cloaked in gucci & in scandal

sage doesn't know why he's so scared , but he is. terrified of mal punching him , terrified travis is going to find out and this whole thing is going to blow up. but his head is spinning and all he can think about is mal. kissing him , fucking him , it was like a parasite taking over his brain. his eyes settled on mal. he looks incredible and sage is losing his fucking mind. " i'm avoiding you because i'm fucking terrified of what i feel right now. " he doesn't bother lying , because he knows mal can see right through him but he also knows that this is a dangerous thing to admit to mal , considering sage - typically an annoying fuck - all but ghosted him. " i know it probably meant nothing to you and you still fucking hate me but i . . . " he pauses then , eyes seering into mal's as he stands in front of him. " i can't get you out of my fucking head , mal. i shouldn't even be talking to youa bout this right now , considering . . . " he doesn't mention his name , and in his heart he feels like he'd be a better partner than travis - all but assumes he's a better lover too. " though you'd be happy i was avoiding you , anyway. "

seeing sage circling the party only serves to irritate malachi who knows, rationally, that it makes no sense for either one of them to approach the other – at least not yet. not until they’ve each reached another level of inebriation. mal seeks to reach that sooner than later, knocking back jello shots and taking hits off of every bong rip, every bowl pass, every joint rotation. it all winds up with him seeking out the air outside, in the dark. alone. travis doesn’t even know he’s gone, probably. “mm.” he responds through pursed lips, but it makes him feel something to know that sage is, too. and he’s being honest, vulnerable. mal has the upper hand here. he swallows down the words that sage feeds him, staring, searching. he wants to tell sage that he’s plagued by the same shit – can’t shake sage, either, can’t stop laying awake at night, thinking about him, reliving those hours. “and what do you get from making assumptions, sage?” he asks, cocking his head. the irritation is bubbling under the surface, simmering but the burner can be turned off, the energy shifted into something else. they’ve already proven they can twist this into that, it’s just a matter of what move each of them makes next, and mal feels like he’s walking on new legs.

sage had been trying to get that night with mal out his head since it happened and had been painfully unsuccessful. all he could think about was mal , all he could look at was the marks mal left on his body as they slowly started to fade away. he wanted them back , wanted mal's hands on him again , but he was terrified at how mal was going to react. so , he avoided it until , well , as per usual - they're at the same event. a small house party , slightly more intimate than usual and before he sees malachi , he sees travis. fuck. he avoids them both like the fucking plague until he no longer can , trying to find a private area to down this drink but instead , finding mal. he stares at him , normal annoying quips silenced. " hi. " is all he can muster. " i didn't think anyone would be over here. "

the night had ended, and mal expected life to proceed as normal, but he kept thinking about sage – remembering. things are no better with travis than they were before, and mal’s (unknowingly) waiting on a text message that’s not going to come. as each day bleeds into another, he becomes angrier about this – like he was some kind of conquest and, now that the bubble has burst, sage doesn’t want to play anymore. it’s disappointing. he and travis almost brawl before leaving the house. mal so desperately wants to sit his ass back on the sofa and forget it all, fuck travis’ stupid friends, but he goes anyway because he already got dressed (and maybe sage is going to be there). his eyes scan, find, and watch sage disappear. it’s ages before they’re in each other’s orbit again, malachi perched on the back step behind the sliding glass door just outside of the kitchen where most of the party goers have congregated. he’s smoking, being polite. he looks up when sage comes out, exhales a stream of smoke. “hi.” he repeats, blinks. “no one is. just me.” he pauses then, staring at sage for a long, quiet moment. “why are you avoiding me?”

there's something about the way they move together that feels perfect. sage has never had a partner who's body felt like it was made for him , shaped just for him , crafted for him. he never would've thought that it would be mal who had him such a mess. though his mind feels clouded , can't even think , he's pulling himself together enough to be perfect for mal. begs for him to squeeze hard , drives into him just as his hips push downward to make sure mal can really feel him. his face is full of expression , showing how much pleasure this is bringing him as if his loud moans aren't doing well enough on their own. a pathetic whine leaves his lips when he's told no but he'll be damned if he doesn't listen , willing himself to wait until he's finally told yes - only letting go when mal does himself , making sure it's together. " thank you. thank you. " it's breathed so softly , after cascading moans that are nearly yells leave his body. he goes limp then , releasing his once tight grip on mal's hips , whole body flopped against the couch. he's breathing hard , pleasure clear on his face , moving mal's body so tenderly , like he's precious cargo. he slips out of him , pushing on mal's back until they're chest to chest , taking a moment to rest. to relish in this feeling. he runs his fingers along mal's back , runs a hand through his hair , all quiet ways of checking on him. savoring this moemnt. sage was , typically , a very gentle lover , after care being one of his favorite parts of sex. of course they were very , very far from being done , but couldn't help it. he kisses him then , taking full advantage of their closeness , slow and needy. " my turn , baby. when you're ready. "

it sends a shiver of something appreciative down his spine. mal expects to remove himself from sage independently, but sage has other ideas, and he’s so delicate with mal that mal almost recoils from it. instead, he lets sage handle him, maneuvering them both so that they’re closer now, somehow, than they had been moments ago. this feels a lot more intimate, at least, and his chest still hasn’t returned to its normal rhythm. instead of pushing away, like mal would expect himself to do, he relishes in the gentle affection. he’s never experienced something like this, and he’s looking at sage with new eyes. he doesn’t deserve to be treated so tenderly, but sage is still looking at him, touching him so delicately – goosebumps peppering up along his skin in the wake of these curious fingertips. when sage’s hand reaches mal’s head, mal leans into the touch. he shouldn’t be surprised, then, that sage kisses him, but he is. his body tenses just slightly before relaxing into the softest puddle of goo, arm slung over sage’s waist lazily as he returns the kiss with matched need. mal’s shocked at the words, small smile creeping onto his lips, “you recharge that fast? damn… impressive. might have to keep you on speed dial.” he teases, kissing sage again – this time, greedier, with more tongue, his hand slipping down sage’s back to squeeze his ass. “just a few minutes, kiss me like that and it won’t take any time at all…” and, still, nothing of being called baby.

there's a rage that lies within knowing about the otherside. one that makes molly's bleak existence feel even bleaker on occasion. the stories that have been passed down her family speak of the cycle of it all, something she has never used to pay much stock to until it happened to her. the experience of dying, however brief it had been for molly, is something that's left a permanent dark smudge. the few minutes even trapped on that plane starts molly's itch for wanderlust. perhaps there's where their discomfort lies, in the knowing of it all, and how everything before and everything after are split by a very sharp divide. "yeah, what's that saying? man plans, god laughs." molly does not believe in that, but she recalls that being cross-stiched and mildewing on the walls of their upstairs residence. the handshake lingers a beat, and molly thinks that even if it's fleeting, this interaction is important. "likewise. still looking for tequila? 'cuz if you like grapefruit, i do make a mean paloma." there's a secret ingredient: tajín. give it a bite, like molly. now, they nod to olive, then to phil. "honestly, this is probably the least i can do." minimal effort is her game. "but, yeah, you're welcome. you're owed some politeness, phil." the weight of just all of it is settling onto molly. it makes her want to squirm with discomfort, the inevitability of it staring her directly in the face, moving on quick before she examines that. "would you be down to exchange numbers? i don't know if you're in town or passing through, but--.." they're ripping receipt paper from the paper and scribbling on the back on it. "your contact. it might not be the worst to have."

“never heard that one, it’s good, though.” she says, nodding her head. she does not believe in the christian god (or most other deities), but she does believe in something, she has no choice. the blonde smiles at the other blonde, happy to engage them in whatever prolonged interaction they desire. “sure. hit me with it, sugar.” she says, leaning on the bar. “i’ll take least you can do. i, too, often offer the least possible effort for the best possible outcome. it just makes sense.” she shrugs her shoulders then, another smile pulling at her lips. is she making herself appealing enough to molly? “he’s going to expect this kind of kindness all the time now.” she teases, head jerking toward phil. before she can think about it, molly is asking if she wants to exchange numbers. she tries to hide her excitement, tries to play cool and casual. “sure.” she reaches for her phone, flipping it over, unlocking it. “here.” she slides the device over to molly with another casual smile. “gimme yours. paper’s so old school, and you might lose it. i’d hate that...”

" yeah , i guess , but you hate me like i murdered your entire family. like i ruined your entire life when in reality all i did was . . . what ? run in the same circle as your boyfriend ? speak ? look at you ? it sucks to be hated so badly for just being your fucking self , malachi. so i'm sorry it bothers me but i'm going to continue to try to convince you i'm not what you created in your head. " it's raw , serious for once , but it's not long before the other side of sage takes over. he can only look openly desperate for so long before a flip switches and he goes right back to clawing at mal's last nerve like he's waiting for it to rip in half. " i'd be less obnoxious and annoying if you didn't give me a reason to me. " he ignores the other statement because , well , he'll always be that. " how am i supposed to know if you want me to answer or not when you're sitting here asking me a fucking question ?! " it comes out frustrated , sometimes hating that he didn't pick up on cues like everyone else did. it was common to sage to feel stupid , but mal digging in made it worse. " and yes i know what rhetorical means. jesus. " he sighs then , running a hand through messy brown hair. he needs a beer or maybe someone to knock some sense into him. " okay , and then i'll haunt you as a ghost. then what , huh ? " he's not going to be the one to break here , keeping up his front as long as humanly possible despite the other's threats. " not sure how clearer i can be here. i'll win you over somehow. "

sage lays it out for him, and malachi frowns. there isn’t a rhyme or reason behind his hatred, it just exists. and he can’t shut it off. “this has nothing to do with travis, but you’re onto something with the whole speaking and looking at me thing, that shit does bother me.” he confesses, though, still, cannot explain why. “i’m one fucking person, sage, does it really matter?” mal presses, searching sage’s face as he expresses that he’ll continue to try to convince malachi that he isn’t what mal believes him to be. it makes him take pause. the pause feels more like a hesitation, like hitting the brakes too hard at a stoplight, and sage is right back to being annoying. “what have i done to give you a reason? the fact that i dislike you encourages you more to grate on my nerves and engage in other obnoxious behaviors?” he asks, shaking his head with this expression like make it make sense. “it’s called tone of voice, expression, social cues, reading the fucking room.” his voice gets louder with every add on, that vein in his forehead threatening to burst as he leans across the table closer to sage. “you fucking would, and then I’d kill myself, and we’d both be ghosts, trapped on this mortal plane together for the rest of eternity, i can’t fucking do this anymore.” he throws back the rest of his drink and stands up, laughing in this almost maniacal sort of way that is entirely void of happiness or humor. it’s almost scary. “if you follow me, i actually will throw you into traffic. let that be your warning, and carissa fuckin’ heard it, too.” he jerks his head to the girl at his side then pushes himself up from the table, throwing the napkin that was in his lap right in sage’s face before finding the nearest exit.

"you say potato, i say poh-tah-to," truth be told, once nudge is set on something, it's hard to get her to budge on it. her convictions lie in the totality of her actions, not that she thinks there's some sort of list out there checking off all of her successes despite it all to be rewarded with a pat on the head and some higher power, but because nudge just doesn't want to contribute to the suck of the world. she's err, mostly because she isn't made of binary code, but squishy flesh and tender hearts, but she can keep up with it. "no, i'm saying it's not killing you if you weren't. killed," it's a problem that's been dealt with quickly. "mistakes happen." they both know this. "and it's complicated, because he didn't actually cheat? it depends on the situation." mostly because nudge hasn't actually had a legitimate boyfriend before, she can't empirically tell them one way or the other. "and duh, why do you think i keep emergency snack stashes hidden everywhere? i have garlic parm pretzels around here somewhere." snacks are a must. even if they have ramen on the way. "his name was seuss, my name," the blonde jabs a thumb into her chest. "is ritter. and he was a massive asshole, but he wrote some bangers, so i'd rather attribute it to me." nudge considers this offer, nose scrunching. "and you know what? i can get behind that deal. shake on it."

“but no one actually says poh-tah-to. tuh-mah-to, sure, but even the brits don’t butcher our starchy root vegetable fave.” chris counters, still being literal. it’s a good thing nudge knows how to roll with the punches, otherwise none of this would be any fun (or tolerable, for that matter). chris levels a look at nudge, “but almost. i was almost killed.” they’re being dramatic. “and people go to prison all the time for almost killing people, be it accidental or otherwise. you got off easy, just having to pay in these little reminders.” they assure the blonde, like they have the excuse to drag her back down memory lane every time it suits them. “the situation is: he very nearly cheated but did not. what do we consider cheating, actually? seems important for the hypothetical situation we’ve posed…” they’re getting too invested in this, likely to veer off track. “probably because you’re a smart lady.” chris says, grinning. “are you in need of these pretzels? i can help you look for them if you gotta have a snack while we wait for the ramen.” they say, realization hitting them. “i was wondering why you called him your name.” a normal person would have put two and two together. “what’s your favorite one, then? i like thidwick the big-hearted moose the best. but bartholomew and the oobleck is a close second.” with that, chris reaches out and firmly shakes nudge’s hand. “xbox guaranteed, how’s that feel, blondie?”

" no , asshole , it's something you said right to my face ! " he's being dramatic , trying to add some flair to get santiago to agree to this ridiculous request. he laughs then , taking the blunt easily and taking a drag from it. " so many questions. okay , so. i met these guys a while ago , and i don't really know what happened but now i suddenly have to get this package to el paso and my car cannot handle that drive right now. " this is what he gets for being so friendly and willing all the time. he knew santiago was going to chew him out. " they're paying me. i'll give you half. and literally whatever else you want. weed , road head ? whatever. " good god , mac.

“hm.” he presses his lips together, considering this. “i’ve smoked a lot of weed since then. but, y’know, that don’t sound like me.” he says, shaking his head. but he knows he said it, remembers saying it, too, because santiago can get sentimental as fuck sometimes. when he loves, it’s hard, and he’s loyal to a fault, too. “it was two fuckin’ questions. that a big number to you?” he inquires, chuckling lightly as he listens to mac and continues smoking. “so, you’re muling some drugs?” santi fills in the blanks, making assumptions based off the kind of shit he gets into. he can’t fathom another reason someone would pay mac to take a ‘package’ across state lines. “you thought two was a lot, buckle up, big boy.” he leans back, takes a swig of beer. “how big is the package? how long we got? how much they payin’ you?” all this, and he’s considering the rest. “this why you asked me not to bring my bike?” tigo pauses, eyes wandering over his old friend's face. "whatever, eh?" he's making his own assumptions about what mackenzie wants.

" i'm pretty sure xander's a pathological liar. he doesn't know who i write my songs about. " except he does , and despite his best friend being a total ass , he hopes xander wouldn't have spilled. but . . . taylor , unfortunately , wouldn't put it past him. he , ultimately , believes the lie he's being told. " i'm not . . . " he wants to keep avoiding this , keep lying , but he can't even look riley in the eyes and his cheeks are so hot. dammit. he all but melts when riley calls him baby. " look , i don't know what xan told you , but it doesn't mean anything , okay ? it's just a song. mildly inspired by our interactions. " he's avoid the fact that the long is dosed in love confessions. " please don't make fun of me. it's not a big deal. it's just some words. "

“mm… okay, sugar.” he replies, grinning that lupine grin, like if he opens up his maw, he can just swallow taylor whole. riley leans back while taylor continues to fumble over himself. it’s precious, really, and it endears him to riley whose affections can be quite dangerous. “honey…. oh.” he feigns a pout, pinches taylor’s cheek. “you’re turning colors.” the giggle that rips through him is vicious, nose crinkled with it, eyes brimming with delight. he’s fucking thriving off of this. who doesn’t want attention? riley’s always wanted it the most, and it’s coming from an artistic cutie, too. win, win, win. “please, i am not making fun of you, let me be so clear. i’m… flattered…” his grin is too wide. “i love it when rockstars write songs about me.”