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Night Swimming	By : ravenwoman Category: Individual Celebrities > Johnny Depp Views: 3567 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Johnny Depp. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Night Swimming
- 2-Night Swimming chapter 2
- 1
- 2
He poured himself another bourbon and went to the open door, out onto the balcony. The late night air (or was it early morning air?) was warm and thick. An occasional, fleeting breeze stirred it. He looked up, toward the stars, but the sky was overcast, the dull cloud cover reflecting back the yellowish glow of the city. Looking down into the courtyard and pool, he swallowed half the tumbler and rattled the already melting ice restlessly.

He considered going out, just grabbing his jacket and heading off on foot to somewhere. Somewhere less deserted and depressing. Austin was the sort of town you could do that in, even at this hour; there’d be a café open, music playing. He gulped the last of his drink and balanced it on the railing, digging for his pack of Camels and lighter. His elbow bumped the glass as he lit up, and the short, heavy tumbler, well, tumbled, top over bottom, to the pebbled concrete below, exploding impressively on impact.

"Shit," he muttered, leaning over the railing and peering at the mess.

"You should be more careful." The voice, a girl’s voice, drifted up from somewhere off to his right, and he turned in that direction, sweeping his long hair back with the hand holding his cigarette, feeling defensive and self -conscious.

"You should mind your own fucking business," he replied, hearing the slight slur in his voice. He saw her, sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs.

"Well, it sort of IS my business, since I’m down here, in harm’s way, so to speak, and you’re up there, tossing lead crystal around like bombs." She smiled, he thought, though it was too dark and too far to tell for sure, then slid, mermaid-like, into the green, illuminated water.

He watched her slice her way to the center of the small pool, then surface and spin around to face him. He said, "You shouldn’t swim alone, you know." It was all he could muster. Lame. He could make out her general shape, but little else from this distance. It was enough to pique his interest.

"I’m not alone," she countered, and dove under again, kicking up a large splash in her wake. He ruminated on this a moment, his alcohol sodden brain processing her meaning and his options slowly. Ok, what it came down to, he concluded, was this; he could stay up here, keep drinking until the black curtain descended, obliterating his pain and grief and anger and everything else, or he could go down there and…and not. There were, he felt, benefits and drawbacks to both alternatives. She surfaced again, but facing away from him this time, and he turned and went back inside, closing the door behind him.

Several minutes later, he emerged again, wearing swim trunks, carrying a new glass of bourbon. A compromise of sorts, he supposed. He descended the stairs carefully, and settled himself on the edge of the water, testing the temperature with his legs. She watched him from her position several yards out, not speaking, and a wave of anxiety swept over him. Fuck it, he thought, setting his drink on the concrete and slipping in. The water was cool but not cold, and he dove under almost immediately, stroking smoothly, hard, getting his heart going. He swam towards the far side and pulled himself up on it, breathing hard and shaking his head to clear his face of hair. When he turned, she was on the opposite side, facing him. Then she looked away and dove, disappearing.

They swam like that for a while, not acknowledging one another, as if they were not the only two people in the pool. Eventually, he grew tired and walked to the edge, pulling himself up and out on shaky arms. He sat and drank, scanning his surroundings, seeing her peripherally, his eye drawn back to her again and again. After a time, she swam over and joined him on the side, her breath heavy, dripping.

"Well, I must say," she said, after a few moments, "I feel safer with you down here. As opposed to up there, armed and loaded, I mean." She indicated the balcony with a toss of her head, flashing him a small smile.

He returned the smile, and raised his glass to her in a toast. "I’m still armed. Still pretty loaded, too. Perhaps still dangerous. Maybe even more so, at close range." He felt pleased with himself for managing to handle the rather complicated exchange so smoothly. He was sobering up rapidly.

"Oh, I certainly hope so," she said, cocking an eyebrow. His momentary bravado faltered, he flushed and felt suddenly vulnerable and flustered. And aroused. A pretty, funny girl in a bikini, coming on to him. At least it seemed like she was coming on to him. He raised his glass again, but found it empty, but for a few shards of ice. He set it down and coughed.

She watched all this, a bit too closely for his liking. He waited for it, for the "oh I just loved you in Jump Street" or "what’s your next movie?" or the ever popular, "can I have your autograph?" Instead, she said, "I’m Sarah. I go to UT. I’m here for a few days until my new apartment is available. What’s your story?"

He contemplated this, her, then said, "I’m Johnny. I’m here for…now. Not sure how long. Just finishing up a job. Got a few days off. You know."

She nodded as if she did know. "What kind of work do you do, Johnny?" He looked at her sharply and she added, "I’m majoring in education, myself. And I waitress on the side. Just curious."

Was she for real? She certainly seemed sincere enough. Was he really that big-headed, assuming everyone in the world knew who he was? Apparently so.

"I…I’m in the film business," he finally replied.

"Wow, cool," she said. "Do you get to meet a lot of stars? Or just do the grunt work behind the scenes sort of thing?" She kicked her legs, splashing, and reclined back, propping herself on her elbows. Her belly was taut, her breasts firm, the nipples visible through the wet fabric, her thighs…he forced himself to focus on her face and said, "Well, I meet some."

She smiled and drew her hand slowly, and, he would have sworn, unconsciously, up her thigh and across her belly. He followed it, mesmerised. He felt himself growing hard.

"I’ve never met anyone famous," she said, sighing.

"Well, they’re just like anyone else, famous people, I mean."

"I guess so." She kicked some more water. "I have a sort of boyfriend back home, but not really."

He absorbed this and said, "I’m between girlfriends at the moment. And that’s not as fun as it sounds." There was a long silence and then she laughed. Like the sparkles on the face of the pool.

She pushed herself upright and turned to face him. "I enjoyed our swim." She paused, obviously thinking of saying more, but not. He seized the moment and leaned in, kissing her. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed, kissing him back. Jesus, he thought, I feel like a teenager! He shifted closer to her and the kiss grew deeper. He probed gingerly with his tongue and she opened, oh god, she opened to him, and slid her own tongue around his, turning his cock to stone.

She moaned and slid closer to him. He reached out and fondled her breast, so firm and cool, the nipple so thick and rigid under the slick bikini top. He wanted to suck it, but he didn’t want to lose this kiss, not yet. He slid his hand down to her thigh, then up to her bikini bottom. She rose under his hand and he felt himself oozing, his excitement almost unbearable. He pushed his fingers under the damp, tight nylon and felt her wetness, her heat. Oh fuck, she was so ready!

"Johnny, wait, Johnny…" She was pushing him away, pulling back from him, and he groaned and groped for her again.

"What is it? What’s wrong? Oh please, don’t…" He stopped himself, trying to catch his breath, still his momentum. He was acting like an idiot. Like a teenager. But oh, please…

"Not here, ok?" Her breathing came in gasps and her skin was flushed. He understood and rose, pulling her to her feet. "Come on." His foot kicked the forgotten glass beside him, and it fell over, breaking. "Careful," he warned, and steered her away from the debris. He led her up the stairs to his room, realising as they reached the balcony that he’d left his door open, the air conditioning running. They entered and he shut the door behind them, locking it.

They stood facing one another in the light, seeing one another fully, clearly, for the first time. He half expected her to recognise him, but she gave no sign of it. She reached behind her and untied her top, letting it fall, then reached down and pushed her bottoms down and off. Her tan lines were distinct, her hidden skin pale as milk, the rest brown as tea. Her bush was waxed bikini style, dark, like the wet hair on her head.

He stepped out of his trunks, seeing her eyes drop and take him in.

"Do you have anything?" she asked, and it took him a moment to register her meaning.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Thank God, he thought. He turned to the bedside table, picked up his wallet, and took out the condom, setting it down next to the lamp. She smiled hugely and came to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, pressing her body against his, and kissing him.

"I want you so much," she whispered, as if it were a secret.

"Me too." Jesus, he wanted to fuck this girl, fuck her like they were 15 and in a back seat! He made himself slow down. While there was something to be said for a hard, quick fuck, there was also quite a lot to be said for slow, soft foreplay (followed by a hard, quick fuck, of course).

He guided her gently to the bed and nudged her down, back, until she lay below him with her ass on the edge, her feet on the floor. He looked down at her, then dropped to his knees and spread her thighs. She gasped and trembled under his hands, and he lowered his mouth to her belly, touching his lips to her skin, sighing. He worked his way up, to her breasts, tasting them, feeling around the hard nipples with his tongue.

"Oh, yes," she murmured. He moved his hand to her pussy, rubbing and probing in her profuse lubrication, then sliding up to play with her clit as he continued lapping at her nipples. She opened wider, arched higher, and began to shake and moan, her hands coming up to grasp hold of his shoulders. He moved down her body, bringing his hands to her breasts and his mouth between her shaky legs. He flicked and rubbed her nipples as he ran his tongue softly over and around, in and out, up and down. He felt her coming before she cried out and bucked, felt her cunt begin to throb and pulse, and he continued working at her, coaxing spasm after spasm from her, until she reached down and pushed him away, saying, "Stop, oh, I can’t…"

Smiling, he settled back on his heels and gazed at her, letting her recover. When she did, she looked up at him, met his eyes, and smiled slowly, softly.

"Your turn," she said, and his cock jerked and seemed to double in size instantly. Impossible, he thought, but it felt so. He reached out and retrieved the condom, tearing it open and sliding it on.

"Just tell me," she begged, "show me, what do you want, Johnny?"

You, he thought, I want you, and rose over her, pushing her higher onto the bed and himself up and into her. She cried out and pushed herself onto him, and he bit his lip and thrust urgently forward. "I want YOU, Sarah" he panted out, "I want to fuck you like an animal, like THIS," and he punctuated his words with a deep, aggressive penetration. She shrieked and raised her legs, granting him even deeper access. "Oh god, yes, fuck me like an animal, fuck me hard, rough, make it fast and rough, Johnny, please!"

He did, letting himself go, throwing all his weight and passion behind it, and even though he was focused solely on his own pleasure at this point, she was coming again, in spite of or because of it, and her pleasure spurred him on to even greater abandon.

"Christ, Sarah! Oh FUCK, I…" He spent then, pouring it all out in a total release that left him feeling both utterly depleted and completely renewed. He kept thrusting until he could stand it no longer, then drew himself slowly out of her, falling to one side.

The next he knew, it was morning, the bright, Texas summer light spilling into the room in spite of the closed curtains. He was alone. He went to the bathroom and showered, then dressed. He was fine with it. Wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway. God knew.

He found the note later, and pocketed it, thinking he might call her. Probably not, but maybe. He grabbed his jacket and wallet and left, going somewhere.
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Night Swimming