#bandf1

“I'll be in the two o'clock,” Mark continues, glancing over today's schedule on his phone screen. “I'll come early — no need to talk to Zak without me, alright? Leave the chit-chat to the other three.”

Oscar nods along, just as he has for the rest of Mark's spiel. There's no point in interjecting when he has nothing to say. He watches Mark's lips move and thinks, absentmindedly, that if he were to interrupt Mark, it'd only be to kiss him.

He's heard the stories. From a blend of online forums and Mark's vague allusions, he sees it clear in his mind's eye: various combinations of Mark's old band stumbling in late to practice, filming, meeting, hair tousled, clothes disorderly, bodies flushed. Seb's smug grin unwavering even as someone reminds him that his fly is down; Jense giggling, making a half-arsed attempt to pull the straps of her low-cut tank over the freshly crimson marks decorating her collarbone; Mark, trying to shake off the shame.

It's the kind of image he would've conjured up in the dark of his adolescent bedroom, Mark all hot and heavy before a rehearsal's even started. He longs to render it reality, now that he has the chance. Oscar thinks of kissing Mark, of clambering over the centre console to maneuver himself into Mark's lap, of reclining the seat until they're horizontal; his media training kicks in, as natural as fight or flight, and Oscar thinks of how visible they are, of the ever-looming threat of possible paparazzi, of the scandal of it all.

Still, it doesn't entirely stop Oscar's mind from wandering places it shouldn't. Mark shifts towards him, legs opening just a touch wider, and Oscar's breath hitches. He runs through it in his head. Cons: Mark is loud and terribly obvious, and would probably be pretty mad at him. Pros: if Oscar's head were where it needed to be, he'd be lower than the windows, and no one would be able to see him taking Mark in his mouth, all the way to the hilt, feeling him stiffen against his tongue. They'd only take a few minutes. He'd swallow — no need to dirty the sleek leather of Mark's Porsche — and pop a gum or two and, after he's sorted himself out in the bathroom, no one would notice a thing.

“Osc?” Mark says. “You ready to go?”

Mark followed Jense along the aisle in Lidl, carrying the shopping basket that was already far too heavy considering they'd only stopped for "just a couple things, Mark. I gotta have a snack before the concert tonight unless you want me to pass out on stage."

Mark had tried his best to ignore the subsequent mental images of Jense doing exactly that, his own heroic rush to catch her and getting to carry her bridal-style off stage, lie next to her while she recovered. He definitely didn't consider that perhaps true love's kiss would heal her enough for her to go out on stage just in time for the final song, that would be stupid.

"What d'ya need 6 pints of milk for, Jense?"

"Seb mentioned we'd run out the other day and you know how much he likes to drink milk," Jense replied before standing in front of the cheese selection, humming in concentration. The tune sounded eerily similar to 'Multi 21' but Mark took a deep breath in and out because Seb had earned his forgiveness and he would simply have to prove that he was a better boyfriend than Seb could ever be. Not that he was Jense's boyfriend or anything, just that, if she wanted him to be, he would be better at it than Seb.

"Anything you want?" Mark asked. The basket really was so very heavy and he just knew that if he were to put it on the ground for a second to rest that would be Jense's cue to skip off round the corner of Lidl and disappear from his sight.

"I want...I want...I want cake," Jense decided, grabbing Mark's hand and leading them towards the variety of cakes and didn't that just make Mark's heart skip a beat. They were literally having regular sex and yet this was the moment he treasured the most, being dragged around Lidl, with what was probably a stupidly wide smile on his face, and all because he got to hold hands with Jense.

"Victoria sponge, carrot cake," Jense sang as she somehow miraculously found space in the basket to pile the different cakes in. "2 caked up but ready for some more cake. You wanna choose one, Mark?"

"Can't go wrong with a good chocolate cake, I suppose," Mark conceded. There was no point in arguing with Jense over cake.

"Aaaand a lemon cake for good luck tonight." Jense flashed Mark a smile and he was so incredibly ready to drop to one knee to propose. No, he sternly told himself, he was not about to propose to anyone, he was allowed to kneel for sexual reasons only. "You reckon that's enough, mate?" Jense's question interrupted.

"Yeah, all good." There was quite a bit more than enough there.

He switched the basket to his other hand and tried not to think about how he needed the use of his arms for drumming. Jense was worth it.

The shop was mostly empty so it didn't take long to get through the checkout, Jense fluttering her eyelashes when the total appeared.

"You've got this, right, Mark?"