Summary: Shawn isn't as confident as he pretends to be.
A/N: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY NEW MUSHY. Okay, so I wrote this when I was revising 20 First Kisses from my Penned by Kisses series for a fiction workshop. I'm not hugely fond of the first kiss in that story and I figured as long as I was revising I might as well rewrite it. This was the result.
I hope you like! :D
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or the characters.
It’s Shawn. She heaves a sigh to hide the pleased curve of her mouth and crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at the innocent expression pasted on his face as he slouches casually against the shelf next to her. "Shawn, you're not supposed to be down here." The night before had been their first date and Juliet doesn’t know what to expect from him now. This is a whole new ballgame and despite three years of working in tandem, the only thing she’s sure of is that Shawn Spencer doesn’t play by the rules.
White teeth flash in a grin that could charm the pants off of God himself, hazel eyes endearingly (and deliberately) large. "That's not true. Consultants for the police are occasionally allowed access to the evidence, particularly when they have a lovely police detective to escort them." He waggles his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes, stifling her own smile.
"I didn't invite you to come along, Shawn. I'm pretty sure there's paperwork you have to fill out in order to actually make that legitimate," she says, turning back to the box. "Oh. And you have to actually ask said detective escort to take you down."
Out of the corner of her eye she sees him start to nudge the top off of another box and she lashes out, smacking his hand away. "Ow! Jules!" he protests, clutching the wounded limb to his chest. He pouts and his lower lip juts out. It reminds her that he hadn’t kissed her last night. They’d gotten to the doorstep and after expecting a sudden kiss all night, this being the last stop, she’d been shocked when he simply squeezed her hand and said, "I’ll call you," before disappearing.
"Shawn," she says, mimicking his distress. "You’re not supposed to be down here, so keep your paws off."
"That hardly seems fair," he says, "I’m working the Omundson case too, you know." He shifts a little closer so subtly she almost doesn’t notice. Almost. He can’t be thinking…
"You are not," she counters and sees a Converse tennis shoe creep a little closer. Okay, maybe he is.
"Well, okay, not yet," he concedes. "But I will be." He’s even closer now. She can smell the product from his stylishly unruly brown hair and crisp scented cologne, barely. She’s surprised he knows not to put too much on. Just enough to— She realizes she’s leaning towards him and her cheeks get hot.
"What makes you say that?" she asks coolly. A buzz is starting in her stomach.
Shawn’s eyes are on her face, carefully eyeing her expression. "Chief can’t resist this face, you know that."
A smile slips across her face before she can stop it. With affectionate exasperation: "Shawn."
And then his hand slips around the back of her neck, his body so close she can feel its warmth, and her stomach starts flip-flopping at the speed of humming bird’s wings. She can feel his pulse in his hot palm, throbbing faster than she can count and suddenly it hits her. Shawn Spencer, a man who had probably only ever had playful flings his entire life, had encountered a genuine, traditional dating scenario and he’d gotten spooked. She tilts her head up to display the grin that’s cut across her face and then he’s kissing her and everything else fades away.
When he pulls away, she can't quite breathe and her lips are tingling. There’s a pink smudge on his mouth. He smiles, hugely, eyes lit up, and his thumb traces over her lower lip.
"You might wanna hide that evidence."