Boobaliciousness
She's chosen her canvas wisely on this intrepid night…
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Garcia beamed. Her paints were spread out in front of her. Reid was supposed to simply be watching, waiting for her to be ready for their night out, but something, somehow, had gone awry.
"What did you do?" he asked suspiciously, feeling vulnerable without his contacts and at her mercy. His face felt weird. All…coated. And he desperately wanted a mirror, regretting completely letting her have her way.
"Undertones and complimentary colours, my love," she said, leaning closer to run a thumb along a line under his eye. "Cool tones are natural and warm tones, well, they're a statement. A 'look-at-me-hot-stuff', not that you need it, Mr Cheekbones. Look at these." Another finger to his face and he looked plaintively at Morgan. Morgan, wisely, stayed uninvolved. "Rule of thumb: three cool tones—blush, eyeshadow, lipstick—and you've got a natural swagger. Make one a warm, and you're a subdued kind of boobaliciousness. Three warm tones? Careful now or you're gonna look jacked."
Glasses were shoved in his face and he warily put them on. The mirror that he'd so desired stared back at him, along with the painted stranger blinking dumbly within the depths.
"I can't believe you've done this," he whispered, stunned.
"Pshaw," Garcia scoffed. "You look gorgeous."
Morgan said nothing. Reid waited, shrinking into the chair until finally there was a mumbled, "Pretty Boy, look at you," from his friend, the man actually looking a surprised kind of appreciative.
She let him wash it off after, but he was sure she had photos.