A/N: Rated M for language. Don't know why, but Arete reveals a very fou mouth in this one. And, hopefully, a skillful one. Oh wait, that's the next chapter... ;]

"Goin' to your other job?" the landlady called with false cheer as Arete came down the front stoop. The woman sitting in the lawn chair next to her giggled.

Arete smiled distantly and continued down the stairs. She was not in the mood to engage the other woman.

The landlady's companion, whose personal appearance seemed to have aspired for Madonna but achieved a sort of low-rent Bette Davis, piped up: "What I wanna know is how that ugly bastard affords home visits from her every day."

"Jesus Christ," Arete breathed. "Don't let him hear you say that." If you value your life, she added silently.

Bette sniggered and gave Arete's slight frame the once-over. "I always thought that guy had a thing for little boys. Now I guess we have proof."

Arete's eyebrows flew up at the dual insult. She stopped on the sidewalk, smirking incredulously.

"Well, I just hope he hasn't spent his rent money on your skinny ass," the landlady chimed in.

"Where do you hide them balls when the johns come 'round, huh?" Arete retorted.

The landlady's mouth dropped open in shock. Bette laughed uproariously.

A movement upstairs caught Arete's eye. She looked up and saw a red head hanging out of a hall window. He must have heard the voices and the laughter.

Shit.

She was not about to let him see her out here exchanging insults with his landlady like a fishwife.

"Everything alright?" he called, leaning his forearms on the sill.

Arete shaded her eyes and smiled reassuringly at him. "It's fine, Mr. Kovacs. No problem."

Ice-blue eyes stared back at her. She could hear him thinking at her: Remember that conversation we just had about what a bad liar you are?

The hookers exchanged a look. "'Mr. Kovacs'," the landlady mimicked, collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"Say whatever you like to me," Arete said quietly to the guffawing women. She tilted her chin down. "But don't you say a goddamn word to him, you hear me?"

"Whatever you say, ma'am," Bette scoffed.

Arete wanted to escape with some grace, but she could not resist a parting blow: "Are you sucking dick right now? No? Then shut your goddamn mouth!" She turned and stalked off, a pair of blue eyes burning a hole in her back.

I hate people, she had confessed to him once at the diner.

You don't hate people, he had responded, the ghost of a smile twitching his lips.

Yeah, she had insisted. I kinda think I do.

The late summer sun warmed her as she walked to work, but it was not so hot as the memory of his mouth on hers. She licked her lips, imagining that she could taste him.

Their kiss had been brief and awkward. He refused to relax his mouth; he had pursed his lips like a young boy submitting to a schoolyard kiss. Then he backed away quickly, refusing to meet her eyes.

"I've...got to go to work," Arete had blurted, throwing her clothes on. On the other side of his apartment door, she had collapsed backwards, throwing her hands up to cover the blush of shame and horror suffusing her face.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, her mind hissed as she crossed the street to the diner. She saw Elena smiling at her through the plate glass. Arete took a deep breath and pasted on her waitress face. Grabbing the door handle, she felt the conditioned air suck her in.

Rorschach was standing in the shadows as usual when she finished work.

"Hi," Arete said, gritting her teeth in embarrassment.

He said nothing but fell into step beside her. His hands were shoved so deeply into his coat pockets she thought they might rip through. When they passed under a streetlight, she noticed that the blobs of his face were gliding in their viscous dance a little faster than usual. The Manhattan-inspired fabric was heat-sensitive: he was blushing.

"Wanted to apologize."

Arete could not help but wince. "What for?"

"Broke the rules earlier. Sorry."

She stopped and frowned at him. "How could you break the rules? You make them."

"Don't think I do. Wasn't supposed to kiss you." His face was turned away from her.

"Rorschach, listen to me. And I don't say this lightly." Arete pushed him back into the darkness of an alley until he butted up against the side of a building. She stared up into the swirling pattern under the brim of his hat. "You are insane."

His body stiffened in surprise and anger.

She brought her face up to within centimeters of his own, leaning her body against him. "You make the rules, Rorschach. That means what you say goes. That means if you want to kiss, we kiss."

One gloved hand slid around her waist to pull her closer.

"Do you want to kiss?" Arete whispered.

Rorschach lifted the lower edge of his face to expose first stubbled chin, then mouth.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she teased, smiling. She brushed her lips lightly against his.

His left hand cupped the back of her head, drawing her to him.

Arete giggled. "Tilt your head a little. Noses!"

Rorschach obeyed, but he still held his lips unnaturally taut. Arete feared the clack of teeth. "Relax," she murmured, resting her palms on his strong chest. She backed off slightly to place tiny kisses on the edge of his mouth. When she focused her attentions on his lower lip, nibbling and sucking, he moaned softly. Arete placed her mouth firmly over his;

after a moment he relented and allowed her to control the kiss.

Suddenly Rorschach froze as a black-and-white passed on the street outside. He looked back down at her when the cruiser was gone. Feeling a little giddy, Arete grabbed his lapels. "Wow, I'm making out with a wanted man!"

"What do you think so far?"

She leaned into his neck and flicked her tongue against the exposed skin. "I think I'd like to take it somewhere a little more private. Where we can take our time. And use tongue."