(no subject)

[h4rd-lick3r.livejournal.com]

hi everyone! i just joined this community..

i have a request. britney/christina is my OTP, i absolutely love them together! but there's not alot of fic out there about them.

could somebody please write a fic about them? it'd be nice if it was longish, but anything will do!

thanks so much..
this community is a great idea!

Comments

[beaux.livejournal.com]

I haven't got time to write a proper ficlet for this or anything, but you might want to look at sparklygirls100. They're not really active lately, and they don't do requests, but there's a LOT of Brit/Christina if you go back a few pages in the com. :)

[elley1017.livejournal.com]

*snort* I had to comment on your icon. I really did just bust out laughing.

[beaux.livejournal.com]

Hee hee! Glad you enjoyed it. I lack Photoshop right now as my computer = verrah dead, but I have me some fun with my icons. The lack of sparkle lately has made a lot of them Clay ones, though.

I just know I can come up with something to make out of THIS one (http://pictures.greatestjournal.com/userimg/1017261/22363)...

[ephemera.livejournal.com]

this didn't turn out either long or romantic, but - I hope it's something.

***** ***** *****

It's like the wrapping changes so much between times, and that makes it important to get down to the bare essence, the little kernels and nerve ending that aren't touched by tans and peels, extensions and dye, manicures and stylists. The little bits of yourselves that you have left over, the one night in five hundred when you're in the same places and there's no pressing need to remember that for the most part you don't even like each other that much.

Or maybe it's that her wrapping doesn’t like yours, seeing as once you're away from your entourages and your images you get along in way's you'd never been capable of imagining when Christina had first turned up on set and the two of you had grown into a camaraderie. Camaraderie means sisterhood and knowing someone well enough to understand without having to talk about it.

You never have talked about it. When you were kids you talked about other stuff – tutors, and which boys were cute, and what it would be like when you were grown ups and stars in your own right. You didn’t even talk about it when the conversations were picked up years later, when you were more like grown ups and closer to being stars and found yourselves at the same events sometimes with a hundred thousand other people who needed words and smiles and effort.

Somewhere between dusk and dawn one time something changed. Somewhere amongst the ruins of a party you wouldn’t remember if it wasn't for the way her tongue had slid over your fingers and made something inside you tighten and ache, and the way her skin looked with your candy pink acrylics digging into her soft stomach, and the way your breath caught in your throat when her lips were close enough to yours for you to taste the cocktails she'd drunk while you'd been good and stayed with diet coke and fruit juice all night. It changed, and you never talked about that either, just closed your mouth against hers, chewing away the lipstick coating to get to something real that other people wouldn't understand, and you hoped, hard and fast, that other people would never get to taste. It's you who broke first, dipping your fingers around the edges of her tiny tarty thong and bringing them back to your mouth, enjoying the surprise in her eyes, the new-found respect, almost as much as the way her hands palm your tender breasts, and later the way her tongue dances over your clit.

It's that first taste that you remember, and how it told you something about her and something about yourself, and that you didn’t need words for any of it.

Everything's changed by the next time you get the chance to – talk. By now it's you in the thong, with sweet drinks on your breath and there's no softness left to her stomach or her long strong legs which are wrapped and laced in leather. But then, your nails are long and sharp and a dark bruised plum now and they catch just fine in her long curls and that moment, when you pull her head back and she looks at you like that – that hasn’t changed at all. So you don’t talk about it, you just bite and scratch and kiss and lick until you find other things, other fragments, that are just yours, or just hers. Things that you can share and that you know won't change, and that don't need words.

[coffeewordangel.livejournal.com]

Oh. my. god. *whimper* It's not like I've been searching for the perfect Britney/Xtina but if I were? This is what I'd be looking for. Just, yes. I need to go pimp this to my girlfriend immediately.

Fucking amazing. *flails*

[ephemera.livejournal.com]

oh my - thank you! I'd almost forgotten that I'd even written this one, and your comment has just totally made my morning.

[coffeewordangel.livejournal.com]

*g* Well, brilliance should be acknowledged. :) I hate it when I run across a fantastic fic and no one's bothered telling the author how great it is.