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Fanworks: Tron: Fics: Boot Drives
Summary
Ram and Tron and some kinky bondage/dom/sub time together-- after all the bad stuff is over and Things are Good.
(Still part of my OT3 canon, but sometimes Yori just wants to watch. Hell, mostly *I* would. I'm down bad for just thinking about those two guys together.)
A little too much cerebral worldbuilding for a PWP, but you know how I roll.
Boot Drives
Author's Note:
In case you haven't noticed, I've been building this series all out of order. If you view my I/O Towerverse fics you'll see them listed chronologically in terms of the storyline, but they were definitely not written and posted in that order, and I've still got a LOT of gaps to fill.
And those missing stories are in the works, don't worry.
How do Tron and Ram get from their first interface as cellmates to becoming basically steady partners? What are they thinking as they escape with Flynn? What's it like when Tron first tells Yori about Ram? What does Tron's I/O Tower meetup with Alan feel like to him? And, after The Greatest Little Deresolution and the PoMU stories, how does Ram finally end up settling in and finding his place in the ENCOM system as part of Tron's permanent software suite?
It will all be explained. I am working on it. More of it's done already than you probably think.
But this one takes place a lot later. It's set in a happy time, once Tron/Ram/Yori are a well-established trio, and it's a kinky little PWP (porn without plot? porn with philosophy? IDK it's weird.)
Tron and Ram have planned a night of bondage play between the two of them, and things get quite fun.
Inspired by this behind-the-scenes picture with Ram in the background, and this rough sketch I made under the influence of extreme horniness, as I attempted to imagine what position Ram was actually in, in that photo. (The "on his knees with hands behind his back" interpretation would not leave me alone.)
Boot Drives
That other world is vast too.
Ram has gained only hints of it, in the moments of contact that fate has permitted him to have with Users. A confused rush of data-transfer through the touch of Flynn's hand in a half-dead Recognizer; the evanescence of RKleinberg_7's spirit wafting down the I/O Tower, some of it reaching him garbled, not quite in any computer language he knows; some of it taking him millicycles to decrypt fully.
How full, how accurate is the sense of it he's gotten? Ram doesn't know. It's more a sense of energy than anything else. Of the ways energy pulses through that other world, shifting from one form to another-- from matter to motion; light to electricity; heat and cold that feel like and yet unlike the heat and cold he knows from here within the System-- energy as the interplay between order and chaos, information that builds into choir upon choir of of Bits singing out their Yes and No in vast and vastly meaningful symphonies.
It's an impression, certainly imperfect, but it changes him, each time he thinks of it.
He knows now, on some level, that the way energy flows through his own world is a mirror of that one-- and only some of the echoes have meanings relevant to here.
The energy in this computer, from the viewpoint of the Invisible, is less varied than what's outside. Most of it is of just a few essential kinds: electricity, and the movement and allocation and use of it, flowing from that mysterious outer power source into the place he knows as PoMU-- the Power Management Unit-- there to be distributed to Programs who need it for their function.
All that can be seen, heard and felt, in here, is a representation, a graphic interface to symbolize what that power does.
Ram does not know why the System chooses to portray that energy in such different ways. Some of it as an invigorating tingle jolting through bodies that lean in ecstasy against an electrified wall... some of it as a wash of light that plays warm and colorful across the dance floor...
...and some as that gloriously refreshing glowing liquid, welling up in cavern springs, shimmering cyan-white in goblets served to the tables at PoMU, to burn cold and lovely down the throat and turn hot as it reaches the skin-circuits below.
If it's an echo of things out in that world, mirroring simply for the sake of mirroring, as some things do in this System-- well, Ram cannot explain how or why it does such things. He can only smile and be grateful for it.
He knows that he, too, is most likely an echo-- a body that only approximates the shape of those out in the other world. He is function given a physical form. And the way his form and its functions manifest, here in the System, is just another graphic-interface for that play of energy and data.
Reflecting, representing something from the outside and something from in here-- but still very much his own person, his own life. More free, now, than he's been ever before. And for that Ram constantly thanks the Users-- and Tron.
He kneels on the soft-carpeted floor of Tron's bedchamber, waiting.
His legs, folded beneath him, are spread wide; his arms bound behind him in light-ropes of Yori's clever design. (She is undoubtedly watching, from wherever she's hidden herself this time. This is a time set aside for him and Tron alone, but he knows Yori will take her own delight from it-- and add to its delight for him, with the thrill of knowing he is watched.)
They've brought him back from PoMU overcharged in every way. He has quivered on the energy wall, he has basked in the light of the dance floor, he has drunk deep of the liquid glow from those goblets, but always just less than it will take to overload him into the crash and restart that he so desperately needs.
The power tingles and fizzes on every surface of his outer shell, and through every function and each line of code underneath.
He burns with energy. Each form of it aches for release in a different way. The electric charge from those wall-circuits is a tickly static fuzz on his skin. Heat and light pulse bright, deep violet, in all his circuitry, all longing to discharge through touch.
And the liquid charge has gathered to activate and swell the I/O functions coded between his legs, already leaking from him to spread over the bulge. Rendered visually as a glistening glow-- and tactilely as a tantalizing warm slick wetness, stimulating what it touches and begging for more.
Ram tilts his head back, breathes deep, spreads his legs a little wider-- he thinks he may not be able to hold back his own begging, the moment Tron gets here...
Oh.
Yes.
There he is, framed by the doorway, and-- oh, Ram's energy throbs all over--
Tron is well-charged too-- he danced and drank with Ram the whole time-- but of course he did not let himself get as close to the edge of overload as he got Ram. Tron must be the one to have control; that was what Ram's been craving, and what he asked for when they planned this. And now... seeing Tron like this... oh, now Ram aches even more to be claimed, to submit to Tron's strength.
Tron glows. In him, the power always has purpose, and looks like it. His circuits are bright, bright like a pure source, flashing with violet around the edges of ice-blue. The air crackles with heat and charge around him.
And it's palpable, that power in the air-- when Tron responds to the sight of Ram, bound and kneeling and ready for him.
"Oh, Users," he gasps, low under his breath, low enough that Ram barely hears it, but it's still enough to almost shock him-- Tron rarely swears. Ram hears the slow intake of breath, too, as Tron claws back composure from that initial surge of feeling.
"Look at you." Tron's voice is still breathy, low. "Oh, just look at you."
Ram's face flushes hot. "Look at yourself," he retorts, half-smiling.
And he does look. Tron fills his whole vision and more. The violet tinge deepens around the circle of the four squares, and courses down several different circuit lines, to flicker around Tron's belt and then lower down. The bulge of arousal there is unmistakable, the circuit lines alongside it strobing in a spectrum of deep warm color.
Ram feels a wave of color-change down his own circuitry, deep magenta-purple converging between his legs, a hot fast pulse, and the glistening spot of energy there spreads a little more.
"Eager, aren't you." Tron steps closer, close enough to feel the heat of him. He towers over Ram, so tall, so strong, so wanting-- Ram arches back, the power overwhelming him. Tron wants him, wants him so bad he can feel it just in this energized air.
Ram can only imagine what Tron's feeling from him. His own want-- it's about to short out all his functions. He's glad for the electric heat of the rope at his wrists, because his self-control would not be enough to stop him reaching for Tron right now.
Tron knows what he needs, and suddenly he's even closer, boots on the ground in the space between Ram's wide-spread knees. Hand on Ram's chin-- strong, fierce, tilting him upward to look into those bright confident eyes. Ram's neck arches til it aches, to look up that far, but it's worth it.
"You're not going to be able to wait long, are you." Affection in Tron's face. Teasing. But plenty of his own impatience-- he's not as overcharged as Ram, he's still in command here, but not by as much as he wants to pretend. The hand beneath Ram's chin twitches.
Ram's smile spreads, lopsided. "I can hold on about as long as you."
A soft laugh. "We'll see about that."
And the hand slides onto his neck, slow, making every step of the journey into drawn-out stimulation. Ram tries, half-fails, to stifle a gasp.
By the time the hand reaches his shoulder, Ram's blushing against it, leaning into it harder than he meant to. Fingers there are pressing into circuits, a well-planned, well-placed pressure calculated for optimum sensation, and Ram wants to curse Tron for how well he knows those spots. The shivers of pleasure follow the lines of circuitry in fast-coursing electrical waves. His arms strain, biceps rubbing at the exquisite sensitivity of the disc on his upper back as the rope holds them back there together-- and there's another heated pulse and twitch down between Ram's legs--
But he barely has a picocycle to register any of that, because then Tron's other hand is sliding through the curls of his hair, unbearable pleasure against his scalp before fingers curl and tighten it into sharpness.
And the high desperate little cry that breaks from his throat is stifled by new pressure-- as both those hands now pull him in, sudden, close and hard against Tron's body.
A vibration, a tremble gathers all through him, arms and legs and face and spine. Tron's hands, holding him tight, almost immobile. Tron's leg, close enough to feel its warmth, but not close enough to buck his hips against, to press and grind and ease the ache of his now-painful hardness, but definitely close enough to make him excruciatingly aware how much he wants to.
But overwhelming all those sensations by a thousandfold-- the feel of Tron, hard and swelling and hot and wanting him-- pressed right up against his face as those strong hands hold him right between Tron's thighs-- lips parting already, tongue reaching for the touch and taste of him.
"N-not yet," Tron manages, although Ram can feel how much effort it is for him. "Here--"
And the grip on his hair and his shoulder guides him to the side, down to the circuits of Tron's right thigh... to press his questing tongue against the end-node of that upturned circuit line that curves closest to the center, like an arrow not quite pointing to Ram's ultimate goal.
"Right there. Harder." Tron's voice is gravel-rough, straining for another nano of control.
Ram obeys, pressing in the point of his tongue with well-practiced dexterity, to lick and tease that circuit line into deeper and deeper purple... until he feels the shudder of near-overload jolt beneath him, and Tron chokes on a gasp and barely manages to back away in time to stop it.
Ram can smell how close Tron is-- can taste his building release in the air-- can feel the moisture of it, gathering wet on the activated swell of Tron's I/O code-- though not nearly as wet as his own right now.
He shifts his legs, spreads them even wider, whimpers... as Tron somehow still manages to hold him back from what he craves.
"Please," he groans, lips swollen with want.
Tron makes a sound that's near the low end of audibility, and curls the fingers in the back of Ram's hair to press him in again-- this time into the other thigh, just as warm and tense, the circuit line just as electrically eager beneath his tongue.
Ram mouths at it in desperation, hard, frantic, lips and tongue and the graze of teeth bringing it to bright magenta even faster, because he can't hold back, he needs the taste of it, he needs--
"Oh, y-you--" Tron's groan is agony, and his hands tighten, and Ram finds his head moved by a fraction, the side of his face clasped against that central bulge while his mouth still makes desperate love to Tron's thigh-circuit, and for just a pico it feels like just that little sudden shift in sensation might push them both past the point of no return--
But then there's the ragged sound and slow movement of Tron managing to get control of his breathing. He moves Ram's head back away from him again, pixels away from his body, close enough to still taste him in the air, but just enough to hold things off for another moment longer.
"What do you want, Ram?" That low, grating, aching voice again.
"W-wanna taste you--"
"I know." Tron's still audibly holding back a groan, as much as he's tangibly struggling to hold Ram's face back from him. "Want anything for yourself too?"
It takes Ram almost a nano to even parse that question, because of the cascade of wants upon wants-- he doesn't have the available memory for it all; his need for Tron against his mouth is so deep he'd almost forgotten there was anything else he wanted for himself.
But Tron reminds him, in the most inescapable way-- a leg pushed forward, the top of his boot, sliding, touching--
An electric arc of sensation, a conduit following his spine from hips to neck-- Ram's lower half responds before any functions higher up can even activate.
It's not even much contact-- with his face still between Tron's legs there's just too much distance for Ram's body to span it all-- his bulge can feel only the lightest brush of Tron's boot, not even allowing him the leverage to drive himself onto it and grind with his whole weight like he wants to--
--but just the infinitesimal pressure, the few pixels of leaning that Tron allows--
"Mmm, that's what you want, is it?" Tron's voice seems to reverberate through his whole body.... Ram's sure he can feel it even in the top of the boot that he rests on so lightly, a faint vibration against his most sensitive code. "All right. But if you're going to ride my boots, you have to show them the proper respect first. Down on the floor."
Oh, Users...
It's a struggle for Ram to pull himself away from the magnetic pleasure of straddling Tron's boot-top, but he gets there. Leaning way down now, chest nearly on the floor, wrists still crossed behind him and tied tight in the light-rope's warm glow... over hips that are now raised high in the air.
Knees splay out and thighs strain with how wide they're spread. The ache between them throbs with denied need; his raised backside feels even more vulnerable, more exposed than before.
His mouth gasps against the toe of Tron's boot, the solid material barely warming under his breath.
Tron's breath is nearly as fast; Ram's sensitized awareness can pick up the rasp of desire in it, the strain of holding himself back... even as Tron just gazes indulgently down at Ram and taps his boot on the floor. "Want to taste me, you said? Mm. I know how that pretty mouth of yours loves to taste everything. Start there."
And Ram just moans and closes his eyes as he leans in, open-mouthed, tongue and lips wet against the smooth white surface of the boot.
Not the warm bulge of I/O code that he craves, but at this point he's so, so starved for any taste of Tron at all-- the contact still sets off a pixelated full-render shiver of pleasure, and another wet pulse of desperation in the swell of his own I/O functions, hips jerking in uncontrollable response.
He opens to bestow the same worship on Tron's boots that he'd offer absolutely any other part of him-- and his whole body recognizes that motion of his own jaw and tongue for what it is, responds with the same reflex, every pixel of his render tingling hot and needy with the rush of submissive excitement.
Whimpering, he moves his head from one foot to the other... leans in harder... licks more sensuously around the curve of the boot's outer side.
Oh, Tron's gasp is delicious. And... and it's a concept, he knows; an idea somewhere in the syntax of the programming, a response separate from any of the sensations themselves. It's the idea of it. The idea of himself bent over as this offering of worship at Tron's feet, that Ram's responding to.
And it's the sight of Ram, the idea of seeing him tremble in pleasure in this same position, that's speeding the quiver and pulse of need that he can feel in Tron. The shapes of their roles are echoing some pattern deeper than the specifics, perhaps something from out there in the Realm of the Invisible.
But Ram doesn't even care what it means anymore. Only that it fills him with this sweet, perfect ache that's almost as good as the relief that will end it-- and the only thing he wants is more of it, higher and hotter and tighter and more--
His head bows down again, tongue sweeping a long path from almost the tip of the boot all the way up to the blue circuit that curves over the top just near where the ankle begins. And for the first time in all this worship he gives attention to that circuit at last... a slow, loving, wet caress with the tip of his tongue, all the way from one side of it to the other, letting the delicious half-painful sparks of its electricity crackle in the moisture of his mouth.
And he feels it-- the rise of that pressure again, in the power coursing through circuitry-- Tron's overload threatening like a storm, like a great cresting wave, barely, barely held back--
"Ram. Ram! Stop." Tron's voice, oh, so gorgeously wrecked, gasping rough as he grips Ram by the shoulders and pulls him up to his knees.
Ram grins up into Tron's flustered face, delighting in it as he leans back, achingly aroused and glowing, shameless in his own state as he drinks in the sight of what he's done to Tron. "Mmm? You had enough?"
"Not nearly." And Tron's hand slides back from Ram's shoulder to his upper spine. Fingers curl in under the disc's edge and pry it off of Ram's back. It separates from his shell-circuitry fast, hard, a deep hot slice of sensation that's almost, almost too much-- Ram's back arches and he cries out as all his lights flash a blinding hot purple.
His breath comes in gasps until the intensity of that feeling subsides, mellows into the sensual warmth of Tron's hands as they now grip his disc, gentle, strong-- the disc now fully separated from his dock, but still transmitting the echo of what it is-- a backup of him, an imprint of everything he does and learns.
And Ram watches, waits in anticipation for what Tron's going to do with his disc, with that utter power over Ram's so-vulnerable self.
But all he does is set it up on its edge, on the floor at Ram's feet, and bend his own knee to rest the sole of his boot on the upper side of it. He's so tall, his muscular legs so long, that his knee doesn't even have to bend that much... but his foot still rests firmly on it, pressing the disc edge-on against the floor.
Making it a footrest, the only sensation from it now just a warm pressure transmitted to Ram from the rim of his disc, the concentric circles of its surface now buzzing in understimulation and wanting more.
But Tron doesn't seem about to give the disc any more attention. He's focused on Ram now-- hands resting on Ram's shoulders again and sliding up to massage his neck, and it's clear in his look that Ram's position now is all he's interested in.
The disc is only there to elevate Tron's foot, to....
Oh.
And there's a jet of urgent heat through Ram's entire circuit array. Tron's leg is now arranged exactly how it needs to be, for Ram to...
Tron's hands slide through the curls of Ram's hair, sparking pleasure everywhere they go. "Mmm. Good little program. Well done. Have your reward."
And Ram sobs in relief as he submits to the pull of Tron's hands, tugging him upward until his weight is all but supported on the exquisite pressure of Tron's boot, pressed up so hard, so tight between his thighs--
--and by Tron's fingers tangled in his hair, now clasping his face, too, against the absolute perfection of the heat between Tron's legs. Warm and wet and absolutely everything Ram craves, pressing against his mouth in frantic need, synchronized with the whimpering gasps that Tron only barely even tries to hold back now.
"Go on, Ram," he breathes, rough and hot, hands pressing in, leg and foot tense beneath him. "Take what you need. Overload yourself on my boot. Taste me all you want."
And Ram's whole body arches into it all so, so beautifully hard-- all the sensations hitting him at once and oh yes, yes, yes it's just so, so good--
He shoves the ache of his functions down onto Tron's boot, the press of that smooth material, overlaid on the shock of hot circuits, overlaid on the deeper, more personal pressure of his own disc beneath it all-- and oh, oh, yes,all the sensation plunges deep into his core like the sharpest, hottest bolt of electricity and he moans, quaking, clenching his thighs around it, absorbing wave after shuddering wave--
--along with the fierce pull of Tron's hands on his upper body now, and Ram's mouth finally, finally gets what it wants, and opens to the taste and feel of Tron, the smooth slick swell of that bulging need.
Lips open against him and sucking, licking, frantically, graze of teeth and curl of tongue and oh, oh, the sensations in his mouth are worth even more than the press of Tron's boot, and oh, Users, Tron's won again, Ram hasn't a chance, he's helpless and he can't--
With a quavering moan his whole head leans in, wide-mouthed and wet and desperate around Tron, the feel and flavor of him tingling with power-- and he clenches his thighs together and presses down into unbearable pleasure, a full-body arch of his spine, sparkling, flashing with bursts of hot purple and pink all over. The taste and texture that swell in his mouth-- the pressure of the boot between his legs-- the pressure on his disc-- oh, Users, yes, yes--
His legs shake as he creams himself in gushing torrents, each wave of fluid heat sensitizing his I/O sensors in higher desperation for the next... his peak crests higher and higher, spilling more and more, the pleasure ready to short out all function, and the shame of being unable to wait longer makes him whimper in near-agony against the bulge of Tron's arousal and the energy he can already taste there.
But the few picocycles of prematurity barely matter now-- because the gasps and moans and spasms of his mouth, as he loses control, are... just enough to push Tron over the edge too.
Hands tug at the roots of Ram's hair in glorious spikes of pleasure-pain, the hard swelling against Ram's mouth finally jolts; the thighs against his cheeks clench--
--and Tron groans, deep, harsh, a low, reverberating, aching sound that does indescribable things to Ram's code--
--and the waves of release, fast and warm, pour onto Ram's eagerly lapping tongue--
--hot, bright, wet, electric, every kind of energy at once, but all energy--
--it courses all the way through Ram's whole body, all at once, flaring his circuits in blinding flashes of light, electrifying his spine into an arching spasm-- finally bursting from him down below in one last fluid rush, a throb of heat in his I/O unit and down between his quivering thighs, down over Tron's boot, down over the glowing rings of his own disc, making him shiver in endless, echoing aftershocks.
It feels like slow motion, those last few moments as Ram melts into final, blessed relaxation and Tron sinks down beside him, both collapsing together, gasping as overload dissolves him-- body and disc, mind and consciousness-- into nothing but soft shimmers of peace.
Energy. Ram knows it's what they are, all the time. But when function disintegrates into the near-oblivion of restart, it truly feels like what it is.
Ram's and Tron's bodies become a dispersed, swirling cloud, merging in an intimacy beyond thought. Thought, information, is gone for now, and emotion-- maybe that's a form of energy too-- whatever it is, it lingers as their essences join, becoming one for awhile in that warm and simple afterglow.
They re-rezz slowly; it feels like a pixel at a time. But every trace of it finally gathers back together. All their energy, including what was liquid. Now reabsorbed to wherever it belongs in the System... some of it back into their own renders, some discharged to wherever else it goes.
Everything's clean, dry, warm again, nestled in each other's arms. First thing Ram feels is a glow of affection, of trust-- not just for Tron but for the System itself, the computer and whatever it draws from the Invisible and the Users above.
A thankful warmth for that always-trustworthy management of energy... because yes, it's not just Tron, but the world itself that somehow always manages to give Ram just exactly what he needs.
He wraps arms tight around Tron's waist.
Tron's arms respond in kind, drawing him close. "Mmm. That was nice. You doing okay?"
Ram just snuggles in, his arms hugging tighter. The little-deresolution has freed him from the rope, of course... that can't be avoided, even light-ropes can't hold you when you're a cloud of energy.
But that's fine, when you're a cloud of energy you don't want to go anywhere anyway.
And for a while afterward, he still doesn't.
END OF LINE
Fanworks: Tron: Fics: Boot Drives
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