Summary: [OCxOC; het] We are two pit players trying to survive our horrible, wonderful life together. This is a collection of short stories: small pieces detailing particular events. Which lie in the past and which in the future? That is for us to know. Rated more for safety than descriptive content. This is continually updating. It will finish when our lives do.

A/N: Here is another chapter for you all. I strongly encourage you to submit a review by clicking on the button at the bottom of the chapter, even if you don't have an account. I welcome your praises and constructive criticisms. Enjoy~

[Vignettes of Him] These Magnificent Miles

In which we make the most of a quiet morning on the band bus by 'exploring each other's bodies'.

'You're really attractive, you know.'

I think about it sometimes—I continued in my head—notice it in the strangest of moments: when you're standing in line at the concession stand at a baseball game; when your face is set and your mallets are poised above the keys on the bell set; or when you're sleeping next to me on the bus.

I could feel his eyebrows go up, resting momentarily at the location of my temples before returning to their normal position.

'Really?' he asked, his voice filled with a self-denying wonder I feared he had learned from me.

'Yes, really. Why would I lie to you?'

This time, I felt a movement lower down on my face, as the corner of his mouth pulled backward into a smile, the skin accompanying the muscles necessary to perform the gesture brushing against the right side of my nose.

'I don't know. I can't think of a time when you ever have.' His face turned until our noses were touching. I took a deep breath.

'Good.'

I hardly had time to finish the word before his lips were upon mine completely. Something, some subconsciously-controlled mechanism in an extremity of my mind, was counting the seconds. One, two, three, four. He broke away for a moment. I reminded myself to breathe moments before he made a motion to continue the kiss, and ending up gasping into his mouth. His hand found my cheek and stroked it, as if to tell me that he didn't mind.

Without warning, an arm reached across my thighs and rested there briefly. Judging by the sound of his rotating shoulder, I knew that it had to be his. I cringed, the dread of being picked up in this way flooding my body, but fortunately the movement remained internal. Down at my lower half, he was continuing. Both of his arms were employed in the act of pulling my legs across his lap. This effectively changed our position so that our bodies were perpendicular, and our heads could face each other. He wasted no time in taking advantage of this, and forced me against the side of the bus with his lips, his tongue begging for entrance into my mouth. I granted it to him, and suddenly a large wet mass of taste buds and pink flesh and purple veins and nerve endings had pushed its way past my open lips and begun to explore my mouth. I sat there in amusement as he ran his tongue along the insides and outsides of my teeth. I occasionally remembered to do something with my hands, which were clasped around his back. It was a difficult business, this. Too much to think about all at once.

His tongue had paused, and I took the opportunity to introduce it to mine. I marveled at the smoothness; one wouldn't have expected the clashing of two sets of taste buds to…to glide so easily. It was a wonderful thing. His saliva tasted faintly of the Skittles he had been eating earlier that night. But it was morning, now, and the landscapes of several states in the eastern United States were slipping by behind my head.

He pulled his tongue back into his own mouth, and I closed my lips in response. We separated for a brief instance, during which time he reached down and adjusted the position of my legs on his lap. This time, my mind made no attempts to resist. It wasn't long before our faces were again pressed closely together. I settled into the curvature that was the combined forms of the bus seats and his body. Our lips touched again and again. At one point, I decided to return the favour he had done me earlier and slid my tongue into his mouth. He received it with an unnatural fervor, sucking so hard that for a time I actually feared he would detach the organ from the rest of my body. His teeth cut into my lips, and my nose was pressed so strongly against him that I couldn't remember the last time I had taken a breath. Below the apparent concentration of the action, all was not still. I felt his hips buck repeatedly but gently against me, his essence coming into contact with the side of my leg.

He pushed my tongue out of his mouth, followed it closely with his own, and slowly licked my lips before plunging toward my throat with his tongue. I lost control and let out a moan that passed almost directly from my lips to his ears. His hand, which had been caressing my cheek, disappeared from my face.

'You like that?' He finished the inquiry by adding my name in a husky tone unlike even the one he used when joking about sex with the other members of the drumline.

'Mhm-hm.'

It was the only response I could make with his lips already back on mine. We continued what we had been doing, our antics covered for the time being by the lessening blackness of the morning. My hands found the bottom edge of his shirt, and I slid them underneath it. The expanse of bare skin this action exposed was a newfound area of exploration for me. I moved my hands up, down, and across his back, eventually settling on running my finger along the band of his boxers. The elasticity of that particular garment caused the fabric at its top to bunch together. Occasionally my finger would slip beneath the frills; the skin underneath was warm and smooth. I smiled against his lips, knowing that one day I would be able to continue, and that as for everything I felt and more, it would all be mine.

Meanwhile, his hands had had no trouble finding ways to occupy themselves. Once, while our tongues were entwined in their almost familiar passionate dance, his index finger encountered the part of me that was facing him. He slid the curled digit up my side. Its proximity to my breast sent chills down my spine. Someday…

At another time, he reached around my back and lifted my shirt and tank top so that his palms rested directly on my skin. When he began to move his hands, I became aware of how horribly ticklish I was there, and instinctively arched my back to avoid his touch. He stopped kissing me and laughed. I laughed, too, despite myself. But he left his hands in their position on my lower back, and I grew accustomed to the feeling.

The comforting darkness was waning. He cupped my chin in his hand and pulled my mouth to his in a bout of passion that left me panting to catch my breath. I could feel his eyes on me.

'Are you okay?'

It was the first thing either of us had said in twenty minutes. I nodded, and then confirmed my answer with a spoken response.

'I'm fine.'

The bus pulled to a halting stop at a gas station, waking the majority of its occupants. I slid my legs off him. He smiled at me, and we shared a final kiss in the dim morning sunlight.

It was these moments I would remember, the ones I would draw back on when we weren't together. Band buses at one in the morning, his subtle but pleasing scent, the feeling of his skin against my fingertips; they were all permanently ingrained in my memory after that night.

'I love you,' he whispered over the stirring of our fellow band members. This was the last thing he would say to me before falling asleep with his head on my shoulder. I leaned up and kissed his neck.

'I love you, too,' I murmured, infinitely glad that for the first real time I had been given the opportunity to show him.