Title: Expectations
A whirlwind of colors in my head, a strangled cry. My nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. A thrust, a grunt, and a moan, and it's over. He's laying there again. Tangled in the fluorescent sheets. Smoking. The cigarette hangs loosely from his swollen lips, his dark eyes half-lidded and shadowed by the flickering light on his left. It danced over his face, and I could still see the make up he hadn't bothered to wash off after shooting that day. The fake eyeliner had begun to smear down his left cheek, the sweat on his forehead shining as he caught his breath.
I curled into a semi-fetal position, pulling the covers over my sweat-drenched and tired body.
"You all right, baby?"
I looked at him, "I'm fine."
"Cigarette?"
I looked down at the open box he offered me, then back to his face, "I never do."
"Loosen up. One or two feels good after a fuck like that."
I paused and turned onto my back, counting the tiles on the ceiling for a moment or two.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine...
Then it occurred to me.
"Do you enjoy it?"
"Fucking you?" he shrugged, "It gets me off."
I closed my eyes, wincing at his word choice. I willed my tears away as I slightly turned away from him.
"Is that all?"
"Well sure," he chuckled, "Sex is sex."
He reached under the blanket and folded his rough hand over my thigh, "Come on, you know it's great."
I felt my body react to his touch again. I hated the affect this man had on me. His behavior wasn't surprising; Johnny Depp wasn't the type of man one looked at as a romantic, waiting to sweep some lucky woman off her feet. I looked at him as the type of guy who often had one-night stands and didn't think a thing of it. Yet, I hardly appreciated being called "a good fuck" every night, either.
"Shall we have another go?" he growled, running his hand over my bare side and leaning down to nip at my collarbone. I clamped my eyes shut.
"I don't think so. I'm tired, Johnny."
"Come on, Liz, I need it," he groaned, gently sucking the nape of my neck.
"John, I'm too tired."
"Fine."
He grumbled and moved to his respective side of the bed. He lit another cigarette, and I resumed my tile-counting. Did I really want to spend another lonely night in this man's bed?
Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two...
How long would I continue to have my heart stepped on by him?
"Johnny?"
"Eh?"
"Do you love me?"
He laughed. He fucking laughed.
"You're not in love with me, are you Liz?"
"Well, I..."
He propped himself up on his elbow to look at me.
"Fuck," he sighed, "You are. Liz, baby, I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes. I should have expected this.
"Hey," he smiled crookedly, leaning down to kiss me softly, "It's okay," he swiped his tongue over my bottom lip, "It'll be okay. Keep your pretty little chin up."
I looked up at him, pain reflecting in my eyes.
"I know, Gorgeous," he coaxed, running his thumb over my jaw, "But you're 20 years old. You don't want to be attached to the likes of me."
I cursed my naïveté. I'd slept with this man eleven...no, twelve times now in less than three weeks. I wouldn't lie, he was good every time, he always got me what I wanted as well...but how much longer had I expected all this to last?
Thoughts spun through my head. This killed me. I had the feeling, it lurked deep within me, that I'd never sleep with this man again.
I showed up at his work, aka the set of a new movie the next day. I walked over to him and smiled, running my hands up his chest. "Hey."
He pushed my hands away from him, "What are you doing here?"
"I - I came to see you."
"You shouldn't have. We can't see each other anymore. You made me realize last night that...you're just a baby," he said, planting a firm yet sympathetic kiss on my lips, "Never fear. You'll find someone."
I looked up at him, my jaw slightly agape. He'd just broken up with me...or had he? I doubted he ever reciprocated any of the feelings I had for him, and we'd never actually gone into public together. All we ever did was fuck. Not sex, no making love, just pure fucking. So why did I find myself so sad to be leaving?
I nodded, "You're right. Thank you."
"No, no," he chuckled, "Thank you. It's been fun."
I sighed, tears brimming my eyes as I took off. My vision was partly damaged by the tears as I ran headlong into a firm body.
"Oh!" I cried in surprise, looking up, "I'm so sorry..."
He looked down at me, "Liz?"
I smiled vaguely in recognition, "Oh. Sorry, Orlando."
"What happened?"
"Nothing. I just came here to see Johnny."
"Oh, you guys have been, um..."
"Sleeping together," I finished for him.
"Ah."
"He just...ended it, I guess you could say. Decided I'm too young for him."
I tore my gaze away from him as his eyebrows lifted in sympathy.
"Was it really worth it?"
I fixed my eyes on his, "What?"
"Spending so much time with him. Was he tasteful? Or did he," he smirked, "Get his fill, if you know what I mean, and leave?"
"I never regretted it. Not once. Except last night."
"He's right. He is too old for you, Liz."
"Who are you to tell me that?"
"Liz, you fell in love with him," he stated plainly, his eyes darkening, "And you're so naïve, you never realized that all you were worth to him was a fuck. Far superior to a fist, I assure you," he snickered, "How the hell did you get mixed up with a fucked up guy like that?"
"Orlando...why are you acting like this?"
"You don't see it, do you?"
"See what?"
"I'm right for you, not him. I can give you whatever you want and more because I'm younger, I've known that since I met you. Long before you were fucking Johnny every night."
"Orlando, I don't feel that way about you."
He walked toward me, slowly backing me into a nearby wall, "Oh I think you do, and that you're just afraid of being used again. But maybe, maybe deep down you want to be used. Does that give you a thrill?"
His lips were barely an inch from mine, his eyes boring into me.
"Orlando," I sighed, "Please."
The closer his lips got to mine, the closer I got to giving in to him.
When he kissed me, I felt my entire body collapse beneath me and wrapped my arms around his neck to hold myself up.
The one kiss made up for three weeks' worth of sex with Johnny, far exceeding my expectations.
From a distance, Johnny glanced over and smirked to himself. "The little slut," he chuckled good-naturedly to himself.
DAS ENDE
Sorry that was so short. But er - that's the purpose of a short story. I'm starting to feel as though a sequel is in order. If anyone can come up with adequate ideas for a sequel or wants me to write one, e-mail me at the address at the bottom. Put "Sequel to Expectations" on your subject line, please. I don't want to have to delete it. I hope everyone liked it. It's something - er - different for me. Hehe. See what Pirates of the Caribbean has done to me? See it. It's fabulous.
Rating: R
Status: Complete/Short story
Characters: Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom, OC (not slash)
Summary: Liz has been used. Sucky summary, yeah. So read the story ;-).
Warnings: Sex, cigarettes and language. Mmm...scandalous. If the idea of a 20 year old sleeping with a 40 year old offends you, this isn't the story for you.
Feedback: Yes please! (E-mail address at the bottom of the page).
Disclaimer: I don't own Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom. I'm not affiliated with them in any way, nor have I met either of them. I'm but a sick person with no life.