They each have their strengths. Clu's is leaving him in a bright, easy rush, hot tungsten feedback downshifting into a rich microphone hum of welling ember red.
"No authorization," his teeth want to chatter, would mince his words for him if he let go even slightly. But this is his function: access control and the law of least permissions. "You're something else--"
He's built for throughput, designed to turn one thing into another with minimal signal loss: transfer of power in a bright highlighter smear that pools thick and winks out ashen along the razor track of Rinzler's? brightening disc.
Because Rinzler wouldn't do this?
You know better.
"Still using my words for it!" Sharp, too high, half-shrieked against the pain. "Still mine."
Night seethes in the corner of his vision, boiling down below his line of sight, and his breath comes quick and hard through his nose, shaking his head or just shaking as he cuts himself again on his reluctance to look.
Rinzler's fingers curl dark around the very core of him, midnight eyes fixed and staring with a familiar acquisitive grace, dark and total as the first things that ever walked out of the Sea.
"No," and it seems to be all he can say, bright, sharp with the taste of mounting error, "no, no, no no no--" words, frantic in their haste to get out of his mouth, "Oh, I need that. Please."
no subject
"No authorization," his teeth want to chatter, would mince his words for him if he let go even slightly. But this is his function: access control and the law of least permissions. "You're something else--"
He's built for throughput, designed to turn one thing into another with minimal signal loss: transfer of power in a bright highlighter smear that pools thick and winks out ashen along the razor track of Rinzler's? brightening disc.
Because Rinzler wouldn't do this?
You know better.
"Still using my words for it!" Sharp, too high, half-shrieked against the pain. "Still mine."
Night seethes in the corner of his vision, boiling down below his line of sight, and his breath comes quick and hard through his nose, shaking his head or just shaking as he cuts himself again on his reluctance to look.
Rinzler's fingers curl dark around the very core of him, midnight eyes fixed and staring with a familiar acquisitive grace, dark and total as the first things that ever walked out of the Sea.
"No," and it seems to be all he can say, bright, sharp with the taste of mounting error, "no, no, no no no--" words, frantic in their haste to get out of his mouth, "Oh, I need that. Please."