He simply did not know enough about this world. But he could guess. And he knew when he was being admired--though he'd well learned, too, when it was aimed at him but meant, perhaps, for someone else. He'd literally been made from a mirror. He knew when he was a reflection, an example or a harmony, mere counterpoint to the hallelujah.
He'd never been angry with them for worshiping Flynn. He could hardly blame them! Not when he did it, too.
Only--the center of his world hadn't wanted him. Most emphatically had not wanted Clu, not in the way he so struggled with, not in the way he had when he looked at Tron.
Not the way they both looked at Tron. At Rinzler.
The whole Grid had been lucky to get out of that mess alive.
And Clu himself had been, oh. Extremely fortunate, whether or not it was right, whether or not he deserved to find love, whether or not mercy could ever actually be earned.
Wasn't that the whole point of sinners? That they were undeserving, which made forgiving them glorious and good? It had to be something like that, he thought.
Clu's own god hadn't explained Catholic guilt at all well, except in the context of what he himself hesitated to do. What his morals would not let him do.
Clu did not hesitate.
His own morals were--task-oriented--and Frank was gripping him back like he was the only piece of driftwood left in the ocean.
Frank was fair melting against him, flushed and shivering, and when he focused with some effort on the question, he gasped a little between each jolt of words, hot dark eyes unfocused and shining until he buried his face in Clu's shoulder. They pressed closer with every heaving breath. The sharp tang of wet denim intruded on that glorious scent, just where Frank parted his knees with a soft hot sigh.
Clu did not need alpha anatomy to respond to that. His eyes were watering. So was he.
Frank breathed him in and Clu let out a low rumble, nearly a growl, for the lean line of his back bent so close, for the way their hips swayed together and the soft, muffled confession dropped hot and snug in the crest of his shoulder.
Four years. Four. Years? Without--
When less than one had Clu all but climbing the walls, by the time it was on him, even with the pills.
No wonder Frank was afraid. The sheer fever, even leaving aside the total loss of control, might be dangerous. Which he'd avoided, by any means he could find, until he couldn't anymore. Oh, yeah. Something had happened. Something that had him wincing against Clu's shoulder over the inevitable breakthrough heat. Whatever it was had to have been excruciatingly--
Bad. Clu just wasn't sure if it was the windowless van kind, or the kind that mailed pipe bombs to omega clinics.
Wasn't his business. Flat out wasn't. And he was not going to pry, not now, not with Frank shivering in his arms and clinging to him for dear life. Knowing those details wouldn't help, and more to the point, would not help Frank.
"I've got you." Steady, certain, with the heady thrill of someone in his grip, in his power in a way he had set aside, he thought for good and all. He did know how to lead. He just didn't often get the chance. "I'm not letting you go."
He slid his knee into the offered widening of Frank's legs, didn't quite tilt upward. The angle was a little weird, but it wasn't difficult to back them those two short paces into the wall. Press him flat to it, still twining his fingers in soft bright hair.
Sliding his free hand down, inward at last, against the tight fork his thigh made with Frank's groin. Snaking just under rough denim in search of glory with the back of his thumb. Some omegas had only one set, but only slick smelled like that, hot and enticing and faintly of salt.
It wasn't all coming from him, which meant--
Yes. The hot silk glide of wet, wet skin, that sharp, urgent bud pushed tight against cotton already going damp under the heat radiating against Clu's hand, right where his opening must be.
Clu groaned. Made urgent circles on the fabric, teasing Frank higher. He wanted in there already, and Frank was not backing up, made little rocking motions just against these explorations, made a noise in his teeth that twitched all the way down Clu's body.
"Got you." Gently, lifting his knee and going after the seam in the briefs. "Got you, wanna get you off like this--"
With a little shake of his head. It dawned on him he wasn't exactly asking. Certainly his code-brother might have--made different choices.
Four years! No amount of hanky panky was going to fix that; but they would both do better with a little release.
It had to be some kind of sin, the way they fit together.
"Angel," soft, sharp, fingers abruptly tight in his hair, his engaged hand stilling its ministrations. "Look. Look at me."
This was important. No room for nonsense.
"If it hurts, you say," nothing complex, "stop. And I stop. And we try something else." Oh. His own words were going, a little, with hot pussy right there under his hand. He couldn't wait anymore, eased his fingers past the seams and into that warm, wet nest. Punctuated his next words with a curl of them forward, insistent come-here crook of both knuckles.
Felt Frank grip him back, clinging and wet, tensed in a way that shot a bolt of lust straight down his dick.
no subject
He'd never been angry with them for worshiping Flynn. He could hardly blame them! Not when he did it, too.
Only--the center of his world hadn't wanted him. Most emphatically had not wanted Clu, not in the way he so struggled with, not in the way he had when he looked at Tron.
Not the way they both looked at Tron. At Rinzler.
The whole Grid had been lucky to get out of that mess alive.
And Clu himself had been, oh. Extremely fortunate, whether or not it was right, whether or not he deserved to find love, whether or not mercy could ever actually be earned.
Wasn't that the whole point of sinners? That they were undeserving, which made forgiving them glorious and good? It had to be something like that, he thought.
Clu's own god hadn't explained Catholic guilt at all well, except in the context of what he himself hesitated to do. What his morals would not let him do.
Clu did not hesitate.
His own morals were--task-oriented--and Frank was gripping him back like he was the only piece of driftwood left in the ocean.
Frank was fair melting against him, flushed and shivering, and when he focused with some effort on the question, he gasped a little between each jolt of words, hot dark eyes unfocused and shining until he buried his face in Clu's shoulder. They pressed closer with every heaving breath. The sharp tang of wet denim intruded on that glorious scent, just where Frank parted his knees with a soft hot sigh.
Clu did not need alpha anatomy to respond to that. His eyes were watering. So was he.
Frank breathed him in and Clu let out a low rumble, nearly a growl, for the lean line of his back bent so close, for the way their hips swayed together and the soft, muffled confession dropped hot and snug in the crest of his shoulder.
Four years. Four. Years? Without--
When less than one had Clu all but climbing the walls, by the time it was on him, even with the pills.
No wonder Frank was afraid. The sheer fever, even leaving aside the total loss of control, might be dangerous. Which he'd avoided, by any means he could find, until he couldn't anymore. Oh, yeah. Something had happened. Something that had him wincing against Clu's shoulder over the inevitable breakthrough heat. Whatever it was had to have been excruciatingly--
Bad. Clu just wasn't sure if it was the windowless van kind, or the kind that mailed pipe bombs to omega clinics.
Wasn't his business. Flat out wasn't. And he was not going to pry, not now, not with Frank shivering in his arms and clinging to him for dear life. Knowing those details wouldn't help, and more to the point, would not help Frank.
"I've got you." Steady, certain, with the heady thrill of someone in his grip, in his power in a way he had set aside, he thought for good and all. He did know how to lead. He just didn't often get the chance. "I'm not letting you go."
He slid his knee into the offered widening of Frank's legs, didn't quite tilt upward. The angle was a little weird, but it wasn't difficult to back them those two short paces into the wall. Press him flat to it, still twining his fingers in soft bright hair.
Sliding his free hand down, inward at last, against the tight fork his thigh made with Frank's groin. Snaking just under rough denim in search of glory with the back of his thumb. Some omegas had only one set, but only slick smelled like that, hot and enticing and faintly of salt.
It wasn't all coming from him, which meant--
Yes. The hot silk glide of wet, wet skin, that sharp, urgent bud pushed tight against cotton already going damp under the heat radiating against Clu's hand, right where his opening must be.
Clu groaned. Made urgent circles on the fabric, teasing Frank higher. He wanted in there already, and Frank was not backing up, made little rocking motions just against these explorations, made a noise in his teeth that twitched all the way down Clu's body.
"Got you." Gently, lifting his knee and going after the seam in the briefs. "Got you, wanna get you off like this--"
With a little shake of his head. It dawned on him he wasn't exactly asking. Certainly his code-brother might have--made different choices.
Four years! No amount of hanky panky was going to fix that; but they would both do better with a little release.
It had to be some kind of sin, the way they fit together.
"Angel," soft, sharp, fingers abruptly tight in his hair, his engaged hand stilling its ministrations. "Look. Look at me."
This was important. No room for nonsense.
"If it hurts, you say," nothing complex, "stop. And I stop. And we try something else." Oh. His own words were going, a little, with hot pussy right there under his hand. He couldn't wait anymore, eased his fingers past the seams and into that warm, wet nest. Punctuated his next words with a curl of them forward, insistent come-here crook of both knuckles.
Felt Frank grip him back, clinging and wet, tensed in a way that shot a bolt of lust straight down his dick.
"Nod, if you agree."