Word Count: 990
Gift for Donna. Happy Valentine's Day, doll!
Jules really likes dancing, but like, the hardcore stuff. The first time Shawn comes over to her house, Dancing with the Stars is on and she makes him watch the whole thing, no fast forwarding through commercials (though she does make out with him then), and no talking during it.
At the end, he looks sufficiently bothered by the whole thing, so she demands to know why he's looking at her like that. "You're like Gus with American Duos," he says. "It's weird to make out with someone who reminds me of my best friend, Jules."
She hits him in the head with a throw pillow until he finally wrestles it away from her and kisses her any way.
"There's a police ball coming up," Jules says one day over lunch.
Shawn pauses with his burrito halfway to his mouth. "Yeah?" he asks, and starts eating again.
"Yes," Jules says, and slides an arm through his. Shawn hasn't gotten over his weird thing with walking while eating, so they're walking at the pier outside of the Psych office.
Shawn nods slowly and swallows the burrito. "Am I allowed to go to those things? Won't Lassie drag me out by my perfect little ears?"
"Probably your nose," Jules deadpans, frowning.
"Don't make fun of my nose," Shawn says, patting it lightly.
"I like your nose."
"I like you."
Jules rolls her eyes. "Lassie has never stopped you before."
"I'd hate to break that perfect record," Shawn agrees. "So what time am I picking you up?"
One day, Jules comes back from lunch to find Shawn pouting at her desk. "What's wrong?" she asks, though she gets the feeling that she's going to regret this.
"I can't waltz," he answers.
"It's easy," she replies. "I'll teach you."
So that night he shows up to her house in sneakers and a tuxedo, which makes her snort. She doesn't comment, though, because she's pretty sure Shawn would start in on the whining. Sometimes she questions her taste in men, because Shawn spends most of his time acting like he's five…but, as she guides his hands into the right position—"No, my shoulder blade—" and teaches him the feet movements to a waltz while counting short staccato, 1-2-3s, she thinks it might be okay.
He spun her around. "Gus said if I took you to a ball without knowing how to waltz, he would revoke my man card," Shawn sighed. "Even though that joke is at least five years old."
Jules rolls her eyes. "It's okay, Shawn. Most of the police don't know how to waltz. We'll look a lot better than our counterparts."
"They'll just be swaying," Shawn clarified.
"Yes," Jules answered.
"Good," he says. "What's next?"
She spends the rest of the night teaching him how to swivel his body into the music and how to turn her around without getting all tangled up. By midnight, they're both tired, but Shawn waves Just Dance 3 in her face and raises an eyebrow.
"I wish I could get you to work out when I'm not exhausted," Jules complains.
"Jules," Shawn says, acting put upon as he slides the disc into her Wii. "Don't be that stuffed fish my dad has at the head of his dining room. Besides, you shouldn't have the Wii if you don't want me to play it."
"You're going to play Just Dance in a tux," Jules says disbelievingly.
Shawn frowns. "I guess I could take the jacket off," he muses. "But Take on Me, Jules! You know I have to play it daily." He pauses, blinking at her pleadingly. "With a partner?"
"No," Jules answers, but Shawn tosses her a remote and tells her not to reject the sweetness, and then kisses any protest she has away.
So Jules dances and Shawn tears his jacket off in one of the spins and at the end he kisses her until she drops the Wiimote.
"I beat my high score," he tells her proudly, and she rolls her eyes.
"What would you do without me?" she asks.
He sighs. "Drive a motorcycle. Bro it up with Gus. Maybe kiss a lot more girls."
She punches him and he makes a pained face.
"Pine," he says instead, sliding into open dance position. He starts waltzing slowly around the room, completely ignoring the demo game music, and adds, "Show up at your crime scenes under the guise of annoying Lassie but really just trying to get close to you. Think about you all the time."
She leans closer to him. "I love you, Shawn," she whispers before kissing him.
He kisses her back for a moment, letting their feet still. Then he draws away, and pushes steps backward. "Don't stand that close. Leave room for Jesus." They start dancing again.
"Remember that time you taught us to dance for American Duos?" Shawn asks on the night of the police ball.
"Yes," Jules answers, smirking. "You were both awful."
"At first," she agrees. "Your performance should have made you winners."
"So glad you agree," Shawn replied in an awful impersonation of Nigel St. Nigel. "But I was thinking about training. You in that sweatshirt, yelling, hotter than, I don't know, Sofia Vergara."
"Shawn," she snaps, punching him.
She rolls her eyes. "Hurry, or we'll be late."
He pulls her back into his chest. "You look hot right now, too."
"Don't I always?" she teases.
He smiles softly, and it's moments like these that she thinks she's seeing the real Shawn, who doesn't hide under snark and pouting and is just honest. "More than hot. Always," he answers.
She pulls him out the door because he doesn't like it when she acknowledges his honesty. He wants her to love him all the time.
And, she thinks, as Shawn waltzes with her around the dance floor, purposefully bumping into Lassie and Marlowe only twice, she does love him.
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.
A/N: I think it came out cute. I missed updating yesterday because I am suffering from the quasi-flu and the story I'm working on needed to be perfect. Still needs to be perfect. It's maybe half-written and I'm going to make it awesommmme. I still have three more prompts, I think, so stay tuned!