2020-12-09 22:29![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tanks4thememory
tanks4thememoryWho: Clu1 and Clu 2 (a_perfect_end)
The life and times- and sexytimes of Clus One and Two in the ABO universe, collected here for the sake of convenience and avoiding page clutter. Multiple scenarios, lots of fun. Mostly of the NSFW variety.
Where: Their User world abode and possibly other places
When: Some undetermined time post Legacy and after this thread
What: ABO sexytimes and maybe other things; a Clu on Clu catchall
Warnings: VERY NSFW. Multiple kinks, ABO related warnings, sorta incest depending how you view programs from the same User, basically enter at your own risk if you're not into that sort of thing
The life and times- and sexytimes of Clus One and Two in the ABO universe, collected here for the sake of convenience and avoiding page clutter. Multiple scenarios, lots of fun. Mostly of the NSFW variety.
Life in the Fast Lane - [circuitsex; vehicular foolery; edging; check comment headers, etc. etc.];
Even a cycle ago, Clu would've dismissed that, waved it off in a huff of offense. But it was difficult to maintain that prickly conviction while living with his code-brother. The hacker took things seriously--most of the time--and his dedication was absolute. And there was no arguing with results! Data didn't lie.
So when the hacker said the secret of his exemplary performance was a balanced outlook, Clu listened.
Besides, he'd been feeling less than optimal for a while now. He wasn't in pain, exactly, and had none of the jagged, frozen routines of deep tension. Repeated self-scans had returned an obnoxious all-clear. He wasn't hurt. Compilers wouldn't give him anything, because there wasn't anything wrong with him--and yet Clu was finding it harder and harder to concentrate for long stretches. Even pacing didn't clear the queue of a nagging restlessness. It was starting to affect his rest: he'd pop up in the middle of a downcycle, functions racing, tangled in the sheets and watching the numbers on the chrono climb higher until work began again. Then it was a renewed fight to focus over the duration of his shifts.
He just felt--not right. Not himself. Pent up somehow, and just generally off his game. Probably he just needed to do something more strenuous than glower at his desk terminals all day.
After a brisk discussion with his code-brother, they'd they'd taken off for the Arena.
The Disc Wars playfield still dominated, but now that it wasn't a hyperefficient gladitorial meat grinder anymore, the stands were mostly deserted except during headline matches or special exhibitions. The other courts were in a similar way, gleaming and spotless and typically at least half-empty. There was command-break (Flynn called it human chess), hyperball (the ring game), and of course lightcycles (which had, and needed, no other name), and a smaller gym for floor work--acrobatics and the like--branched off to the right.
And even on a busy day, they could clear out any lower-priority traffic. Clu's role had its perks, and right now all he wanted to do was go very fast. His code-brother had grinned for that, flashed him a double thumbs-up on his way to hyperball instead: something about the balance and precision it required, probably. Clu was curious, interested, but not up for a doubles game just then. Anyway, it was good to have some separate interests.
He sauntered off to the lockers with a spring in his step, fidgeted his way into his gear, and literally hit the ground running. He kneed the bike through every speed strip on every bend of the spiral, leaned eagerly into the rush and pushing the world into one long blur of speed. Going this fast, there was no seeing it; the track had to be felt, the game at this point all physical. Even with the safety parameters engaged, if he stopped to think about it, or had to notice a hazard in his way--at minimum it'd be a total wipeout.
Clu laughed screaming harsh and opened the throttle wide, until she coughed under him with a jolt he felt in his teeth. Something was off in the harmonics, some rush of pressure bolting up his trunk line--or, was that him, was he doing that, off-kilter even with her steady rumble powerful beneath him. There was hellacious feedback coming from somewhere, even if it didn't feel bad. Quite the opposite, in fact--but not here. Out here, that was dangerous.
Growling a little, he banked a hard right, swung himself almost horizontal across the bike to get the angle, and whipped back again, a harsh sidewinding motion Flynn always said should be impossible--it dumped velocity though, brought inertia to bear and clipped his pace to something more like road safe in record time.
She whined a little for the stunt, engine pulling in protest, but held constant, thrumming steadily between his legs, a gold delight beneath him. Somehow, he kept it together, kept his cool. Everything was fine, everything was just fine. Everything was great. He felt amazing, except for the part where he sat sharply forward, pushed tight against the pommel to hide the bright bloom of purple beginning to spread lurid at the junction of his thighs, right where he was going rock hard.
It kept him from displaying, but just made everything more intense. It was too good. If he didn't dismount, pronto, he'd light up like a billboard.
That last turn took forever. He was trembling when he finally made it down. The baton wobbled in his hand. He didn't quite tiptoe his way to the showers, helmet strategically slung at his waist because there was no way to hide it in a gridsuit. Maybe heavy armor, but he wasn't wearing any, and suddenly spawning some would attract much more notice than would a sudden fondness for his gear--for carrying it, instead of dismissing it--and the slight wince to his gait.
No big deal. Undetected. Very cool. Very stealthy.
The locker room was mercifully empty.
He slid down against the cool metal of the racks with a heavy sigh, stifling a groan for the way the slight change in temperature dragged all of him up tighter, made everything give a torturous jump in snug fabric, pinned tight and growing tighter. He shivered for having to bend over, dismissed the boots with a wince. He could feel the dull pulse of arousal in his teeth.
Maybe he had time to get out of these clothes--get this off him, just to dismiss what clung to him the worst--get that tricky strip of hell fabric off and get some breathing room. His cock actually bounced a little as he let it free and didn't flag even slightly. Maybe he could, just, stand up now--oh that felt so good, no. Nope. No moving, moving at all was a bad idea.
It wasn't like he needed to touch it. He was tougher than this. If he didn't think about it, it would chill out. Right? It always had before.
He was so turned on it hurt, flushed in more hues than a Vegas display. There was no way he could just walk out of here like this.
(no subject)
Disc wars had never been his favorite- though he added a note to his priority queue that he should probably practice more, just in case it was ever needed-, and while lightcycles were fine for basic transport, when speed was needed, he preferred something with a bit more stability. That left command break and hyperball, and the former was more of a mental challenge, while today he was looking for a physical one. So hyperball it was.
After bidding his brother farewell at the entrance to the lightcycle locker rooms, he went off to those for the hyperball courts to get his own equipment on. While both disc wars and hyperball required skill and precision, the former relied more on power and aggression, where hyperball focused more on dexterity and stamina; much better suited to a hacker. And Clu was good at it too; he didn't dominate it quite as entirely as his code-brother did lightcycles or like Tron and later Rinzler did disc wars, but he was still a tough opponent to beat, and gave even the challengers he lost to a run for their money. (Did Users actually run for money? And if not, where had the expression come from? Ah well...)
After a few rounds with random challengers- 3 wins, one loss-, he'd thanked his final opponent for a good game, then went to meet his code-brother back at the entrance to the lightcyle locker rooms as agreed. The admin wasn't there when he arrived, though nor did he appear after a bit of waiting. Surely he couldn't be that into his lightcycle race, especially when he'd booked this particular track for himself alone. A few more long moments of waiting and Clu decided to go in and check on him. After all, injuries were still possible even with the safeties on, and if his code-brother had wiped out at speed, he could be having some trouble.
"Bro, you in here?", he called as he entered, accompanying the question with a standard scan. Ah, there he was, in the drefraggers. Programs didn't sweat of course, but lightcycles could kick up pixel dust sometimes, so a number of programs found the defrag showers useful. Plus they were just a great way to relax after an intense match. But if his code brother was in there, why didn't he hear it running?
He got his answer when he stepped into the shower room himself. His code brother was there alright, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, normally solid gold circuits flushed a multitude of colors. The most noticeable of which was blazing bright purple centered right around his crotch, and in particular his cock which looked almost painfully hard, even from an outside perspective. Well this certainly explained a few things.
Clu had enough sympathy and courtesy not to chuckle at the admin's predicament, but he couldn't quite resist a smile, both because of the cause of the issue and because his code brother just looked really hot when he was this flustered and turned on. "Well now I know why you've been so restless lately," he said. "Just how long have you been using just the same few functions? You must've let things go for awhile to end up like this."
(no subject)
Normally, Clu liked an audience. He'd cleared them out for their own safety, intending to go as fast as he wanted, and he certainly had--but he didn't mind gathering a few onlookers here and there.
Normally. Right now he was very glad for privacy.
Clu groaned, unable to help fidgeting in sheer frustration.
"I didn't do this!" he snapped, teeth bared. "The faulting bike did this! I am just the driver, and, also, I--" He glanced up with a shudder that drove blue-green-white-gold-purple up his whole back. "I'm just glad it's you," no; phrasing-- "to see you--" Maker of Users, not like that: embarrassed and total arousal flickered so hot through the mains he was practically blinking on and off, Hello, Sailor.
"I mean, thanks for, finding me?" Clu finished in a tiny voice, burying his face flat in his palm and dragging that hand through his hair slowly. He needed to pull it together at least a little bit.
He blew out a sigh. There was a perfectly rational explanation for all of this, after all.
"Got down here. Couldn't get up again." He grunted. "Can't really stand or reach the glitching defrag controls, so." He tried for a chagrined laugh and got mostly air. "I'm kinda stuck."
His code-brother's bright-eyed grin was not helping.
And as for how long he'd been conserving power? The read he pulled couldn't, be, right. Could it?
"Uh, point-seven-two of a hex?"
So, most of the quarter, from a User perspective: literal months.
(no subject)
"When you didn't turn up for awhile, I got a little concerned and thought I should come check on you," Clu said. "Thought you might have wiped out and been injured, you know? Though I guess this is both better and worse." Better because he wasn't actually damaged, which was always a good thing. Worse because this had to be glitching embarrassing, especially given that it was entirely preventable.
At the estimate of how long he'd been conserving power, though Clu quirked an eyebrow. He knew they'd both been busy and hadn't really had time for a good interface session in that time, but still, he figured the admin was taking care of himself on that front. Clu certainly had been. Obviously though, he'd been overestimating his code-brother's level of self-awareness. "Seriously? That long?", he said. "And you haven't...? Man, no wonder you're like this then."
"I hate to break it to you, but it's not the bike. All that power you've been conserving? It doesn't just go away, you know. It gets stored in reserve for all the functions you're not using; the more complex the program, the more of an issue it can be. It doesn't show up on a medical scan until it reaches levels that are actually dangerous, because there's no malfunction; your subroutines are doing just what they're supposed to. But when those functions aren't utilized and nothing is done to equalize the energy levels, well... you've got all this excess charge built up just waiting for something to trigger it. Like, say, the vibrations of a lightcycle engine at high speed right there between your legs." In other words, you kinda brought this on yourself, bro.
"Fortunately a good overload or two will get you nice and equalized. And looking at you right now, I don't think that's gonna be a problem. Though we probably shouldn't do it in here." There was no real way to close off the locker room area as it connected to a few different tracks. But there was an area they could close off, and it was only steps away. Though he suspected it would seem a much longer distance to his code brother.
"The staging area should work." An enclosed area between the track and the lockers for riders to make adjustments to their cycles before a race, or for less experienced riders who didn't want to literally hit the ground running to rezz up their cycles and walk them out onto the track. There wasn't much there, but it was largely soundproofed. And both sets of doors to it could be locked. "Think you can make it there if I give you a hand up? Or do you need me to carry you?" Oh now he was definitely teasing. But, really, given the situation, he couldn't resist. Besides, he had an idea for once they got there...
(no subject)
It was also way worse. Injury just felt awful, but this was some unholy intersection of delicious and painful, with just an edge of--was it humiliation? He didn't really experience shame, but something in his code-brother's teasing tone and factual presentation had him by the short ones mentally as well as demonstrably.
Clu was positive this was the best worst thing to ever happen to him. And, at least privately, Clu agreed it was his own fault. Though agreeing and admitting it were totally different things.
"I am not," slowly, with deliberation, "injured. But thanks for," oh-- "Looking out for me."
The hacker raised an eyebrow, and that was all, and Clu almost came.
"N-no?" Maker, it wouldn't take much more. He couldn't take much more. He breathed quick and harsh through his nose and focused on what his code-brother was telling him. "I mean, I didn't realize."
It had always gone down before; he figured he could just, not. There wasn't anything wrong with it, of course. Solo circuit work felt great! He'd just never been clued in that it was necessary, or helpful.
Or that not doing it could cascade quite so dramatically.
But as his code-brother's explanations veered back to the lightcycle, Clu got an intense, entirely unprompted visual of--how would a wizard even use a wand that big--
He felt it where he leached almost white a second at the description of exactly how he could get rebalanced. And, ordinarily, right about now Clu would have started babbling to cover his predicament and cool his jets a little.
All he managed was a low grunt, with a hard, gruff, "Bikes are sexy."
The staging area?
Like, the, all the way past the showers and down the hall--he winced. He would walk, thank you, no way was he getting carried. And they'd be able to lock the doors, at least.
He would walk. He could walk.
He squirmed for being teased, and for the thought of going over his code-brother's shoulder, just hauled into position because he was too horny to even move.
"Man, come on!" It was too sharp to be a snarl and too guttural for a whimper, pure, incredible frustration. He really would not be able to move in a minute. "Just gimme a hand up, would ya?"
(no subject)
"You probably didn't let it go for quite this long before using those other functions before now," he said. "Or at least you didn't have a racing lightcycle humming between your legs until you had. But if it makes you feel any better, I did something like this once too, though not quite to this degree." Unlike the admin, his function set didn't really allow for certain functions to go unused for too long.
And while there were other ways of getting things equalized, this was one of the simplest and by far the most fun. And his smile became a genuine grin at the frustrated noise his code-brother made, even as he reached down to take one of his hands and help him up. This was just too, too good. "Alright, ready? 01... 10...11!" On three he pulled, helping the horny admin haul himself to his feet and giving him a moment to hopefully get them under him properly before they went anywhere. "OK. Now let's get to the staging area before anyone else comes in and sees you lit up like a fully active I/O tower."
(no subject)
And as for the very new, very recent memory of exactly how it felt, straining to keep his cool with a lethal machine thundering beneath him--man. That, that was burned into the chipset, engraved forever.
He was never going to be ready, but his code-brother got a firm grip and Clu made it to his feet expeditiously, testing his gait with a slight flinch that spat static.
"Yeah," said Clu, distantly, but with entire agreement. "Good."
And as for how he must look--an I/O tower, really; a broadcast beacon--that just flooded the mains in more power than he knew he had. He could have fainted.
He laughed instead, all air and disbelief. "You're," with sly concentration, leaning against him heavily, "you're enjoying this, aren't you."
There was, after all, no hiding that this got his motor going all the way. But--
"You into it?"
'Cause that just made it better, somehow.
(no subject)
And any part of him that was in contact was definitely tingling as his code brother leaned against him. The combination of the contact, the situation, and the seer amount of energy flowing through his code brother's skin circuits trying to find an outlet were already causing his own circuits to brighten, though they stayed firmly yellow for the moment. "Oh definitely," he said with a grin. "This is absolutely getting filed away in permanent memory storage."
"And I'm finding I'm very much into it." Something about seeing his code brother so revved up that he was practically sparking with sheer need was a turn on that Clu hadn't realized he'd had up til now, but one he was going to have to try and make a point of trying to bring out at a more convenient future point. "Enough that if you weren't admin, I'd be seriously tempted to just push you up against the wall and take care of it right here, right now." It was still very tempting honestly; the thrill of potentially getting caught appealed to him on a code-deep level as a hacker. But he did have some respect for his code brother's reputation.
Just the thought was making his own systems run hot too though. "But for right now.... let's just focus on getting to the staging area." He nudged his code brother in that general direction, hoping to get them moving before his systems started to react too much.
(no subject)
His code-brother was helping just by being there. Just by letting Clu rest against him for a pico--finally a little of that charge had somewhere to run, energy seeking interface and trying valiantly to power up just where their torsos sat square. He could feel it.
Clu opened his eyes, made himself look: and seeing his code-brother burning a steady, if brightening gold, Clu was able to peel himself free with a wince. Took a step apart, not quite steady. They needed some room. If he fell now, he'd pull his code-brother with him, and--
Oh yeah. They'd get caught for sure.
It both helped and did not help that his code-brother was grinning right back at him. That his code-brother wanted permanent file, wanted to remember him exactly like this. Clu would never forget it, hot enough to melt solder, half-expecting his palm to leave an imprint of steam in the hacker's grip. Even parted a bit, they held hands; Clu couldn't bring himself to let go, and his code-brother made no move to pull away.
This close, running this hot, Clu could almost feel him turning the idea over, the hacker's words gone quiet and intense with realization, sparked through with something else.
And there was mischief in him, even now, proposing it against the wall and knowing Clu would find that--expedient. Even efficient, to be routed against the nearest hard surface and thoroughly adjusted.
Absolute proof of which way their power differentials truly ran, in private.
"I, should," Clu growled, each word pushed out of him with every heavy step, "--let--you." He nearly groaned. "Let 'em see, let rumors fly."
Impossible. Clu could not leave witnesses. Only, some solutions were--unavailable, to him, now. Clu could not leave witnesses, and his code-brother would hate it if he fixed that problem. Chalk it up to turning over a new leaf, but Clu found he didn't want to do some things that had come easily to him before.
And his code-brother cared—about Clu’s own role, and reputation, and what they meant to him, even aside from what they meant to the Grid as a whole. Certainly he spared a thought for them.
So. They needed to get to the staging area, which was all the way down there, somehow both infinite sectors from their position and just down the hall. And for all his protests, Clu had zero intention of trying to walk it: he’d been built to use all the power that he stored.
And right now he was half-drowned in almost, oh--hazardously more than double his fair share. Almost his limit. Clu shuddered, fought that knowledge down and instead pictured exactly where they were going in his mind. Started building the model of the sleek, dark room behind that door. They could call its features when they got there. Right now he needed the precise dimensions and their full potential.
"Of course," softly, an acknowledged ping, calm and reliable, showing his code-brother he was okay. "You're right." With a sigh: "Let's go."
There it was, values gleaming and whole, the pointer integers and a steady, safe given range, awaiting only his instruction to make it real. Open, sesame. He gripped his code-brother's hand--had to reference him precisely--and simply pulled them both through. Clipped them right to the address. Flynn had called it blinking, described it as dreamlike, and tried to explain teleportation.
Clu remembered it as the first time that he'd thought Flynn had said something truly, properly stupid. Magic didn't exist. But the result was the same: Clu wasn't there, and then he was, his code-brother was right along with him, safe behind closed doors.
Closed doors that Clu locked tight with a vicious key 256 bits deep. Closed doors that he sagged against, with the forethought to cue the lights on his way down, so at least they could see.
The staging area was scalable, part wardrobe and part machine shop, with the blocks and racks needed to set either a small armada of batons or up to four rezzed lightcycles side-by-side. This bay let gearheads tune things, let fashion plates tweak their armor, and could be extended for an entire pit crew for larger events as needed.
Right now the area just held the two of them, and the bench he’d just managed to call for, just before falling on it.
He’d at least released his grip on his code-brother. Hadn’t let him fall with.
Clu’s knees were not letting him up again unassisted. Neither was the rest of him, sticking up bright and obstinate, with a refusal to flag that bordered on obscene.
Like a glowstick.
“I uh,” not looking, not looking, instead looking up at his code-brother, “I didn't, really, thank you properly? I'm glad you found me when you did."
(no subject)
Clipping always felt weird to him. Not in a bad way, really. He could even do it himself if need be, though he would require significantly more time to set up the link than his code-brother; being admin had advantages. But he'd always found the sudden change from one address to another mildly disorienting. Maybe it was because it had just been less common in the old system. Maybe it was simply a quirk of his code.
The momentary lag allowed his code brother to lock the door securely enough for even a hacker's standards, at least for a temporary measure. No one was getting through that door without destroying the door itself. As his code-brother slumped onto a simple bench he'd just called up, Clu crossed to the entrance that led out onto the track, hastily securing it as well, just to be safe. Unlikely someone would come in from that way, since the track had been reserved, but better safe than humiliated.
He turned back to the admin as he addressed him, smiling at the sight of him. And he was definitely looking, at all of him. Especially the part between his legs that nearly looked like a light saber, it was so straight and stiff and bright. "What are code-brothers and interface buddies for?", he said as he closed the relatively small amount of space between him and the bench.
"Besides, I'm glad I found you too. Not only to spare both you and some poor program who has no idea what they're getting into from what would probably be the most embarrassing microcyle of your run time, but also because it means I've got you all to myself. And you look so fragging hot all lit up like this. I could probably make you overload just telling you the kind of scenarios its bringing up."
"But if we're going to do anything interesting, I'm going to have to get you at least partially equalized first. Sooo..." Clu derezzed his gloves, wrapping his right hand loosely around his code-brother's cock, pumping it with slow, even strokes while his left reached up to explore some of the large primary circuits on the admin's chest. Given the way the connection practically crackled under his touch, this likely wouldn't take long.
(no subject)
"Sorry, man." Forthright, gruff and basic, for the unprompted clipping teleport. Clu knew it was disorienting, to be between surfaces for even split picos. Probably more so, for a program with his code-brother's class of scans and unique sensitivities. "Should've warned you."
Clu shivered, even running way too hot, trying for a grin that faltered into something hungry.
"Make it up to you?" Physically.
Especially since his code-brother had the forethought to lock down the entrance facing the track. They were totally alone, and Clu could, would, make good on the offer he'd just made just as soon as he could think straight.
Maybe sooner.
His-code brother turned to him with a smile, and it was not his usual grin at all. No, this was too, too bright and too full of teeth; the hacker's eyes were practically gleaming where he was feasting them on--
Him. All of him.
Because, after all, what were code-brothers and interface buddies for. Besides sparing him utter humiliation.
His code-brother sauntered over what little distance separated them, cheerfully connecting the idea of discovery--of getting caught--with two factors: first of all, not only were they completely alone, but secondly--
Clu was now firmly on the receiving end of his code-brother's entire attention.
(All to himself.)
Clu bit his tongue. He physically bit his tongue, because otherwise noises would escape. He couldn't hold back a shudder.
Soon he might not be able to hold back at all.
Not with his code-brother humming at him about how he looked, and how simple it would be, what he wanted to do--
and suddenly Clu wanted that, too--to unspool completely, just because his code-brother told him to.
He wanted to see if he could.
Instead, his code-brother took him well in hand, and Clu rolled forward in his grip with a shudder, feeling where he pulsed for it. The fine bright bare circuits of his code-brother's fingers made a snare that was too, too gentle, an easy loop that stroked Clu slow, prompted him to buck his hips after more, clean as a piston. More friction, more pressure, more coverage--somewhere for this massive charge to go. It roiled ravenous, flowed like heat lightning toward the open, inviting bare traceries in his code-brother's hands. It flooded the mains of Clu's chest in a broad rush of purple--an answering hot crush of it welling up between his legs, a vivid wash of lust painting his entire body, halfway to drowning the entire equipment bay in the same lurid tones.
How his code-brother held on to a brightening flare of gold was beyond him. And as for anything interesting he did not, right now, see what that could be--
Energy looped back on itself, practically sang out of him, halogen hot. He felt himself throb and stutter against his code-brother's fingers in an eager sizzle of feedback, and he strained after his words and instead let out a sound.
Could've been a moan. Felt suspiciously like a whimper. Didn't stop him moving, ready charge somehow blazing higher instead of banking down.
Felt his eyes widen and his dick stutter. How was there more?
"Man," was all he managed, "please, yeah, let's--"
He couldn't finish it.