Love Hina - It's Not Enough
It's Not Enough[R]
Niklas "Hawk" Jonsson

Summary: In Volume 9 of the manga, Motoko looses the battle against her sister and decides to live as an ordinary woman, only to have the denizens of Hinata Sou belittle her efforts without knowing that she overhears them. Motoko runs away and Keitaro goes after her. After Keitaro finally stumbles across Motoko wet and miserable in the streets, he takes her home and treats her to hot chocolate in his room. During the events that follows, she breaks down and Keitaro has to attach a multitude of clothespins to his head in order to prevent himself from getting too intimate with Motoko. In this fic, he never gets his hand on those damnable pins and things deviates from the manga from that point onwards...

Disclaimer: Love Hina, Hinata Sou and whatnot are not mine, though I certainly wish they were. The story is mine though, all mine.

Feedback/Flames: Yes, please. Both of them are equally fun to read, although I must admit that I greatly prefer the first variety. :)
I can be found on ICQ as 21771860 or through e-mail as, more stories are available at my nifty lil' site at or by clicking on my handle up above.

*emphasis/shouts/Kindred Domination/post-hypnotic triggers*
+soundeffect/radio/telephone conversation/TV+

*** Author Rant ***

Okay, first a warning. This fic will not be done in the same vein as most of my other Love Hina fics you can find here on ( or wherever the heck you're reading this... ).

They are written in what I refer to as my Hawk Light style. Though the shit occasionally hits the fan and hints of some real world grit creeps in, I still try to keep them somewhat close to the original happy-go-lucky style of the Love Hina anime and/or manga.

This is vastly different from my usual style, which can get pretty darn dark'n twisted at times, involving vast amounts of deaths, graphic sex scenes, murderers as the main characters, detailed descriptions of rape, violence, insanity and whatnot. The Hawk-style, if you will. If I wrote Love Hina Hawk-style, it would hardly even be recognisable as Love Hina any longer.

Since doesn't have NC-17 fics any longer, but I wanted this fic to be more serious then my Hawk Light fics, I'll try to curb some of my demented ways and invent yet another writing style, Hawk Medium Rare. This'll be closer to the 'real' Hawk-style, then the sugarcoated Hawk Light you're probably used to seeing in my Love Hina fics.

As such, this fic deserves the [R]-rating. *Really* deserves it. If that doesn't rock your boat, stop reading here. If you do keep on reading, there'll be angst, there'll be sex during a mental and emotional break-down, there'll be violence ( Though why I'm warning against that, I'll never know, since violence is an integral part to both anime and manga. If that disturbed you, you wouldn't be cruising for Love Hina fanfiction... ), probably a bit of swearing and possibly a few other disturbing things that might not go over well in sensitive minds.

You, have been warned.

- Niklas "Hawk" Jonsson
AKA The Crazy Swede,
AKA The Deviant Viking,
AKA Lord of Perverts,
AKA Assistant StoryTeller In Charge Of Smut on various online White Wolf RPG's.

*** Rant Over ***

Chapter One:

"Don't be so nice to me..." Motoko sniffled, which Keitaro only absentmindedly registered. He was all too focused on just how silky-smooth her hair felt against his hand.

"Huh?" he intelligently responded, marvelling at the luster, colour and sensation of those raven-coloured strands of hair. That was why he was taken so completely off-guard, when she suddenly launched herself at him, barrelling into his chest with enough force to knock him off his feet and land flat on his arse.

She sobbed and sniffled against his chest, tears wetting the T-shirt he was wearing.

"What should I do?! You... You... You... Kei... Keitaro... I... I..." she stuttered, nuzzling against his chest like an oversized kitten.

/Waaaa! What?! Whah? Who? Why? When? Waaaa!/ Keitaro couldn't complete even a mental sentence, so surprised was he by Motoko's uncharacteristic behaviour. What few scraps of intelligence that hadn't already left him because of it, were being distracted by the fact that he could feel her breasts mashed up against his stomach through the T-shirt he was wearing and the borrowed shirt Motoko was wearing. The pain in his leg was forgotten, all he could focus on was the girl sobbing against him.

/She's even cuter like this, even more beautiful... So vulnerable... I can't believe that I've *ever* referred to her as unfeminine. Right now, she's got Naru dead to rights. She's lovely... She's trembling... I shouldn't be thinking like this... Breasts, gah! Nipples, woh! Heart beating... So fast! I want to just wrap my arms around her, cradle her against me... Even though she's taller then me, stronger then me, more dangerous then me... I want to protect her... I want to hold her... She's precious to me, I want... I want.../ he rambled on in his mind, before blinking.

/What I want would be taking advantage of her in her time of weakness./ he realised, gulping as he realised just what might have come to pass if he'd given in to temptation. /My funeral!/ He looked around and spotted a basket of clothespins. Shinobu had let him know that there were running out, after he'd accidentally broken a few dozen during a very hard landing after a Naru-punch. He'd bought new ones, but hadn't given them to Shinobu yet. Which he was now very grateful for, as they would serve as an ample distraction. /Perhaps the pain will clear my mind.../ Keitaro reasoned as he reached out for them.

His hand never reached the basket though, as Motoko suddenly crawled even closer and knocked him off balance again. He tumbled to the floor, she falling along with him, stretching out across his body. She clung to him like a wet blanket, moulding herself against his body and he blushed furiously as a certain appendage of his was suddenly mashed between their two bodies.

Her hands started to roam and he felt himself starting to loose all sense of himself again. He desperately reached out for those clothespins, when his hand suddenly refused to cooperate with him. Motoko had pulled herself a little further up his body and he went stiff with surprise and arousal, as well as complete and utter surprise, as she suddenly kissed his neck. He didn't move for several seconds, as she scattered several soft kisses against his neck and throat.

He swallowed nervously, then found himself giving in to the situation. His hand moved away from the basket and tangled itself in the wealth of hair at the back of Motoko's neck. His other hand hesitantly went up to her back, caressing and stroking it. Ordinarily, such an action would have been met by some manner of violence, but now all the response he got was a pleased humming as he was kissed in the hollow of his throat.

Motoko suddenly pulled herself up even further, the appendage currently lodged between their bodies approving whole-heartedly of the sudden unexpected friction. Keitaro's field of vision was suddenly filled with a teary-eyed Motoko, something in her gaze which he'd never seen there before. Something he couldn't identify, along with a plethora of other things which he did recognise.

Fear... Uncertainty... Curiosity... Sadness... Despair... Bewilderment... Confusion... Shame... Disgust...

/This is a bad idea!/ he realised. /Gotta stop this before it gets even more out of hand. Motoko is in a really bad place right now. If I don't get the situation under control, it's going to... WOHA!/

The kiss was a desperate one, a frenzied one. There was no love, no compassion. It wasn't shared between them, it was taken from him, inflicted upon him. He opened his mouth to protest and got a mouthful of Motoko's tongue for his effort. Her tears splattered down on his face, on his glasses. Her whimpers and muffled sobs went directly into his mouth as she ravaged it, claimed it.

/Bad... This is bad, very *bad*! Gotta... Gotta stop her, gotta stop... Stop... Stop... Gotta.../ he reasoned, feeling his mind fog up with confusion and lust. /This is... Good... Gotta stop trying to stop her.../ he thought as his more noble aspirations were crushed underneath an ever growing amount of lust and arousal. He was a twenty-year old virgin, all the repressed desires and frustrations acquired during his teenage years were now upon him with a vengeance, clouding his judgement, obscuring whatever he may have desired before now.

Now, all that existed were the two of them. As the last shreds of reasoning left Keitaro's mind, his own tears of regret joined Motoko's as the young man and even younger woman succumbed and surrendered to inevitability.

Motoko moaned, lost in a tsunami of conflicting and confusing emotions. All she knew was that she had felt utterly miserable, but that she didn't any longer. All those emotions, all those desires she'd been repressing, beating into submission ever since she reached puberty, were upon her. Feelings of shame and disgust at herself, at her loss, had torn at her heart. She'd never felt so miserable in her entire life, but she'd found a way to make it stop. As she kissed Keitaro, all of that went away, all of it was held at bay.

She knew that what they did was wrong, knew that she was merely running from her fears, running from her defeat. She was being a coward, but she couldn't help herself. Reality was too horrible to face at the moment, reality was too scary an opponent for her to face. So, she ran. She tried to escape. She tried to forget, forget herself in Keitaro.

She was a failure, a miserable wretch. All that existed were her and Keitaro. She wanted to forget herself, so all that remained were Keitaro. All that she could focus on was Keitaro. Her failure didn't matter. Her tears were of no consequence. Her defeat didn't exist. All that mattered was him.


She didn't realise that she said his name out loud, moaning it against his lips, into his mouth. He moaned in response and she felt how she was consumed by him, how being with him kept the horrors of her world away.

But as she thought of them, she could feel them getting closer, creeping up on her. She could feel faint traces of them and it made her cringe. She couldn't face that, not again! Not now! /It's not enough... Not enough!/ she mentally whimpered. /It's not enough!/ she thought in panic, then wiggled her right hand out from underneath Keitaro. She grabbed the collar of the shirt she'd borrowed and yanked with all her might. She absently heard ripping, heard buttons falling onto the floor. She moved her grip a little lower and pulled again, yanking out the last couple of buttons.

But Keitaro still wore too much. Her hand found the hilt of her sword, or rather, what little remained of it. Her tears flowed faster as she pulled away from him for a split second, then grabbed his collar and hastily made a cut. He whimpered at the loss of her lips, then gasped in pain as her own obscured vision and raging emotions made the cut sloppy and Keitaro acquired what would probably become yet another scar in time. The cut wasn't deep, the wound wasn't serious. She didn't care though, she merely yanked his T-shirt out from his pants and cut through it all the way down, before she pushed it aside and threw her broken sword over her shoulder.

She slid down his body, straddling his legs as she dipped down, her tongue lapping at the bleeding wound on his stomach and lower part of his chest. She licked up the blood and she kissed the wound all better. Her nails raked over his ribcage and her tears washed over him. His hands were roaming everywhere on her they could reach, before he finally grasped her shoulders and hoisted her back up.

Lips met again and both parties moaned as naked chest met up with naked chest.

Motoko grunted as Keitaro suddenly rolled them over and her back slammed against the ground. His body now rested on top of hers, grinding against her. She didn't mind. Her legs wrapped around him, her arms pulling him against her as she desperately tried to meld herself into his body, trying to get rid of herself by joining with him. Perhaps then, she wouldn't be able to feel any longer. Perhaps then, the pain would go away forever. Perhaps then, she wouldn't have to face an uncertain future, not as a warrior, but as an ordinary girl.

Motoko could imagine no fate more horrible then that!

She had been a warrior all her life. It was what she had been born as, it was what she had trained to be and it was what she had become. Not being one any longer...

Motoko couldn't face that! Motoko didn't want to live through that!

She shuddered as the outside world once again started to intrude on the edges of her awareness. /It's still not enough, not nearly enough!/ she mentally wailed, then released the death-grip she had on Keitaro, her hands moving lower. Those stupid shorts of his and her panties were in the way. She had to get rid of them! She fumbled with his shorts, eventually resorting to yanking again. The button went flying and the zipper was forced open, then she pushed the shorts down along with whatever underwear he was wearing. She didn't care, whatever it was, it was in the way and had to be gotten rid of.

Keitaro moaned his approval of her actions, one of his hands moving down to return the favour with her panties, which were mercilessly pushed down as she accommodated him by pushing herself off the ground for a second. She groaned as she realised that she should have kept the sword close at hand, they would have to break off contact for a while to rid themselves of their stupid clothes. She couldn't open her legs wide enough with her panties hanging mid-thigh and Keitaro had his shorts and underwear in a similar position.

She rolled them over again, half a lap, so that they were lying side to side. She hastily pushed her panties down, kicking them off with hasty, nearly panicked motions. As the sensations she were so desperately trying to avoid started to intrude again, she decided to ignore the fact that Keitaro hadn't rid himself of his clothes when given the opportunity, opting instead to fondle her breasts. It didn't matter.

She rolled him over half a lap again until he was resting on his back, then straddled him. Her hymen had broke years ago, during the course of her training, but she knew that it'd still hurt like hell. Their lips mashed together as she reached a hand down to feel herself. She was moist, but probably not enough. She had no experience in such matters, but didn't care. She didn't have the luxury of time to learn or even the time to improve matters in the wetness department. /It's not enough!/ she wailed and impaled herself on Keitaro.

She muffled her scream of pain by screaming into his mouth, the flow of tears increasing yet again. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she forced her body to move, forced herself to continue the coupling. /It wasn't enough! It wasn't enough!/

The End! ( For now... )