They didn't know each other well, but Clu knew when he was being watched. At one point it had almost been his job: people needed a leader who was there for them, and that meant somebody they could see and hear and touch. And he thrived on it.
Didn't hurt that he was carved like an action figure: Flynn had tried, once, to explain that it was hard for him. That he actively struggled with being attracted to men and women, that he felt it should have been impossible for him to be a widower with a dynamite ex-girlfriend, and still really enjoy--hanging out with the guys.
Clu could've said he had the opposite problem. Except, for him, it wasn't a problem or a puzzle to be solved. He was in the same functional orbit as freaking Tron. And Shaddox. Even Zuse, in his own unique way--who, after all, had rezzed in bundled with Eckert originally.
Clu had a vast and terrible hell of a lot to answer for. Most of it he could never go back and fix. But he'd never struggled with what he wanted.
He loved attention. Certainly he dressed for it. And Frank was enjoying looking, so Clu gave him something to look at, hips perched to sway on their way down the hall.
Watching Frank bend to try the keys, Clu was having just the tiniest moral crisis about whether he was taking advantage. But their alternatives were--not optimal. Not realistic, and not physically safe. And Frank needed his help.
"No problem," was Clark's answer, fuzzed with the hum. But something else was gnawing at him, prompted him to add: "Y'know, I take those!" Gentle, genial. "One and a half, usually."
They were huge--four or five made a literal handful. Frank blinked down at them, then shoved that nightmare dose back into his pocket with just a faint tremor. He drank his water, instead, dark eyes brightening with sudden surprise for how good it tasted, how badly he'd needed it.
Clu knew that thirst, and intimately knew its culprit: the building burn of want that gradually consumed everything else, that turned food and water and even sleep into bitter chores to be endured.
And he also knew, intimately, about that altogether more pressing need. He wouldn't leave the poor guy to it alone.
As for three-eleven: "Yeah," soft, non-threatening and automatic, then with bright realization: "Yeah! Same wavelength, man. After you."
With the door open, Clu was not shy about brushing very close against Frank, not quite tangling their thighs on the way in. Just a rub, not enough to topple them.
Being unused, the sole features in the office were the abandoned default desk and a sad, rickety-looking spin chair. He edged past Frank with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Did not lock the door: did not want to try taking the keys from him. He probably felt trapped enough, in the wash of still rising sensation that would inevitably take him over.
"Better?" It wasn't just about privacy. Clu had always found the fluorescents hell, right about this time on his own calendar.
Still. At least they had the room to themselves.
"Listen," he tried brightly, all suggestion as he sauntered back into Frank's personal space. Experimental but thorough touch, caressing his arm, looping that hand to his waist. "You're, real cute. I wanna kiss you." Raised eyebrow, grinning. "What do you want?"
no subject
Didn't hurt that he was carved like an action figure: Flynn had tried, once, to explain that it was hard for him. That he actively struggled with being attracted to men and women, that he felt it should have been impossible for him to be a widower with a dynamite ex-girlfriend, and still really enjoy--hanging out with the guys.
Clu could've said he had the opposite problem. Except, for him, it wasn't a problem or a puzzle to be solved. He was in the same functional orbit as freaking Tron. And Shaddox. Even Zuse, in his own unique way--who, after all, had rezzed in bundled with Eckert originally.
Clu had a vast and terrible hell of a lot to answer for. Most of it he could never go back and fix. But he'd never struggled with what he wanted.
He loved attention. Certainly he dressed for it. And Frank was enjoying looking, so Clu gave him something to look at, hips perched to sway on their way down the hall.
Watching Frank bend to try the keys, Clu was having just the tiniest moral crisis about whether he was taking advantage. But their alternatives were--not optimal. Not realistic, and not physically safe. And Frank needed his help.
"No problem," was Clark's answer, fuzzed with the hum. But something else was gnawing at him, prompted him to add: "Y'know, I take those!" Gentle, genial. "One and a half, usually."
They were huge--four or five made a literal handful. Frank blinked down at them, then shoved that nightmare dose back into his pocket with just a faint tremor. He drank his water, instead, dark eyes brightening with sudden surprise for how good it tasted, how badly he'd needed it.
Clu knew that thirst, and intimately knew its culprit: the building burn of want that gradually consumed everything else, that turned food and water and even sleep into bitter chores to be endured.
And he also knew, intimately, about that altogether more pressing need. He wouldn't leave the poor guy to it alone.
As for three-eleven: "Yeah," soft, non-threatening and automatic, then with bright realization: "Yeah! Same wavelength, man. After you."
With the door open, Clu was not shy about brushing very close against Frank, not quite tangling their thighs on the way in. Just a rub, not enough to topple them.
Being unused, the sole features in the office were the abandoned default desk and a sad, rickety-looking spin chair. He edged past Frank with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Did not lock the door: did not want to try taking the keys from him. He probably felt trapped enough, in the wash of still rising sensation that would inevitably take him over.
"Better?" It wasn't just about privacy. Clu had always found the fluorescents hell, right about this time on his own calendar.
Still. At least they had the room to themselves.
"Listen," he tried brightly, all suggestion as he sauntered back into Frank's personal space. Experimental but thorough touch, caressing his arm, looping that hand to his waist. "You're, real cute. I wanna kiss you." Raised eyebrow, grinning. "What do you want?"