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.

--

CHAPTER NINE

"I'm not going to leave him."

Whispered words said in the still of the night, caused Joanne's fingers to still in their journey across a perfect breast. Maureen's expression was serious, mouth closed, hooded eyes dark but sincere.

Shivering slightly from the cooled sweat on her body, Joanne felt her heart beat slow, taking her time with her response.

"Who said I was asking you to?" The statement was deliberately casual, tone low and quiet, and Maureen's mouth twitched, wild curls flattened by Joanne's pillow, letting out a long sigh.

Curling her fingers, Joanne skimmed the side of one bauble.

"He needs me," Maureen said in an odd tone, speaking to the air, almost as if she were speaking not just to Joanne, but to herself. "He's having a really hard time right now and if I left him, it would really hurt him."

Joanne wondered silently how much better it was for Maureen's 'Marky' that she cheat on him with her so blatantly.

Maureen's fingers crept over her own, laced the digits together, and when she felt a distinct tug, Joanne realized she was in danger of drifting away.

Soft skin caressed her own, and Joanne took a moment to eye the tangle of light brown flesh against pale.

"You know I'm not going to be the other woman," she told her frankly, because Maureen was being honest, and Joanne felt obligated to do the same. "I'm not going to be someone you can run to whenever you're looking for good sex and a place to sleep."

She meant it. Despite the control Maureen seemed to have over her body, Joanne was reasonably sure that her heart was less than willing to give up its freedom. Maureen was not her ideal. There was great sex and an amazing connection, but nothing in common.

Joanne had a career. She had a life that at the moment hinged on her remaining free and available. There was a gorgeous hazel-eyed woman waiting in the wings, ready to take her place beside her as the perfect accompaniment.

Maureen was a tornado, a thrilling force of nature, beautiful and intoxicating, but never permanent.

"I know," her lover answered, a long moment later, palm brushing against her cheek. "That's not what this is."

Joanne didn't ask what it was. Shifting forward, Maureen's face hovered near her own, breath hot against her lips. When Maureen's lips delicately pressed against hers, soft and seductive, she opened her mouth and willingly allowed Maureen in.

There wasn't a future here. Not for either of them. Joanne understood that.

Arms encircling around her beloved, Joanne lowered the other woman to the bed, reveling in the feel of naked skin against hers, soft curves blanketed by her own, the raspy whisper of a woman who, only for a few days, would be hers.

It was all she had, Joanne told herself it was all she wanted. It would be enough.

Breaking away from full lips, she nibbled on the strong jaw, and buried her face into a musky scented neck. Maureen groaned, and the sound lit her up inside. Smooth legs wrapped around her waist, and Joanne shut her eyes and for once, reveled in the moment.

--

("Did you know I hadn't ever really done it with another woman?" Maureen asked her once, after a particularly heated round of make up sex. "It's true. I mean, really been with one. They were awesome to mess around with but I never really thought any of them could ever fuck me, you know? Like a guy could."

"So that's what did it?" Joanne asked dryly, hand on her elbow, peering down at her lover. "I fucked you and you became my slave?"

Maureen's trademark mischievous grin brightened on her face. "You fucked me good and hard, Pookie." Joanne's eyes rolled upwards and she made to pull away, until a strong grip pulled her back down, tumbling on top of Maureen. "You more than fucked me," came the breathy whisper. "You touched me. You tasted me. You heard me. And you let me touch you. Fucking you was the most amazing thing."

And then Maureen's lips pressed hard against hers, as determined fingers moved fast down her body, determined to relive it.)

--

Maureen sang in the shower. Obnoxiously loud.

Pausing at her place on her vanity, Joanne's mouth curled up in involuntary amusement. Maureen's voice was powerful, strong, and it sailed through the air, above the sound of water hitting the tiles, floating into her bedroom like an invasion. It was fitting, Joanne figured, that Maureen would assault her senses when she wasn't even in the room.

The voice was wild and unhinged, and untamed, but it was genuinely good.

Joanne's bedroom, once immaculate, was strewn with clothes that wasn't hers – black pants and white leather jackets, black bra and thongs. Her bed, usually made as soon as she rolled out of bed, was rumpled, sheets hanging off the bed, exposing her white sheets.

She wrinkled her nose at the abuse they had taken. She'd have to change those.

"You don't have to go to work." The tone was slurry and thick, and really damned sexy. Her temporary lover leaned in the doorway, bare foot and naked save for Joanne's silk kimono, given to her by her parents, plastered to her skin. Brown curls were wet, dripping on the plush carpet.

She let out a ragged, labored sigh, unable to help the small smile that twitched against her lips.

"Unfortunately," she said, reaching for the tie she had chosen earlier. "My job isn't the kind you can just call in sick to. Though you can get sick FROM it." The pout that got was a little too adorable for her own good. "I have a meeting," she said, "With a couple pro bono clients in Alphabet City. They mean something to me."

The frown deepened, and Maureen came forward, grabbing hold of the ends of the tie, lifting an eyebrow at Joanne's surprised expression. "I used to do this for my father," Maureen told her simply, looping knots over holes easily. "My mother told me I'd have to learn eventually." Tugging the tie gently, she pushed up, evening out the ends. Leaning back, she examined her work with an affectionate smile. "I've always liked them."

That was surprising to hear. Joanne crossed her arms, regarding her with a hint of a smile. "They don't really seem to be your style."

"I tied them for my dad, every morning," Maureen answered, stepping back to sink down on her unmade bed. "Kinda one of those things, you know? As I got older it was kind of the only way I could really connect with him." She shrugged. "We grew apart."

Joanne could understand that. What could a suburban father have in common with a burgeoning performance artist? "You must have given them a fair amount of headaches."

"Don't tell me you're commiserating."

"I'm sure you were worth the effort." Maureen glanced up and their gaze held, until the intimacy of the moment seemed to bother Joanne, and she turned, readjusting her tie and smoothing down her skirt.

"Anyway," Maureen continued, in a lighter, chirpier voice. "Mark doesn't like to wear them really. The last time I did it for him was a few months ago," she added, as if by including her boyfriend's name she could put a chill on the entire warm exchange.

Joanne's smile stiffened. It worked. "Big party?" she asked tightly, reaching for her blazer and heading for the door.

"No," Maureen answered, rising up and following her as she moved through her living room and into her kitchen. "A funeral."

Joanne paused, glancing at Maureen, but the woman's hair had fallen into her face, Maureen's gaze on the ground, watching as she flexed her toes, teasing them against the kitchen tile.

"I'm sorry."

A long beat later, Maureen flipped her hair back over her head and raised her eyes heavenward, clucking. "Doesn't matter now," she answered tonelessly, in a way that made Joanne aware that clearly, it did matter. "Fuckin' suicide. Could you get any more cowardly?" Arms falling to her side, Maureen left the kitchen.

Pouring her coffee, Joanne considered the facts presented to her, from the odd, closed in posture from a woman who had been so open before, to the aggressive veiled anger in that last sentence.

Staring down at her cup, she pressed teeth down on her lower lip, and exited the kitchen, walking to the figure on the couch, already flipping channels on her television station, looking but not really seeing any of what was on.

Stepping in front of her, Joanne settled onto the coffee table, gently taking the remote from her lover and switching it off.

In the quiet, she studied the beautiful face, the sharp angles.

"I have to go to work," she said softly, with more regret than she wanted to admit. "Will you be okay here?"

Maureen stared at her like she was seeing a stranger. "I'm fine," came the dry response. "You don't have to worry about me."

Joanne pressed her lips together, waited another moment, and nodded. "Good. There's some take out menus in that drawer by the phone, if you're hungry. I've called the desk downstairs to let them know you'll be coming in and out for the next few days." Half rising, she glanced down uncertainly, unsure how to even broach the subject without seeming insulting. "In case you had a job you had to get to."

"I work when I feel like it," Maureen answered, still in a pissy mood. Joanne stared a few seconds longer, and finally just smiled and nodded, moving away from the couch.

"I'll see you when I get home."

She was in the middle of shrugging on her jacket when Maureen appeared again, pulling the jacket over her shoulders, and bringing the coat together. After a beat, Maureen simply leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her mouth.

"See you," she repeated, still dripping water on her floor, looking like a sodden goddess as she turned and plopped back down on her couch.

Joanne would later tell herself she was trying not to spill her coffee, and that was the reason she didn't move for another minutes. It wasn't at all because she was dazed.

--

"God, stop smiling like that," Steve told her, as soon as she moved past his desk, handing her the coffee he usually had prepared. "You're scaring me."

Joanne arched an eyebrow, and didn't respond. "How's my day looking?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I know about those two meetings in the village, but is my afternoon free?"

"Why, exactly?" he asked, rising and circling his desk, following her into her office.

"I'd like to try and get out of here early if I can," Joanne answered simply, eyes on her folders, marked with each of her client's names. "Don't ask me why."

Pushing his fists into his pockets, Steve rocked back onto his heels and did an annoying little whistle. "Looking to get lucky tonight?"

Sucking in her breath, Joanne glanced up sharply. "Pardon?"

"Come on, I set your reservations. I'm allowed a little voyeurism. Sometimes I wish I was a lesbian. You get some hot chicks."

Blinking, Joanne could only stare at him stupidly. "Reservation?"

Steve glanced at her oddly. "The one I made for you tonight? For you and Ms. Suddleson? 7PM?"

Oh" shit. Wincing, Joanne closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. Setting down her pen, she rubbed at her temples. "Crap."

"Did you actually forget?"

"Do me a favor," she said, trying to rise above her swimming thoughts. "Call Antonia and cancel – tell her a family matter came up and try and reschedule for next week."

"What? Why?"

"Steven." The warning tone was enough to reestablish propriety, and flopping his arms down in defeat, Steven stepped out of her office. Pressing her lips together, Joanne rubbed at her neck.

Her office phone caught her attention; the lines blinking as presumably, Steven earned his paycheck.

Lifting up the phone, she heard the dial tone.

Halfway through pressing her home number, Joanne caught herself, shaking her head at her own weakness and hanging up.

Gathering her papers into her briefcase, she shrugged into her coat, ready to head out of the office, and at least attempt to act like a lawyer and not a desperate love starved idiot.

- end chapter