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1.
Jace squints into the paper bag Porter brought with him. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“Are you embarrassed?”
Porter doesn't sound like he's looking for any particular answer, which is annoying. He's at his most manageable when Jace can figure out what's going on in his head.
“No, I don't really care.” Jace digs through the bag, pushing aside the slinky red dress. There's nothing besides a tube of cheap black mascara. “You couldn't bring me some real makeup? You want me to wear this with just mascara?”
Porter hums, taking a step closer to Jace. They were already close -- are always already close -- so the bag crinkles between them. “I didn't ask you to wear it.”
“Well, it's not in your fucking size, is it?” Jace snaps. He hates how Porter does this, asks without asking and then mocks Jace for answering. He hates how he keeps coming back for more of it. “And if you brought this over for me to rate for one of your little toys-”
“Relax,” Porter cuts him off. He takes the bag out of Jace's hands to drop it on the ground and puts his hands on Jace's hips. “It's yours. Full points for the jealousy though.”
“You're an asshole.”
“So you keep saying. Are you going to put it on?”
Jace considers. The dress is nice enough; it's not fit to him, not like the lingerie in his closet that Porter hasn't seen yet, but the fabric is smooth. From a glance, he thinks it would look good on him. Still, cheap fucking convenience store mascara, and not even in his color.
“No.”
Porter’s face changes; he doesn't look disappointed, exactly, but not pleased either. If you wanted me to wear it, you should've actually asked, Jace thinks but doesn't say. If he said it, Porter would grin about how Jace must’ve wanted to wear it and didn't only to spite Porter, how Jace must have wanted him to beg, and wasn't that just cute?
“No explanation?” Porter asks finally. On his hips, Porter's hands tighten ever so slightly, like a vice. Jace doesn't fight it. He hasn't fought Porter in ages.
“Do you want one?”
Do you-, Should I-, Aren't we-, it's all the same game; round and round and round they go, where they stop, no one knows. Jace doesn't give Porter time to answer. He kisses him instead, and despite it all his lips taste like yes.
2.
Jace wouldn't mind the socks if they weren't lying on his bed next to a bright red blush and a pleated skirt, plaid and everything. There's no shirt, so Jace has no idea what Porter would expect him to wear in this little schoolgirl fantasy. A normal button-up? A t-shirt? Jace rolls his eyes. He could've at least gotten Jace a bra too.
Still, the skirt. Porter’s in the shower so Jace picks it up and holds it to his waist, just to see if it's just as short as he thinks it is. It's shorter.
“Do you like it?”
Jace jumps. He hadn't noticed the shower turning off. “The skirt’s a belt and the socks are cotton. Why would I like this?”
“‘The socks are cotton’. God, you're a snob.”
Jace raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, that's why you keep coming over here. You like that I have nice things.”
Porter's lip curls but he can't deny it, so he says nothing. Jace rolls his eyes.
“For future reference, I like silk more than… any of this.”
“And I'm going to be buying silk?” Porter is trying to win. Jace is trying to stop being presented with shitty stuff.
“Maybe. You definitely shouldn't keep buying me fucking awful blush, did you look for the brightest color in the makeup aisle?”
Porter steps around Jace and pops open the blush, because of course he's already broken its security closure. He turns Jace around and grabs his chin with one hand, using the other to swipe a finger over the blush; the color nearly glows against his grey skin. Jace eyes it suspiciously.
“I got this from Ulta.” Porter smudges his finger across Jace's cheekbone, under his eye, over his nose, and repeats on the other side. Jace would narrow his eyes if he didn't think it'd fuck up whatever Porter’s doing and leave him with blush all over his face. “The girl at the counter said my girlfriend was going to love it.”
Porter finishes. Jace's hand twitches with the want to check it, to wash it off, or maybe just to blend it out. “She's paid to say that.”
“She tried to sell me foundation to match. I told her I didn't know your shade.”
Jace knows his shade. He is not telling Porter his shade. “Thank the stars for that.”
Porter hums and wipes his finger on Jace's shirt because he's an asshole. “Does my girlfriend? Like it, that is.”
“No.” Jace does kiss him though. It's contradictory training, pairing bad behavior with a reward. It's fine, Jace has always been bad at making good decisions.
3.
“No.”
This time the bag is clear, which means Jace can easily see the whole awful Halloween costume. It's June, where did he even get this from?
Porter stands behind Jace, arms wrapped around his waist. “You don't want to take it out of the bag?”
“No.” Jace says again. The busty blonde on the cover smolders back at him. “This isn't some low-quality porno, I'm not the sexy maid you're paying with your dick while your wife's out.”
Porter snorts and starts rubbing his hands up and down Jace's stomach, stopping right under his chest and just above his dick. It's annoying.
“Don't worry, you're pretty enough for a high-quality porno.”
Jace smacks his arm. Porter laughs, “Fine, but I’m not the one who just created an entire storyline. Are you imagining getting stuck cleaning the washer and I'm the only one around to help you?”
Jace turns around, not so much breaking the circle of Porter's arms as expanding it. “What the hell have you been watching?”
“The guy who's into food porn's going to judge me?”
“I'm not into-” Jace takes a deep breath. It's a stupid argument that doesn't ever go anywhere. It's whatever, Porter can and will believe whatever he wants. Jace is still not into food porn.
“Would you prefer a nurse’s outfit?” Porter asks. At this point, Jace can't even tell how much of it is serious and how much is just to piss Jace off.
“If you don't shut up, I'm going to go home and get myself off.”
“You wouldn't.” Porter tugs Jace flush to him. There's a hardness in his pants that isn't his cock.
“What's that?”
“Oh, your other gift.”
“If it's another-” Jace sighs as Porter pulls out a lipstick, urban decay printed clearly on the side. “Did you let the girls at Ulta trick you into this one too?”
“I got this at Sephora, actually,” Porter says, and then he kisses Jace; sloppy, like he never learned how to do it. Sloppy, like he knows Jace likes it. “The sales girl said you probably wouldn’t like it, when I told her about you.”
Jace imagines Porter talking to some twenty-something about him. He has no idea what Porter would even say, so he tries to make himself stop thinking about it. “I don't wear solid lipstick.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes.” Jace says, and then, before Porter can ask -- because it's worth the potential mocking and because Jace is trying to get laid here, “I’m not explaining it to you now, I’m not putting it on, and I'm still not wearing the maid dress.”
Porter rolls his eyes and pushes Jace backward onto the bed, climbing over him and biting a kiss into his jawline. “Fine. Innocent teacher seduced by his coworker does it for me too.”
4.
“I’ve been trying not to ask, but are you trying to upset me? Do you want me to leave?” Jace asks, narrowing his eyes at the eyeshadow palette on his counter.
It's not neon blue or stoplight red, small miracles, but it’s a palette of tacky sparkly shades. Gold and pink and lilac and black, all full of so much glitter that Jace is sure he'd be finding pieces of it on his clothes for the next five years.
“You didn't want the expensive stuff,” Porter says, “Thought you'd like it if I went back to the dollar store.”
You're obnoxious, Jace doesn't say, because Porter already knows and there's no point. “I'm not wearing this. What ugly outfit have you brought this time?”
“Is the anticipation too much?” Porter asks, and doesn't wait for an answer before he gestures to his couch. “I didn't go to a store for this one.”
“Oh, of course, that was my problem,” Jace snaps, but he looks anyway.
It's… lingerie. Cheap lingerie, but all the same: a red bustier with black ribbing and a big bow at the center, lacing up the back.
“Where did you get this?” Jace asks, trying to hide how he's nearly impressed. It doesn't work, if Porter's self-satisfied smirk is any indication.
“Ordered it online,” He says, then, “They’ll sell anything on Amazon these days.”
Jace picks the corset up, pinching the fabric between his fingers. It does feel like it came from Amazon. It's a better effort than anything else though, feels less like Porter is just trying to piss him off, and Jace thinks that deserves a reward.
“It's not as nice as mine,” He says. Porter's eyebrows go up.
“Yours?”
“Mhm. I told you, I prefer silk. You have to try a few fabrics to decide that. Silk and lace; I've always had expensive taste. I haven't worn the corset in a while though,” Jace says casually. Porter's breath hitches. “It's not as comfortable to sleep in as the garters.”
Porter grabs Jace around the waist and pulls him in, tight against his body, hard against his cock. “You're a fucking tease.”
“Oh, I thought you wouldn't like that kind of thing,” Jace mocks, “It seemed like cheap costumes were more your taste.”
Porter snarls and then kisses him, hot and demanding. “I’ve been trying to get you in these stupid outfits for weeks and you didn't think to tell me you had lingerie?”
“You never asked,” Jace says, reveling in his win. Breaking Porter's stupid I'm above it all composure is good enough, but getting him to admit he wanted Jace to wear the outfits? It's almost beyond imagination.
“You're an asshole,” Porter says, and Jace hums in gleeful acknowledgment. There's a moment before Porter breaks again: “Is it just the corset and garters?”
“Of course not. I think you'd like the bodysuits, but I have panties, negligees, even a few bras. My supplier sells in sets sometimes and he already has my chest measurements; I might as well get them,” Jace explains like he can't see Porter's eyes glazing over with lust, “But I don’t wear them often. One of my old boyfriends liked them but-”
Porter growls at the mention of an old boyfriend, just like Jace knew he would. He's a possessive bastard, for all that he'll only admit it when he's properly riled up.
“I would like them,” Porter’s voice is low and sharp, “If you'd ever shown them to me. What do I have to do to get you to show them to me?”
Jace laughs at the desperation on Porter's face. He gets it now, why Porter plays his stupid games. He feels great.
“Get on your knees and beg, Cliffbreaker. And stop fucking buying me dumb shit.”
+1.
In the end, it’s not a dress, it's not even the lingerie.
It’s Jace, in his boxer briefs and wearing one of Porter’s stupid button-ups like a jacket because Porter keeps his apartment freezing, sitting on Porter's bed when he gets home. It’s a full face of makeup, of the shitty makeup Porter got him: bright red lips, bright red blush, gold eyeshadow, and thick, tacky mascara. It's messy tear-streaks from deep throating and smears from kisses and stains on linen from being face down and asking, whining, pleading.
It's Jace curled on Porter's chest, playing with his chest hair as they catch their breath.
“I can buy my own makeup,” Jace says. “I know all the right products and colors.”
“I know, a guy like you would know that stuff,” Porter says, and Jace is too sated to be annoyed. “But it wasn't about that.”
What was it about, Jace thinks, but he keeps it in his head. It's not worth asking when they both know the answer.