Work Text:
Inspired by this fantastic art of the Encom Trio.
High Score
Flynn tore away the heavy plastic sheet with a flourish and laughed, his voice echoing from the silent arcade's high ceiling. "Now how about that?" he crowed gleefully, tossing aside the plastic. His eyes alight, he approached the game cabinet he'd revealed. "Isn't she beautiful?" With rare reverence, he skimmed his palms over the red, blue, and yellow painted circuitry, bright against the black panels, and lifted his grinning face to the bold orange letters emblazoned above the dead screen.
"TRON," Alan read aloud, propping his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "You really had to steal the name of my security program for one of your games?"
"Steal?!" Flynn repeated, face transforming into a mask of shocked indignation. "I didn't steal it; I was inspired by it, man." Grinning, he ducked behind the cabinet to plug it in. "The idea of a big, strong security program defending his system? What's not to love?"
The cabinet lit up and played a series of jarring video game noises. Deformed, multi-coloured motorbikes raced across the screen with an electronic whirring sound, and one of them exploded in a shower of blue pixels.
"His system?" Lora asked where she leaned against a nearby cabinet, lifting a blonde brow.
"His system," Flynn repeated, jabbing a thumb at the screen as a pixel drawing of a man appeared with a repeat of the game's name: TRON. He looked ridiculous, wearing a tight white and blue leotard, a helmet on his head and a discus in his hand. Only his face looked remotely serious, as he stared out at the player with a stony, blue-eyed expression.
"I fight for the Users," the cabinet growled.
"Take him for a spin." With a parting pat for the cabinet, Flynn stepped close to Alan and clapped him on the shoulder.
Alan recoiled. "Me?! I don't play these things." He wasn't a child trapped in a man's body like Flynn.
"Oh, come on. It's named after you—after your program. You should be the first person to play it."
"Go for it," Lora added. Though her smirk was far more delicate than Flynn's broad grin, Alan could see the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "The only way you'll get a high score is if you're the first to try it."
"You're as bad as he is," Alan grumbled, folding his arms and glaring at the floor.
"Aw, don't pout." Flynn's hands returned to his shoulders, squeezed, trailed down to his elbows to pry his arms apart. "I was thinking about you two the whole time I was writing this thing."
"You were?" Alan was just startled enough to drop his guard, allowing Flynn's hands to burrow under his arms and loosen them. His gaze flicked uncertainly to Flynn's infectious, boyish smile, and then to Lora, whose smirk never wavered. His attention returned to Flynn and the back of his neck heated self-consciously as he realized how close he stood, how warm his hands were through the sleeves of Alan's blue buttondown. Sweat immediately prickled under his arms and behind his knees. Nervous sweat. Excited sweat. I-can't-believe-this-is-my-new-normal sweat. How-is-this-okay sweat.
"I was," Flynn said again, pitching his voice lower, his grin gentling into a smile that was almost painfully soft, intimate, enough to make Alan's gut squirm.
Before Alan could react, Flynn's grip shifted to his wrists, and he found himself being dragged across the scuffed concrete floor. His limp hands were placed on the game's controls, a joystick in one palm and buttons under his other fingers. Flynn leaned beside him, still close, still smiling, half of his face stained blue from the TRON game and the other half in shadow, only his eye sparking with reflected light.
"You have to pick a game," Flynn explained, nodding toward the screen. "Do you want to race, fight gridbugs, fight the MCP, or fight tanks?"
"I…" Alan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, his throat sticking. "I don't want to fight."
Flynn chuckled and ruffled his wavy hair, shaking it back in that way that drove the tabloids crazy for ENCOM's bad boy CEO. Alan's stomach swam more violently, and he had to look away, back to Lora. Is this okay? The question was heavy on his tongue. Is this okay?
She must have seen it on his face, as her gaze became lascivious and she dipped her sharp little chin in a nod. "What about racing?" she suggested. "That should be fun."
Alan's wavering attention fixed on the screen, slowly interpreting the blocky letters as the game's options. "Uh," he uttered. "How do I…?"
He jumped as the heat of Flynn's body abruptly pressed against his back and Flynn's hands closed over his own. Calloused fingertips brushed over his skin, stroking over his knuckles, before closing more tightly around him, forcing him to jerk the joystick down and press a button.
"You really are hopeless, aren't you?" Flynn murmured, so close that Alan could feel his breath against his ear, could smell his aftershave and the leather of his jacket and the popcorn they'd shared on the way over.
Shivering and fighting a rush of goosebumps, Alan tried to shrug him off. "Just because I don't play games, it doesn't mean I'm—"
"It's starting!" Flynn's grip tightened, surprisingly strong from the hours he spent on his bike. He leaned forward, nearly crushing Alan against the cabinet, his wild gaze transfixed on the screen and the little motorbikes suddenly zipping around a square arena, trailing ribbons of colour.
Alan stared at him, aghast at the closeness, even more aghast at the way he couldn't bring himself to shove the other man off. He was trapped there, getting hotter and hotter as all his blood rushed to the surface.
Flynn didn't seem to notice his growing disconcertion. His eyes darted this way and that, his movements were quick, assertive. Somehow, even with Alan in the way, he managed to win the round and explode the other three motorbikes before they exploded him.
"Hah," he gusted, grinning again, cocky and self-satisfied. He glanced over at Alan and ducked his head, nearly touching his mouth to Alan's shoulder. "Nothing to it," he murmured. "You're a real pro, Al."
Alan was shivering again. Flynn was too close. He could feel too much. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There wasn't supposed to be anything between them. Lora was supposed to be there, too. "Would—would you stop?" he managed to complain. He wanted to shove him away, but Flynn was right behind him, so close that if he pushed back, he might—
"Stop what?" Flynn's fingertips traced his knuckles again before firming their grip for the next round. "Helping out a friend?"
"Lora, tell him to stop." He wanted to sound assertive, but his weak voice barely whined through the game's sound effects.
"Stop what?" Lora repeated. At some point she'd removed her jacket, leaving her in her t-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled up off the curve of her neck. "You two work really well together. Look, you're winning."
Two of the enemy motorbikes had already crashed by the time Alan could force his attention back to the screen. With a few quick jerks of the joystick, the last motorbike exploded against their light trail and they'd won again.
"I think this might be too easy for you," Flynn murmured. "Let's make it… a little harder."
"Harder?" Alan repeated, hating the sound of that word dripping from Flynn's mouth, hating that it brought his attention immediately south where his body had its very own ideas for how to respond to Flynn's incessant touching.
"Lora," Flynn called, raising his voice. "I think this'll be more fun with you."
"Everything is more fun with me," she agreed.
"C'mere, babe." He held out a hand and Alan breathed a little easier without Flynn hanging over his shoulder. His relief was short-lived. As soon as Lora sauntered close enough, Flynn swept her up onto the cabinet, perching her on the narrow space between the controls and the screen. As soon as she was in place, he dragged Alan back where he'd been.
Alan, confused, stared up at Lora's elfin face, backlit by the flashing game. She smiled down at him, cupped his jaw in her small, capable hands, and ducked to kiss him. He sighed into it, this warmth and safety and joy, and jolted when Kevin grabbed his hands again, forcing them back on the game's controls for the next round.
"Keep playing," Lora broke away to command, her voice breathy. Her tongue flicked out to lick his lips, teasing him. "I'll give you a prize." She plucked the glasses off his face and slid them onto her hair before descending again. Her head tilted to get closer, the tip of her nose bumping his, her tongue encouraging his lips to part, drawing him into her mouth. She stroked his neck, reaching back to claw into his hair, before her hands fell to her own thighs, traced up to her hips, and began working at the button and fly of her jeans.
Shuddering, Alan could barely work the controls. He definitely wasn't paying attention to the game he could barely see past Lora's shoulder.
His distraction only worsened when broad palms and calloused fingers slid around his waist and landed on his belt buckle and the front of his trousers. He grunted at the brief pressure, and then groaned when Flynn—bold, fearless Flynn—squeezed him firmly, knowingly, inescapably. His legs shook, his knees melting from the sudden stimulation.
It's not supposed to be this way. But the thought died as Kevin stroked him through the fabric, from balls to tip, and Lora's fly dropped, revealing the scarlet V of her panties. Alan leaned in, mouthing at the silk, breathing in her scent, pressing his tongue to the bottom of the V where he could barely reach the bump of her clit.
"Mmm," she sighed. "Alan…" Her thighs closed around him, bringing her legs together just enough to slide her jeans down. One slender leg hiked up, freeing itself from both her sneaker and her jeans, allowing her to hook her knees over his shoulders.
He didn't need more of an invitation than that. He nuzzled at the crook between her thighs, finding the material of her panties already damp and salty-sweet, rich with mouth-watering arousal. She clawed at his scalp again, hot and delicious, urging him on.
Through Lora's sighs, he heard the clatter of his belt and only realized what it meant when Flynn's hand slithered down the front of his trousers and under his briefs to touch him, skin on skin. He gasped and his hips jerked in response, rutting into Flynn's palm before he could stop himself, whining when Flynn's thumb swept over the tip of his dick.
"Oh shit, Al…" Flynn's breath was on the back of his neck. "You're really good at this game."
Was he still playing? He couldn't concentrate on anything but Lora and Flynn. His hands were busy, he knew that, but he didn't know what they were doing. He was too occupied with carefully biting Lora's panties and pulling them aside so he could lick her soft folds, swirl around her clit, and dip into her slick opening, too occupied with thrusting into the circle of Flynn's thumb and fingers and staying on his feet.
His pants dropped—he knew because his legs were suddenly cold—and then Flynn was against him, the heat and coarse hairs of his bare thighs rubbing against his own. It should have felt wrong, but it was just another layer on top of what was happening here, another sensation overwhelming his mind.
"Put your feet together," Flynn urged, his voice unusually rough and low, his free hand squeezing the meat of Alan's thigh.
Alan tried to turn his head, but Lora's nails dug in, encouraging him to stay buried in her pussy. He could have jerked away—neither of them could have held him there—but Lora tasted so good and her breaths sounded so sweet and Flynn was stroking him, pulling on him. When Flynn shoved his thigh again, his feet obediently shuffled together.
"Yeah," Flynn groaned, and Alan felt something hot and hard slide between his thighs.
He flushed all over, freezing in place as he realized what it was.
"You're such a good boy," Lora whispered, tilting her hips to grind herself harder into his face, completely derailing his horror.
He shivered all over, hot and cold, his body thrumming, the tendons in his groin pulling taut, pressure building in his pelvis. Flynn rocked against him now, his hips slapping Alan’s ass, precum wet and sticky between Alan’s thighs. It should have been gross, but Alan’s thoughts were short-circuiting with Lora's taste and Flynn’s quickening breath and hand.
"Flynn," Lora called, her voice pitching up, her nails lighting shocks in Alan’s scalp. "I need your… your fingers. Flynn…"
"I got you." Flynn’s free hand left Alan’s hip and reached under his arm. It slithered up under his chin, forcing his head up just enough for Flynn’s fingers to push Lora's panties further aside. Alan felt the moment when Flynn slid inside her; her thighs flexed against his neck and shoulders, her hands clutched him, her stomach curled against his face. He throbbed in reaction, as though he had sunk into her velvet heat, and Flynn’s grip tightened on his cock, drawing a moan from his throat.
Flynn’s fingers moved in and out, slippery against Alan’s chin, curling to caress Lora's sensitive nerves. Alan fell into Flynn’s rhythm, his hips automatically rocking to thrust into Flynn’s hand and take his cock between his tense thighs. His tongue swept and circled; he flicked and sucked on Lora's clit, drooling a mix of saliva and slick. Flynn’s panting breaths and Lora's moans mingled, undercut by the electronic sound effects of TRON.
They moved together, their voices echoing in the empty arcade, and Lora went first, arching back with a cry, crushing Alan’s head between her thighs. Blinded and deafened, his jaw aching, every muscle tense, Alan stiffened, unable to move where he was caged between Lora and Flynn's bodies. Unwilling to move, with Lora sliding down his throat and Flynn jerking on his cock. For a brief moment he tried to resist—it was Flynn! FLYNN, for goodness' sake!—but he was already too far gone, and groaned into Lora's pussy as his dick pulsed and spurted into Flynn's hand.
"Oh, yeah, that's hot," Flynn panted against the back of his neck, his thrusts picking up speed until they became frantic, uncontrolled, wild enough that Alan had to brace himself against the cabinet.
He must have been close, though, because it didn't take long for him to claw at Alan's belly, dragging him close, cleaving them together. A hot splash scalded Alan’s thighs, making him grimace in disgust, shiver in a sickening jolt of I did this.
Flynn didn't… didn't think of him this way… did he?
"You've got a nice ass," Flynn murmured, his voice rough and breathy with satisfaction. He stepped back, squeezing Alan’s buttock with a wet hand as he withdrew.
Alan swiftly straightened, ready to whirl around and snarl at Flynn, but Lora's legs caught him around the shoulders and her hands caged his jaw, forcing his head up to meet her soft, hazy gaze. She kissed him, starting at his cheekbone, roaming down to his raw, swollen lips and wet chin, sucking on his skin, grazing him with her teeth until goosebumps prickled down his neck and over his chest.
"Thanks for playing," she whispered when she leaned back, her eyes heavy-lidded.
"You got the high score, Al," Flynn interjected, clapping Alan on the back.
Alan couldn't bring himself to complain, as he finally looked past Lora to the screen behind her, and the message flashing over an image of Tron where he held his glowing discus above his head.
"I'm the only one who's ever played," he protested as he automatically responded to Lora leaning toward him by helping her down to the floor.
"Yeah, so enjoy it while it lasts. I'm going to obliterate your score."
"Might want to clean it first," Lora said, hopping as she pulled up her jeans, her smirk directed at a dribble of pearly liquid glistening on the front of the cabinet.
Chuckling, Flynn ruffled his hair and shook his head. "I'll, uh, order a new one and add this machine to my private collection." He winked at Alan. "You can come defend your high score any time."