#84 Sex

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Very close talking has become something of a staple. He makes his move every week or so, in a darkened police station, on a sunny corner near her favorite coffee shop, while they're having lunch on the beach. Every time he lets her know it's not the last time (every time is only enough 'for now'), and she's lost all sense of why this is supposedly a 'mistake.'

They're in front of the Psych office on her lunch break, her eyes are closed, his arms are wrapped around her waist, and to anyone else it probably looks like they're kissing, but his lips are millimeters away.

He's whispering to her about a dream he had last night.

"I was on a pogo stick, bouncing through the outback of Australia with a kangaroo named Amos. He was taking me to the magical crystal caves where a ceremony was to be preformed, after which, I would become a kangaroo too."

She laughs quietly, and tilts her chin up, forgetting how close they are for one tiny moment. And a second later everything changes, because when their mouths meet, she forgets why she's been holding him back. And then they're kissing, and it's really kissing and not just their lips touching. He makes a noise in his throat, something between a groan and her name, and his arms tighten around her. She kisses him still, and lets her fingers comb through his hair, and then his tongue is begging permission, and she's granting it, and oh—It's like a dam has broken. Every urge, every thought, every wish she's ever denied bursts through to her skin, and—

She wants him, she wants him, she wants him, and can they please go somewhere and do something about that?

He's reading her mind, because he's fumbling for the doorknob. He kicks the door open, and leads her through it, never breaking the touch of their lips.

Then madness ensues.

Her suit jacket finds the floor, and her hair clip has disappeared. His hands are everywhere: caressing her face, around her elbows, tight at her waist, in her hair, pulling her hips against his. His touch is light, teasing, then clutching, desperate. She wants it all, every aspect; every facet of his personality is in the graze of his fingers, and she wants to feel it all, now, now, now. Shawn mischievous. Shawn fumbling. Shawn giddy. Shawn—

She's against the reception desk, trying to catalogue and memorize him, and then he's breaking away from her.

"No, no, no. Not here. Not like this." His eyes are dark, and his breath comes as fast as hers, and he must be crazy.

"Huh?" she says, hating how cool the air feels now that he's not pressed against her. And what's his deal anyway?

"I had plans. Romantic ones. You were going to swoon."

"And yet, here I am, swooning."

"I know, but—" he's using that almost-whining voice. It makes her lips curve. "There were going to be candles, and witty banter."

Who needs candles? She's not some blushing virgin, and they've got the second all the time. "Okay… but…" She fists her hands in his shirt. "I like kissing you. I really like kissing you."

His eyes have just gone from hazel to black, and then his hand is around the nape of her neck, and he's kissing her hard.

"You're going to make me go through the rest of the day like this?" she says, when his lips trail down to her collarbone. Hot and waiting.

"You?" he says with a scoff, and his tongue tastes her skin. "What about me? Do you know how painful this is?"

"No," she breathes, and pulls him back for another kiss.

"Oh, I get it," he says, and raises his eyebrows at her. "You're trying to get me to change my mind. Touché, Detective O'Hara."

The corner of her lip quirks, and she thinks about saying something about playing dirty, but that would line him up for a comeback.

His hands are on her back, under her shirt, making trails of fire and goosebumps appear on her skin.

"Can't we do romantic another time?" she begs.

"You mean you're going to give me a second shot at this?"

She meets his eyes, and says, "Yes," with feeling.

"Oh, good. Because—" and she cuts him off with a kiss.

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