Title: Mutual Understanding
Author: Khylaren
Contact: Khylaren@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Fandom: The Matrix
Pairing: Neo/Agent Smith (slash)
Beta: None

A/N: This is a little drabble written in response to a LJ Meme: 
1.	Comment and I'll pick one of your LJ interests and write you a drabble.
2.	You have absolutely no say in what I make.
3.	If you do partake in it, please put this in your LJ so I can do the same to you.

Written for Weavinghugo, aka Ladyhawkshadow 

~ * ~

There is something sexy about Agent Smith.

Neo thinks it is his voice, the way he drawls some words and sharply enunciates others, almost biting them out. Or maybe it is his arrogance, his sense of superiority that practically vibrates from every computer generated pore. Or perhaps, it is his strength, his speed, his graceful movements whether it is walking or fighting – his movements are fluid, liquid, smooth. Whatever it is, Neo cannot deny the part of his mind that is attracted to his enemy. It makes no sense; but it is there nonetheless. And he suspects that Agent Smith is beginning to have the same problem with him. 

They are pressed together, bodies locked in struggle, their faces inches apart. Smith’s teeth are bared, the tendons in his neck standing out under the strain as they each vie for dominance over the other.  Their guns are empty, useless in this battle. It is down to their strength and skill alone. 

They are nearly evenly matched, Neo realizes, but Smith has an advantage that Neo cannot overcome: he is a machine, a program, a construct. His muscles do not burn with the strain; they do not tire or gradually weaken. 

Inevitably, Neo bends beneath Smith’s strength, his hands locked with the Agent’s, legs tangled together as they fall to the hard cement tiles. Neo’s breath is knocked out of his lungs from the impact, and he can only gasp and struggle weakly as Smith’s body pins his easily to the ground. 

Whether by accident or design, Neo’s legs have separated, and Smith has fallen between them as if he belonged there. The shock of feeling Smith’s groin pressing against his makes it impossible to think. He is barely aware that his hands are numb, being crushed in Smith’s ruthless grip. He can only feel the hard, firm pressure of Smith’s cock against his own, equally hard length. He is reduced to sensation alone.

He expects mockery, disdain, and triumph, followed closely by his death. He does not expect what happens next: the cool, sensual press of Smith’s mouth against his. 

Neo can only shake when Smith draws back to stare down at him with eyes that burn with equal parts lust and cold anger.

“I hate you,” Smith hisses, before claiming Neo’s mouth again, kissing him ruthlessly, lips hard and demanding. He bites Neo’s lip before drawing back. 

Neo manages a weak nod, swallowing. “It’s mutual.”

“So long as we understand each other, Mr. Anderson,” Smith practically growls, grinding his hips against Neo’s. The pitch of his voice, the low, raw sensuality of it, makes Neo shudder. 

It was definitely the voice.