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 ELEVEN

Joanne had a fetish or two, but in her mind, those had never included a food fetish. Not the flavored oils, not the chocolate on the belly, she had had a bad experience with a rather aggressive lover who hadn't cooled their little home made strawberry puree and had come out of it with third degree burns.

Consequently, when her stomach growled, and Maureen rose from her arms, breathily telling her she would feed her in a positively wicked tone, Joanne's stomach turned in an altogether different response.

But she was boneless, limbs somehow heavy and light at the same time. Her heart was preoccupied with attempting to pulse back to a regular, sane beat, and her eyes were helplessly drawn to the naked vision currently making her way across the carpet into Joanne's kitchen.

Joanne closed her eyes and sucked in a Maureen soaked breath, running her tongue over her teeth. Maureen hadn't been gentle with her. Her lips were swollen, and she was sure Maureen had drawn blood, biting on her lower lip the way she did. Her nipples were still sensitive from her lover's relentless savage attention, and between her legs, she throbbed in that aching satisfied way.

The fervor with which she had been attacked had sent her reeling, and now, head barely managing to stay above water, Joanne wondered if she was experiencing the best sex she had ever had. Was the intense desperation that fueled their most recent coupling a simple reaction to the knowledge that this was all temporary?

Sounds from her kitchen distracted her from her thoughts, and thankful for that, Joanne reached for the throw hanging off her sofa, and watched as Maureen appeared, carrying a pungent smelling brown paper bag. Answering Joanne's bemused expression with a proud smirk of her own.

"I ordered Chinese.”

"Good choice,” Joanne answered, shifting so she could sit up, as Maureen settled down on her knees, setting the bag across her back.

"I wasn't sure if you were a spicy girl or not," Maureen said, eyes sparkling with a mischievous fire, reaching in and pulling out a fast food carton. "I took a chance."

Joanne was a spicy food nut, and she grinned, almost too widely, as she listened to Maureen's crystal clear laugh. Ready to reach for a pair of chopsticks protruding from the bag, she was slightly startled when Maureen slapped her hand away. Oddly submissive, Joanne quirked an eyebrow and watched and Maureen clutched at her bag dominantly, pulling the cheap Chinese utensils out herself. Never one to be passive, Joanne used it to her advantage, leaning forward as Maureen struggled with separating the two pieces of wood and planting a kiss on the naked shoulder, lingering in the musky scent.

She heard a ragged sigh, and smiled against Maureen's skin. Eyes closing, she reveled in the feel of it, tongue swiping across the salty flesh until she heard a giggle and the shoulder receiving her attention slipped away.

"Food first," Maureen told her, softly sliding velvety lips against her mouth, forehead tilting against her own. Joanne rolled her eyes in mock frustration, and then burst into a short laugh as Maureen began to attempt to work the sticks, digging them into the open carton.

"Need some help?”

"Shut up,” Maureen muttered, a sing song note that made Joanne rise her palm to her mouth, hiding her smile. Maureen was doggedly determined, and after a couple attempts, she grinned proudly, holding up one single chow mein noodle between her chopsticks. "Aha!”

Joanne offered a supportive clap. "Very good.”

Biting her lower lip in concentration, Maureen waved the noodle shakily at her. "Now open."

"Do you think I'm five?" Joanne asked, falling back on her elbows. "I'm not completely incapacitated, you know."

"Would you turn your brain off and play along? Open!"

Joanne tilted her head back, mockingly defiant. Clearing her throat meaningfully, Maureen shook the chopstick at her, very nearly dislodging her pitiful noodle. It was a disturbingly adorable sight.

Taking pity on her struggling lover, Joanne opened her mouth. Getting the noodle to a proper release position was a teetering journey, and Joanne erupted in a short burst of laughter when Maureen lost the battle, the noodle slithering off its wooden perch, missing her mouth completely and landing on her shoulder.

"Why don't you let me do it?" she asked, plucking the sticky noodle off her skin, unsure what to do with it.

"Who said you could do that?"

Torn from her dilemma of where to put the noodle, she jerked her head up. "Excuse me?"

Jaw jutting out, Maureen wore a childish pout. "I would have gotten that.”

"It's not really a problem.”

Apparently it was, because a strong grip closed around her wrist, Maureen trapping her grip with hooded, predatory eyes. Slowly, deliberately, Maureen bent down, and sucked her finger, noodle and all into her mouth. The feel, of the warm liquid heat surrounding her digits, the feel of teeth scraping against her flesh, stole her already weakened breath.

Joanne was fixated, locking onto the heated gaze of Maureen.

With a low moan that surged into Joanne's chest, Maureen slowly released her finger. "That was nice.”

Before Joanne quite knew what was happening, her lover reached into the box with her hands and dumped an entire handful of noodles directly on her chest.

--

She was sticky. Her breath was shallow, and Joanne's lower back ached, as she lay back on her carpet, chin up and eyes closed.

And still, she couldn't help her fatigued, delirious laughter, fingers curling into silky brown hair. "You have to stop,” she whispered, voice raspy, hands balling into fists, pulling up with as much force as her weakened, satisfied body would allow her, trying to keep Maureen from taking her over the edge, yet again.

The look on Maureen's face was almost smug, but Joanne could forgive it, as she pulled on strong, lean biceps, and felt the delicious weight of the other woman's weight, settling flush against her.

It was a tender, loving look Joanne delivered, as she studied the angles that made up the other woman's face. Unable to keep herself from touching, Joanne slid fingers tips along the strong jawbone, the line of her nose, the fullness of her lips.

"You're amazing,” she whispered, and felt Maureen's mouth crease in response. Reaching up, she fell into a lazy, indulgent kiss, tongue sweeping inside to rub gently against Maureen's. Hot breath panted against her mouth as she pushed up, hips pressing against her lovers until she had gently reversed their positions, Maureen curled into her arms, sandwiched between herself and the rug. An odd pop broke into their embrace.

"Oww,” Maureen mumbled against her lips, and when Joanne shifted slightly in response, Maureen arched up and flailed a bit, coming up with a crushed, empty carton.

"Sorry,” Joanne said, and Maureen grinned, flinging it away from her, and forcing Joanne to take a look at the state of her usually impeccably clean living room. Her carpet was stained with food, empty cartons mingled with her and Maureen's clothes, and the whole place smelled like sex and Chinese food.

"Don't.” Fingers cupped her chin, jerking her face back to face Maureen's. "I can see your head getting ready to explode.”

"You can see that, huh?”

"It's a gift. I'm gifted.”

Joanne pressed her mouth together. "Yes, you are.”

"Yeah?”

"Very much so.”

The smug smile on Maureen's face was almost infectious. "Baby, you haven't seen nothing yet.”

It was a fault of Joanne's, her habit of taking statements and letting every annotation sneak into her head, pick at her brain. It was her lawyer's mentality, and it was what made her purse her lips and speak, even as a warm palm smoothed down the muscled arm and come to rest on Maureen's bare hip.

"You're right. I haven't.” The look she received was muddled, almost confused, and Joanne managed a soft, careful smile. "You said you're a performance artist, right? But I haven't seen you work really, and I'm just wondering how you"” She trailed off when she could see the beginning of resistance in the other woman, the tensing beneath her fingertips from a body that had been supple and open only minutes before.

"How I"” Maureen continued, eyebrow rising, and Joanne wondered why this even mattered.

But it did. She wanted to know, and perhaps it wasn't phrased right, and perhaps Joanne really was coming off as the snob Maureen would always accuse her of being, but it mattered.

"What do you do, Maureen?”

She almost regretted the question, when Maureen's eyes grew cold before her own searching gaze. "Whatever I feel like.”

Joanne shook her head, utterly bewildered. "Whatever you feel like.”

"Yeah. Like I felt like fucking you a few minutes ago, so I did.” Joanne closed her eyes, feeling the ping of annoyance strike her. When Maureen pushed at her, she rolled over, getting a lapful of blanket as Maureen flung the fabric on her.

"Why does every question have to be some sort of drama with you?” Joanne asked, her voice harder than she intended, an actual snap. "I'm asking you a simple question, Maureen.”

"It's not a simple question, and if you weren't such a fucking over-attentive snob you'd know that.”

"Excuse me?”

"I do what I feel like, okay? I do what I feel like because it feels good and I like doing it. I don't need someone like you trying to make me feel that I need to have it any other way.”

Good God, that settled it. She was dealing with a genuine drama queen. "How the hell did you get all that from me asking you if you had a job, Maureen?”

Her fiery temptress whirled on her. "It's not what you say, Joanne. It's that look, in your eyes, like it's not good enough. You have no fucking clue who I am, so how about you save the judging for a girl who didn't just spend the last twenty minutes sticking her tongue into your cunt.”

God, she was obscene. Shuddering in revulsion at the dirty language, Joanne closed her eyes and buried her hand in her mop of curls on her head. "My God.”

She could have written her off. She should have. She should have stayed put on that floor, while Maureen went about untangling her clothes from Joanne's, flinging everything around in a fucking snit. Good riddance. She didn't need the drama.

But her limbs pushed her off the floor, and unwilling to face her own reasons for doing so, Joanne let her blanket drop and grabbed Maureen's arms. "Stop,” she said, and when Maureen struggled, just held on tighter. "STOP, Maureen.”

Luminous dark eyes were liquid pools of intense emotion, and staring into them, Joanne blinked, caught unexpectedly by their depth. Maureen's ambitions and motivations were forever cloaked to her, and yet somehow, she wore her bleeding heart on her chest, just enough to take her breath away.

Farther down, Joanna heard whispered in her head, every second, inch by inch, she's swallowing you whole like a snake.

"I'm sorry,” she said, when Maureen finally stopped jerking against her. "You're right. I don't understand. I'm not like you, Maureen. I'm not a theatre person. So tell me about it. You say I don't know you? Let me see you. Let me hear you. Honey, that's all I want from you.” Maureen's face was almost impossible to read, so many emotions and yet her eyes were guarded, and Joanne found herself smiling bitterly at the impossible enigma. "Show me,” she said, and let go, stepping back and kicking at bare cartons and tangled clothes at her feet, clearing what she thought was a decent performance space, reaching for her shirt and slipping it on.

Maureen looked on suspiciously. "What are you doing?”

"I want to see you.”

In the end, it was that simple; to sit back and wait expectantly, because her Maureen loved attention, and most importantly, Maureen wanted to be seen as anything but insignificant. No matter the stage, the diva needed to be on it, and this time, Joanne was just fine with watching her girl shine.

She knew Maureen wouldn't turn down an opportunity to perform, and when that beautiful smile snuck onto Maureen's face, she returned it with gusto, prepared to be mesmerized.

She wasn't let down.

--

"No one really expected me to be with him,” Maureen said to her, in the dead of the night, check pillowed against her breast, because Maureen told her she liked to listen to her heart beat. "I guess at first, that was why I did it. I've never wanted to be predictable.” Joanne kept quiet, fingers smoothing through the curls, detangling them carefully, wet, sweet smelling locks still nearly dripping with water. "And Mark was sweet. Always with that camera of his – the ultimate fantasy, the director and his muse.”

Fingers traced her bicep, following their curve to her shoulder, then down again, to the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow.

"You love him,” Joanne said, oddly detached, unable to shake the feeling of intimacy, even with the woman in her arms discussing her other lover.

"I guess"” Maureen's mouth twitched, her throat husky, unraveled. "But it just all got so" real.” A ragged sigh, and the figure above her burrowed in deeper, as if some how, the bad spirits of that past could be chased away. Joanne kissed the top of Maureen's wet head. "Benny got married and Collins – I really liked Collins – got that gig at MIT, and then April fucking killed herself, and Roger got his fucking AIDS, and I just " I stopped existing.” Joanne blinked, light headed until she realized she was holding her own breathe. "God, Mark says I'm so fucking self involved – because Roger's in fucking withdrawal, and it's just him and me, he says – the two us, we gotta be there for that junkie who spent months of rent money on drugs and beat up Mark because he had the gall to hide it from him. I said cut him loose, and fucking Mark wouldn't do it. Said Roger needed him just like Mark needed me, but it wasn't true. Mark didn't need me. If he did he wouldn't have stopping seeing me.”

A sudden pain in her throat made her aware of the lump that existed within it, and she tried to swallow it down, and found even as she managed it, she couldn't say a word. The woman in her arms was at her most naked, and Joanne could only hold on tight, feeling the tremors, a woman on the verge of falling apart.

"He's going to need me again though,” Maureen said, in a thick, resolved voice. "I know people think I'm a horrible girlfriend because I cheat, but I'm just treading water, right? Because Roger's getting better every day, and he's going to stop needing Mark so much, and Mark's gonna stop being so scared he can't see anything without his stupid lenses in front of it. It's going to be like it was. And I'm not going to be a coward like April and cut out on him. I'm not going to be like her.”

April, Roger's dead girlfriend, who got Aids from drugs. Maureen's boyfriend Mark, so intent on saving his friend he was ignoring the trauma inflicted on the highly sensitive drama queen.

Joanne understood it, but she faulted him. She blamed him. Maureen's loyalty was skewed, her fidelity was flawed, but her desperation was palpable, real, and the shake in her voice at the mere mention of this girl April made Joanne wonder how close they had been.

Joanne had been in choir, her mother and father insisted on it, and blessed with training and a strong voice, she had had her share of solos. She wasn't sure why Amazing Grace seemed appropriate now, but still, it escaped her lips, a whisper of a song, floating into Maureen's ears.

And miracle of miracles, Maureen listened. Lifting her head, the brunette stared up at her with obscenely young eyes, the glimmer of life in her eyes that made her smile. When Maureen joined her in the last chorus, the harmony came naturally, her deep, trained soulful melody surprisingly fluid with the untamed, almost shrill counterpart. Put together, the harmony was intoxicating.

It was strangely fitting.

As the notes died, leaving behind a soft, intense moment of silence, Maureen reached up and pressed her palm against Joanne's, tangling fingers together, holding on tight.

"Don't go to work tomorrow,” Maureen said. It wasn't a request, but even if it was, Joanne didn't know how she would have ever denied her.

- end chapter