"Brit, you in here?"

Britney doesn't answer. Her hand moves faster and faster in an attempt to finish before she gets caught.

She can hear Christina milling around for a second, just a heartbeat too long to not have heard anything, and before Britney can muster a real answer, a head of wildly tousled hair pops over the top of the stall. Christina's eyes go wide and happy as she rests her chin on the edge of the partition. "Brit, are you getting dirrty in here?" she asks, and winks.

Britney just looks at her. "Your lipstick's smudged." It has nothing to do with anything.

"So's your hand. What's up with this?" She gestures at Britney's hand, nestled between her legs.

"What do you think--" Britney gasps. "Is up with this?"

"I thought you'd be the type to wait till you got home, at least," Christina says, but she's lost the smirk and her neck strains in an effort to get a better look.

"Well, I'm not," Britney snaps, and brings her legs together to hide herself from Christina's inquisitive eyes. The move only succeeds in pushing her fingers more tightly against the slick, sensitive spot she'd been working, and if Christina will just leave, then she can do it again, in private where she doesn't have to feign coolness. Not that she's really fooling anyone, here.

“No, I guess you’re not," Christina laughs, and wriggles her way under the door, a quick flurry of white lace and bare flesh.

"What are you doing?" Britney asks.

"Scoot back."

Christina keeps drifting closer, and Britney uses her free hand to tug at the miniscule ruffle of her costume. Nothing can cover her in this position; the matching panties are crumpled on the back of the toilet. "Stop it," she says sharply.

For just a second Christina stops, but then she smiles and shakes her head, squats in front of Britney, her hands on Britney's knees. "But that's what has you in here, right?" she asks. "Us, what we're doing out there? Or do you just get turned on by bathrooms in general?"

Britney doesn't know how Christina can be so flippant, how she can joke around as though she just hasn't invited herself in to watch Britney finger herself, but Christina is laughing, deep and smooth, just how she sings.

Britney looks down at the dark head hovering between her knees and takes in a sudden breath. "Are you gonna-"

"No," Christina says, but her fingers spread like a fan around Britney's thighs. "I wanna be able to say I saw Britney Spears get herself off in a public john."

"Not public," Britney breathes, just out of principle. It's a vip bathroom, luxurious and private, but she starts moving her hand again, slowly. It feels good, and she's caring less that Christina can see.

Christina's lipstick is still smudged, and becomes even more so when Christina presses her lips against Britney's knee, and whispers, "Faster."

"Maybe I like it slow," Britney says, but moves her hand faster anyway.

Her thighs start to tremble and Christina gives them a squeeze. "That's nice."

"Oh," Britney gasps. She's not going to last much longer. "You talk too much."

"You like it," Christina says and nips lightly at Britney's thighs.

When she comes, it's with Christina's eyes fixed on her, dark and wet, and cold porcelain digging into the arch of her back.