All Wet
By Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com

Fandom: Pre-RENT (movie)
Pairing/characters: Joanne/Maureen, Joanne/Other
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson.

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CHAPTER SIX

"I was just... hoping that the conversation we had, could be over dinner."

Joanne wasn't a pessimist, exactly. While she wasn't the most positive person in her circle, she wasn't overwhelmingly negative either. She preferred to think of herself as rational: a realist. That was the mindset she needed to be a lawyer. She couldn't build a case on pipe dreams, she took what was there and made it evidence, irrefutable and beyond all reasonable doubt.

The facts were that every encounter with Maureen had been bizarre and left her more bewildered than before. That Maureen was certifiably insane. That she knew next to nothing about the girl, other than the fact that her parents were small town and Maureen lived to make a scene. That the one drunken kiss they shared had been cut short, in full view of a hooting public, and Joanne was sure that it had been just as much for their benefit as it was for her.

Those were the facts: cut and dry. None of it added up to anything that was healthy or good for her.

Perhaps that was why the fact that the woman had taken up complete residence in her head was so damned infuriating.

"Joanne?"

Her eyes lifted, settled on the woman across from her. "Yes?"

She had been left in a seedy bar on her own, flushed and turned on and half drunk and feeling like a fool, and things like that just did not HAPPEN to Joanne Jefferson. Yes, she was sometimes insecure, and yes, there were moments during childhood where she had been especially awkward, particularly during the whole coming out process, but she pushed through it. She never made apologies for who she was, she knew who she was, was damned impressive. She followed through and never backed down, always got what she wanted, when she really wanted it. And she knew when to give up a fight – when something wouldn't work.

She shouldn't have wanted to finish what had started so badly. She should have recognized, she DID recognize, that it simply would not WORK and because of that, cut her losses and moved on.

Instead, she was staring into startling hazel eyes, and closing her eyes silent frustration, because they weren't green and she desperately wanted them to be.

"Something wrong?"

Antonia had genuine concern in her voice, the palm on top of hers was lingering more than it ought to have, and Joanne thought she looked particularly attractive in the designer cut of the suit.

But for reason, all Antonia's subtle flirtations brought on, despite her being smart and attractive and funny, was irritation.

"You seem... distracted."

Joanne told herself it was because Antonia seemed more intent on scoring a date than worrying about her brother's case.

"I'm fine," she answered shortly, leaning back in the dark leather chair, crossing legs, shirt rolled up to her elbows, one finger settled against her temple, studying her client. "Is the office not comfortable for you?"

Antonia looked startled, but she shrugged slightly, glancing around it. "It's all right, I guess. I just figured, you know, since you and I seem to get along, that maybe a more personal –" Joanna glanced down, and Antonia's lips pressed together, losing steam. "- friendship. Might be... I was hoping for..." An awkward sigh, and Joanne watched the other woman shrug almost meekly.

With a rush of air, she tried to clear her head, and tented her fingers together, her voice curt, professional. "Antonia, I'm happy to be your lawyer – but in order to do that, I can't be your friend. Not on a case that as sensitive as this."

"I don't agree." She arched an eyebrow, and waited, allowing Antonia to continue. Straightening, the woman seemed to gain some of her confidence back. "My brother and I need someone that we trust. That we like."

"I agree with you," Joanne assented, curls bobbing slightly as she leaned forward. "But what you want from me is to win this case. I have to be able to concentrate on that. There's no time for anything else. In a public forum, image matters, and it's a detriment to my status and it weakens your case if I'm seen as anything than your lawyer."

It was a carefully worded answer, said as sincerely as she could, dark eyes meeting green, never glancing away. She wasn't sure if Antonia was actively gay, fishing or had one foot in each pond, but she could take away from that what she pleased.

And she did. Antonia crossed her arms, settling into the chair comfortably, smile lilting up almost as if she were let in some sort of secret. "You're determined. I like that. I'm very much the same way."

Joanne simply bit back a sigh, and glancing down at the mound of papers scattered on her desk, went back to work.

--

"Jefferson!"

An irritated shiver rolled up her spine, and palms clenching involuntarily, Joanne mourned the closing elevator door, leaving her behind. Pasting on a strained smile, she turned to meet Mr. Finch.

"Good evening, Mr. Finch."

"Heading home?" he asked, in that very annoying way he had of questioning the obvious. Joanne simply nodded, buttoned up in her black trench coat, and politely waited as he pressed the button, leaving them both standing side by side. "How's that Suddleson case coming?"

"Slowly," she answered honestly. "It's an uphill battle, Mr. Finch. As well intentioned as Ms. Suddleson is, her brother sees it differently."

"Oh?"

"He doesn't want to be a cause. He has enough money to live comfortably for the time he has left."

"Hmmm..." Mr. Finch clucked his tongue, obviously letting that sink in. "This is a big case, Jefferson."

"Yes, sir."

"Lots of publicity – lots of meaning for the firm." The elevators opened, and together they stepped inside, Joanne's lips pressed together so hard she was sure they had lost any color they had. Mr. Finch waited a moment, as the doors closed, locking her inside. "I'm going to be honest with you, Jefferson. Some of the partners thought it was a liability to have you head this case."

Well, shit. Her jaw clenched, and despite the simmering anger in her blood, Joanne managed to hold still and not swing her briefcase upside his head. "I appreciate your trust in me, sir."

Mr. Finch let the statement go, waiting a moment before he filled the silence with, "Image is important, Jefferson. Case like this, how you represent this firm means everything. They're going to be looking for any reason to get you off this case – any aspect of your life."

Trying to edge out the words without grinding her teeth, she though her face would crack from the plastic smile, "I understand, sir."

"Good, good. How's that Maureen?"

Licking her lips, Joanne stared straight ahead, and ignored the sick feeling that flooded into her stomach. "I wouldn't know, Sir. I haven't seen her in quite some time."

He finally turned, and looked at her, a dark, piercing stare. Nodding, he turned back, letting out a big sigh. "You're a chip off the ole' block Jefferson. I know you'll do me proud."

Slamming a hand on her shoulder, he smiled at her, and as the doors open, exited.

Confined in the small elevator, Joanne stayed behind. Her eyes drifted shut, and she nearly screamed.

--

Pressure had turned into a near migraine, and Joanne's mood darkened the longer she stewed about her day. It sat with her on the subway home, her heels driving into the sidewalk resonated in tiny clicks that felt like knives digging into her brain. She was tired and sour and finally arriving at her apartment, it was well after dark.

The last thing she wanted was to turn her corner and find her own personal Achilles Heel slouched against her door.

The surprise knocked the breath out of her, and for a moment, Joanne could only stare, as Maureen, at the moment chewing on a piece of her hair, glanced up and met her gaze. Scrambling up, the infuriating Bohemian pressed her hands into her back pockets, looking scrappy and out of place with her black ensemble in her pristine offwhite hallway.

"Hi."

Of course. Of course this would be the end to a perfectly fucked up day.

Sucking in a short, annoyed hiss, Joanne finally just let her posture drop, unsure why she was surprised at all. "What are you doing here?" she asked sharply.

Maureen chewed her bottom lip, somehow vulnerable and innocent despite being the complete maelstrom Joanne knew her to be. "I didn't think you'd take my calls," Maureen said finally, bring her shoulders together in a simple shrug. "And you haven't showed up in the bar or the café. The last time I turned up at your office you nearly exploded."

"So the logical conclusion was to crash in my hallway?"

"If I wanted to see you," Maureen said, and a small, mischievous smile floated on her face, as if the ridiculousness of all this was somehow supposed to make it all okay. "I got Steve to tell me where you live and-"

"Good," Joanne answered shortly, suddenly propelled to move forward, pushing past Maureen and fumbling with her keys. "Since you and Steve are so close, you can also tell him that he's fired."

"Joanne, baby, come on." Keys jangled, and Joanne's hands trembled suddenly when a warm body hovered behind her, lightly tantalizing. The shiver she felt was suddenly arousal, and her eyes closed involuntarily, suddenly furious at her own reaction. Still, she allowed it, allowed the hand to encircle her waist, felt the pressure of heat gently envelope her from behind, breath against her ear. "Let me make it up to you." Joanne's key froze, stuck in the lock. "I know it's you that's been calling, hanging up." She shuddered, a low groan of anger releasing from her. "Come on – let me stay the night, let me prove to you how sorry I am I didn't finish what you started."

Technicalities could be argued, and Joanne's lawyer mentality wanted to state that she really believed it was Maureen that started this whole thing, but then warm lips and a velvet tongue pressed against the long column of her neck, flinging coherent thought away from her.

And still... even as possessive hands smoothed into her trench coat, and lips brushed across her jaw, closer and closer to her mouth, she couldn't resist a simple question.

"Why are you doing this?"

Maureen paused, and Joanne used the last of her dying reserve to delicately untangle herself, turn in Maureen's arms and face her, take in the dark, simmering eyes and the full lips.

A small, intoxicating smile. "Does it matter?"

It did matter. It should have mattered. The events that had transpired throughout the day had made one theme abundantly clear: this, whatever the hell this was, wasn't a good idea. It was the worst idea.

But Maureen's hands had slunk into her trench coat, and now her thumbs were beneath her blazer, skimming small, distracting circles. Joanne's hands smoothed up against a pale, soft cheek, and when Maureen turned her head, sucked a questing thumb into a warm, moist mouth, Joanne knew there was only one way this night would end.

Shuddering at the look of wanton desire on Maureen's face, Joanne decided that for once, the reasoning behind this didn't matter.

Pulling her finger away from Maureen's mouth, she wrapped hands forcefully around the nape of Maureen's neck and tangled fingers in dark curls, jerking hard and rough, until her mouth was pressing hungrily against the other woman's, hand fumbling behind her for the door.

If she was going to hell, she was damn well going to rock Maureen's world first.

- end chapter