Function: Blush

"—and this is my sleep station," Tron said, gesturing around the room. "Aerith provided the concept and offered significant feedback, but she left the coding up to me."

"Yeah, I can tell," Sora muttered, before adding loudly, in a tone Tron understood to be embarrassment, "I mean, it's great, Tron! It's really great! I like the flowers! You don't see a lot of flowers here, huh?"

There were indeed a great number of flowers, although they were made of the same materials as much of the rest of the datascape. Most were concentrated on an assortment of thick wires that framed his sleep station, designed like vines with many leaves and buds. Their circuitry was a subtle green to compliment the pink glow of the flowers, and much of the rest of the room.

Tron observed as Sora turned to take it all in. There was his sleep station—a canopy bed with gauzy draping, something Aerith had insisted upon—which sat against the right wall surrounded by the aforementioned wires, with twin tables on either side. Aerith had said two were required 'in case of company'. There was an almost one hundred percent probability she was implying something intimate, if one considered her eyebrow-waggling. There was also a series of monitors along the back wall that could display various images—I've made good use of those recently—and an access terminal opposite the sleep station. Tron had established a wireless connection with it, and therefore did not need to interface directly. The walls combined plain paneling with basic circuitry; subtle, they offered an additional source of light. Finally, there was a simple, square rug on the floor that resembled a motherboard, and a small chandelier with curved limbs like hanging flowers.

And it was very pink.

"It's so..." Sora said, once he ceased his turning.

"It changes colors." Tron entered the access terminal internally, cycling the room from its default pink—another of Aerith's suggestions—to green, to his preferred blue, before finally settling on a warm orange. He wasn't sure why he had selected it, save that the color suited Sora. It was reminiscent of sunsets, or at least those he had seen while browsing Radiant Garden's new World Wide Web.

Tron had been frequenting that a lot in recent mesocycles. Having taken up his responsibilities as a security program once more, he was often inundated with requests from the Users of Radiant Garden as they browsed, asking him to fight back hostile viruses and malicious software so they did not gain a hold in the various regions of the datascape under his protection. In the process of seeing to these particular tasks, he had encountered both an incredibly dangerous and extraordinarily fascinating category of sites on the World Wide Web.

He had encountered pornography.

But he did not have time to think about that now. Not while Sora was here, standing by his sleep station and looking rather wonderful in the cyan and sunset glow.

"It's nice, Tron," Sora said. "Not what I expected, but nice. Fun, even!"

"Do you think Aerith and I should collaborate again?"

Sora bit his lip. Tron was not sure why he noticed. "Maybe you could try working with the rest of the Radiant Garden crew?"

"It would be interesting to work with so many different Users, although I suspect impossible to come up with a cohesive vision for anything."

Sora snorted a laugh. "Well, that's probably true." Then he looked at Tron and smiled, and Tron's internal processor froze. He was not sure why. He thought, perhaps, that it was too open, unprotected. Genuine would be the word. "But I'm glad you've been having a good time, Tron, and that the others are keeping you company. Seems like it could be lonely here, if they didn't."

"Is that why you're here, Sora?" He asked. "Because you thought I might be lonely?"

It seemed it was Sora's turn for his internal processor to freeze. He blinked, blue eyes full of scrambled code, then glanced away. "I, uh, maybe? I wasn't sure. I didn't know what was going on over here. I just...wanted to check on you."

Tron tilted his head. "Everything is in order, but I appreciate your concern. I am grateful that you and the other Users take the time to ensure we programs are in good condition." Sora frowned, and he added, "And that you make sure your friends are alright."

"I'm glad things are okay, Tron. I just..." His expression seemed too serious, brow furrowed. He scratched the back of his head, cleared his throat. "Something happened a while ago and I just felt the need to see you, to be with you." He laughed, but it sounded odd. "Maybe that's a bit much, maybe...uh..."

The words pinged something in Tron's memory. The need. It was an odd thing to say, and combined with Sora's speech seemed almost intimate. Scenes from the various videos and stories he had consumed of late replayed in his mind; Users clinging to each other, animated caricatures intertwined, words on a screen bringing to life such vivid images of individuals all consumed by a need to be together.

One thought: Sora has a need to be with me. Another: Is he 'coming on to me?'

The various videos and stories were replaced with a Graphic Interchange Format file of Aerith nodding her head eagerly, accompanied by the text: Every moment matters, Tron, so don't be afraid to take a leap!

Tron was not particularly afraid of jumping, but he understood the phrase's proverbial quality. As such, he did not pause to think when he asked, "Sora, would you like to interface with me?"

Sora stared, dropped the hand from the back of his head. "What?"

A miscalculation? Perhaps he should have looked before he leaped. "My apologies. You mentioned a 'need to be with me,' which based on my interactions with a diverse range of pornographic, erotic, and romantic media, I had assumed to mean you were 'coming on to me.'"

Sora blinked, mouth agape. "Wait, Tron, back up. You watch porn?"

Why would that be unusual?  Tron had thought a teenage User would understand the appeal. "On occasion, for research purposes. More frequently, I am called to defend against the hostile programs that often accompany such sites. Since the media is typically unencrypted, I am able to see what the Users are watching."

The answer did not seem to satisfy, as Sora continued to gape. Tron decided to elaborate. "With the introduction of Radiant Garden's World Wide Web, Users have been both creating and sharing a variety of entertainments previously only accessible via physical media. Many of these media may be used to alleviate certain tensions: Leon, Aerith, Tifa, and Merlin take advantage of these. Yuffie has made a few searches."

More gaping. Perhaps Tron could offer examples? "Aerith enjoys pastiches of Magical Girl anime, tentacles, breastfeeding, yaoi, and sex in nature." He paused. "She watches quite frequently." Another pause. Sora was still gaping. "The characters often dress like this."

As he spoke, he accessed his mod list, found the Mahou file he had added to himself out of curiosity, and activated it. The modification replaced his usual bodysuit with a variant best described as skimpy, with a leotard that covered very little and a frilly, open-front skirt that covered less. The entire outfit was split from his chest to just below his navel, fabric covering his sides, a little of his back, and, just barely, his breasts. Slinky gloves to the bicep, heeled boots to the thigh, a silly wand in hand, and a variety of head and neck accessories completed the look that would have the average 'Aerith' User accessing their terminals one-handed.

Although no doubt she would prefer my Angel Sword mod over this one.

"Tron!" Sora exclaimed, covering his face with his hands. Then he pulled one away, stared first at his chest, then down between his legs. "Wait, are you—like me?"

"Some parts of my body may be customized," Tron explained. "My genitalia and chest are two of them. Considering User interest in a wide variety of genitalia and breast sizes, one might consider this most—"

"Stop, Tron, stop, it's fine! You don't need to explain." Sora's cheeks had gone a color that resembled neither his cyan glow nor the orange of the room. Tron thought it was the function known as blushing. It looked rather nice. "Please, it's fine. I get it."

"I see. Of course, you would already have an understanding of such things." Tron reverted to his default appearance.

"Oh, um." Sora hesitated. "Maybe not an understanding of those things, but—"

"Perhaps you are more like Tifa?" Tron offered. "She enjoys train pervert and captured heroine fantasies, and other similar storylines that play with the idea of consent and public sex. She is also very fond of fancy dress." Sora's code appeared scrambled again. Not Tifa, then. "Leon visits many gay sites, although not exclusively. He has a long list of interests: wings, Mommies and Daddies, bedroom invasions, cat boys and dog girls, furries and ferals—he has a lion avatar—and the coding of new programs. He especially likes to imagine coding new cubs into others, and having cubs coded into himself."

Sora blinked.

"Would you like further explanation?"

"No! I mean, no, that's—I know what 'coding new programs' means, Tron."

"Of course. Leon also spends an inordinate amount of time on gambling sites dedicated to cards." Tron did not need to add this, but thought someone other than him should tell Leon to 'quit while he was ahead.' "If you want an example with someone closer to your age, Yuffie has a strong interest in the genres 'vanilla' and 'ninja'. She seems to have trouble watching it, though, and so mostly reads instead."

"And Merlin? Sora's voice sounded weak, a little muffled, as if his audio drivers were failing. Yet Tron could not detect any viruses, and so focused on answering his question.

"I do not observe Merlin's viewing habits. His searches are not encrypted, but my memories of any tasks I have fulfilled for him are corrupted. I believe this is a protective function inherent within me, rather than anything Merlin has done."

Silence.

"My understanding is that this is because his tastes are beyond my comprehension as a program, rather than because they feature anything harmful to his fellow Users."

"Right." Sora paused. The color in his cheeks had spread over his nose. "Tron, do the others know you're watching their—videos—with them? I think most people prefer to keep that stuff private, you know?"

Tron blinked. The thought had not occurred to him. "No, I was unaware my watching would be an issue. Ansem and his apprentices, as well as the User Cid, all encrypt their data. I was functioning under the assumption that those who were concerned with my presence would do similarly."

"Tron, most"—Sora slapped a hand over his face—"most people aren't thinking clearly when they're—they're—!" He struggled to say the words.

"Aerith loves to talk to me while she watches," Tron said. "She seems rather clear-minded throughout."

"Aerith!" Sora's voice pitched high. He took a breath. "Aerith, she's..." He dropped his head into his hands and said nothing. Tron felt slow, useless, as if he were buffering. He was unable to catch up to Sora's thoughts.

So ask, then, his inner Graphic Interchange Format file of Aerith said. If he understands something you don't, then maybe he can explain it to you. Better yet, maybe he can show you how things work!

"I seem to have misunderstood something," he began. "I admit that, though I have learned much from my observations, as well as my discussions with Aerith, and I am capable of understanding the difference between pornographic preference and how one wishes to be treated 'in reality,' there is still much I don't know about intimate relationships." He let Sora process that information before adding, "I was wondering if, perhaps, you could aid me in that regard."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"You could explain to me why Users generally prefer things the way they do," Tron said, "and if possible, I would like us to interface, Sora."

"Yeah, okay—wait, what? Tron!" He sounded more flustered than confused, but Tron thought he would elaborate anyhow.

"It's clear that there are many things I cannot understand from my position as a security program and observer of erotic media. Some of those things can be patched at any date as the consequences are minimal. Others, however, could cause immense harm to my Users and fellow programs if not dealt with immediately." He held Sora's gaze, hoped to show him his earnest desire. "Sora, you are my friend. I believe you would be an excellent partner for intimate collaboration. There are many things you know that I do not, much you could demonstrate and guide me through. I would like to better understand such close and bodily relationships; the need to be together. And, if possible, I would like to share a little of what I have learned as well."

Sora seemed stunned. Tron found it was his turn to clear his throat, and perhaps offer one more thing. "Hugging you was one of the happiest moments of my existence, Sora. I would like to do that and more with you. I want to be close to you." He paused. "At least, I believe that is how a User would express these feelings."

"I..." Sora fell silent. He had held Tron's gaze through his speech, but now his eyes were fixed on the floor. His cheeks retained their bright coloring, but he was otherwise quiet, contemplative. The lights of his circuits gradated slowly, cycling through subtly different shades of cyan. The orange glow kissed him. There was something like longing and something like pain caught in the curve of his lips.

Then he looked up. "Okay." He swallowed. "I-I want to be close to you too, Tron. I've been meaning to spend some time with you, and this sounds like a, uh, good use of it. If this is a way we can be together, that I can help you, then I'll do it. I want to do it." His voice wavered. "It's not quite 'Singin' Tron, Dancin' Tron,' but it'll do. I've missed you."

"Interfacing is within my silly limits," Tron said, then crossed the room and pulled Sora into a warm embrace. "I've missed you too."

Sora hesitated a moment, but when he did finally wrap his arms around Tron he held on so tight that Tron thought they might not be able to continue at all, that they would be stuck in the perpetual cycle of Tron holds Sora, Sora holds Tron. Eventually, though, Sora pulled back, reached up to give his head and those little tufts of hair another scratch. "So, uh, I guess we should start, huh? Maybe we should sit for this."

"We can make use of my sleep station, if you like."

"Uh, the bed—it might be a bit much, for my f—I mean our first time." Sora ducked his head. "Besides, it's a nice rug. Might as well get some use out of it!" He giggled, but there was an edge to it. Tron attempted to identify what it was, but his thoughts were interrupted when Sora took his arms and dragged him down to the floor with him. "How about we start with some light touching? That sounds right, r-right?"

"It does sound right," Tron said, and then reached out. He ran his hands across Sora's clothed chest, soft, slow, sliding them up to his neck. The lights of Sora's circuits rippled with the motion, pink peeking through cyan. His fingers teased up his jaw before coming to rest on his cheek. He could feel the heat of his blush beneath his palm. Sora's eyes were squeezed shut.

"Are you alright, Sora?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Sora breathed, deep and deliberate.

"You're not ticklish?"

"Not like you, no." That made him smile, at least.

Tron continued, moved his hands up into Sora's hair, then over his helmet until he found the twin protrusions at the back. You might not be ticklish, but I would bet more successfully than Leon that you don't know about these. With that thought, he gripped one in his hand and gave it a firm stroke. It turned pink in its entirety.

"Woah!" Sora exclaimed, arching into the touch. "What was that?"

"These protrusions are quite sensitive," Tron explained. "They collect and provide information regarding your environment, working hard in the background. They're relatively uncommon among programs, but those who have them can use them to great effect." To demonstrate, Tron gave each prong another stroke, harder this time. Sora bit back a sound. "It should be similar to the feelings you get when you touch yourself more intimately."

"I...yeah," Sora said, a little incoherently. "It feels good, Tron. How did you know about these? You don't have them."

"I've done some research into program anatomy. We're different from Users. We don't code new programs the same way, yet we can still feel pleasure, and even interface in a similar manner. We just haven't had much opportunity to."

"Well, it's...good," Sora managed, still incoherent. "Could you...keep doing it?"

Tron could. He took his time, catalogued the various noises and visual displays Sora made as he gave himself over to pleasure. He did give occasional directions. "Good," and, "That's nice," were the most common of the ones that used actual words, indications that Tron should do more of the same. Once, he said, "Harder," but then blushed and did not say it again.

He wished he would, but the blush was pleasing at least. Sora's cyan, already awash in orange light, now blended with patches of pink and peach which complimented the rosy color of his cheeks. It was enough that he thought it might override any previous negative feelings he had toward red; the MCP and its minions entirely erased by his and Sora's friendship.

Sora's other reactions weren't to be ignored, either. The more Tron fondled his protrusions, the more he seemed unable to resist squeezing his thighs together. He needed attention down there, but though Tron was ready and willing to help Sora did not direct him to do so.

It was Tron who eventually moved things forward. He loosened his grip on Sora's helmet and brought his hands back to his cheeks, down his neck and shoulders, and back over his chest once more. "We should undress."

Sora's eyes, gone hazy with code, sharpened for just an instant. An odd noise escaped his throat. Tron waited, concerned, but after a moment Sora only said, "Sure."

Disrobing was not a particularly involved task for a program. He had not modded full nudity into his system yet, and the option was not among his default files. Sora, too, likely did not have access to such a thing. Yet either his original User at ENCOM, or else one of the Ansems, was an immense pervert, as he could remove the coverings from a number of highly specific areas and nowhere else.

"Do you have any preference for my configuration?" He asked, eyes focused downward as the fabric between his legs was temporarily deleted. "I'm sure you could learn to adjust your own with practice, but for the time being, we might take advantage of my own ability to self-edit." He looked up, and stopped.

Very little had changed, if he were to be technical about it, but what had changed almost caused a system crash. The fabric around Sora's chest had been loosened just enough to allow someone to slip their hands under it, and the area between his legs was bare. His vulva—perhaps I should use more arousing terminology—had a soft peach glow, his folds were wet, and his clit—or maybe I should call it a penis—stood hard above them. "Sora..." 

Sora did not look at him. Instead, he spread his trembling legs and said, "Alright, Tron, you can t-try interfacing with me now. Uh, just...just do what you think is right, and I'll tell you if it feels g-good."

Tron bent down, tried to get a proper look at Sora's eyes. "And my configuration?" He asked lightly, pointing to where he still resembled Sora.

"Oh, um, either is fine. Although, if we're going to do this, maybe we should start with the one that's a little more...penetrative." He tripped over the word.

Tron frowned, but did as requested and switched his cunt for a penis—another word to be replaced with more arousing terminology—and, after a pause, elected to add some accompanying testicles. Then he placed a hand under Sora's chin and gently lifted it.

"Is this alright, Sora?"

"Yeah, uh, sure! That's great." His breathing sounded a little off, although it wasn't that different from his previous arousal.

"Right," Tron said. "Shall I begin then?"

Sora nodded and Tron dropped his hand back to his chest again, brought the other up. Together they caressed the planes of Sora's body, slipped over and under his clothes. He thumbed over his nipples, cupped the subtle curves of his hips, the soft swell of his thighs. Sora's trembling increased, but so did the frequency of the tiny noises escaping his lips.

Then Tron dragged one of his hands over Sora's cunt, drew his fingers up the slit and rubbed two over his cock. "Oh!" Sora exclaimed, a ripple of light running through him. Tron watched as he circled his cock, applied pressure to the head, stroked the hood back and forth over the length of it. Sora wasn't quite big enough to grasp, but there was certainly enough of him to pleasure.

"Ah, Tron, that's—" Sora spread his legs wider, wider, then suddenly drew them together. Tried to, anyway, but couldn't with Tron wedged between them. Then, trembling, he drew them apart again, his body seeming at war with itself. Tron knew sex was complicated for some Users, even in their fantasies, although this did seem a little odd. Still, despite his squirming, Sora had not pushed him away.

He did say he would direct me. He continued to rub Sora's cock, circling, pushing down whenever it twitched. He dragged his fingers down to his entrance. It was maybe more wet than his actions warranted, but Sora did seem sensitive. Perhaps this was normal for him? Tron covered his fingers in his slick and then pressed two inside.

Sora tensed. Tron stopped.

"Sora?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just a—second." There was that edge again. Tron had heard it in his laugh before. "C-could we maybe try one finger, to start?"

Many Users featured in pornography—and Aerith, when she 'got down to business'—seemed dissatisfied with one finger, but Tron understood that could have been part of the performance. Besides, he had asked Sora to direct him and Sora had. If he had spent most of their time together letting his body do the talking, that only gave Tron more reason to listen now he spoke.

So he curled one finger out of the way with the rest and, slowly, pressed the other in. Despite his arousal, Sora was quite tight. Tron could not have pressed in any faster without hurting him, and even at this aching pace he still flinched occasionally. Once fully inside, he waited for Sora's breathing to even out before curving his finger. Sora squeezed, but did not flinch, and with that knowledge Tron swirled his knuckle against the entrance, and pressed against his cock with his thumb. Sora made a noise this time, just slightly glitched.

"Oh, that's.."

Tron liked the way he sounded and so repeated the action, added the odd thrust. He tried to keep a steady rhythm, although he did pause now and then; increased pressure, experimented with an unusual motion, all to keep Sora interested. His cunt certainly seemed to be, clinging tight to his finger, hips moving in tandem with each circle and push, and this time, when Tron added a second finger in along with the first, and then a third, Sora did not protest.

"Tron, that's so, ah! That's good," Sora moaned, covered his face with a hand.

Again, something was off, but Sora's reactions were attractive to Tron too. They reminded him of—

"Hey, c-could we try something else?"

Tron blinked back to attention, gave the entirety of his focus to his friend. Sora was laying back on his elbows now, legs still spread, bent at the knee. His cunt squeezed at Tron's fingers. It had been doing that more and more often. "Something else?" He asked.

"M-more." Sora looked away. Tron couldn't catch his eye.

"Would you like me inside you?" He asked, then clarified, "My cock, I mean. I am already inside you, after all." He wiggled his fingers and received a wave of slick in return.

"Mmh. Yeah, that. I'd like that, please."

But even as he asked for it Sora still wouldn't look at him. His cheeks and nose were that rosy color again and his eyes were shut. He was blushing, flustered, stammering. It reminded Tron of...

He removed his fingers, activated the relevant subroutines to lube his cock, and leaned over Sora all while he processed the situation. He organized every physical detail and catalogued every vocal one, analyzing them as he set the head of his cock at Sora's entrance. It breached. The borders of Sora's body pixelated, sparks flaring as he short-circuited. A noise just one octave too high escaped him.

His eyes were eager, but his face was still turned away, covered by a hand.

And then Tron understood. "Sora, you're behaving like a virgin."

Sora eeped, tried to shake and nod his head at the same time, then looked up, down, and away from Tron again. "I, uh, that is I'm—well, you see, actually I'm—"

"Sora." Sora stopped. "Have you had any experience with interfacing—with sex—at all?"

There was a long pause. Tron did not interrupt it.

"No," Sora said, finally. "I'm sorry for lying, but no, I've never had sex before. I've never done anything with anyone else, not even kissed. I mean, I've had crushes and stuff, but I..."

Tron did not hear the rest. He knew how he should react. He needed to step back, take a microcycle, and properly assess the situation. But instead, he took in Sora's words and Sora's blush and Sora's splayed body on the rug beneath him—flustered, pink and peach, short-circuiting from just the tip of Tron's cock—and crashed.

His visual display was filled with countless images; blushing magical girls and boys from Aerith's search history, squirming virgins being attacked and assaulted by tentacles, or otherwise inviting them in, each and every one overwhelmed by their own bodily desires as thick appendages forced their way into so many of their holes, and not only took their virginities, but replaced them with a sexual insatiability that kept them coming back for more.

And his mind overlaid Sora's face on all of them.

"Woah, Tron!" The lines of Sora's circuitry flared shockingly bright as Tron, without any real awareness, called the wires down from the wall and wrapped them around Sora's wrists and ankles. Several combined to create a support for his back as he was lifted off the ground, utterly entangled in flowery cables.

Tentacles, virgins, connections, reaching out, hugging, holding, closer, need, closer, closer.

A wire slid between Sora's legs, down to his opening, and Tron's system restarted. His visual display would take a second, but awareness returned immediately. He found the tentacles command and killed it. The wires stopped.

"Sora," Tron said, experiencing what he was certain was remorse. "I must apologize. How could I have failed to see your inexperience? How could this be my reaction? I tasked you with instructing me, and you took on that burden despite operating on theory alone. I should have noticed. I'm sorry."

"Hng." Tron's sight returned, and with it came the realization that Sora's mouth was covered. He commanded the relevant wire to move, tried and failed not to notice the way Sora shifted both toward and away from his bondage. Tron lowered him a little, reached out to touch him.

"Sora?"

Sora's eyes fluttered, but he managed a coherent, "Yeah?"

"Would you like me to put you down?"

Silence, and then, "No."

"Ah." Tron processed that. "Well, if this gets to be too much I will return you to the floor and we may resume our discussion from before."

Sora snorted. He seemed to be coming back online himself. "The one about porn?"

"About our friends, the things we are doing, and interior design."

Sora blinked once, twice, then burst into laughter. Definitely back online. Tron was relieved he wasn't upset, or worse, hurt. He was relaxing, in fact, body settling against the wires around him, allowing them to support his weight. The sight made something in Tron's chest ease.

"As nice as that sounds, Tron, I don't mind this. It was just unexpected. I've never 'interfaced' with anyone before, and then out of nowhere, tentacles! It was a bit of a surprise."

"Of course it was. It was very sudden, and I—"

"No, not the suddenness. I mean, yes, the suddenness! But mostly the fact it came from you! The wires, the pornography, the sex! Who knew you were such a pervert? Where'd the tentacles even come from?"

He didn't sound upset, just incredulous and, to Tron's delight, happy. Tron smiled. "You mentioning your lack of sexual experience brought to mind certain animated media in which virgins have rather intense encounters with many sticky appendages. Aerith likes them." He shook his head. "The sexual fantasies of Users truly are intriguing."

"I don't think it's just Users with intriguing sexual fantasies," Sora said, one eyebrow raised.

"That might be true." Tron laid a comforting hand on his hip. "You know, we could use this opportunity to experience something that might otherwise be inaccessible to you. I don't doubt there are many tentacled creatures out in the User world, but I'm not sure I'd trust them to be good partners. I understand my previous display might leave room for doubt, but I think I can keep my wires under control if you'd like to enjoy them. It would be an unforgettable first experience and we'd get to have it together."

There was, for a moment, something strange in Sora's eyes. Tron recognized it from when Aerith and Tifa spoke about Cloud, and when Leon mentioned his past failures, his old name. He recognized it from Cid when he chose to reminisce on old days, oftentimes to Yuffie, who only pretended not to be listening. He saw it uncountable times in Ansem—his Ansem, the man who sometimes made him, a security program, feel like it would perhaps be safe and appropriate to lay his head on his lap—and the man's many apprentices. He had even seen it in Merlin's eyes, from time to time.

It was the function known as missing you; I could have done something more; I remember shared with I cannot; I am a fool and a failure; I must make up for my wrongs; there are things even I cannot do.

It hurt something in him, to see that in Sora's eyes.

"I want to," Sora said, the words pushing past one another in their rush to get out. "With you, Tron. I want to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Sora's body trembled. "Please don't make me say it again. This is kind of embarrassing."

Tron wanted to hear him say it over and over, but Sora had gone red all the way down his neck. "Very well. My only aim is to provide you with positive feelings, Sora." He stepped closer, felt his system stutter as Sora let out a shuddering breath, his glow flickering. "So I'll take what I've seen, and what you've given to me today, and repurpose that into a gift for you for your first time."

A wire came up to caress Sora's face at Tron's direction. Sora leaned into it, eyes half-closed, lips parted. "I'd like that, Tron."

He needed no more instruction. A program could do a lot with quite basic directions, and what he did with his was draw Sora close and give him his very first kiss.

It was sweet, but not chaste. Tron thought that, for all his inexperience, Sora could both take and enjoy the pressure of his tongue between his lips, licking into his mouth. He did not force his way, though, rather allowed himself to experience the delight of Sora opening up enthusiastically, sparks bouncing along the curve of his torso, up the length of his spine. He held Sora's face in his hands and tasted everything he had to give.

He retreated only when Sora was breathless, returned briefly to press an actual chaste kiss against his lips. He wanted Sora to have both, and so he did. Sora squirmed throughout, still tangled in the wires, but it was almost always toward him, and when he pulled away Tron only followed for a nanosecond.

But Sora saw it and he smiled.

"So, those tentacles...?" He asked, a little cocky, a little nervous.

"Do you want them now?"

"Yes." Sora bit his lip, made to cover his face and realized he could not with his wrists still captured. "Ah, this is—"

"—going to feel good," Tron finished for him, then stepped back and began directing the wires.

They curled around Sora, supporting, tormenting, providing contrast as they firmed their hold on his arms, his legs, his torso. They teased over and around his throat, encircled the protrusions of his helmet. A few made their way under his clothes, while others slipped over them, applying pressure as they went. The floral elements twisted this way and that to prevent unpleasant sensations, all the while gliding their petals and leaves, sweet and soft, over every part of Sora they could reach. A collection of cables had twisted together to form a thick, singular tentacle, thrusting back and forth between his folds; never entering, but grinding all the way along his ass to his cock, a bud bumping against his hole with every slip through Sora's slick.

Tron knew then that even as a program, he must have something like a heart. It beat rapidly in his chest, too fast, in time with Sora's. He did not have an appropriate word or phrase to describe the absolute pleasure of being able to give this to Sora, nor the joy of bringing to life his own pornographic fantasy with someone he cared for.

I've missed him, he thought. And now I can show him how much and share how glad I am to see him again.

There was a—pang. It wasn't quite his own; another life's sorrow, another Tron's longing. It passed through his system and was gone. He did not have the time to analyze it, because Sora was writhing and moaning, because Sora needed him.

Each wire, entwined with countless others, caressed him delicately, squeezed his shuddering body with both affection and threat. His circuits glitched, cyan lost in roseate hue and the sunset sea, sparks like little stars cascading with every high whimper that passed through his lips. They came in time with the tentacle between his legs, shifting from lazy slides to focused attention at Tron's quiet command. Its tip curled around Sora's cock, the ornamental bud slipping against his hole and leaving it sticky with residue and his own slick. The residue itself was a component of its lighting system, a body-safe, sweet-sour liquid, fortunately. Aerith had sat down to program that with him. He supposed now he understood why.

Carefully, he guided the wires to pose Sora, something which, based on the noises he was making, pleased them both. He had them hold Sora on his back, turn him on his front, present himself this way and that, the shifting of his weight drawing Sora's attention to various parts of his body in turn, heightening the sensations. Tron hoped that, if he performed this task correctly, each moment would become a memory; a precious recollection of Sora's first time stored inside him, providing guidance for the future and ecstasy in the present.

And there was ecstasy. Sora was getting close. His audio drivers were being pushed to their limits, breaking, fizzing, muffling with each whine. His body twitched as a circuit blew, repaired itself, blew again. Tron had him draped over the wires now, on his front, his thighs wrapped around the collective width of the cables as they continued to rub between his legs. Sora embraced them, moans briefly interrupted as another wire pushed past his lips; not too deep, not this time, but enough to give Sora a taste for it.

Just a taste, though. The wire pulled back out of his mouth, then joined a portion of the tentacled amalgamation in carrying Sora, still splayed over the cables, toward Tron. Tron took his face in his hands and drew him closer for a kiss.

Sora gave a pitchy whine, accompanied by the crackle of static, and squeezed the wires with his legs as he came. Tron made sure at least one tentacle stroked his cock throughout, kept the bud just in his entrance to convulse around. The lights on his body went haywire, circuits glittering, and then, all at once, he collapsed.

"Woah," he said, once he got his breath back. "That was amazing."

"I'm glad to hear that, Sora," Tron replied, "but we're not finished."

With that said, he had the wires lower Sora to the ground. They continued to provide some support as they arranged him on his hands and knees, presenting him in a manner some Users considered 'canine.'

"Tron, I don't know if I can hold myself up," Sora whimpered, arms shaky, and in response a few of the wires repositioned themselves to take more of his weight. Tron kneeled behind him, placed his hands on the soft mounds of his ass.

"This won't take long," he said. "I'm just going to clean you up."

"Clean me—ah!" Tron bent and pressed his mouth to Sora's cunt. He waited, knew the action was what some might call presumptuous, but when Sora pushed his hips back against his face he saw no further reason to delay. He was a little surprised though. Aerith had informed him once that most people with similar anatomy would be sensitive after orgasm.

"Although there are those lucky few who can just keep coming and coming!"

Tron licked over Sora's still swollen cock, sucked on the head and felt him drip over his nose, his mouth, his chin. He ran his hands over his inner thighs, dragged them up to tug Sora's hole open with his thumbs and lick along the length of his slit, around his folds, into his cunt. Sora's taste, his slick and sweat, mingled on his tongue with the wire's residue, his own saliva. He pushed his tongue deeper. Tron had said he would clean him up, after all.

Perhaps I've made this task more difficult than it needs to be, he thought, as Sora's pussy squeezed another drop of wet onto his lips. He asked to be penetrated, he reminded himself, and he can orgasm at least once more before his refractory period activates.

"Tron," Sora moaned.

And with that, Sora was in Tron's arms and he was walking them over to his sleep station. The wires were dismissed, returned to their previous function as decorative vines. As such, they added to the ambience. Tron's research informed him that moments like these were often intimate, and a gauzy, canopied bed covered in soft sheets with an inordinate number of flowers around it seemed an ideal location for such a thing. At least, according to his analysis. If Sora disagreed, Tron hoped he would tell him.

"Ah..." Sora breathed out as Tron laid him on his back. His helmet's protrusions retreated into their sockets, limbs coming into contact with the satiny sheets. He shivered; hypersensitive, but not painfully so. His blue eyes were still a little glitchy from orgasm. Tron placed a hand on his cheek.

The blush was still there. It had not left, in fact, but every second it was present felt new to Tron, as if it shared a different shade of Sora each time. Now, with Sora lying under him, cleaned of wire residue but otherwise still sticky-wet, his body aglow in the loveliest shades of dusk and dawn, blue eyes wide one moment, then fluttered closed in a burst of shyness the next, the flush on his cheeks seemed to reveal a sweetness so painful that Tron felt another pang in his chest; all his own, this time.

"You mentioned before that you wanted me inside you," Tron said, tried to find the words a User might say. "Do you still want that?"

"Yes." There was no pause. "I want this, Tron. I want to do this with you." He reached out to him. "Hug me while you do it?"

Tron laughed, a bright burst of joy escaping him as he leaned down and hugged Sora. "Your attitude toward these has changed considerably since last time." He gripped him tight with one arm, reached down with the other and set his cock to Sora's hole.

He was very warm and wet, loose from his earlier orgasm and continued arousal. Still, Tron went slow, wanted to feel Sora's every pulse and shudder as he pressed deeper and deeper inside. Sora clung to him, whole body lighting up when Tron's cock brushed against places inside of him that he had never known existed. When Tron began to rub his cock again, his fingers and cunt both gripped tight.

Once Tron was fully inside, he stopped, gave Sora time to experience the pleasure of pressure against his walls while Tron worked him from the outside. Little pieces of code kept flashing behind his eyes, legs quivering where they lay, chest heaving with every breath. Now and then, his voice glitched; a consistent error, something short-circuiting on repeat.

Then Tron began to move. He pulled his hips back, pushed forward once, twice, and any restraint Sora had broke.

It wasn't a 'rough fuck,' although Sora thrashed about as if it was one. Tron kept the pace steady, but much as before he broke up the more repetitive motions by switching between grinding up against Sora, circling his hips, and thrusting hard into those places inside him that seemed more reactive. The latter he based on just how pixelated Sora became, the edges of his form hazy, unfocused. Tron could feel something building within himself, but he held back from redirecting more energy to the task. For all his interest in pornography, he had not personally engaged in any physical intimacy. Much like Sora, he was all theory, no practice, yet he refused to make himself the center of this. This is Sora's first time. More importantly, this is Sora. This is a friend. This is a partner. This is a connection.

Assessing Sora's reactions, it seemed his lack of practice was not particularly noticeable. He smiled often, but the expression kept breaking on moans and breathy whines. His arms were shaking, but he refused to let go. His face was the reddest it had been. Tron couldn't resist. He leaned forward and kissed him.

"I'm glad you came to visit me, Sora. I'm so happy I get to share this with you."

"Y-yeah, me too. I-I—I—" And then something changed, and his voice came out wet and gummy. "I had to see if you were okay." There was a glitch, but no pleasure in it, or not enough that it overwrote the obvious distress in Sora's tone. Tron slowed.

"Why did you need to do that, Sora?" He asked. "Why did you need to see me?"

Sora hesitated, and then his face crumpled. Tron stopped. "There was this—other Tron. He was called Rinzler, because he was being controlled by someone else. Reprogrammed. And I knew he wasn't you, but he also was you, and he didn't deserve what happened to him."

The original me, Tron realized. 

"I knew there was a heart like yours in him, and I just—I had to try, even after we fought." Sora convulsed, and Tron placed a hand on his cheek. He was trembling. Something jolted out of place in Tron's chest. "I reached out to him, but it didn't matter. I couldn't help him. And he fell."

A half-strangled sound spilled out of Sora. His face was burning, eyes glassy, nose sniffling, throat choking. Another sound; broken, fragile.

He was trying so hard not to cry.

Tron lowered himself until he was lying beside Sora, slipping out of him in the process. That didn't matter. What mattered was holding him close, stroking a thumb over his reddened cheeks, catching the one tear that did escape. Sora held his gaze, turned away, held it, turned away, torn between what he wanted to share and what he felt he couldn't show. So full of affection, so afraid of it; another fascinating facet of one of his dearest Users, most beloved of friends.

"I think you did help him, Sora," he said. He found his eyes and, finally, managed to hold them. They were achingly blue. "If that program was anything like me, then just having you reach out would have meant something. Even if he was hurt, even if he was de-rezzed, the fact that you were there for him would have changed something. He would have felt that, even as he faced the end. Programs are seen as dismissible, controllable, to many a User. To be more than a tool to someone, to know he had, what you might call, a friend, it would have mattered to him. It mattered." Sora whimpered, and Tron pressed his lips to his forehead. "As his friend, I think you more than performed your function."

And, knowing this, Tron did all he could to perform his. As Sora's friend, as a security program, as an intimate partner, he held Sora until his breathing calmed, waited until Sora himself reached down between them and guided his cock back inside.

"I want—" Sora blushed once more. Tron smiled. "I want to keep going."

"Okay."

"And I want to hold your hand."

Sora reached out and Tron reached back. Their fingers twined, each holding tight to the other. "I believe that is within my capabilities, Sora." He repositioned, added, "Is it within yours?"

Sora huffed, hitched his legs around Tron's waist. "You bet! I'm not really a virgin anymore, so come on and show me what you've got, Tron!"

Despite knowing Sora's strength, Tron made the executive decision not to take him entirely seriously. That did not mean he went easy on him. He started slow, as before, with steady thrusts of the hip, but as the frequency of Sora's cunt's spasms increased, he sped up. Sora's head fell back against the sheets, the hand not holding Tron's dropping from his shoulder to cover his mouth. His pussy pulsed rapidly, squeezing, gripping, and as Tron adjusted his angle, he suspected he would reach completion soon.

"T-Tron." He had one curled finger between his lips, was lifting his hips to meet Tron's every time. His heart, Tron could tell, was beating in sync with his own. Every part of his face was red, every light on his body was pink, and all of it was awash in sunset light.

Perhaps Tron could create a beach for him in the datascape, one without the itch of sand and the threat of overlarge waves, and interface with him there. Perhaps Sora could take him. Perhaps they could just sit and talk. They could do anything; it was one of his favorite settings in pornography, but that was in part because it made him think of Sora and his island home.

That thought sparked another.

"Sora, I believe I have wanted to do this with you for longer than I have realized," he confessed, felt a shock to his system as Sora's cunt and hand both squeezed him in response. Then there was a pang, when he saw an expression that mirrored his shock on Sora's face. How could that be such a surprise to you?

"How long?" Sora asked.

"Since our first embrace, perhaps earlier, although I must confess that the desire to interface came after the pornography."

"Our first embrace? Tron, that's—oh!" Sora's ability to form words failed, was replaced with sighs and moans and whimpers, all with a wide variety of audio effects applied to them. He had started to squirm considerably under Tron, body glitching again. Then, to Tron's delight, he laughed. "Well, I'm glad someone wants me."

There was no delight in that statement, of course, but perhaps Tron could find something positive—and, he suspected, true—to say in response. So he leaned in and placed a kiss on Sora's nose, and said, "I believe many people want you, Sora, even if they do not always show it in ways you can understand." Another kiss, this time on the lips. It was rather chaste, but every part of Sora that was holding him tightened anyway. "Still, I am pleased to have been able to share your first with you."

With that, he wrapped Sora in a tight embrace and thrust into him one, two more times, and then held him through his second, squirting orgasm. Fluid burst from his body, slick coating Tron's cock as he pushed it deep inside him. Sora's voice came out in a cybernetic wail, a glitched cry, breath distorted. His lights flashed with no sign of a sequence, a bright shock of scintillating rainbows, and his eyes shone, overheated, and crashed. His body went rigid, pixels and sparks scattering at the edges.

And through it all there was that blush, perfectly functional.

Tron reached his own completion—programs might not have access to proper nudity, but they could still come on command—yet noticed little of it. He was caught up in Sora's own, his pleasure derived from observing his partner's.

It felt good. It all felt so good.

They came down from the height of it together; systems rebooting, processes running, start up programs opening. Tron interfaced internally with the room's ambient light. The orange faded, replaced by darkness. Little bulbs scattered across the ceiling offered their pale glow instead, alongside Tron and Sora's blue and cyan circuitry.

"Wow," Sora said. "That was a first."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Tron asked. Sora laughed.

"Honestly, I think I'd rather just take a nap. I think two's my limit for, er, orgasms. It's all sensitive down there, and my head's sort of fuzzy. But I think I made a mess of the bed."

"Not to worry. My sleep station came with hygiene protocols."

"Oh. So it's already cleaned my..."

"Your squirt, sweat, and vaginal slick have already been removed."

Sora blushed. "Right. Thanks, Tron."

"We may now make proper use of my sleep station, if you like."

Sora bit back a laugh and Tron suppressed a grin. They snuggled together, Sora's back to Tron's chest. "Sure, so long as you don't get up to do security program stuff without me." He paused. "I want to wake up with you here, Tron."

"Then you will. If anything happens, I'll wake you." Sora was still holding his hand, and Tron saw no need for that to stop. "You know, there is an unusual category of porn called somnophilia that we could—"

"No, Tron! Not now." He didn't bite back his laugh this time. "C'mon, let's just take that nap."

"I would be happy to. Sleep well, Sora."

"You too, Tron."

And with that, Tron held Sora, safe and secure, until his breathing slowed, and then set himself to sleep.