Oscar did feel some guilt for bailing when he did, but he had to. The Devil's Rejects didn't like cops. Didn't call the cops, didn't talk to the cops, didn't know any cops, didn't even associate with anybody who associated with cops...and he figured that they should hear about what happened to Daryl from one of their own, first. So, as much as he hated to leave Max alone to handle the police, he knew he had to.

"They don't say anything about how he died in the one I saw," one of the senior members of the gang commented before taking a drag from his bummed Camel Light.

"Fucking moron," Victor grumbled as he looked over the news feed on his phone. "What were you even fucking doing down there?"

"I was just hanging out with a friend! What, is that against the creed or something?"

"Drop the attitude. One of our own is dead, and you were involved. Give me one reason I shouldn't cut you loose right now."

"Vick, listen," Charley said as he leaned in and began whispering something. The two of them murmured a little as Victor studied Oscar closely before nodding.

"Right... well, no love lost for Daryl, he's been a liability for a while... But apparently he's been waving your dues. So, Oscar, tell ya what I'm going to do. I'm willing to forget all this, as long as you clear up your debt with the club which is..." Victor looked pointedly at his treasurer who was busy running the numbers.

"Eleven thousand three hundred and fifty seven dollars," said the treasurer.

"There, that's what you owe. Get it to me by the end of month, or you hand in your jacket. Dismissed."

Victor, and the few others who had shown up to the emergency meeting, collected their things and left the club house. But Oscar hung around a little while longer until Charley came out.

"Charles! Charley! Wait up!" Oscar called as he saw him heading to his bike. "How the hell am I supposed to pay that shit off?"

"Look, Oscar... We all gotta pay our dues. Victor's giving you a chance to stay in. Considering everything... you're pretty lucky."

"Everything?" Oscar chuffed. "The hell does that mean?"

"Never mind that. Just leave it be, and do what Vic asked."

"Dude, where am I going to get that kind of money?"

"Don't worry, I'll get you a list of cars... You lift 'em and I'll make sure the cash gets recorded towards your debt. You'll be free and clear before the end of the month," Charley assured as he put on his helmet. "Now, go home and take care of that nose! I'll call ya in the morning."

It'd been two days since the incident with Daryl, and it was weird not having to worry about the prick just showing up anymore, and even weirder when Oscar reminded himself that it wasn't because the drunk was just sitting in a prison cell somewhere in an ugly jumpsuit, twiddling his thumbs... But on the subject of clothing, Max hadn't been kidding about wanting to dress Oscar up.

The place Max brought him to was near the heart of Kingsport, nestled into the bottom floor of a sharp, glass-faced high-rise, surrounded by dozens of other high-end fashion boutiques; the kinds of stores where someone could easily drop Oscar's entire month's rent on a single watch or dress shirt.

They'd parked in a paid parking garage near the end of the strip and walked about half a block to the metal-framed glass door they entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Gallagher," a studious, pretty, platinum blonde in a dark waistcoat greeted as he strode over to meet them from the front desk.

"Morning, Henry," Max returned effortlessly.

"And you must be the friend we're fitting today." Henry gave Oscar an appraising once-over before adding, "Welcome to The Nine, sir. If you'll follow me this way, we can go ahead and get started."

Max gave Oscar a brilliant smile, motioning for Oz to go first.

"On the phone, you mentioned this was for a formal occasion?" Henry commented as he led them at a purposeful pace into a separate room, with three tall mirrors situated around a foot tall platform.

"Sort of an upscale date night," Max clarified, getting a smile out of Henry. "At the theater."

"Sounds lovely," Henry said, grabbing a long measuring tape and a smaller than average clipboard from a sleek cabinet drawer. Then he turned his attention back to Oscar. "You can step right through here to undress." He instructed, partially pulling back a heavy, deep blue, floor to ceiling curtain—revealing a changing room.

Oscar gave a shrug and parted ways with them. He found the entire place odd. All the glass, and mirrors, and tall ceilings, made everything feel bright, open, and airy. The electric white and chrome details only added to the feeling that everything was on display from every conceivable angle. Even Oscar, who was more than comfortable in his own skin, found it a little unnerving to undress here.

But he wasn't doing it for his own enjoyment. He was doing this all for a few hours alone with Max after this concert, and he had yet to find the limit of what he'd do with a carrot like that dangled in front of him. So, off went his clothes. The sound of the heavy chain and his belt hitting the floor echoed through the uncomfortably quiet climate-controlled air.

A few minutes later, Oscar opened the curtain and stepped out wearing nothing more than a leather wrist band and enough cheap body spray that a blind man could have tracked him around the store with ease.

Max's brows would've probably hit the ceiling if they hadn't been attached, and when Henry turned to see why, the poor tailor audibly gasped. "OH! Uh-uhm-Mrrr..."

"Bradley."

"Mr. Bradley," Henry cleared his throat, doing his best to divert his eyes, but he'd already turned beet red in contrast to his trendy, silvery hair and thin, half-frame glasses. "You can leave your underwear on."

Max was doing everything in his power to keep from exploding with laughter, despite the slight jealousy that rose in his gut from someone else getting a full frontal of his punk. He supposed he should've expected it. Oscar wouldn't know modesty or decorum if either bit him right on one of his adorable, bare asscheeks. But Max loved that about him. Or at the very least, he'd certainly never want to change it.

"Yeah, bout that... I sort of missed laundry day, so I wasn't really wearing any," Oscar explained, as though Henry would surely understand where he was coming from. "You guys don't, like, have spares around here do ya?" Honestly, Oscar was getting a kick out of this as well.

"Umm-" Henry let out a laugh that was likely part nerves and part disbelief. He twisted to look at Max for some sort of help, but 'Mr. Gallagher' just gave him an innocent grin in return. "Right, well...you can-um-put your pants back on, and I'll do what I can."

"Sounds reasonable," Max chimed.

Henry nodded, visibly relieved though still clearly flustered, before looking back at Oscar, and making a very noble effort to keep his eyes in a respectful place. "Will that work for you, Mr. Bradley?"

Oscar wasn't exactly paying attention when Henry had spoken to him. He was instead making a kissy face at some lady who'd scurried over to see what was going on, no doubt having heard her co-worker's alarmed tone..

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Works for me!" Oscar said before returning to the dressing room and coming back out a minute later. He'd done them a favor and removed the belt and chain at least...

Once he had directed Oscar up onto the platform, Henry set to work taking and recording measurements, and was clearly in his element. He also praised and complemented Oscar occasionally, obviously with the intent to make his client feel good about how he looked. Good salesmen were manipulative in that way.

Max hoped Oz was enjoying himself, because Max certainly was. His jealousy had waned enough for him to take pleasure in feeling like his attraction to Oz was validated. It would be so easy for anyone to just glance at the punk and write him off. See the slew of tattoos, and chains, piercings, and eyeliner, and dismiss Oz as ugly. He wasn't. Not to Max.

And Max had also known Henry for long enough to know that he didn't find Oz unattractive either. Max caught the occasional curious and unnecessary glances across the exposed expanses of Oscar's skin, and the way Henry's eyes smiled when Oz would comment something to him... The way color rose back into Henry's face when he was measuring for Oscar's inseam...

Damn.

Max bit the side of his thumb as he directed his gaze elsewhere. His ears were hot, and he stood up suddenly from the chair he'd been relaxing in to pace for a moment and cool his head. It was a little soon to be acting so...possessive. He'd seen girls all over Oscar before in clubs, but...this was hitting different, and Max couldn't nail down why. Not that the 'why' necessarily mattered.

"So," Henry said, stepping back from Oscar and the platform. "Would it be overstepping to assume black?" he asked, posing the question to both of them, which made Max feel a little better. He was still included.

"What do you think, Oz?"

"How about fire engine red?" Oscar suggested with a grin.

Max's eyes narrowed and he sauntered over to Oscar, reaching up and hooking the nape of Oz's neck with his hand, pulling him down just enough that their lips nearly touched. "I think you'd look absolutely devilish," he said, in a husky tone that dripped with lust, before releasing Oscar and turning his head towards Henry. "Do you have red?"

The consultant had to blink a few times, possibly too stunned to reply right away, before he finally exhaled. "I certainly do, Mr. Gallagher! I'll be right back with some swatches." Henry's face was bright red again as he all but fled the room.

Max looked back up at Oscar, grinning like he was awfully proud of something before whispering, "Good."

If you were Oz, would you shamelessly ask Max for a little help with paying back the gang? Or would you get to work stealing some high-risk, high-reward cars? ...<<

Shout out to ajArnault ! Thanks so much for your support!!