Wet and hot and thrusting its way in, Britney's tongue slips between carefully lipsticked lips and thrusts its way into Madonna's mouth. It strokes her teeth and caresses her palate and all the while, in the nanoseconds that are minutes in stage time, it is a conduit for Madonna's spirit.
She can feel it draining away from her — the flounce and grin from twenty years ago. The marriages, the book, the movies, the babies, the hairstyles, the fashion, the albums — all the albums except the latest, a last gasp corrupted into a 30-second jingle... Britney's devouring them with her tongue. She's sucking them down and eating them whole and refusing to ever let go. She's stealing her away from herself.
She breaks away and glares at the girl who is licking her lips and smiling. There's a flash of something in her eyes, something vicious and unnatural, and Madonna misses a dance step.
Christina's lips are cold. Bone chill and empty and her flat black hair trails around her like ink and darkness as she performs the motions.
Her eyes are blank and her body is chilled and Madonna's arms break out in goosebumps as she pulls the garter from the icy leg. Her voice is deep and lusty — and the faint echo isn't coming from a fancy trick on a computer, but from the emptiness that radiates from inside her.
Her kiss is ice and her eyes are focused on Britney. There's the faintest glimmer in them to make Madonna shiver again.
She sees them backstage again, two figures gleaming in white against the black curtains and stagelights. She does not go to them, but watches them, warily, keeping herself in the background away from them.
Britney wraps an arm around Christina's shoulder, and the other girl flinches, just a little, just enough to remind Madonna of her life with Sean.
Britney's kiss is consuming. Her mouth is wide open on Christina's lips, and, when they part, Christina looks paler and colder than before.
She is walking back to her seat when she sees him. And even though there are no lights upon him, he glows.
Golden and shining and beautiful beautiful boy wearing glasses and nodding like the intellectual he always wanted to be. He's filled with a quiet energy — no longer nervous or sedate or anything that could be considered inappropriate. Just there and perfect.
She leans down, cups his cheek in her hand, and kisses him tenderly. Her mouth is open, and she feels the emptiness in her body made whole again. The strength, the power...she has returned.
When she pulls away, she licks her lips and looks down at him. He is pale, whiter than his shirt or his fanbase. And as he pulls his jacket closer to his body, she smiles.
This Real Person story was written by Kate Bolin. If you liked it, there's plenty more at http://www.dymphna.net/fanfic/. And you can feedback her at dymphna@dymphna.net.