#38: Touch

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Juliet is leaning against his desk for a change, fighting to keep a smile off her face, and fully enjoying playing Shawn's game. His palms are flat on the desk on either side of her hips, and his lips brush her ear as he says… well, he's saying something. She's not sure what, and frankly doesn't care.

He's been playing this game for months. She'll hand him a case file, and his hand will linger. He'll read over her shoulder, and she can imagine the heat radiating off of him. He'll whisper psychic visions in her ear. Grab her shoulders and claim the spirits made him do it. It's all shockingly subtle, coming from Shawn, and she's found herself wishing lately that he wouldn't be so gentle about it.

So today she found a legitimate reason to come down to the Psych office, leaned her hip against his desk, and hoped she was sending the right signals. Shawn picked them up admirably; hope sparking in his eyes as he trapped her between himself and the desk.

He pulls back, maybe waiting for a response to whatever he was saying in her ear, she'll never know.

She bites her lip, feeling the drag of her teeth over her bottom lip acutely. Shawn watches.

He's so close, crowded into her personal space, but he's not actually touching her. How much can they withstand? Surely not much more. She thinks his thumb just brushed her hip. Yes, definitely a thumb. Her eyes drift shut.

His hands, daring today, creep up her sides, under her suit jacket, and settle around her waist.

"Shawn…" her voice has a definite tremor in it.

"Detective?"

He's bracing himself for another shoot down, but that's not going to happen today. Her hands move to his chest (hard and warm beneath blue cotton), one finger curls around a fastened button, and she tugs.

"Jules?"

"Shut up, Shawn."

Her lips meet his halfway; he's clearly stunned, because it takes him a moment to kiss her back. But then he groans into her mouth, and he's pulling her flush against him. It's so much better than she thought it could be, and he's an amazing kisser. It's the buzzing she gets when he's near, multiplied by about a hundred. The tingles radiate from his lips, and his arm around her waist, and from his hand brushing her cheek. He pulls the chopstick from her hair, and she hears it bounce off the desk and clatter to the floor. Her hair falls out of it's elegant twist, and his fingers sift through the wavy strands.

He breaks away from her mouth to breathe, trailing his lips across her cheek, and she hears him say, "Didn't see this coming."

She's a little breathless when she replies, "No? Some psychic you are."

He laughs in her ear, and then he's trying to kiss her again, but it's not quite working because they're both smiling too widely.

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