She wants him so badly, she can taste his kisses. Licking her lips like a succubus in a rock and/or video. The way he arches his back when he draws near, he's imagining her liquorish nails running down the length of his spine. There's a look of cool confidence in his eyes one normally sees only in moving pictureshows.
As they speak, their lips lightly brush against one another. Near kisses. Promises and lies. Their figures are enshrouded in a near tangible cloak of pheromones and musk. There's nearly a flavor of it in the air.
Silhouetted on a bench seat, there but not, they have their little love affair. The rest of the world does not exist beyond their deathlocked gazes. Nothing else matters. They start to all but coil around one another like serpents.
The bell rings. It's time to stop. Perhaps it's for the best. Before things go too far and someone gets hurt. He stands up to leave. Whether or not they know how to get in touch with one another for another little rendezvous, whether or not they even know each other's names, hardly seems relevant. The bell has rang. It's time to stop. He walks off the bus without a backward glance, to her heartbreak, but it's probably safer that way.