[pornlet] Been Working On a Cocktail
Title: Been Working On a Cocktail
Fandom: TRON: Legacy
Verse: Pilots & Poison
Characters/Pairing: Sam Flynn/Tron; OCs
Rating: M
Word count: 1756 shut up, it's still a pornlet
Contains: please refer to this list of tags
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: They're at a dive bar and too many people have taken an interest in Sam.
Author's Note: ... I got nothing. Doodle something sweet from the Le Disko short "Chasing Cars", be inspired to write some porn taking place in the restroom of a dive bar.
*throws hands up in the air, goes back to work on "Howl", "I Owe You A Love Song", and "Worlds In Collision"
It apparently takes seven people proposing to Sam at seven different times to make Tron snap. To be honest, Sam was expecting him to become irritated, maybe even protective, after the fourth. Instead Tron sat next to him, mouth becoming a thinner line as person after person came up to Sam and ignored the ring on his finger or the brooding companion who made a point of constantly bumping knees with him.
When the fifth sauntered up to him with a smile and an invitation to drinks - and more - Tron firmly repeated Sam’s rejection and glared until the person fled.
“I can talk,” Sam teases as he pushes aside the half-empty tumbler. “Tell them ‘no thanks, someone already put a ring on it’.”
“I know,” Tron says, “but still.”
Then the seventh person comes along, leans on the counter next to Sam, and talks. Asks how often he’s come to this dive bar, rambles on about the music filtering in from hidden speakers, sidles closer while somehow missing the winking silvery band on Sam’s hand.
The frustration and anger radiating off of Tron becomes palpable, and Sam holds his breath, waiting for him to crack.
Slender fingers trail up his left arm and a vodka-laced breath whispers in his ear, “Your friend won’t mind if we leave first, will he-”
“He’s not interested,” Tron growls and sets his hand on Sam’s knee.
Sam tenses at the muttered slur as the person leaves, but the heat on his knee is an insistent distraction. He turns his attention to Tron and his breath catches at the near-black eyes pinned on him, at the slight part of lips and the glimpse of the tip of tongue. Swallowing hard, he says, “Let’s-”
Tron grabs his wrist and, in one practiced motion, slides off the barstool and pulls Sam after him towards the small doorway at the back of the bar.
“Exit’s the other-” Sam realizes that Tron’s making a beeline for the men’s restroom. “Now?”
The restroom is empty. Tron pulls him to the second stall, furthest from the urinals and the door, and pushes him inside, struggles with the lock before successfully sliding it into place. Sam leans against the grimy tiles and the oddly clean toilet, heart pounding as Tron turns to him. It’s a tight, cramped space, dim because the yellow-orange light has a short reach. The half-empty Febreeze someone shoved into a socket near the sink does a decent job of masking the bleached stench but an absolutely terrible job of blocking out the muted music and voices on the other side of the restroom door.
“Right here?” he asks as Tron mouths the side of his neck and wedges in between his knees.
“Here,” Tron says roughly. “Now.”
He kisses Sam, presses brandy and bittersweet slickness into his mouth, and tugs on the belt loops of his jeans, presses the heel of his hand against-
Sam chokes on his words instead, hisses while Tron drags his fingers over the fabric trapping the growing curve of his cock. His back strains from his struggle to stay upright and he pushes his elbow against the porcelain tank, desperate to find leverage before his knees give out.
“Have-have any idea what you’re doing?” he gasps as Tron starts undoing his belt. He sounds too loud, his voice bouncing off the tiles and the chipped stall walls.
“Don’t underestimate me,” Tron says flatly and pops the studs on his jeans, pulls the zipper down.
There’s a moment of relief as pressure lets up on his cock, but Tron starts teasing it through the thin cotton fabric of his briefs, and Sam bites his bottom lip, keens as pleasure flushes hot through his body. Then his heart stutters to a stop as Tron kneels down, eyes inky in the poor lighting. Tron pushes his shirt up a few inches, watches Sam while he leans in to brush his mouth along the thin dark blond trail down to the elastic band of his briefs. Sam gasps as he curls his fingers around it and tugs it down.
Sam shudders as Tron breathes hotly against his cock, braces himself against the tiled wall and tries to remember to breathe when Tron slides his tongue along it. His right foot slides two inches forward as his hips twitch and jerk forward; Tron pins him to the wall, hands a vice-grip on his hipbones. He gives no warning before he leans in and wraps his mouth around Sam’s cock, enclosing it in tight wet heat.
“Fuck!” Sam slams his head against the wall, moans loudly while Tron pulls back an inch to press the flat of his tongue to the throbbing head. It feels so good and he reaches forward, rakes his fingernails over the back of Tron’s scalp, encourages him to-
The undercurrent of music and voices abruptly come to the fore as the restroom door swings open. Sam goes rigid, horror shivering through his body, and he clamps his mouth shut, breathes harshly through his nose. Too loud, he’s still too loud, and he covers his face with his right arm. Tron quietly and carefully draws back, sits on his heels and watches movement under the stall walls. Footsteps thunder on the tiled floor and echo off the walls as someone moves to the urinal closest to the stalls.
Sam’s heart beats too loudly. That person will hear it, will investigate, will find them. He holds his breath and wills his heart to slow but it jumps instead when Tron leans forward and touches the inside of his thigh, slides his hand up and pushes Sam’s legs wider so he can inch closer. Sam shakes his head, nods in the direction of the intrusive presence, and drops his jaw when Tron gives him a devious grin.
His mouth closes gently around Sam’s cock, teases it with his tongue while Sam bites his bottom lip hard and tries not to yell. The other person is still at the urinal, finishing his business, and he’ll hear them, he’ll hear Sam making the most pathetic sounds. The acoustics in the restroom barely muffle his whimper and he wishes desperately that this person would just leave - iron blooms in his mouth as Tron strokes the underside of his cock with his tongue. Sam sucks the welling blood out of his lip and presses them together tightly, shuts his eyes and pushes down the heat and need boiling up his throat.
Sam flinches at the roar of the urinal flushing and his heart jumps with every agonizingly slow step the other person takes to the sinks. He can see the shadow cast on the ground, can feel the intrusive presence crawling cold and hot up his spine; flight instincts seize his body, stretching his nerves too thin, but it won’t be the person on the other side of the thin wood door that’ll make them snap. It’ll be Tron, who’s humming as he teases and strokes Sam’s cock, drags his teeth so lightly along its length, and Sam muffles his mouth with his arm to keep from screaming.
He barely hears the squeak and thud of the restroom door closing, doesn’t realize that they’re alone again. Blood thunders in his head and tightly coiled heat unravels in his groin as Tron licks and sucks and strokes. He pulls his head back so slowly that Sam feels the wet heat of his tongue slide along the underside of his dick, and this time Sam can’t stop the shuddering, “Oh god,” or the hitching desperate moans as he grabs at the back of Tron’s head, rakes shaking fingers through dark hair. Tron hums loudly while curving his tongue against the hypersensitive head, and Sam gasps at the thrumming vibration enveloping his cock, jerks forward in response to the pleasure wrenching his nerves. Tron’s hands squeeze his hips, push them hard against the wall, and Sam looks down at the burning gaze meeting his.
He doesn’t blink when Tron swallows him down, doesn’t breathe - doesn’t think he can - asTron swirls his tongue against the head of his cock and along its curve. Heat and want and need unwind and Sam feels it before it hits, shuts his eyes tightly as it seizes his body. He comes with a hoarse cry and the rough sound echoes in the cramped stall. He sags against the wall, throbbing and shaking with the pulsing aftershocks, hisses when Tron gives his cock a last caressing touch, and wishes that they were anywhere but here. He can hear the dim roar of life outside the restroom now that he’s sunk back into his skin but all he wants to do is to sit down on the discolored tiles and burrow into Tron’s arms.
Sam watches Tron spit into the toilet and close the lid, then tries to tuck himself back in. His hands won’t work and it takes Tron’s nimbler fingers to finish the job. He rises to his feet and presses Sam against the wall, thrumming and hot and smelling faintly of brandy and sex.
“What about you?” Sam asks. He feels the erection against his thigh, not insistent but still there.
Tron doesn’t answer at first, preferring instead to lick inside Sam’s mouth and leave a bittersweet trail of liquor and salt. He pulls back with a tug on Sam’s bottom lip, aggravating the bite mark, and says, “We’ve been in here long enough. Still have some time before I go back.”
“Apartment, then.”
Tron hums in agreement, murmurs, “I’ll leave first,” and lets Sam go. He pauses as he steps out of the stall, takes Sam’s left hand and rubs his thumb along the ring, and then leaves. Sam stares at the silvery band, still bright in the dim lighting. He slowly shifts over to the toilet and sits on the lid, waits until Tron shuts the restroom door behind him before silently counting to ten.
Sam ignores the person walking in as he splashes his face and wipes off the tap water with a paper towel. He gives a cursory nod as he sidles out of the restroom and into the smoky orange noise. Tron’s leaning against the bar, shaking his head to the bartender’s inquiry; Sam touches his elbow and he looks over his shoulder, smiles with the secrets they’ll keep. His face is aglow with light from overhead and Sam is mesmerized.
Then fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him to the stairs leading out of the dive bar.
Fandom: TRON: Legacy
Verse: Pilots & Poison
Characters/Pairing: Sam Flynn/Tron; OCs
Rating: M
Word count: 1756 shut up, it's still a pornlet
Contains: please refer to this list of tags
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: They're at a dive bar and too many people have taken an interest in Sam.
Author's Note: ... I got nothing. Doodle something sweet from the Le Disko short "Chasing Cars", be inspired to write some porn taking place in the restroom of a dive bar.
*throws hands up in the air, goes back to work on "Howl", "I Owe You A Love Song", and "Worlds In Collision"
It apparently takes seven people proposing to Sam at seven different times to make Tron snap. To be honest, Sam was expecting him to become irritated, maybe even protective, after the fourth. Instead Tron sat next to him, mouth becoming a thinner line as person after person came up to Sam and ignored the ring on his finger or the brooding companion who made a point of constantly bumping knees with him.
When the fifth sauntered up to him with a smile and an invitation to drinks - and more - Tron firmly repeated Sam’s rejection and glared until the person fled.
“I can talk,” Sam teases as he pushes aside the half-empty tumbler. “Tell them ‘no thanks, someone already put a ring on it’.”
“I know,” Tron says, “but still.”
Then the seventh person comes along, leans on the counter next to Sam, and talks. Asks how often he’s come to this dive bar, rambles on about the music filtering in from hidden speakers, sidles closer while somehow missing the winking silvery band on Sam’s hand.
The frustration and anger radiating off of Tron becomes palpable, and Sam holds his breath, waiting for him to crack.
Slender fingers trail up his left arm and a vodka-laced breath whispers in his ear, “Your friend won’t mind if we leave first, will he-”
“He’s not interested,” Tron growls and sets his hand on Sam’s knee.
Sam tenses at the muttered slur as the person leaves, but the heat on his knee is an insistent distraction. He turns his attention to Tron and his breath catches at the near-black eyes pinned on him, at the slight part of lips and the glimpse of the tip of tongue. Swallowing hard, he says, “Let’s-”
Tron grabs his wrist and, in one practiced motion, slides off the barstool and pulls Sam after him towards the small doorway at the back of the bar.
“Exit’s the other-” Sam realizes that Tron’s making a beeline for the men’s restroom. “Now?”
The restroom is empty. Tron pulls him to the second stall, furthest from the urinals and the door, and pushes him inside, struggles with the lock before successfully sliding it into place. Sam leans against the grimy tiles and the oddly clean toilet, heart pounding as Tron turns to him. It’s a tight, cramped space, dim because the yellow-orange light has a short reach. The half-empty Febreeze someone shoved into a socket near the sink does a decent job of masking the bleached stench but an absolutely terrible job of blocking out the muted music and voices on the other side of the restroom door.
“Right here?” he asks as Tron mouths the side of his neck and wedges in between his knees.
“Here,” Tron says roughly. “Now.”
He kisses Sam, presses brandy and bittersweet slickness into his mouth, and tugs on the belt loops of his jeans, presses the heel of his hand against-
Sam chokes on his words instead, hisses while Tron drags his fingers over the fabric trapping the growing curve of his cock. His back strains from his struggle to stay upright and he pushes his elbow against the porcelain tank, desperate to find leverage before his knees give out.
“Have-have any idea what you’re doing?” he gasps as Tron starts undoing his belt. He sounds too loud, his voice bouncing off the tiles and the chipped stall walls.
“Don’t underestimate me,” Tron says flatly and pops the studs on his jeans, pulls the zipper down.
There’s a moment of relief as pressure lets up on his cock, but Tron starts teasing it through the thin cotton fabric of his briefs, and Sam bites his bottom lip, keens as pleasure flushes hot through his body. Then his heart stutters to a stop as Tron kneels down, eyes inky in the poor lighting. Tron pushes his shirt up a few inches, watches Sam while he leans in to brush his mouth along the thin dark blond trail down to the elastic band of his briefs. Sam gasps as he curls his fingers around it and tugs it down.
Sam shudders as Tron breathes hotly against his cock, braces himself against the tiled wall and tries to remember to breathe when Tron slides his tongue along it. His right foot slides two inches forward as his hips twitch and jerk forward; Tron pins him to the wall, hands a vice-grip on his hipbones. He gives no warning before he leans in and wraps his mouth around Sam’s cock, enclosing it in tight wet heat.
“Fuck!” Sam slams his head against the wall, moans loudly while Tron pulls back an inch to press the flat of his tongue to the throbbing head. It feels so good and he reaches forward, rakes his fingernails over the back of Tron’s scalp, encourages him to-
The undercurrent of music and voices abruptly come to the fore as the restroom door swings open. Sam goes rigid, horror shivering through his body, and he clamps his mouth shut, breathes harshly through his nose. Too loud, he’s still too loud, and he covers his face with his right arm. Tron quietly and carefully draws back, sits on his heels and watches movement under the stall walls. Footsteps thunder on the tiled floor and echo off the walls as someone moves to the urinal closest to the stalls.
Sam’s heart beats too loudly. That person will hear it, will investigate, will find them. He holds his breath and wills his heart to slow but it jumps instead when Tron leans forward and touches the inside of his thigh, slides his hand up and pushes Sam’s legs wider so he can inch closer. Sam shakes his head, nods in the direction of the intrusive presence, and drops his jaw when Tron gives him a devious grin.
His mouth closes gently around Sam’s cock, teases it with his tongue while Sam bites his bottom lip hard and tries not to yell. The other person is still at the urinal, finishing his business, and he’ll hear them, he’ll hear Sam making the most pathetic sounds. The acoustics in the restroom barely muffle his whimper and he wishes desperately that this person would just leave - iron blooms in his mouth as Tron strokes the underside of his cock with his tongue. Sam sucks the welling blood out of his lip and presses them together tightly, shuts his eyes and pushes down the heat and need boiling up his throat.
Sam flinches at the roar of the urinal flushing and his heart jumps with every agonizingly slow step the other person takes to the sinks. He can see the shadow cast on the ground, can feel the intrusive presence crawling cold and hot up his spine; flight instincts seize his body, stretching his nerves too thin, but it won’t be the person on the other side of the thin wood door that’ll make them snap. It’ll be Tron, who’s humming as he teases and strokes Sam’s cock, drags his teeth so lightly along its length, and Sam muffles his mouth with his arm to keep from screaming.
He barely hears the squeak and thud of the restroom door closing, doesn’t realize that they’re alone again. Blood thunders in his head and tightly coiled heat unravels in his groin as Tron licks and sucks and strokes. He pulls his head back so slowly that Sam feels the wet heat of his tongue slide along the underside of his dick, and this time Sam can’t stop the shuddering, “Oh god,” or the hitching desperate moans as he grabs at the back of Tron’s head, rakes shaking fingers through dark hair. Tron hums loudly while curving his tongue against the hypersensitive head, and Sam gasps at the thrumming vibration enveloping his cock, jerks forward in response to the pleasure wrenching his nerves. Tron’s hands squeeze his hips, push them hard against the wall, and Sam looks down at the burning gaze meeting his.
He doesn’t blink when Tron swallows him down, doesn’t breathe - doesn’t think he can - asTron swirls his tongue against the head of his cock and along its curve. Heat and want and need unwind and Sam feels it before it hits, shuts his eyes tightly as it seizes his body. He comes with a hoarse cry and the rough sound echoes in the cramped stall. He sags against the wall, throbbing and shaking with the pulsing aftershocks, hisses when Tron gives his cock a last caressing touch, and wishes that they were anywhere but here. He can hear the dim roar of life outside the restroom now that he’s sunk back into his skin but all he wants to do is to sit down on the discolored tiles and burrow into Tron’s arms.
Sam watches Tron spit into the toilet and close the lid, then tries to tuck himself back in. His hands won’t work and it takes Tron’s nimbler fingers to finish the job. He rises to his feet and presses Sam against the wall, thrumming and hot and smelling faintly of brandy and sex.
“What about you?” Sam asks. He feels the erection against his thigh, not insistent but still there.
Tron doesn’t answer at first, preferring instead to lick inside Sam’s mouth and leave a bittersweet trail of liquor and salt. He pulls back with a tug on Sam’s bottom lip, aggravating the bite mark, and says, “We’ve been in here long enough. Still have some time before I go back.”
“Apartment, then.”
Tron hums in agreement, murmurs, “I’ll leave first,” and lets Sam go. He pauses as he steps out of the stall, takes Sam’s left hand and rubs his thumb along the ring, and then leaves. Sam stares at the silvery band, still bright in the dim lighting. He slowly shifts over to the toilet and sits on the lid, waits until Tron shuts the restroom door behind him before silently counting to ten.
Sam ignores the person walking in as he splashes his face and wipes off the tap water with a paper towel. He gives a cursory nod as he sidles out of the restroom and into the smoky orange noise. Tron’s leaning against the bar, shaking his head to the bartender’s inquiry; Sam touches his elbow and he looks over his shoulder, smiles with the secrets they’ll keep. His face is aglow with light from overhead and Sam is mesmerized.
Then fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him to the stairs leading out of the dive bar.