![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficSo I decided to wrap this kinda-sorta series up. After this, no more comments asking for fics with Sam and Quorra having sex, 'kay?
Title: Save a horse, mount an ISO
Fandom: Tron
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,495
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Quorra
Previous: Happy Birthday, Kevin Flynn.
Summary: An epic finale of sex, assassination attempts, and chalk masquerading as candy.
There were a lot of reasons for Sam to be glad he was back together with Quorra. Most of them fell under the catch-all category of 'adorable girlfriendness,' but in specific, there were a lot of things he was excited to show her. Not even big stuff like sunsets or opera music. Little things he wanted to see through her eyes. Like the bowl of candy hearts on his secretary's desk, mostly untouched, slowly growing stale.
"Do they make these anymore, now that V-Day has come and gone?" he asked, holding the candy dish up to the light.
"I doubt it. Who would want to buy pink chalk after Valentine's Day?"
"I'll give you twenty bucks for it."
"Forty."
"Sold."
***
When Sam got back, Quorra was doing the laundry. As usual, she was joyously engrossed in the task, but as soon as he walked in, she gave him a strident look. "I just want you to know that I am a strong, independent woman, and I am doing this by choice, not because of traditional gender roles."
"Okay-dokey."
Quorra gave Sam's shirt another pass with the iron, then picked the shirt up and buried her face in it. "Gosh! Clothes are so soft and warm after they've been ironed! Why don't you do this before you wear everything?"
"Do you and my Flynn Lives T-shirt need a moment alone? Say…" He picked the shirt up. "I haven't worn this in forever." Mentally adding it to his wardrobe, he slung it over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, another important lesson in humanity." He dropped a Zip-Loc bag of Valentine candies on the ironing board. "Nobody knows what these are called, but around Valentine's Day, everyone eats them."
Quorra popped one into her mouth. "It tastes like dried tears."
"And yet, we eat them."
"That's silly."
"You have another one in your hand."
Quorra looked. "Motherboard! Hey, there's writing on it." It read U R Mine. "This candy is claiming it owns me."
"I think those are meant to be messages from the giver to the," Sam sighed, "sweetheart."
"You think?"
"I wouldn't know, I never hated someone enough to give them any. Non-educationally, I mean," he cleared quickly.
Quorra held up a candy that said Love you. "You saying that is a lot more sweet than this candy."
"Thanks… listen, Quorra, I've been thinking lately…"
"When you did stop?"
Sam laughed nervously and moved to fold the clothes Quorra was done with, giving him an excuse not to look at her. Not that he didn't like looking at her, but there should've been a rule about having to be emotionally open while you had girl-eyes on you. You should be allowed to do that over short-wave radio.
"You know, people tell me I'm impulsive? I mean, like, poor impulse control. I have a tattoo of a rhino. Why a rhino? I don't know…"
Quorra's next candy heart said Get real. "I am real!"
Hard to believe, sometimes. Sam shook his head. "So, just once, I tried to play it safe and really take my time, because, hell, risking my life is one thing, but some things are more important… I guess. But I don't think there really are sure things. But there are things I trust. You know?"
"No." Quorra picked up a candy heart that said You rule. "Thanks, I think you rule too. Wait, how can we both rule? Is it a bicameral system of government?"
"I didn't write those," Sam said. "I would take those with a grain of salt."
"Do you mean a literal grain of salt or a skeptical outlook?"
"Skeptical outlook. Good on you for asking. Have you been listening?" Sam was kinda hoping he would get a chance to take it from the top.
"I can operate a Lightcycle's weapon systems while driving at 400 MPH. I can handle more than one train of thought. Can I borrow your computer?"
"Huh?"
Quorra held up a candy heart that said E-mail me. "Mine's broken. Windows Vista and trilaterial computing—not good bedfellows."
"You want to borrow my computer to send an e-mail to my computer?"
"And I want to touch Ben Affleck's chest." Quorra bit her lip. "I think non-sequiturs are fun."
Sam should've been ready for Sugarrush!Quorra when he gave her candy. "Where were we in the other conversation?"
"You were talking about not playing it safe anymore, so either you want to go after a crime boss despite the captain telling you we're off the case, or you were talking about taking our relationship to the next level, even though you can't be sure of our feelings for each other, but you've decided that you can never be sure when feelings are involved and so you were using that as an excuse to avoid emotional intimacy, but now you've decided to take a leap of faith."
Sam sputtered a little. "What would you say if I said it was the crime boss thing?"
Quorra shrugged happily. "I don't mind, I just like hanging out."
"Well, it's the relationship thing."
Quorra laughed.
Sam was really glad there wasn't a mirror present, because he would hate to see the face he was making. "You're not still thinking about Ghostbusters, are you?"
"No, the candy heart said LOL. But that Bill Murray…" Quorra laughed again.
The next candy heart Sam saw was getting turned into dust. "However much this writer makes, he's overpaid. You want to go out on a date?" he finished without so much as a breath in-between.
"Yes," Quorra said in stride, though she'd noted Sam hadn't used his preferred nomenclature, like 'Let's go do a thing'. "Is this a big deal?"
Sam folded clothes like his life depended on it. "Not kinda. I mean a real date—dressing up, dinner and a show… corsages…"
"Oh. I get it. This would be our third date, and on a third date—" Quorra began gyrating her hips and beatboxing a pretty good seventies porn funk. Sam could feel himself growing a moustache. "I don't know what this means."
"It means sex. Stop doing that to the ironing board, you don't know it that well."
Quorra tapped her chin. "Sex, yes… that explains a lot. Including why that ballet company wouldn't take me in. I thought it was because I wasn't perfect."
Sam knew Black Swan wasn't a date movie. Speaking of which: "We've been on more than three dates."
"No, we've been hanging out. There's a difference. I sorted it all out with online research."
"The same research that has High School Musical 5: Still Not In College seared into our DVR?"
"I'll have you know Bieberfan131 knows a lot about romance, she's read all the Twilight books. So tonight, third date, prepare your anus."
"Three things. One, don't use memes IRL, it's tacky. Two, I'm saving myself for my prostate exam. Three, we don't have to have sex on the third date. We can do it whenever you're ready: a year from now, a week from Tuesday, right now…"
Quorra laid herself over the ironing board. "My body is ready."
"At least let me buy you dinner first."
Quorra slid down onto her head, didn't seem to notice. "Oh, you will be buying me dinner. Cock-dinner. Because tonight I will get it… gurl."
Sam helped Quorra to her feet. "Three more things. One, what you're doing right now is being the dude and you can't be the dude cuz, two, I'm the dude. Three, dude or no dude, it's uncool to pressure someone into sex."
"I'm not pressuring. We can cuddle or hold hands or watch each other go to the bathroom. But if we do have sex, I am gonna rock your world, so prepare yourself accordingly."
"How?"
"You know… secure your world's valuables… basic disaster prep. For a penis-disaster."
"I just pictured a penis-disaster, and it was not erotic at all. If you see me drinking tonight, that'll be why."
***
First a suit and a tie, now a tuxedo. Sam was sure burning through his outsider cred fast. But he was going to need a tux sooner or later—he'd rather buy one for Quorra than some fundraiser.
Now, he could've sworn he knew how to do a bowtie…
"Sam Flynn in a penguin suit. Never thought I'd see the day."
Sam looked over his shoulder at Alan. "Didn't think we'd shop at the same place, either."
"This is my tailor, remember? I gave you his number."
"Yeah, but I make this look good." Sam's tie fell apart. He started over.
"I take it you've dealt with the Dillinger situation?"
"He's been transferred to a do-nothing job in Accounting. One of sight, out of mind. I'm taking his wages out of my salary. My contribution to the United Asshole Fund."
"Well, if you had to get it out of your system, you could've picked a worse punching bag."
"He's not the one I'm worried about hurting."
Alan stepped in to fix Sam's tie. "Son, even I know that some time or another, you've got to stop thinking things through and do what feels right. That girl's no slouch when it comes to brains. If she loves you, it's because she knows you're right for her."
Sam looked at his bowtie in the mirror. "Thanks, man. Ya know, you're pretty good at this mentoring bit. You should have a talk show."
***
"Tell me you're wearing something under that."
While Sam had been getting measured for his suit and tying up loose ends at the office, Quorra had been pregaming for the date with Lora, Alan's wife. They'd been shopping and spa-ing ("One place put hot wax on my—" "I'm comfortable with that story ending there.") and Quorra had ended up back on Sam's doorstep, wearing a fur coat that covered her from shoulder to toe. Sam usually wasn't a big fan of fur, but in this case, he'd make an exception.
"Of course. I'm not some kind of furry," Quorra answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, it's an old joke .The wife buys an expensive fur dress, the husband asks how could she spend so much money, then she opens the coat and—I'm giving you ideas, aren't I?"
"Many and varied."
"Tell me in the car. We need to get to the airport. Private jets hate to be kept waiting."
Quorra clapped her hands together. "Can I fly?"
There weren't enough air sickness bags in the world.
***
While Sam drove, Quorra talked. Sam loved hearing her talk. It wasn't just that her voice was more soothing than one of those ocean CDs, only waking him up instead of making him feel drowsy. But it was just fun hearing her. She took nothing for granted.
With her, everything was wondrous, everyone was special. Sam wondered if she would ever get used to the real world. He doubted it. Even if she spent a thousand years in New York, she'd probably still be awestruck by a pretzel. Sam had known people, young and old, who got jaded and cynical and let nothing impress them. Quorra would never be like that.
"'Too hot'?" Quorra read from a candy heart. "I thought I was just hot enough!"
"You're still eating those?" Sam asked.
"No, I'm saving them to give to homeless people and small animals."
***
At the airport, apparently there was some fear that they would hijack themselves, because airport security made them take off their shoes and go through the X-ray machine. Quorra took one look at it and asked if it used carbon nanotubes or conventional X-ray tubes. Sam hustled her along.
In the plane, Quorra went into her quiet information-acquisition mode. She took things in and out of the overhead bin, went to the bathroom forty times, and looked out every window in the cabin. She only spoke once, after Sam woke up from his catnap (flying always made him sleepy). "Are we going to parachute out?"
"Not this time."
She tried to hide her disappointment.
Quorra had learned. She knew Texas wasn't all cowboys, oil wells, or high school football. She also knew that Texas wasn't full of Mexican-hating homophobes, which put her up on a lot of people Sam knew.
There was an elderly British chauffeur waiting at the airport (and Quorra would never know how hard it was to find an elderly British chauffeur in Texas) with a sign bearing their names. Quorra's was misspelled.
She didn't appreciate the limousine as much as Sam would've thought. Probably because it handled like a donkey cart. She did like the old-fashioned cinema sign at the Alamo Drafthouse, though. "Is that a movie theater?"
Sam took her hand as she stepped out of the limo. "It's the movie theater."
In the old days, when Alan had business in Austin, he'd loved to take Sam along and treat him to a movie. Sam was still subscribed to their newsletter and when he'd seen the classic they were screening, he'd known they'd have to put in an appearance.
He stepped up to the ticket window. "Two for 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea."
He got the tickets and when he turned to hand Quorra hers, her mouth was hanging open like an emoticon.
"They made a movie… Jules Verne… there's a movie…"
Sam really did try not to look smug. He didn't succeed, but he tried.
Quorra hugged him. It wasn't as graceful as an embrace, she just put her arms around whatever she could grasp and squeezed. "Oh. Oh, you're thoughtful."
"It's…" The box office attendant was staring. "It's not that big a deal."
"You made it a big deal. We dressed up, we flew, we rode in a very long car… thank you."
"Anytime."
She pulled his arm around her as they went inside and to Sam, it felt just perfect. Although, seeing the other people at the screening, there was the niggling doubt that they had overdressed. Then Quorra took off her coat and Sam knew at least one of them had. It was a good thing the theater went dark. Otherwise, he might not be able to quit staring.
***
Quorra loved the movie. She loved the food. She loved the company, a lot. For a moment, she was worried Sam was bored because he yawned, but when he put his arm around her she knew what he was up to. And she loved the classics.
***
Afterward, they walked around the block. It was a big chunk of storefronts and sidewalk, so it took a while, Quorra babbling away about the squid and the Nautilus and Captain Nemo while Sam kept his arm around her shoulders.
"This is nice," Sam said, a minute after she paused for breath.
"Hmm?"
"Just a piece of advice I got once. Every once in a while, you should take a moment to think if you're having a good time, and then say so. Here we are in Austin, the most romantic city in… at least several square miles. It's a nice night, we had a good meal… I want this from life," he concluded. "Just more of this would be great."
Quorra kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see what I can do. Say, is there a Mysterious Island movie?"
"I'm not sure… but I have heard that Disney's doing a remake of 20,000 Leagues."
Quorra tsked. "They need to stop resurrecting these old properties."
They'd circled around to the limo, where the elderly British chauffeur was checking his watch. "About time. I have to be at someone's house-sitting in a tidge for some wonky sitcom seduction plot. Pretending to be a butler. No rest for the elderly British man in Texas."
"Just drop us off at a hotel," Sam told him.
***
The Hotel Excelsior was so five-star it was almost a parody of a hotel. Everything was gold(-colored) and marble. There were bellhops, for God's sake. Quorra couldn't get enough of it.
"Checking in?" the concierge asked.
"Yes," Quorra said quickly, having seen too many spy movies. She side-eyed Sam. "He's the dude."
"Named after your father, I'm guessing."
Sam just pulled out his checkbook.
***
The room was "palatial," as Quorra put it. Sam supposed a thousand years of Word-a-Day calendars left their mark on someone. He undid his bowtie and took off his jacket, but left his shoes on, even though they pinched a little. He was going more for 'Don Draper about to have two martinis' than comfort.
"So, how was the date?" Sam asked, checking the ice bucket he'd arranged to have waiting by the bed. The staff was probably thinking of holding back on the mint on the pillow just for asking to have Yoohoo there instead of wine, but Quorra wasn't exactly a wine connoisseur. ("How good can it be if people at wine-tastings spit it out?") "What's the Facebook status update?"
"Well…" Quorra draped her coat along the back of a chair, playing along. She counted on her fingers and Sam watched it ripple up to the muscles of her bare shoulders. "Well, there was dinner, and a show, we kissed, there was tongue… I can really only think of one thing missing."
"Oh yeah?" Sam replied, certain the answer involved his penis.
"No dancing."
Sam paused in the middle of reaching to unbutton his shirt, then brought his uselessly hovering hands to steeple at his nose like he was being interviewed by NPR. "Yeah. I don't know how to dance."
Quorra was teasingly agasp. "How can you not know how to dance; you know how to street luge!"
"I think one of those answers the other."
Quorra took his hands. "I'm going to have to teach you."
Sam suddenly had visions of an exhaustive jazz-tap mentorship in his immediate future. "Maybe we should sleep on that."
"The perfect guy knows how to dance."
Sam sighed. He was so pussy-whipped, he was like a… pussy… horse. "Alright, show me. I've been meaning to learn just in case I have to infiltrate the Russian Embassy."
Quorra walked over to the radio.
"Wow, that looked easy."
She smiled at him. "Music. Goof." She turned the dial until she got something with violins. "Perfect." She returned to him. "Okay, hand here, and here." She took one of his hands to her hip and laced the other with her fingers. He really tried not to notice how thin her dress was. Well, okay, it was impossible not to notice it since it had been noted, but he didn't dwell on it. Well, he didn't unduly dwell on it. Well…
"We sway at first," Quorra said. "Just try to get the feel for the music. Let it into your bones."
Sam let Quorra wiggle him around. He kept his grip on her light. "Okay."
"I know what it means now," she said as he watched her feet move and tried to follow suite.
"What?"
"This." They bumped against the bed and moved off, Quorra smiling under her breath. Sam thought he understood what to do. When she rested her head against his chest, he just kept them moving in gentle circles, like they were adrift on the ocean, being jostled by the tide.
"It's not just physical," Quorra continued. Her voice was low and meaningful. "I mean, it is for some people, but I don't think it's that way for us. It means that we like each other, so much that it's doubtful someone else will come along we'll like more. And I think you're special, so special that I want to have something with you that I don't have with anyone else. And… and I want to be with you for a long time, maybe forever, and I know it'll change me, you'll change me, but I want that. Because no change I make with you can be for the worse."
His hand slid out of hers, the cusp of his palm running up her arm, over her shoulder, scuffing the strap of her dress, to her neck and then to the back of her head and then he was easing her lips against his.
"Wow," she said after. "That fits."
"We can do it again," Sam offered nonchalantly. "Or, you know… whatever." He grinned.
"Whatever sounds good."
"It should. When you think about it, you're technically a child of the 90s." He kissed her again and slid one of her shoulder straps off. She trembled instinctively. "Hey," he paused. "We don't have to—"
"I know we don't," Quorra interrupted. She pushed and pulled Sam in a dancing paroxysm. "If I'm scared, we can stop and cuddle, or talk about the weather, or dance some more. I don't want to dance anymore. I want this. I'm just a little scared it won't be… perfect."
When Quorra knotted their arms up together again, Sam stood close to her instead of letting herself be prodded back. "Why don't you just tell me what to do and I'll do it? No chance of going too fast there."
Quorra liked the sound of that. "Take your shirt off."
He did.
"Oh, I like that bit. Put it back on and then take it off."
Years of evolution made Sam side-eye to make certain he wasn't on Candid Camera, then he did as she asked.
"And… once more?"
"Are we going somewhere with this?"
"We are, we are, keep your shirt off."
Quorra gestured to the bed, where Sam sat and tried to look coquettish. Girls made it look so easy. He suspected he looked like he had gotten something in his eye while checking to see if he needed to wax his chest hair.
Quorra looked at him like he was a new piece of furniture and she didn't know quite where he'd fit with the feng shui. When an idea came to her, she literally jabbed the air with her pointer finger. "I know! You could spank me!"
"Really?" Sam asked dubiously.
"Yeah, you know… cuz I'm naughty. In a sexual way, not in a misdemeanor way. Guys like spanking girls, right?"
"I don't know… I've always found it a little counterintuitive. You see an ass that a woman has spent a lot of time toning and everything, and you wanna hit it?"
"Quit being such a baby and slap my ass!" Quorra tried a few times to spread herself out into the proper posture, complicated by the fact that her dress really wasn't meant to be bent over in. At least, not in Earth gravity.
"That is very seductive," Sam observed.
"Thank you!" Quorra said, looking more like she was doing toe-touches than volunteering for bondage. "I also ate some oysters, so that might have something to do with it."
"Not sure that's how it works. I think this is really a… lap-oriented sex act."
"Oh yeah." Quorra spread his legs a bit and rested herself on them. "Your lap doesn't have much in the way of lumbar support."
"So, uh…" As much as Sam respected Quorra as a woman, a terrifying Frisbee-killer, and a general sex goddess, she really didn't have much in the way of boo-tay. Did that make a difference when it came to spanking? Did it act as… cushioning? "Err… spanking?"
"Yeah, go ahead." Quorra wiggled her rump in a way that was actually rather arousing. Sam felt a weird sort of pride.
"You're sure?"
Quorra sighed. "Sam, you promised you'd listen to me. It's not like I'm asking you to do something unnatural, like foreplay."
So Sam spanked.
"Oww!"
"Sorry, I… there's a reason my lower back tattoo says 'Go big or go home.'"
"Oww…"
"You okay?" Sam rubbed it, which made him feel pervy in a bad way. "You want me to get some ice?"
"That hurt," Quorra whined.
"I don't really know any other way to spank people."
Quorra bit her lip. "But we've established I'm not a masochist! That's something!"
"Are we going to have to do this for more than one fetish? Because I am not dressing up like an animal."
"No. But I might have a fetish for you taking your shirt off. I really liked that. We should experiment with vests. Oh!" Quorra chirped suddenly. "What was that?"
"My hand. Well, technically your panties, but they're only rubbing you because of my hand."
"Ohhh…" Quorra drawled. "I didn't tell you to do that."
"You could always tell me now."
Quorra stared up at him. She looked so curious and happy and… Sam had never known he could make someone feel that way. "Do that. Do that a lot," she said.
He started to, but…
"Wait!"
Sam paused. "I've created a dominatrix."
"I just…" Quorra was slightly more discombobulated than him. "Which base are we at?"
"Third, I think." Sam moved Quorra's panties aside. "Yup, third."
"What about second?"
"We skipped that. They're not episodes of Lost, we can afford to miss them."
"No, no, let's do this right. Second base me. Second base me hard," Quorra ordered.
It took what could charitably be called breakdancing, but Sam got himself and Quorra spun around and the dress even more on the floor. She made that chirping noise again.
"Oh. You have two hands."
"Ssh. Don't tell anyone."
He kissed her mouth a last few times before deciding he could never get enough of that, so he might as well simply move on. Quorra made a pleased giggle as he kissed her neck, then a more full-throated noise when he kissed her collarbone. He moved lower.
"Sam?"
He craned his neck so he was looking up at her, his chin resting on her chest. He was actually starting to find these little interruptions endearing. Like they were on a really fun date, only instead of going to some non-sex activity, they were… the other thing.
"Yeah?"
"Could you whisper to me in the language of love?"
"Which one would that be?"
"Not sure… but not English. We have a word for people who find diapers sexy."
Foreign languages. Sam tried to cast his mind back to high school Spanish. Crap, his teachers were right, it would come in handy someday. But he was still oh for one with geometry.
"Como estan?" he tried.
"Oh yes," Quorra moaned. "Como estan me. Como estan me all night long!"
Sam tried kissing her again, although he thoughtfully gave her lips a break. He wanted to see what she made of base two and three-quarters. "Hasta la vista, baby. Yo quiero Taco Bell… Alejandro, Alejandra, Aly-aly-andro… don’t call my name…"
Before he could get to the bridge, the door flew open, doorknob disembodied and landing on the floor. Sam whirled around, for a moment thinking that this was what happened when you didn't put a Do Not Disturb sign up, but then he doubted room service wore ski masks and wielded automatic weapons.
"Oh," Quorra said, looking at them. "Are we going to be slutty?"
Title: Save a horse, mount an ISO
Fandom: Tron
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,495
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Quorra
Previous: Happy Birthday, Kevin Flynn.
Summary: An epic finale of sex, assassination attempts, and chalk masquerading as candy.
There were a lot of reasons for Sam to be glad he was back together with Quorra. Most of them fell under the catch-all category of 'adorable girlfriendness,' but in specific, there were a lot of things he was excited to show her. Not even big stuff like sunsets or opera music. Little things he wanted to see through her eyes. Like the bowl of candy hearts on his secretary's desk, mostly untouched, slowly growing stale.
"Do they make these anymore, now that V-Day has come and gone?" he asked, holding the candy dish up to the light.
"I doubt it. Who would want to buy pink chalk after Valentine's Day?"
"I'll give you twenty bucks for it."
"Forty."
"Sold."
***
When Sam got back, Quorra was doing the laundry. As usual, she was joyously engrossed in the task, but as soon as he walked in, she gave him a strident look. "I just want you to know that I am a strong, independent woman, and I am doing this by choice, not because of traditional gender roles."
"Okay-dokey."
Quorra gave Sam's shirt another pass with the iron, then picked the shirt up and buried her face in it. "Gosh! Clothes are so soft and warm after they've been ironed! Why don't you do this before you wear everything?"
"Do you and my Flynn Lives T-shirt need a moment alone? Say…" He picked the shirt up. "I haven't worn this in forever." Mentally adding it to his wardrobe, he slung it over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, another important lesson in humanity." He dropped a Zip-Loc bag of Valentine candies on the ironing board. "Nobody knows what these are called, but around Valentine's Day, everyone eats them."
Quorra popped one into her mouth. "It tastes like dried tears."
"And yet, we eat them."
"That's silly."
"You have another one in your hand."
Quorra looked. "Motherboard! Hey, there's writing on it." It read U R Mine. "This candy is claiming it owns me."
"I think those are meant to be messages from the giver to the," Sam sighed, "sweetheart."
"You think?"
"I wouldn't know, I never hated someone enough to give them any. Non-educationally, I mean," he cleared quickly.
Quorra held up a candy that said Love you. "You saying that is a lot more sweet than this candy."
"Thanks… listen, Quorra, I've been thinking lately…"
"When you did stop?"
Sam laughed nervously and moved to fold the clothes Quorra was done with, giving him an excuse not to look at her. Not that he didn't like looking at her, but there should've been a rule about having to be emotionally open while you had girl-eyes on you. You should be allowed to do that over short-wave radio.
"You know, people tell me I'm impulsive? I mean, like, poor impulse control. I have a tattoo of a rhino. Why a rhino? I don't know…"
Quorra's next candy heart said Get real. "I am real!"
Hard to believe, sometimes. Sam shook his head. "So, just once, I tried to play it safe and really take my time, because, hell, risking my life is one thing, but some things are more important… I guess. But I don't think there really are sure things. But there are things I trust. You know?"
"No." Quorra picked up a candy heart that said You rule. "Thanks, I think you rule too. Wait, how can we both rule? Is it a bicameral system of government?"
"I didn't write those," Sam said. "I would take those with a grain of salt."
"Do you mean a literal grain of salt or a skeptical outlook?"
"Skeptical outlook. Good on you for asking. Have you been listening?" Sam was kinda hoping he would get a chance to take it from the top.
"I can operate a Lightcycle's weapon systems while driving at 400 MPH. I can handle more than one train of thought. Can I borrow your computer?"
"Huh?"
Quorra held up a candy heart that said E-mail me. "Mine's broken. Windows Vista and trilaterial computing—not good bedfellows."
"You want to borrow my computer to send an e-mail to my computer?"
"And I want to touch Ben Affleck's chest." Quorra bit her lip. "I think non-sequiturs are fun."
Sam should've been ready for Sugarrush!Quorra when he gave her candy. "Where were we in the other conversation?"
"You were talking about not playing it safe anymore, so either you want to go after a crime boss despite the captain telling you we're off the case, or you were talking about taking our relationship to the next level, even though you can't be sure of our feelings for each other, but you've decided that you can never be sure when feelings are involved and so you were using that as an excuse to avoid emotional intimacy, but now you've decided to take a leap of faith."
Sam sputtered a little. "What would you say if I said it was the crime boss thing?"
Quorra shrugged happily. "I don't mind, I just like hanging out."
"Well, it's the relationship thing."
Quorra laughed.
Sam was really glad there wasn't a mirror present, because he would hate to see the face he was making. "You're not still thinking about Ghostbusters, are you?"
"No, the candy heart said LOL. But that Bill Murray…" Quorra laughed again.
The next candy heart Sam saw was getting turned into dust. "However much this writer makes, he's overpaid. You want to go out on a date?" he finished without so much as a breath in-between.
"Yes," Quorra said in stride, though she'd noted Sam hadn't used his preferred nomenclature, like 'Let's go do a thing'. "Is this a big deal?"
Sam folded clothes like his life depended on it. "Not kinda. I mean a real date—dressing up, dinner and a show… corsages…"
"Oh. I get it. This would be our third date, and on a third date—" Quorra began gyrating her hips and beatboxing a pretty good seventies porn funk. Sam could feel himself growing a moustache. "I don't know what this means."
"It means sex. Stop doing that to the ironing board, you don't know it that well."
Quorra tapped her chin. "Sex, yes… that explains a lot. Including why that ballet company wouldn't take me in. I thought it was because I wasn't perfect."
Sam knew Black Swan wasn't a date movie. Speaking of which: "We've been on more than three dates."
"No, we've been hanging out. There's a difference. I sorted it all out with online research."
"The same research that has High School Musical 5: Still Not In College seared into our DVR?"
"I'll have you know Bieberfan131 knows a lot about romance, she's read all the Twilight books. So tonight, third date, prepare your anus."
"Three things. One, don't use memes IRL, it's tacky. Two, I'm saving myself for my prostate exam. Three, we don't have to have sex on the third date. We can do it whenever you're ready: a year from now, a week from Tuesday, right now…"
Quorra laid herself over the ironing board. "My body is ready."
"At least let me buy you dinner first."
Quorra slid down onto her head, didn't seem to notice. "Oh, you will be buying me dinner. Cock-dinner. Because tonight I will get it… gurl."
Sam helped Quorra to her feet. "Three more things. One, what you're doing right now is being the dude and you can't be the dude cuz, two, I'm the dude. Three, dude or no dude, it's uncool to pressure someone into sex."
"I'm not pressuring. We can cuddle or hold hands or watch each other go to the bathroom. But if we do have sex, I am gonna rock your world, so prepare yourself accordingly."
"How?"
"You know… secure your world's valuables… basic disaster prep. For a penis-disaster."
"I just pictured a penis-disaster, and it was not erotic at all. If you see me drinking tonight, that'll be why."
***
First a suit and a tie, now a tuxedo. Sam was sure burning through his outsider cred fast. But he was going to need a tux sooner or later—he'd rather buy one for Quorra than some fundraiser.
Now, he could've sworn he knew how to do a bowtie…
"Sam Flynn in a penguin suit. Never thought I'd see the day."
Sam looked over his shoulder at Alan. "Didn't think we'd shop at the same place, either."
"This is my tailor, remember? I gave you his number."
"Yeah, but I make this look good." Sam's tie fell apart. He started over.
"I take it you've dealt with the Dillinger situation?"
"He's been transferred to a do-nothing job in Accounting. One of sight, out of mind. I'm taking his wages out of my salary. My contribution to the United Asshole Fund."
"Well, if you had to get it out of your system, you could've picked a worse punching bag."
"He's not the one I'm worried about hurting."
Alan stepped in to fix Sam's tie. "Son, even I know that some time or another, you've got to stop thinking things through and do what feels right. That girl's no slouch when it comes to brains. If she loves you, it's because she knows you're right for her."
Sam looked at his bowtie in the mirror. "Thanks, man. Ya know, you're pretty good at this mentoring bit. You should have a talk show."
***
"Tell me you're wearing something under that."
While Sam had been getting measured for his suit and tying up loose ends at the office, Quorra had been pregaming for the date with Lora, Alan's wife. They'd been shopping and spa-ing ("One place put hot wax on my—" "I'm comfortable with that story ending there.") and Quorra had ended up back on Sam's doorstep, wearing a fur coat that covered her from shoulder to toe. Sam usually wasn't a big fan of fur, but in this case, he'd make an exception.
"Of course. I'm not some kind of furry," Quorra answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, it's an old joke .The wife buys an expensive fur dress, the husband asks how could she spend so much money, then she opens the coat and—I'm giving you ideas, aren't I?"
"Many and varied."
"Tell me in the car. We need to get to the airport. Private jets hate to be kept waiting."
Quorra clapped her hands together. "Can I fly?"
There weren't enough air sickness bags in the world.
***
While Sam drove, Quorra talked. Sam loved hearing her talk. It wasn't just that her voice was more soothing than one of those ocean CDs, only waking him up instead of making him feel drowsy. But it was just fun hearing her. She took nothing for granted.
With her, everything was wondrous, everyone was special. Sam wondered if she would ever get used to the real world. He doubted it. Even if she spent a thousand years in New York, she'd probably still be awestruck by a pretzel. Sam had known people, young and old, who got jaded and cynical and let nothing impress them. Quorra would never be like that.
"'Too hot'?" Quorra read from a candy heart. "I thought I was just hot enough!"
"You're still eating those?" Sam asked.
"No, I'm saving them to give to homeless people and small animals."
***
At the airport, apparently there was some fear that they would hijack themselves, because airport security made them take off their shoes and go through the X-ray machine. Quorra took one look at it and asked if it used carbon nanotubes or conventional X-ray tubes. Sam hustled her along.
In the plane, Quorra went into her quiet information-acquisition mode. She took things in and out of the overhead bin, went to the bathroom forty times, and looked out every window in the cabin. She only spoke once, after Sam woke up from his catnap (flying always made him sleepy). "Are we going to parachute out?"
"Not this time."
She tried to hide her disappointment.
Quorra had learned. She knew Texas wasn't all cowboys, oil wells, or high school football. She also knew that Texas wasn't full of Mexican-hating homophobes, which put her up on a lot of people Sam knew.
There was an elderly British chauffeur waiting at the airport (and Quorra would never know how hard it was to find an elderly British chauffeur in Texas) with a sign bearing their names. Quorra's was misspelled.
She didn't appreciate the limousine as much as Sam would've thought. Probably because it handled like a donkey cart. She did like the old-fashioned cinema sign at the Alamo Drafthouse, though. "Is that a movie theater?"
Sam took her hand as she stepped out of the limo. "It's the movie theater."
In the old days, when Alan had business in Austin, he'd loved to take Sam along and treat him to a movie. Sam was still subscribed to their newsletter and when he'd seen the classic they were screening, he'd known they'd have to put in an appearance.
He stepped up to the ticket window. "Two for 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea."
He got the tickets and when he turned to hand Quorra hers, her mouth was hanging open like an emoticon.
"They made a movie… Jules Verne… there's a movie…"
Sam really did try not to look smug. He didn't succeed, but he tried.
Quorra hugged him. It wasn't as graceful as an embrace, she just put her arms around whatever she could grasp and squeezed. "Oh. Oh, you're thoughtful."
"It's…" The box office attendant was staring. "It's not that big a deal."
"You made it a big deal. We dressed up, we flew, we rode in a very long car… thank you."
"Anytime."
She pulled his arm around her as they went inside and to Sam, it felt just perfect. Although, seeing the other people at the screening, there was the niggling doubt that they had overdressed. Then Quorra took off her coat and Sam knew at least one of them had. It was a good thing the theater went dark. Otherwise, he might not be able to quit staring.
***
Quorra loved the movie. She loved the food. She loved the company, a lot. For a moment, she was worried Sam was bored because he yawned, but when he put his arm around her she knew what he was up to. And she loved the classics.
***
Afterward, they walked around the block. It was a big chunk of storefronts and sidewalk, so it took a while, Quorra babbling away about the squid and the Nautilus and Captain Nemo while Sam kept his arm around her shoulders.
"This is nice," Sam said, a minute after she paused for breath.
"Hmm?"
"Just a piece of advice I got once. Every once in a while, you should take a moment to think if you're having a good time, and then say so. Here we are in Austin, the most romantic city in… at least several square miles. It's a nice night, we had a good meal… I want this from life," he concluded. "Just more of this would be great."
Quorra kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see what I can do. Say, is there a Mysterious Island movie?"
"I'm not sure… but I have heard that Disney's doing a remake of 20,000 Leagues."
Quorra tsked. "They need to stop resurrecting these old properties."
They'd circled around to the limo, where the elderly British chauffeur was checking his watch. "About time. I have to be at someone's house-sitting in a tidge for some wonky sitcom seduction plot. Pretending to be a butler. No rest for the elderly British man in Texas."
"Just drop us off at a hotel," Sam told him.
***
The Hotel Excelsior was so five-star it was almost a parody of a hotel. Everything was gold(-colored) and marble. There were bellhops, for God's sake. Quorra couldn't get enough of it.
"Checking in?" the concierge asked.
"Yes," Quorra said quickly, having seen too many spy movies. She side-eyed Sam. "He's the dude."
"Named after your father, I'm guessing."
Sam just pulled out his checkbook.
***
The room was "palatial," as Quorra put it. Sam supposed a thousand years of Word-a-Day calendars left their mark on someone. He undid his bowtie and took off his jacket, but left his shoes on, even though they pinched a little. He was going more for 'Don Draper about to have two martinis' than comfort.
"So, how was the date?" Sam asked, checking the ice bucket he'd arranged to have waiting by the bed. The staff was probably thinking of holding back on the mint on the pillow just for asking to have Yoohoo there instead of wine, but Quorra wasn't exactly a wine connoisseur. ("How good can it be if people at wine-tastings spit it out?") "What's the Facebook status update?"
"Well…" Quorra draped her coat along the back of a chair, playing along. She counted on her fingers and Sam watched it ripple up to the muscles of her bare shoulders. "Well, there was dinner, and a show, we kissed, there was tongue… I can really only think of one thing missing."
"Oh yeah?" Sam replied, certain the answer involved his penis.
"No dancing."
Sam paused in the middle of reaching to unbutton his shirt, then brought his uselessly hovering hands to steeple at his nose like he was being interviewed by NPR. "Yeah. I don't know how to dance."
Quorra was teasingly agasp. "How can you not know how to dance; you know how to street luge!"
"I think one of those answers the other."
Quorra took his hands. "I'm going to have to teach you."
Sam suddenly had visions of an exhaustive jazz-tap mentorship in his immediate future. "Maybe we should sleep on that."
"The perfect guy knows how to dance."
Sam sighed. He was so pussy-whipped, he was like a… pussy… horse. "Alright, show me. I've been meaning to learn just in case I have to infiltrate the Russian Embassy."
Quorra walked over to the radio.
"Wow, that looked easy."
She smiled at him. "Music. Goof." She turned the dial until she got something with violins. "Perfect." She returned to him. "Okay, hand here, and here." She took one of his hands to her hip and laced the other with her fingers. He really tried not to notice how thin her dress was. Well, okay, it was impossible not to notice it since it had been noted, but he didn't dwell on it. Well, he didn't unduly dwell on it. Well…
"We sway at first," Quorra said. "Just try to get the feel for the music. Let it into your bones."
Sam let Quorra wiggle him around. He kept his grip on her light. "Okay."
"I know what it means now," she said as he watched her feet move and tried to follow suite.
"What?"
"This." They bumped against the bed and moved off, Quorra smiling under her breath. Sam thought he understood what to do. When she rested her head against his chest, he just kept them moving in gentle circles, like they were adrift on the ocean, being jostled by the tide.
"It's not just physical," Quorra continued. Her voice was low and meaningful. "I mean, it is for some people, but I don't think it's that way for us. It means that we like each other, so much that it's doubtful someone else will come along we'll like more. And I think you're special, so special that I want to have something with you that I don't have with anyone else. And… and I want to be with you for a long time, maybe forever, and I know it'll change me, you'll change me, but I want that. Because no change I make with you can be for the worse."
His hand slid out of hers, the cusp of his palm running up her arm, over her shoulder, scuffing the strap of her dress, to her neck and then to the back of her head and then he was easing her lips against his.
"Wow," she said after. "That fits."
"We can do it again," Sam offered nonchalantly. "Or, you know… whatever." He grinned.
"Whatever sounds good."
"It should. When you think about it, you're technically a child of the 90s." He kissed her again and slid one of her shoulder straps off. She trembled instinctively. "Hey," he paused. "We don't have to—"
"I know we don't," Quorra interrupted. She pushed and pulled Sam in a dancing paroxysm. "If I'm scared, we can stop and cuddle, or talk about the weather, or dance some more. I don't want to dance anymore. I want this. I'm just a little scared it won't be… perfect."
When Quorra knotted their arms up together again, Sam stood close to her instead of letting herself be prodded back. "Why don't you just tell me what to do and I'll do it? No chance of going too fast there."
Quorra liked the sound of that. "Take your shirt off."
He did.
"Oh, I like that bit. Put it back on and then take it off."
Years of evolution made Sam side-eye to make certain he wasn't on Candid Camera, then he did as she asked.
"And… once more?"
"Are we going somewhere with this?"
"We are, we are, keep your shirt off."
Quorra gestured to the bed, where Sam sat and tried to look coquettish. Girls made it look so easy. He suspected he looked like he had gotten something in his eye while checking to see if he needed to wax his chest hair.
Quorra looked at him like he was a new piece of furniture and she didn't know quite where he'd fit with the feng shui. When an idea came to her, she literally jabbed the air with her pointer finger. "I know! You could spank me!"
"Really?" Sam asked dubiously.
"Yeah, you know… cuz I'm naughty. In a sexual way, not in a misdemeanor way. Guys like spanking girls, right?"
"I don't know… I've always found it a little counterintuitive. You see an ass that a woman has spent a lot of time toning and everything, and you wanna hit it?"
"Quit being such a baby and slap my ass!" Quorra tried a few times to spread herself out into the proper posture, complicated by the fact that her dress really wasn't meant to be bent over in. At least, not in Earth gravity.
"That is very seductive," Sam observed.
"Thank you!" Quorra said, looking more like she was doing toe-touches than volunteering for bondage. "I also ate some oysters, so that might have something to do with it."
"Not sure that's how it works. I think this is really a… lap-oriented sex act."
"Oh yeah." Quorra spread his legs a bit and rested herself on them. "Your lap doesn't have much in the way of lumbar support."
"So, uh…" As much as Sam respected Quorra as a woman, a terrifying Frisbee-killer, and a general sex goddess, she really didn't have much in the way of boo-tay. Did that make a difference when it came to spanking? Did it act as… cushioning? "Err… spanking?"
"Yeah, go ahead." Quorra wiggled her rump in a way that was actually rather arousing. Sam felt a weird sort of pride.
"You're sure?"
Quorra sighed. "Sam, you promised you'd listen to me. It's not like I'm asking you to do something unnatural, like foreplay."
So Sam spanked.
"Oww!"
"Sorry, I… there's a reason my lower back tattoo says 'Go big or go home.'"
"Oww…"
"You okay?" Sam rubbed it, which made him feel pervy in a bad way. "You want me to get some ice?"
"That hurt," Quorra whined.
"I don't really know any other way to spank people."
Quorra bit her lip. "But we've established I'm not a masochist! That's something!"
"Are we going to have to do this for more than one fetish? Because I am not dressing up like an animal."
"No. But I might have a fetish for you taking your shirt off. I really liked that. We should experiment with vests. Oh!" Quorra chirped suddenly. "What was that?"
"My hand. Well, technically your panties, but they're only rubbing you because of my hand."
"Ohhh…" Quorra drawled. "I didn't tell you to do that."
"You could always tell me now."
Quorra stared up at him. She looked so curious and happy and… Sam had never known he could make someone feel that way. "Do that. Do that a lot," she said.
He started to, but…
"Wait!"
Sam paused. "I've created a dominatrix."
"I just…" Quorra was slightly more discombobulated than him. "Which base are we at?"
"Third, I think." Sam moved Quorra's panties aside. "Yup, third."
"What about second?"
"We skipped that. They're not episodes of Lost, we can afford to miss them."
"No, no, let's do this right. Second base me. Second base me hard," Quorra ordered.
It took what could charitably be called breakdancing, but Sam got himself and Quorra spun around and the dress even more on the floor. She made that chirping noise again.
"Oh. You have two hands."
"Ssh. Don't tell anyone."
He kissed her mouth a last few times before deciding he could never get enough of that, so he might as well simply move on. Quorra made a pleased giggle as he kissed her neck, then a more full-throated noise when he kissed her collarbone. He moved lower.
"Sam?"
He craned his neck so he was looking up at her, his chin resting on her chest. He was actually starting to find these little interruptions endearing. Like they were on a really fun date, only instead of going to some non-sex activity, they were… the other thing.
"Yeah?"
"Could you whisper to me in the language of love?"
"Which one would that be?"
"Not sure… but not English. We have a word for people who find diapers sexy."
Foreign languages. Sam tried to cast his mind back to high school Spanish. Crap, his teachers were right, it would come in handy someday. But he was still oh for one with geometry.
"Como estan?" he tried.
"Oh yes," Quorra moaned. "Como estan me. Como estan me all night long!"
Sam tried kissing her again, although he thoughtfully gave her lips a break. He wanted to see what she made of base two and three-quarters. "Hasta la vista, baby. Yo quiero Taco Bell… Alejandro, Alejandra, Aly-aly-andro… don’t call my name…"
Before he could get to the bridge, the door flew open, doorknob disembodied and landing on the floor. Sam whirled around, for a moment thinking that this was what happened when you didn't put a Do Not Disturb sign up, but then he doubted room service wore ski masks and wielded automatic weapons.
"Oh," Quorra said, looking at them. "Are we going to be slutty?"
