Slade stared at the garment like it had personally offended him.

He turned it over once. Then again. Minimal fabric. Strategic cutouts. Absolutely no tactical value whatsoever.

“…Where the hell did you even find male lingerie?” he demanded, disbelief edging his usually iron control.

He glanced from the item to her, then back again, like he was recalculating reality. “I’ve sourced weapons from black sites that were easier to locate than whatever this is.”

Slade shook his head, a short, incredulous huff escaping him. “This is… impractical,” he said, though his eyes lingered longer than necessary. “Suspiciously well-designed. And deeply distracting.”

He set it down carefully, like it might detonate. “You didn’t trip over this at a mall,” he added. “Someone curated this. Which means you planned it.”

A pause. His mouth curved just slightly.

“…Bold,” he decided. “I respect it.”

For a man who thrived on preparation, this was one surprise he hadn’t accounted for—

And judging by the way he picked it back up, he wasn’t nearly as opposed to it as he pretended.