Genre: Romance, Fluff
Summary: Shawn and Juliet paint their new house.
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or the characters.
Shawn snuck a glance over his shoulder from where he stood on a ladder in the living room of his and Juliet's brand new home and grinned to himself.
Juliet was down on the floor, efficiently painting the lower half of the walls a light spring green with a roller brush. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, tendrils of hair having escaped after being at the activity for over three hours now and her skin coated in a soft sheen of sweat that Shawn couldn't seem to keep his eyes away from. It didn't help that the bright blue singlet she wore as a top with her smallest pair of dark blue jean shorts already formed one of his favorite outfits. Green splotches and dots (an inevitable side-effect of painting) speckled her figure from head to toe. Bare feet with red-nailed toes just topped the entire working-girl ensemble off like an extremely delectable-looking cherry. Getting his own share of the painting done had been secondary to getting the chance to ogle her when she looked this gorgeous.
Spinning his own roller brush around in his hand, Shawn contemplated his next move for all of three seconds before just going for it. He moved his hand to the very end of the handle, extended it, and swiped it right down over the butt of Juliet's jeans.
Green appeared in a patchy stripe right over the curve of the pockets and trailed down to where it spotted the back of her thighs.
He grinned as she gasped and turned sharply, crying, “Shawn!”
“Yes, Jules?” he said innocently.
The look of indignation on her face was rapidly replaced by something far more mischievous. “I can't believe you just did that!”
“Did what?” he asked, maintaining the show of innocence.
She grabbed him by the ankle, quickly scaling the first few rungs of the ladder and he exclaimed in faux-shock, “Jules! That's completely unsafe!”
She ignored him, pulling up the hem of the tank top he wore and cramming the head of her roller up underneath it.
Shawn yelped, even as he began laughing; the paint was cold.
He scrambled down the ladder, dragging her with him to move the battle to a slightly safer arena and pushed his brush up over the side of her face.
Juliet squawked. “SHAWN!” Her roller swung at his head and he gasped as it came down on the crown of his head, oozing paint into his hair and onto his forehead.
“Not my hair, Jules!” he cried.
She grinned wickedly back at him, which, really, was a terrible idea, because when Juliet got that look in her eye, pretty much all upper-brain thinking went out the window.
He glanced toward the tray of paint sitting near where Juliet had been working and she had just enough time to figure out what he was thinking before he lunged, sticking his hands into the tray. She shrieked and bolted for the door.
“Ah ah ah, Jules!” he shouted after her and gave pursuit. He caught up to her in the front hallway, where she had found one of the congealing trays of paint they'd been using earlier that morning, her hands now coated in a rich sky blue color. She held them out, silently daring him to make his move.
He grinned at her—and went in for the kill.
Juliet was better at hand to hand combat than he was, but not by much, and he really couldn't have cared less, because he was getting his hands all over her, leaving huge green hand prints on her hips, around her arms, over her jaw and she in turn was leaving tiny blue ones on his chest, around his biceps and—he jerked, eyes meeting hers in surprise—on his butt.
She grinned at him, green paint smeared across her cheek, and her eyes sparkling rapturously.
It was about that moment when the good-natured wrestling turned into something much more tender. His hand covered her jaw again, but this time his head followed it, his lips pressing into hers and she sighed.
They were going to leave an awful lot of evidence.