elfs | Dude, I was on fire!

I wrote three thousand words this afternoon. My wrists let me know that they were not happy with me when I was done, even though I was taking the mandated regular hourly breaks as I wrote. I wrote two thousand words and finally finished Wishing Well, my "Oh, this idea's only worth about 6,000 words and two scenes," only to wind up with seven sex scenes, ten interstices, and 38,000 words.

Yoiks.

Anyway, it's in the can, so to speak, ready for review in a while. So, having about twenty minutes left, I opened a blank file and proceeded to edit it. Here's a hint:

Sark snarled. One glance was all he needed to understand why Tron was so good on the game grid. He had all the code he needed, nothing to slow him down. His body was slim, muscular, without bloat, free of bad allocations. From behind, his back, butt, and legs glowed with purity. Sark looked at Tron's completness and knew he could never begin to emulate it.

Sark unzipped his own firewall. He took out his logic probe.

Yes, it's something I've wanted to write for a long time-- Tron slash! Because Harry Potter, Star Trek, Babylon 5, and Sailor Moon have all been done "until there is nothing left but a group of people beating at a vague stain on the ground and arguing about whether or not a horse once stood there." But I've never seen Tron slash, and by the gods the universe needs some.

If I ever finish it, I might get around to The Grand Jujubee, a piece of sickness inspired by being forced to play one too damned many games of Candyland.