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“…Matty, are you sureeee you’re not getting bored of this yet?” you ask sweetly, focusing on your reflection in the tiny compact mirror while you swipe on another shade, there’s been so many already, you’ve already lost count.
The eighth or ninth, maybe?
Matt is seated on the couch right next to you, his suit jacket discarded, collar and tie loosened, his lips coated and smudged in different shades of red, pinks, berries, wines, and a few corals. Your sweet, kiss-stained canvas.
“I’m blind, not numb to your touch,” he replies, he’s barely managing not to smile, despite his face nearly in a swoon. “Carry on, Counselor.”
You climb back over, your soft, plus thighs straddling his lap without hesitation. His hands find your hips automatically.
“Ready?”
“For science,” he replies, straight-faced and serious.
You kiss him slowly and deliberately. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. Then pull back with mock precision to inspect the damage.
You pout slightly, checking his lips, brushing your thumb along the corner.
“…ugh, seriously? It still transferred.” You sigh dramatically, grabbing a makeup wipe and removing that shade from your lips.
“Well, I think I’ve got a few more rounds in me,” he offers, he can’t keep the smirk off his face this time, though. “Purely for science and the sake of research.”
Your pout grows as you ask him softly, looking at his face and how it resembles a blotchy Valentine’s Day card, “and you’re sure I’m not wearing you out?” You start to slightly lean away, like you’ll climb out of his lap if he asks.
He can’t hide the slightly blissed out look on his face now as he replies, almost teasing, “I’m a very patient man…and besides, I’m not exactly suffering.”
A chuckle escapes your lips as you settle into his lap further without a second thought. It’s easy like this, natural. His hands move back to you with instinct, fingers resting warm and steady on your thighs this time.
“I just…” you hesitate, reaching for another tube and twisting it in your hand for a moment, “I wanna make sure it lasts, y’know? I’m gonna be eating, talking, dancing…crying especially. Marci said the vows were going to be and I quote “full rom-com climax” level of emotional.”
“You want the perfect lipstick for their big day, clearly a matter of national importance…” he pauses to chuckle before he adds, “And here I was, thinking you were just looking for an excuse to kiss me over and over.”
“…eh, well I suppose that too…”
He lets out a faux dramatic sigh, but his hands squeeze your thighs like he’s not planning to let you go, “…ah, the things I do for love…”
You roll your eyes playfully, picking the compact mirror up and replying softly, “Alright now, Courage, you know you love it, but I need you to hush and be still so I can apply this one clearly.”
He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t even try. Why would he? But he does listen and stays still for you.
You swipe on the next shade, a soft rose with a light, glittery sheen. Pretty and subtle. One that makes you feel…a little more polished. A little more “wedding guest” and a little less “melting in a reception tent in over 100-degree weather”.
Matt must sense the shift in your mood, though, because when you lean in, one of his hands moves up from your thigh and cards his fingers through your hair, and his voice is softer, “What’s going on up here, hm?”
You shrug but look at him with a fond expression, “…it’s stupid…”
He waits, doesn’t push. Just keeps the one hand on your thigh and the other in your hair, holding you like you belong there, because you both know you do. So, you continue with your thoughts.
“It’s just…well, lipstick draws attention to my mouth…and pictures last forever…and I don’t know, sometimes I feel like there’s a spotlight on all the things I’d rather people not be focused on, y’know?”
Matt’s brows lift slightly, and he moves his hand from your hair to brush his fingertips over your bottom lip. “Sometimes, I wish you could see yourself in the way that I sense you when I touch you,” he murmurs. “You’d never second-guess yourself again.”
Your breath hitches as you continue looking at him fondly, hearts would surely be in your eyes if this were a cartoon.
“This mouth?” he continues, brushing his thumb there now, so gently it makes you shiver. “Is my favorite thing to kiss. To listen to. To wake up next to. You have no idea how beautiful you are when you smile. And you are going to smile at that wedding…or else.”
You giggle a little as you blink back the sudden warmth behind your eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re covered in my lip prints.”
“That may be true,” he concedes, grinning. “But it doesn't make me wrong.”
You lean down, kissing him again…much slower this time. Not in a rush for the sake of testing. Just a soft, thoughtful, and sweet kiss of affection.
When you pull back, there’s a faint smear. You sigh. “Ugh, still not transfer-proof.”
Matt shrugs, completely content. “I’ll endure.”
You laugh, reaching for the next tube and another makeup wipe. “Mhm, you’re such a trooper.”
Matt hums, tugging you closer without effort, both of his hands moving to be a gentle weight on your waist now. “For you? Always.”
Then he leans in, not for your lips this time, but lower, and presses his mouth softly to your jaw.
You feel a faint tackiness immediately.
“Wait—” you blink, drawing back a little, “Matt, did you just—?”
Matt tilts his head, lips still tinted with your last experiment, not even trying to hide the smug edge in his smile. “Might’ve left a little something of my own behind.”
You grab the compact mirror again and look at your reflection. Sure enough: a warm rose-pink kiss mark, right beneath your cheekbone, like a stamp. A quiet little claim.
You glance back at him, cheeks warming. “That wasn’t part of the test.”
“No,” he says, his thumb ghosting along the edge of the mark. “That one was just for me.”
The air between you softens, full of things unsaid but understood.
Then—
“Matt? You home?”
You freeze.
Matt doesn’t.
He lifts his voice, deadpan. “Living room. Don’t mind the science.”
You make a soft, mortified sound and go to reach for the nearest makeup wipe, but it’s too late—Foggy steps into view and immediately short-circuits.
He stops. Stares. Eyes take in everything: the lipsticks scattered like crime scene evidence, your position in Matt’s lap, his entire face covered in various shades, and the clear smear of a fresh kiss on your jaw.
“Oh,” Foggy says flatly. “So, we’re doing this now, huh?”
Matt lifts a hand in greeting, not even flinching, he almost looks proud to have your prints all over him. “Hey, man. Testing long-wear lipstick durability. It’s for the wedding.”
You groan. “Matt.”
“Hey, it’s science,” Matt says. “Very serious business.”
Foggy gestures vaguely toward you. “Did she win, or are you both just... permanently stained now?”
“I’m not sure,” Matt says thoughtfully. “But I think I like this one best.”
You swat his chest with the back of your hand, trying to suppress your laughter as Foggy turns to leave.
“Oh, and Marci says no reds unless they’re bulletproof,” Foggy calls over his shoulder. “Something about reception napkins and revenge.”
The front door shuts behind him.
You exhale a dramatic sigh, your head resting against Matt’s shoulder. “He’s never gonna let this go.”
“He’s gonna bring it up in his best man speech,” Matt agrees, kissing the top of your head.
You lean back just enough to meet his smile, your voice a little softer now. “I think I found my favorite shade after all.”
His grin widens. “Yeah?”
You nod and press one last, perfect kiss to the corner of his mouth.