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 SEVEN

Pale alabaster skin lay against soft cocoa, and Joanne found herself fascinated with the contrast. Even with the small amount of moonlight filtering through her blinds, she could still perceive the different in tone, the rich depth of color.

Joanne's senses enveloped her after sex, and she reveled in it now: the pungent sweet smell of their shared arousal, the full silence present in the aftermath of grunts and groans, curses and shouts, the feel of velvet skin, sticky with sweat and other fluids in some places, always soft and firm beneath her questing fingertips, the sight of a beautiful woman in her bed, wearing that intense vulnerable expression that only came after being so deeply inside her.

The taste, of a hard nipple beneath a moist tongue, of Maureen's own sex, surprisingly sweet, with a bit of a kick, as if even in this, the most intimate of acts, she was intent to remind herself of who it was in her bed.

All of it came together in a rich intoxicating blend, and Joanne savored it like she savored nothing else, in the quiet blissful moments after pleasure, when hearts still pounded and the intimacy was tangible.

Satisfaction came in the soft shallow pant of her lover, when brown eyes locked on her own, and feminine hands curled over a naked shoulder. Maureen was beautiful, wanton, and Joanne's hand curved over the flat plane of the stomach, spread possessively over her abdomen, massaging lightly.

"Tell me something." The soft whisper carried through the air, fingers skimmed along her bicep. Rising to her elbow, Joanne curled a hand over a hipbone of the woman who had just spoken.

"What do you want me to say?"

A smile gently spread on the angular face, faded and somehow more vibrant than Maureen's usual smirk.

"Anything," came the rough answer, as an intense gaze followed Maureen's incessant hand, drifting from her shoulder to the curve of her neck, and lower still. "Everything."

Maureen was an artist who lived in experience. Because of that, Joanne bit her lip and held still, even as Maureen's fingers raked across her left breast.

"That could take forever."

Their eyes connected, and somehow, Joanne got the idea Maureen didn't seem to mind the prospect.

It was a frightening realization: the fact that at the moment, neither did she.

"My dad's a lawyer," she began finally, "who drifted into politics. He hopes to run for Governor someday. My mother is a judge with Supreme Court aspirations. They're good people and I love them."

Maureen's fingers stilled, eyelids lowered, and then lifted again. "And you? You decided to be like Daddy? Just like that? The bigtime lawyer?"

She smiled, a half grimace. "It wasn't ever a choice. I always knew I'd be like them. I knew it wasn't very... hip... Career-wise, the most rebellious thing I did was flirt with working for LegalAid."

A soft exhalation, and Joanne tented her leg over the smooth, long leg beside her, feeling the calf curl around hers, drawing her in further.

"And besides being a stuffy lawyer? Don't tell me you never gave your parents some grief."

Quirking an eyebrow, Joanne grinned. "Because being a big ole' lesbian isn't enough of a headache for them?"

A small shot of pain from her left nipple, making Joanne grunt slightly, flared in retaliation. "I never really cared what my parents thought," Maureen mused openly, abandoning Joanne's breast for her waist, moving around her curves with deceptive gentleness. "I never care what anyone thinks."

"That's a lie," Joanne murmured, cheek resting on her open palm, studying the naked body before her. "You need to be worshiped. You're narcissism at its finest." It was said almost lovingly, and the teasing, little girl smile it evoked told Joanne Maureen did not take offense.

"Is that so wrong?"

"I didn't say it was wrong." Joanne stared at the beautiful breasts, the sparking eyes and swollen mouth, the tantalizing dark shadow between her thighs. "As long as there are people willing to do the worshipping."

As if to prove her point, she bent her head, deliberately pressing her lips to the curve of Maureen's breast, hearing the rush of breath in response, the slow rise and fall of Maureen's ribs.

"Oh, God," she heard, a ragged breath whispered above her, and hands pressed into her hair, tangling in her rough curls. She lingered on the soft swell of breast, tender and delicate, tongue laving over it to the nipple at its peak.

Joanne as a lover was always different; sometimes she was rough and hard, inflicting pain in just the right amounts. Others she was gentle, sweet: she knew the value of a slow simmer that became a roaring flame.

Maureen was curves and angles and points of pleasure. Maureen was an enigma. Maureen was soft and hard and everything in between. She was loud and she scratched and she was wanton and wild. She was quiet and reserved and she came with whimpers and sighs, minutes after she shuddered with screams and curses.

She was intoxicating, and the love Joanne made to her was pure lust and pure emotion. She fucked Maureen as if by doing so, she could figure her out, understand her and break the spell.

But as tongues tangled mercilessly and her hand buried further into moist heat, Joanne found herself captivated, breathless, and falling further, deeper than before.

--

Six A.M., and the alarm buzzed into her head like a spike driven in by a hammer. Warm weight pinned down her left side, and when by habit, she shifted with closed eyes, the embrace around her tightened, a soft mew emanating from the woman in bed beside her.

Still drugged in heavy sleep, Joanne's eyelids fluttered, reaching up to close a palm around the forearm across her chest. The alarm still buzzed.

"No," came the soft, throaty whimper, a petulant sound. There was hot breath in her ear, and the grown woman curled into her, face burying into her neck.

"BabyI'mgonnblaferwork." It was a mumble she could barely manage, as her hand betrayed her by sneaking around Maureen's bare shoulder, drawing the intoxicating form in further.

"Few more minutes." Maureen's voice was dark, seductively slurred. A kiss pressed just behind her ear, and Joanne squirmed, a delicious tingle ringing throughout her body, still sensitive from their early morning lovemaking.

The rumble, from deep within her throat, sounded like a loud purr, when a warm mouth closed over her own, tongue plunging into her with a lazy domination. Slow and languid, Maureen shifted, until the lean, muscled body blanketed Joanne's.

Her heart began to pound, and her muscles to throb, as the kiss grew deeper still, until Maureen broke away to move lips over her jaw. "You're amazing," she heard dizzily, beyond the rush of her blood racing through her veins, beyond the feel of breasts rubbing against her own, and the heated thrill that came from teeth biting down on her earlobe. "You're fucking amazing."

Fevered pants crept along her skin, and her hands buried into soft brown hair, arching into the woman on top. And Maureen went lower still.

When the alarm buzzed again, Joanne's arm flailed, knocking it over in her attempt to silence it.

--

The room was bright with morning light when once again, her eyelids squinted open.

Something kept ringing.

Maureen had curled into a fetal position, butt digging into Joanne's spine. Consequently, one half of Joanne's body was nearly hanging off the bed, fingers just lying against her carpet.

The ringing kept going.

Lifting her head, Joanne struggled to wake up, hearing the figure beside her grumble in her sleep. The phone. THE PHONE was ringing.

Struggling, she reached as far as she could, managing an index finger over the phone before holding it on to her ear.

"'lo?"

"Where are you?"

Rubbing at her face, Joanne's head fell back onto the pillow, muffling her voice. "Steve?"

"Joanne, it's 10:30. Hector and Antonia Suddelson are both in your office-"

Her head lifted off the pillow, eyes wide open. "What?"

"Where are you!"

Digging underneath her bed, Joanne blinding reached for anything, until she closed her hands around a chord and pulled, her alarm clock coming up with it.

10:34 AM.

"SHIT. I'll be right there." Flinging the phone back on the table, Joanne lost her footing and tumbled off the bed, landing on her knees. Barely registering the pain, she scrambled to her feet. "SHIT."

"Baby?" Glancing back, she discovered messy curls tumbling over a bare back, Maureen blearily blinked up at her.

It was an altogether appealing sight, and Joanne, her mind now flying at warpspeed (her geeky mind tending to speak trek when pressed), managed a moment to appreciate the sight.

"I'm late," she said simply, and then turned fast, doing her best not to look back as she moved into the shower.

The fact that Maureen didn't join her was both a disappointment and a relief, as she watched the smell of sex off of her, ignoring the shudder of her still sensitive body as she rubbed vigorously, stepping out five minutes after she stepped in. There was nothing she could do about her hair, but luckily for her, despite being flatter than usual, her curls were somewhat presentable.

She wasn't expecting coffee brewing or breakfast being made; honestly, she was expecting Maureen still in her bed, having rolled over and fallen asleep because quite simply, she could.

But to have Maureen up and already using her phone was enough to startle her. In her towel, she leaned against the bedroom door, watching as Maureen, back to her, sat naked on her bed, hand pressing her telephone to her ear.

At first, the sight was endearing. Joanne, despite the lingering shout in her head that told her to GET DRESSED, paused, took it in. But her smile faded when the words Maureen was speaking, a low, fervent tone, became clear.

There was a 'Marky' and a 'Baby, I know', and something about a fight involving a 'junkie best friend', and just like that, the pieces, the 'why' of this whole night, came together for her.

Joanne was a lawyer, and a damned good one at that. The pieces fit, and the conclusions she made hit her like a sucker punch.

She suddenly wanted Maureen out.

Clearing her throat loudly, she waited as Maureen whirled, staring wide eyed at her stone face.

Hesitating, Maureen only took her in, as Joanne allowed one scathing glare before she pushed off the side of the doorway and moved into the bedroom, shedding her robe as she went.

"Do you mind? I'm very late for work."

She had already wasted enough of her time.

"That's no one," Maureen said into Joanne's telephone, and Joanne just shook her head, determined not to wince. "Seriously, Marky. She's a friend who let me spend the night. Mark, I'm not talking about this. No- look I'll see you later."

There was a silence that Joanne was determined not to break when Maureen hung up the phone. Poised, collected, Joanne opened her closet and pulled out a pressed suit, flinging it on the bed, whisping by Maureen.

"Okay," Maureen erupted, and Joanne paused slightly, enough to close her eyes and inhale sharply, before continuing, moving to her dresser and pulling out clean underwear and a bra. "I should have told you." Joanne didn't respond. "I didn't because at first it didn't seem to matter. And then, and then it did matter, and I knew that if I told you you'd be upset, and I didn't want you to be upset-"

"Do me a favor and get dressed, will you?" Joanne asked sharply, undergarments on, heading for her slacks.

"And then last night happened and it was amazing-"

Joanne exhaled raggedly. "If I had known last night was about you finding a place to crash I wouldn't have let you in the damned door."

Maureen bit her lip. "I know. That's why I didn't tell you."

"Get out."

"Joanne-"

"You could have been honest, Maureen!" Joanne exploded, one hand in her shirt, halfway on. "I'd have offered the damn couch."

"I didn't want the couch, I wanted you."

Joanne jerked away from Maureen's intense stare. Shirt on, she tucked in and buttoned up, slinging her suspenders over her shoulders.

"Joanne, baby-"

"Don't you 'baby' me."

"Joanne, why does it matter!" Maureen grabbed hold of her, and Joanne shut her eyes and clenched her teeth, hands at her throat, keeping her from tying her tie. The warm heat of a lover curled against her, breathless whisper filled her thoughts like a devil perched on her shoulder. "It doesn't change what happened last night. I could have gone to ten different places last night, if I wanted a fast fuck to forget about Mark. I didn't. I came to you."

"Let me go," she whispered, and it was almost a beg, a plead with Maureen. Her control was whisper shot, and Joanne was late for a meeting on the case of her life, and had spent all night making love to a straight girl who had decided to fool around for kicks. And still, STILL Joanne wanted to forget all of it and push her down on the bed again, make her forget all about her damned 'Marky'.

She held her breath until Maureen finally released her, and with a shaky exhalation, Joanne fumbled with her tie, until it was halfway passable, pulling on her blazer and headed for the door, ignoring the naked woman in her room.

Pausing just outside, she pressed her hand on the door, and glanced at her shoes. "Stop calling me, Maureen. Stop trying to see me. I don't know what you're doing or why you're doing it, but please, just stop."

Deep silence followed her request, and swallowing hard, Joanne nodded slowly, and prepared to go.

"Would it even matter if I did?" Frozen, Joanne tried desperately not to turn, give Maureen the attention she needed. She did it anyway, to see a hurt, stone expression, as if to damn Joanne for having the audacity to object to the situation. "Don't tell me I wouldn't see you in a week at that bar, or in the cafe looking for me."

Joanne wanted to scoff at that; to look into those rich brown eyes, that unapologetic face, and negate it. She wanted to tell that brilliantly beautiful, captivating naked woman that she had fucked her and gotten it out of her system. It was done.

But Joanne simply turned and walked out, hating the truth of it, hating the fact that for all Maureen's narcissism, she had seen into Joanne all too easily.

- end chapter