and coaxes out another moan with a testing stroke.
It’s so easy sliding his hand up and down the length of his cock lightly, teasingly; Tron’s so sensitive, a possible side effect of the conversion from code to DNA, and anything rougher will catapult him over the edge or jolt him out of the moment. So Sam takes his time, strokes him with a caressing touch, shivers at the breathless moans and the drag of Tron’s hand up the curve of his back. He smears precome on his hand for a slicker grip, leans in and mouths at the exposed line of Tron’s neck as he wrings out another keening moan.
“Sam,” Tron whispers into the shell of his ear, hot and needy, and it shudders through his body, leaves him flushed and with a pounding heart. “Sam.”
Sam knows what he wants and strokes him, rubs feather-light circles around the head of his cock and lets Tron thrust upward against the curve of his slick palm. He’s more interested in what he sees, though; he watches Tron bite his swollen lip at another stroke, eyes tightly shut and head thrown back. Another, tighter slide, and his back arches off the couch, making Sam pin him back down with a heavy hand on his shoulder. At the touch Tron’s eyes open and he stares up at Sam with hungry black eyes.
“Just...”
Words fail him, because there’s nothing that needs saying. He leans against Tron’s shoulder for leverage, bows his head to suck on those bruised lips while he strokes Tron closer to orgasm. He tastes the urgency on Tron’s lips, feels it when Tron pushes against his hand and bucks up with his hips, and it exhilarates him, kick-starts the drumming in the back of his head. That’s it, he thinks as he strokes Tron again and feels the rumbling moan travel from Tron’s throat to his. Just like that. Come on...
Tron starts unraveling under him, his thrusts becoming erratic and his mouth reckless and painful. Sam briefly considers drawing things out, but that’s not the point, not why they’re here like this; what he wants is to see Tron come undone by his hand and so he pulls away from Tron’s mouth, watches intently as he slides his hand along the hot, pulsing length and brings Tron that much closer. Tron returns his gaze for two rapid heartbeats, and then closes his eyes and shudders through a wave of pleasure, gasps out his name.
“Right here,” Sam murmurs and then drags Tron over the edge.
He traps the hoarse cry with his lips, holds Tron down on the couch as he comes. Sam waits until Tron slowly sinks back down, hand sliding down Sam’s back and mouth moving languidly against his, and removes his sticky hand. Tron hisses as Sam carefully tucks him back in, but is soothed with a slow and easy kiss. Sam thinks he can hear the program’s heart beating, or maybe it’s his, pounding blood into his head.
After a moment Tron opens his eyes. His pupils are still huge but Sam can see the gray rings; they seem to follow him as he sits back on Tron’s lap and studies the mess they made.
“What about you?” Tron finally asks. He slides his hand onto Sam’s leg and rubs his thumb along the inseam. “Should I-”
“I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound like it, his voice sandpaper rough and stuttering through the second word like white noise, but he feels like it. He might be somewhat breathless and shaky, but as long as Tron is this blissed out and pleased he’s fine. He leans forward and presses his forehead to Tron’s shoulder, tilts his head to the crook of his neck and breathes in salt and sex. “Very fine.”
One day he’s going to ask how Tron managed to carry over that pleasant purr from the Grid to his apartment; for now all he wants to do is sit here and soak in the one good thing that went right today. Except his hand is going from sticky to crusted over, and Tron needs a new shirt. And a towel, and maybe a shower.
“So what happened?” Tron asks just as he tries to slide off Tron’s lap and tumble onto the couch next to him.
“You really want to know?”
The thumb rubbing along the inseam of his jeans is incredibly distracting, he finds. It also anchors him down to the languorous moments after, when all the worries and care of their worlds fade away so that it’s just them.
Tron presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmurs, “Only if you want to. Do you?”
Yes.
“Wanna know why I was late? So this server tower....”
Chapter: Sky Fell Over Me
Fandom: TRON: Legacy
Verse: Pilots & Poison
Characters/pairing: Sam Flynn/Tron
Rating: M
Word count: 1500
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: Sometimes all Sam wants to do is make someone happy.
Author's Note: It started with a fantastically suggestive image in my head, but I had no time to sit down and write porn. So, I asked for a few suggestions for how long the ficlet should be. Majority suggested 500 words so, when I found some time, I sat down and started typing those 500 words.
1,500 words later...
It’s been a long day and Sam wants nothing more than to make someone happy. Anything to counter whatever he did to raise hell with the Board, a stubborn journalist from the equally stubborn WSJ, Legal, a faulty server tower, and a CHP officer hiding in plain sight on the 405.
“I must be the only CEO you catch in speed traps,” he mutters.
“You’re the only one I’ve seen take a motorbike to work, too,” Officer Romero says. “Oh, and the next time I catch you going ninety in bumper-to-bumper traffic I’m taking your license. Have a good night, Mr. Flynn.”
After that, Sam decides not to take any chances tinkering with the Grid tonight. As soon as he goes in he drags Tron off to the portal.
“We’re supposed to-”
“Not tonight,” he says. “You wouldn’t like it if bad luck followed me in here.”
“Who’s bad luck? Should I be concerned-”
Sam turns around and kisses Tron to stop the words. The program follows readily, fingers curling around the front of his jacket to tug him off the sidewalk into the nearest hidden nook in the semi-populated sector. Sam digs his heels in and says, “Not here.”
He repeats himself several times during the half hour flight from the city to the portal, and the twenty-minute ride from the arcade to the apartment, but almost gives in when Tron pushes him up against the handrail in the elevator and slides a hand under his shirt. Unfortunately - fortunately - the elevator stops on his floor and Tron reluctantly steps back. His gaze burns into Sam’s back down the hall to the door.
Sam flings his jacket onto the counter as he kicks the door shut and follows Tron into the living room. Tron turns to him but he doesn’t stop, pushes the program onto the couch and crawls onto his lap.
“What happened?” Tron asks.
“Bad day.” He rakes fingers through thick dark hair and tilts Tron’s head up to kiss him. “Want something to go right for once.”
Tron slides his hand under Sam’s shirt and along the curve of his spine, moves as if to turn and press him down on the couch. “Then let me-”
“No.”
He leans forward, pins Tron against the couch’s back. He brushes his mouth against Tron’s, licks at the swell of the program’s lips as he rocks his hips forward, and earns a moan. He studies the flush on Tron’s face and the hunger in inky pupils while sliding fingertips down his chest. Tron moves against him, seeking friction, and growls when Sam doesn’t react.
“Sam-”
“Let me,” he interrupts. He curls a finger around a belt loop and tugs. “Need to, tonight.”
He hopes Tron doesn’t bring everything to a stop to press the question of why, and almost sighs in relief when Tron kisses him instead. Tron wraps his hand around the curve of Sam’s neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss, mouth moving like he was starved for it. Sam welcomes the distraction, almost loses himself to slick bittersweet heat and the thrum slowly building with each sweeping caress of tongue. Instead he pulls back, puts just enough distance between them to breathe and get his bearings.
“What do you have in mind?” Tron asks softly, voice a low rough purr.
“Something easy.” Sam shifts closer, pressing against the rather conspicuous bulge and drawing a hitching sound out of Tron. “Less chance of fucking things up.”
He presses the heel of his hand against the hard length and Tron bucks against him, keens and digs fingertips into his back. Sam leans in and licks the salt off the side of Tron’s neck, feels his Adam’s apple bob and his pulse race. He smiles and moves his hand up to the metal button, rubs his thumb over the smooth surface before snapping it open. He tugs the zipper down and reaches in, lightly drags his fingernails along the straining cock under damp briefs. Tron writhes under him and makes a broken unintelligible sound as Sam pulls it out.
“Just like that,” Sam murmurs against Tron’s neck and coaxes out another moan with a testing stroke.
It’s so easy sliding his hand up and down the length of his cock lightly, teasingly; Tron’s so sensitive, a possible side effect of the conversion from code to DNA, and anything rougher will catapult him over the edge or jolt him out of the moment. So Sam takes his time, strokes him with a caressing touch, shivers at the breathless moans and the drag of Tron’s hand up the curve of his back. He smears precome on his hand for a slicker grip, leans in and mouths at the exposed line of Tron’s neck as he wrings out another keening moan.
“Sam,” Tron whispers into the shell of his ear, hot and needy, and it shudders through his body, leaves him flushed and with a pounding heart. “Sam.”
Sam knows what he wants and strokes him, rubs feather-light circles around the head of his cock and lets Tron thrust upward against the curve of his slick palm. He’s more interested in what he sees, though; he watches Tron bite his swollen lip at another stroke, eyes tightly shut and head thrown back. Another, tighter slide, and his back arches off the couch, making Sam pin him back down with a heavy hand on his shoulder. At the touch Tron’s eyes open and he stares up at Sam with hungry black eyes.
“Just...”
Words fail him, because there’s nothing that needs saying. He leans against Tron’s shoulder for leverage, bows his head to suck on those bruised lips while he strokes Tron closer to orgasm. He tastes the urgency on Tron’s lips, feels it when Tron pushes against his hand and bucks up with his hips, and it exhilarates him, kick-starts the drumming in the back of his head. That’s it, he thinks as he strokes Tron again and feels the rumbling moan travel from Tron’s throat to his. Just like that. Come on...
Tron starts unraveling under him, his thrusts becoming erratic and his mouth reckless and painful. Sam briefly considers drawing things out, but that’s not the point, not why they’re here like this; what he wants is to see Tron come undone by his hand and so he pulls away from Tron’s mouth, watches intently as he slides his hand along the hot, pulsing length and brings Tron that much closer. Tron returns his gaze for two rapid heartbeats, and then closes his eyes and shudders through a wave of pleasure, gasps out his name.
“Right here,” Sam murmurs and then drags Tron over the edge.
He traps the hoarse cry with his lips, holds Tron down on the couch as he comes. Sam waits until Tron slowly sinks back down, hand sliding down Sam’s back and mouth moving languidly against his, and removes his sticky hand. Tron hisses as Sam carefully tucks him back in, but is soothed with a slow and easy kiss. Sam thinks he can hear the program’s heart beating, or maybe it’s his, pounding blood into his head.
After a moment Tron opens his eyes. His pupils are still huge but Sam can see the gray rings; they seem to follow him as he sits back on Tron’s lap and studies the mess they made.
“What about you?” Tron finally asks. He slides his hand onto Sam’s leg and rubs his thumb along the inseam. “Should I-”
“I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound like it, his voice sandpaper rough and stuttering through the second word like white noise, but he feels like it. He might be somewhat breathless and shaky, but as long as Tron is this blissed out and pleased he’s fine. He leans forward and presses his forehead to Tron’s shoulder, tilts his head to the crook of his neck and breathes in salt and sex. “Very fine.”
One day he’s going to ask how Tron managed to carry over that pleasant purr from the Grid to his apartment; for now all he wants to do is sit here and soak in the one good thing that went right today. Except his hand is going from sticky to crusted over, and Tron needs a new shirt. And a towel, and maybe a shower.
“So what happened?” Tron asks just as he tries to slide off Tron’s lap and tumble onto the couch next to him.
“You really want to know?”
The thumb rubbing along the inseam of his jeans is incredibly distracting, he finds. It also anchors him down to the languorous moments after, when all the worries and care of their worlds fade away so that it’s just them.
Tron presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmurs, “Only if you want to. Do you?”
Yes.
“Wanna know why I was late? So this server tower....”