< Back	By Category Adult Drama :: By Title A-E :: By Author A-E
	TITLE: Enough AUTHOR: Danascully RATING: R for sexuality and some language. SUMMARY: Sometimes, a woman doesn't want to be worshipped. Neo learns to be assertive. CATEGORY: Drama and Adult. AUTHOR’S NOTES: Neo, Trinity, and the world of the Matrix aren't mine... because if they were mine, they wouldn't be DEAD. But then, Revs would have sucked. So... thank you, Larry and Andy, even though you guys are BRUTAL. ;) Enough     Trinity lay on her back on the floor of the quarry, feeling the soft, fine gravel mould itself to the shape of her body. She stared up at the crisscross of metal rafters, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, pathetically wishing to see the sky - the real, blue sky. Her fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically. Gravel grains slid through her fingers, fell back to the earth. Her hands were gray and chalky.     She felt more than saw the lights dim ever so slightly. Evening. Neo would return from his meeting with the Councillors, soon - he'd go back to their room, eagerly push open the door... and she would be gone. Maybe he was already there, wondering, his forehead creased in that sweetly bewildered expression.     I can't let you see me like this, she told him silently, from a distance. Not like this, not yet.     "What's the matter?" he would ask in a low, quiet voice, sure that he had done something wrong, or not enough. And he'd turn those eyes on her - chocolate brown, like the inside of a 3 Musketeers - those humble, worshipful eyes. Sometimes she expected him to drop to his knees.     She squeezed her own eyes closed, listened to the pounding of her too-fast heart. Too-fast, it said. Too-fast. Thumping too hard, there between her breasts, like it wanted to leap out and rise up, up, up until there was blue.     What is this? Why does it happen to me?     Raw. Raw and needy, and the neediness made her afraid, and the fear made her angry, angry at everything. At nothing. Angry blinding-bright, flashing in ultraviolet behind her eyes.     And her body. Heavy. Thick. Dark. She was hyper-aware of the rough shirt clinging to her breasts and stomach, of the worn pants falling over her thighs, her calves. The rawness was of the body and the mind, and she could feel the desire - dark, dark and viscous - sluggishly traversing the hidden pathways beneath her skin.     "Why do I get like this, Ghost?" she had asked once, at seventeen, when he was stroking the sticky hair off her sweaty forehead and rubbing her back. She was drunk. She had just vomited into a trashcan on a side street. She was raw and heavy and sluggish. "I feel.. dark," she told him, the words blurring as her vision slurred, conjuring up two almost-superimposed images of his thin, worried face. No mustache - not then. His hair had been too scraggly, then. "What's wrong with me?"     "Everyone has a dark side, Trin," he told her uneasily. "And you..." he trailed off, grasping her lightly around the waist as she puked again, holding her up. "You're so intense, Trinity," he murmured, once it was over and she was swiping her mouth on the sleeve of her stained shirt. "Maybe... maybe you just have to get this way. For balance. Or something."     She had tried everything, to be rid of it. Alcohol only increased the melancholia. Masturbation helped, but it was never enough. Nothing was enough. Violas made her skin so incredibly sensitive that she could only lie in her cool sheets and whimper. She hadn't tried that again.     Trinity let a loud sigh burn her lips, here, where no one else would catch her. And then she stood up, brushed off the gravel. Neo wouldn't understand. He was so good to her - so gentle. The way he touched her was the way her mother had touched the porcelain statue of a cherub in the foyer. I worship you, said his soft, soft hands. I worship you, Trinity.     "I don't want to be worshipped," she snarled to the stripped stones. And then she was running, running towards the rough stairs, taking them two at a time, like a panther. Her leg muscles rippled. She felt them.     A hard workout would help. If she could make herself tired, if she could stay away long enough for Neo to be asleep when she returned, he would not have to know. This... mood... would not persist past the night.     On the Academy level, there were several rooms, windowless rooms full of pull-up bars and crude free weights, for the muscular rehabilitation of coppertops. They would be empty.     Her lips curled in a twisted grimace, and she ran faster.     She heard the door click open on her seventeenth pull-up, over the scream of her back muscles. The relief almost made her drop to the floor. The wave of disgust and pure rage that followed got her chin over the bar, one more time.     "Trinity!" he said. "I... had no idea where you were! What - what's going on?"     I wanted him to find me, she realized, as her feet hit the ground. Her torso shuddered with gulping breaths. In. Out. And the oxgyen became anger, liquid and blood-red, she was living on anger. It pushed into her flushed cheeks, invaded her lips. She spoke - a soft hiss. Was he supposed to hear?     "Goddammit, can't you be on your own for any time at all?" Still facing the wall. Still not facing him.     She heard him take a step forward, and finally turned around. Slowly, deliberately. He was standing just inside the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, running a hand awkwardly over his head. Trinity shook a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her eyes. He would not look at her.     "I don't," he fumbled. "I don't understand."     "And you think I do?" Her voice - a lash of ice. His head jerked up, but those candybar eyes slid across her face. Slippery.     "Why are you angry at me?" Yes, that was the voice she'd heard in her brain. Soft and wheedling and pathetic. Are you strong enough, Neo? Are you really?     "What makes you think I am?" A drop of sweat ran down the side of her nose and over her top lip. She flicked out her tongue to taste it - salty and hot. She saw his narrowing eyes focus there, then dart away. Gotcha.     "Fine," he said, taking another step forward. His voice was louder. Frustrated. The frisson of surprise rippled under her slick skin, like desire. "What's wrong with you, then?" The pronoun shot from his mouth and into hers, like a bullet in the Matrix. She couldn't stop them.     "I don't know." He took another step. Was she losing ground?     "Then why rip into me about it?" Even louder. The anger was leaving her, flowing into him, blood from a bullet wound. Transfusion. Another step. Under and over the metallic smell of the weights, she caught his scent, grasped at it. It was familiar. Beloved, even. If you can be strong enough.     She did not answer. But he was watching her now, and he saw the dark spread in her eyes, saw her lips open ever so slightly for more stale air. Ahh. These signs, he recognized. Ours is not to question why...     Two more quick steps, and he was there - leaning into her space. He felt her lean forward, but not touch. The separation was pain. For the first time, he did not ask permission. His lips drove her, forcing her head back, forcing her body back. Somehow, his hands were on her waist, squeezing, squeezing. Too thin, but still so soft.     He ripped his mouth away as her back hit the wall. "If you're going to slap me," he muttered hoarsely, "do it now." She pulled his head back down. His body pressed hard against hers, and her body pressed hard into the wall. The surface was rough. She didn't care.     His hands kneaded her hips, slid up beneath her shirt. He rubbed his thumbs in circles, on either side of her navel. She shuddered. And then he pulled back. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They were black - they were mica. Glittering, glittering.     "Turn around," he said, stepping away to give her room. She turned, arms at her sides, facing the wall. A thread of her shirt had caught on the uneven surface. She watched it flutter.     Neo laced the fingers of both hands with her own, guided her arms up, up, until they were braced against the wall. "Like this," he whispered against the delicate shell of her ear. Another shiver jolted her body, and he laughed, quietly. He laughed.     I was wrong about you, she thought hazily. You just needed to be pushed. And then his hands were on her again, both hot palms against her stomach. Kneading. Rising. And then descending again, to the waistband of her pants. Unbuckling, pushing them over her hips.     One hand returned to her breasts. The other slid down her stomach. Down, down, an agonizing pace. Her head lolled back against her shoulders. Ricochet-heartbeat drowned out her puffing moans.     He touched her lightly, expertly. Already. And then his left hand was moving, and he stepped to one side. Down again, down and around, to her lower back... further and further down, to the back of her inner thigh. Her breaths were harsh. And then up. Up and inside - one, two. Surrounded by him - held firmly, immovably, in the circle of his strong arms. The muscles bunched around his arm plugs, before her eyes lost focus. Her own arms folded against the wall - she let her forehead rest against them.     "Oh," she remembered saying, later. It was a plea. "Oh."     He whispered, "I love you," when he finally let her go.     Afterwards, when she turned around again, her legs were shaky. He held her up, between himself and the wall. He kissed her, but not on the lips. Light little kisses, all over her face. She gasped air, air, air.     "Neo," she said, finally. "Neo."     He pulled back to see her eyes. "I love you like that, too, Trinity," he told her quietly. "Fierce, like that."     She closed her eyes and sighed, even leaned into him a little more. He stroked the back of her head, careful to avoid the sensitive skin around her plug. Equilibrium returned, gradually. Slow breaths. Clear vision. She found herself testing her psyche, like pushing at a sore tooth with her tongue, searching out the rawness, the exposed roots.     Nothing. It had passed. She smiled against his neck.     "Home," she said, drawing away and kissing him, gently, gently on the lips.     "Yes," he agreed. They walked without speaking - their first, comfortable silence. When they arrived at Trinity's room, Neo opened the door only to find himself pinned against the other side by those strong, lithe arms. Later, they moved to the bed. It was different, now. Somehow.     Much later, Neo lay on his back, and Trinity sprawled on top of him, and they luxuriated in the smooth softness of skin-on-skin. She kept running her fingers through his short hair. She kept smiling. Occasionally they spoke - sentence fragments. No more was needed. As lights-on approached, Neo laughed. "Don't even feel tired, you know?"     Trinity grinned more widely. He let his hands wander up the long muscles of her back. "You and me, Trin. We can do anything."     It was the first time he had called her by the nickname. She had hated it, out of Cypher's mouth. The memory disappeared.     "Yes," she said softly, her fingers always moving, caressing his temples, massaging his scalp in soft little circles. "Yes."     END