Stepping Stones Ch.8
Title: Stepping Stones
Rating: M
Universe: Tron
Pairing: MCP/Sark
Word Count: 1,772
"Sark."
His arms hurt, that was the first thing that came to mind. Why did they hurt - they were up, he was grabbing something. Sark opened his eyes, mumbling incoherently as he lurched forwards.
"Sark!"
The bark made him jolt, and he looked up - the MCP staring back down at him - face made from polyhedrons and filled with blue light. Sark tried to stand, to pull himself up weakly and brace his legs beneath him to push. He was able to successfully hold himself upright by leaning on the left stand, eyes closed in pain. His priority coding kicked in, he had to tell the MCP - he had to let him know.
"Insss..insurgency.." he spoke, speech glitching and voice garbling nearly beyond the point of coherency. "Guards - guards - dispa..dis-"
"Be quiet Sark, before you incur further damage upon yourself."
Sark made a sound akin to a watery hiss, fingers clamped around the handles and unable to move - he hadn't realized until now that he couldn't let go of the handles unless the MCP so desired. He wanted to lay down, to rest - to derez without struggle or complication. But the MCP would not allow it, and who was he to argue - even at death's metaphorical door?
As he leaned over, legs bent from weakness, Sark felt his back grow warm and opened his eyes numbly to see diodes of light and energy stream up from the handles in to his hands, wrist then arms. The light traveled through him and then to his wounds where it gathered, repairing him slowly, bit by bit.
"The armor I gave you performed better than I could have imagined…" the MCP mused as it increased the flow of energy and raw data into Sark to rebuild and compensate for what had been lost. On Sark's back, skin was reconstituted, red lines of light running through it - the exact patterns that covered his armor glowing on his gray skin.
"You can let go, Sark. I'm in control."
Sark felt the same weightlessness wash over him that he had encountered before during the MCP's torture, so many cycles ago. But this was different, as if the hand of a User was holding him - keeping him safe in an aura of security. The MCP was in control, and he didn't have to be scared.
The MCP likewise was enjoying the session in his own way, watching Sark float there in his invisible grasp - back arched and eyes closed. He sent the finishing waves of code into his most favored, finishing the healing process, wounds closing and armor rewiring. Sark was too exhausted to speak, and the MCP knew that now was the opportune time to take advantage of that fact.
He sent in a small surge of excess power, the coding different than that of the healing pulses he had spared Sark just before. The lines across Sark's armor glowed darker for a moment, then returned to normal red a second later. Sark furrowed his brows, perhaps an unconscious reaction to what was happening, but the MCP knew that he was lucid enough to still be aware of his surroundings.
The Master Control increased the power surges, Sark twitching his arms in confusion as to how to react. He did not know this feeling, this new wave of power that was eagerly flooding in to him. He felt a dull heat under his skin, under his flesh - that penetrated to the very core of his being. It was like a fire, burning inside of him that wouldn't go away.
As he watched Sark wrap his arms around himself in dull confusion, the MCP hesitated for a moment between energy surges. Was this a cruel thing to do? To pleasure and use this program that had was already bound to serve him by coding alone? After all, he knew Sark would follow his word for one reason or another. Be it loyalty or fear of torture, the horned commander was never faltering in his zealous efforts to meet the MCP's every directive and desire. No, this was not cruel, the MCP thought to himself. He would use this as incentive and rewards for his commander, but also as a genuine reward. Sark deserved this, even if he didn't realize what it was - he deserved a reward for his services that wasn't new armor or a ship. He deserved what was rarely found in the Grid, comfort from another.
In the ever present night of the Grid it was so seldom that programs had time for each other, let alone the rare pleasure that could come with it. It was a cold and dark place, the MCP thought as he began a steady stream of warmth in to Sark. His commander's eyes opened slightly in shock and surprise as he floated, then closed as he let his head fall back and arms drop away from his chest.
"Just relax, Sark." He thrummed, trying to comfort him as he pushed further - increasing the potency of his power transmissions. Sark's armor changed slowly from red to a dark maroon, then lighting at a quicksilver pace to become white. The light emitted from his armor filled the entire column, refracting off of the tiny angles of the MCP's visage light drops of water falling through sunlight.
Sark made a pitiful sound, a mix between a whine and a whimper as he arched his back further, mouth open slightly as his respirations increased. The MCP raised an eyebrow nonchalantly and sent a wave of power through Sark's form, causing the commander to shake and cry out. This was more effective than he had expected.
The MCP watched with interest, now curious how far this would go. He increased the flow even more, Sark breathing heavily as he crisscrossed his arms over his chest, grabbing his shoulders as he bent forwards in the lighted space. The MCP didn't stop, flooding Sark with energy, the cylinder lighting as Sark's armor glowed in response to the excess amounts. His commander began to make sounds of desperation, body shaking as he writhed in the air - unable to stop or increase the source of the heat and power that was filling him.
Enough was enough, the MCP was decided - he didn't want the other programs on the outside getting curious as to what was taking so long. Sark was shaking, and a small part of the MCP began to worry if he was hurting him. It wasn't that the MCP cared, but this was not the time for torture. He didn't want there to be any kind of doubt in Sark's mind that this was a good thing.
Sark felt the power welling up inside of him; he was on the brink of ecstasy that he had never known to exist. He could feel the MCP's power in every inch of his body, of his core, and surrounding him in the air. He had never felt filled, or whole as he did now - but part of him knew that it couldn't last forever, he didn't want it to. As pleasurable as this was, too much would hurt him. Somehow Sark was aware of this dimly as his thoughts began to go blank. White hot light radiated from every line of circuitry, and likewise all Sark could see beneath his eyelids was a white glow. He felt like he was on fire, but without the hostility or harm.
The MCP watched Sark closely, before finally sending a final swell of power in to his body. Sark tried to hold back, to hold on for just a moment longer, but it was too much. Glowing eyes made of lines and light watched him as he cried out, body straining and shaking as the cylinder was washed in radiant light that was one of a kind. The MCP found himself temporarily unable to make out the portions of Sark's body as the climax came - and as the light dimmed he heard a soft moan come from the now limp commander that was still floating in his invisible grasp.
The MCP gently lowered him down to the ground, watching as Sark's armor pulsed between dull gray and a weak red. The commander was silent, eyes closed and face transfixed in an expression of hollow inanition. It took perhaps five minutes for him to even open his eyes, and the MCP finally grew impatient enough for him to send a surge of energy into him to awaken his subordinate. Sark's eyes grew wide and his face was filled with an expression that read 'not so soon' but he was relieved when it was just enough to aid him in standing. He stood, looking at his body then gripping the handles of the podium once again, as if it gave him some kind of small comfort.
"That kind of power can be your reward Sark, if you perform up to standard."
Sark blinked, expression going from confusion, to concern, to initiative. "Yes, Master Control."
"Deal with the insurgents if any remain. And do be more careful next time; Dillinger would be furious if he had to write another command program."
The MCP saw a flicker of disappointment flash across Sark's face for a split second, but it was gone before he could react.
"Acknowledged, Master Control." Sark paused for a moment, blinking up to look the MCP straight on.
"They - did they hear…?"
The MCP mulled the inquiry through his processors before remembering how loud Sark had cried out and moaned. He also distinctly remembered soundproofing the cylinder when he designed the Carrier so that the bridge controllers wouldn't hear Sark scream if he needed to be disciplined.
"No, they did not."
Relief flooded Sark's face as he leaned forwards to sigh in ease, the MCP gave him further instruction for his takeover, which Sark memorized easily before allowing him to release the handles. The cylinder turned to blades of light and vanished easily.
Sark turned to his bridge crew, who stared at him in awe - having expected nothing but a few bits of data to be leftover. Their commander crossed his arms, glaring death at them.
"What are you staring at, null units? Get back to work!"
Rating: M
Universe: Tron
Pairing: MCP/Sark
Word Count: 1,772
"Sark."
His arms hurt, that was the first thing that came to mind. Why did they hurt - they were up, he was grabbing something. Sark opened his eyes, mumbling incoherently as he lurched forwards.
"Sark!"
The bark made him jolt, and he looked up - the MCP staring back down at him - face made from polyhedrons and filled with blue light. Sark tried to stand, to pull himself up weakly and brace his legs beneath him to push. He was able to successfully hold himself upright by leaning on the left stand, eyes closed in pain. His priority coding kicked in, he had to tell the MCP - he had to let him know.
"Insss..insurgency.." he spoke, speech glitching and voice garbling nearly beyond the point of coherency. "Guards - guards - dispa..dis-"
"Be quiet Sark, before you incur further damage upon yourself."
Sark made a sound akin to a watery hiss, fingers clamped around the handles and unable to move - he hadn't realized until now that he couldn't let go of the handles unless the MCP so desired. He wanted to lay down, to rest - to derez without struggle or complication. But the MCP would not allow it, and who was he to argue - even at death's metaphorical door?
As he leaned over, legs bent from weakness, Sark felt his back grow warm and opened his eyes numbly to see diodes of light and energy stream up from the handles in to his hands, wrist then arms. The light traveled through him and then to his wounds where it gathered, repairing him slowly, bit by bit.
"The armor I gave you performed better than I could have imagined…" the MCP mused as it increased the flow of energy and raw data into Sark to rebuild and compensate for what had been lost. On Sark's back, skin was reconstituted, red lines of light running through it - the exact patterns that covered his armor glowing on his gray skin.
"You can let go, Sark. I'm in control."
Sark felt the same weightlessness wash over him that he had encountered before during the MCP's torture, so many cycles ago. But this was different, as if the hand of a User was holding him - keeping him safe in an aura of security. The MCP was in control, and he didn't have to be scared.
The MCP likewise was enjoying the session in his own way, watching Sark float there in his invisible grasp - back arched and eyes closed. He sent the finishing waves of code into his most favored, finishing the healing process, wounds closing and armor rewiring. Sark was too exhausted to speak, and the MCP knew that now was the opportune time to take advantage of that fact.
He sent in a small surge of excess power, the coding different than that of the healing pulses he had spared Sark just before. The lines across Sark's armor glowed darker for a moment, then returned to normal red a second later. Sark furrowed his brows, perhaps an unconscious reaction to what was happening, but the MCP knew that he was lucid enough to still be aware of his surroundings.
The Master Control increased the power surges, Sark twitching his arms in confusion as to how to react. He did not know this feeling, this new wave of power that was eagerly flooding in to him. He felt a dull heat under his skin, under his flesh - that penetrated to the very core of his being. It was like a fire, burning inside of him that wouldn't go away.
As he watched Sark wrap his arms around himself in dull confusion, the MCP hesitated for a moment between energy surges. Was this a cruel thing to do? To pleasure and use this program that had was already bound to serve him by coding alone? After all, he knew Sark would follow his word for one reason or another. Be it loyalty or fear of torture, the horned commander was never faltering in his zealous efforts to meet the MCP's every directive and desire. No, this was not cruel, the MCP thought to himself. He would use this as incentive and rewards for his commander, but also as a genuine reward. Sark deserved this, even if he didn't realize what it was - he deserved a reward for his services that wasn't new armor or a ship. He deserved what was rarely found in the Grid, comfort from another.
In the ever present night of the Grid it was so seldom that programs had time for each other, let alone the rare pleasure that could come with it. It was a cold and dark place, the MCP thought as he began a steady stream of warmth in to Sark. His commander's eyes opened slightly in shock and surprise as he floated, then closed as he let his head fall back and arms drop away from his chest.
"Just relax, Sark." He thrummed, trying to comfort him as he pushed further - increasing the potency of his power transmissions. Sark's armor changed slowly from red to a dark maroon, then lighting at a quicksilver pace to become white. The light emitted from his armor filled the entire column, refracting off of the tiny angles of the MCP's visage light drops of water falling through sunlight.
Sark made a pitiful sound, a mix between a whine and a whimper as he arched his back further, mouth open slightly as his respirations increased. The MCP raised an eyebrow nonchalantly and sent a wave of power through Sark's form, causing the commander to shake and cry out. This was more effective than he had expected.
The MCP watched with interest, now curious how far this would go. He increased the flow even more, Sark breathing heavily as he crisscrossed his arms over his chest, grabbing his shoulders as he bent forwards in the lighted space. The MCP didn't stop, flooding Sark with energy, the cylinder lighting as Sark's armor glowed in response to the excess amounts. His commander began to make sounds of desperation, body shaking as he writhed in the air - unable to stop or increase the source of the heat and power that was filling him.
Enough was enough, the MCP was decided - he didn't want the other programs on the outside getting curious as to what was taking so long. Sark was shaking, and a small part of the MCP began to worry if he was hurting him. It wasn't that the MCP cared, but this was not the time for torture. He didn't want there to be any kind of doubt in Sark's mind that this was a good thing.
Sark felt the power welling up inside of him; he was on the brink of ecstasy that he had never known to exist. He could feel the MCP's power in every inch of his body, of his core, and surrounding him in the air. He had never felt filled, or whole as he did now - but part of him knew that it couldn't last forever, he didn't want it to. As pleasurable as this was, too much would hurt him. Somehow Sark was aware of this dimly as his thoughts began to go blank. White hot light radiated from every line of circuitry, and likewise all Sark could see beneath his eyelids was a white glow. He felt like he was on fire, but without the hostility or harm.
The MCP watched Sark closely, before finally sending a final swell of power in to his body. Sark tried to hold back, to hold on for just a moment longer, but it was too much. Glowing eyes made of lines and light watched him as he cried out, body straining and shaking as the cylinder was washed in radiant light that was one of a kind. The MCP found himself temporarily unable to make out the portions of Sark's body as the climax came - and as the light dimmed he heard a soft moan come from the now limp commander that was still floating in his invisible grasp.
The MCP gently lowered him down to the ground, watching as Sark's armor pulsed between dull gray and a weak red. The commander was silent, eyes closed and face transfixed in an expression of hollow inanition. It took perhaps five minutes for him to even open his eyes, and the MCP finally grew impatient enough for him to send a surge of energy into him to awaken his subordinate. Sark's eyes grew wide and his face was filled with an expression that read 'not so soon' but he was relieved when it was just enough to aid him in standing. He stood, looking at his body then gripping the handles of the podium once again, as if it gave him some kind of small comfort.
"That kind of power can be your reward Sark, if you perform up to standard."
Sark blinked, expression going from confusion, to concern, to initiative. "Yes, Master Control."
"Deal with the insurgents if any remain. And do be more careful next time; Dillinger would be furious if he had to write another command program."
The MCP saw a flicker of disappointment flash across Sark's face for a split second, but it was gone before he could react.
"Acknowledged, Master Control." Sark paused for a moment, blinking up to look the MCP straight on.
"They - did they hear…?"
The MCP mulled the inquiry through his processors before remembering how loud Sark had cried out and moaned. He also distinctly remembered soundproofing the cylinder when he designed the Carrier so that the bridge controllers wouldn't hear Sark scream if he needed to be disciplined.
"No, they did not."
Relief flooded Sark's face as he leaned forwards to sigh in ease, the MCP gave him further instruction for his takeover, which Sark memorized easily before allowing him to release the handles. The cylinder turned to blades of light and vanished easily.
Sark turned to his bridge crew, who stared at him in awe - having expected nothing but a few bits of data to be leftover. Their commander crossed his arms, glaring death at them.
"What are you staring at, null units? Get back to work!"