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The sun had barely risen over the horizon, however, Oliver O'Toole had already been up for quite some time. He had finished his morning prayers and was just about to ready himself for the work day ahead.
He made his way to the bedroom to find Shane where he had left her earlier. She was still soundly sleeping, although her face was now mashed into his pillow instead of resting on his chest. Oliver loved seeing his new wife like this, her face relaxed in sleep, scrubbed clean of makeup, with her blonde waves cascading across the pillow. It was a testament to how far they had come to reach this point, and he could not stop the smile on his face nor the gratitude that filled his heart at the thought that this was how he could start every day now.
He reached over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Shane's ear, letting his finger trail softly down her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and she slowly adjusted to the sight of her husband's face. "G'morning, Oliver," she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness, as she reached out and tugged him gently toward her, a clear invitation for him to return to bed.
"Morning, my love," Oliver replied, letting himself fall toward her and be pulled into his wife's embrace. He met Shane's lips with his own, giving her a short but sweet kiss. Shane curled even closer to Oliver, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his scent. She located the pulse point on Oliver's neck with her lips whilst her fingers began to roam, making her intentions abundantly clear. Oliver, however, distracted with a different plan in mind, started to pull away.
Norman and Rita had done their best to keep things running smoothly in the Dead Letter Office (DLO) during their colleagues' absence. With Oliver and Shane away on an extended honeymoon and Charley unexpectedly starting her maternity leave early, the team had been left shorthanded. The resulting backlog was inevitable, and despite their efforts since returning, they had yet to fully catch up.
"As much as I'd love to continue this," he said with a warm smile, "I'm eager to return to the DLO and resume our mission of processing the backlog that's built up while we were away. You know how much pride I take in our team and the work we do. Now that we're back, I want to make sure we uphold the standard of excellence we've set."
He reached for Shane's hand, gently tugging her forward. "I'll take a quick shower while you decide what to wear for the day. Then I'll have breakfast ready by the time you've finished your morning routine."
Shane looked up at Oliver with her big blue eyes, giving her husband a wink, "You know, we could always take a shower together. It could save on both time and water."
"We both know that you and I showering together would save neither time nor water, my love", Oliver replied with a smirk.
Shane pouted slightly but let it go and started to make her way towards the closet. She knew when Oliver was this focused, it would be difficult to change his mind. And as frustrating as it was for her at the current moment, his dedication to the DLO was also one of the things she loved most about him.
As Shane walked toward their shared closet, a sly smile spread across her face as a sudden idea struck her—a clever way to give her husband a little nudge to get what she wanted.
***
Shane and Oliver walked hand in hand toward the DLO. Though their connection had always been strong, even before their relationship turned romantic, they were more openly affectionate now, their bond deepened and expressed in every gentle touch and glance.
As the doors swung open to the DLO, Shane was once again struck by the familiar warmth that washed over her whenever she stepped inside. It wasn't the original Dead Letter Office she had been mistakenly sent to on her first day, the one where she'd forged unbreakable bonds with her fellow POstables, danced with Oliver, and eventually fallen in love, but this space, nestled deep within the USPS building, had become their own. It was their haven, their home away from home.
There was no denying from the very start, even before he could properly admit it to himself, that Oliver was physically attracted to Shane.
As Oliver helped Shane out of her coat and hung it on the rack, he turned back and froze. He hadn't noticed the dress before, and now that he had, it caught him completely off guard.
This dress. It stirred up a complicated mix of emotions. The deep red fabric with its black overlay had appeared almost purple under the harsh lighting of the Department of Homeland Security in Washington, D.C.
The last time he'd seen her in it had been unforgettable. After three long months apart, the sight of Shane in that dress had taken his breath away.
He had wanted to kiss her then. If he were being truly honest, he had wanted much more than just a kiss. But it hadn't been the right moment—nor the right place. Their reunion had been fraught with tension. Oliver, justifiably hurt by Shane's extended absence, had let his emotions boil over. She, in turn, had walked away, determined to complete the mission that had brought her there. And so Oliver had left Washington, D.C, and Shane, feeling both confused and unsatisfied.
But everything was different now.
Shane had accessorised the dress a little differently today, going slightly less formal with a leather jacket and matching leather ankle booties. Where her pendant necklace had once hung around her neck, she wore the vintage watch he had gifted her just before their nuptials. And it was definitely working for him. He loved how the dress lightly skimmed over her lithe curves and flared out from her hips, the feminine hemline falling just above her knee.
But they had a job to do.
Oliver pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Shane's lips before they parted, each turning to begin their respective tasks for the day.
A short while later, Shane gathered a stack of letters that had been set aside, each needing Norman Dorman's revelation solution to yield any useful clues, and headed toward Norman's lab.
As Oliver watched her, standing there in that dress, letters in hand, he was suddenly overwhelmed. The image stirred something deep within him, an emotional rush tied to her return from D.C., to the ache of their time apart, and the joy of having her beside him again.
Suddenly, a wave of possessiveness washed over him. The thought of being apart from Shane, even briefly, unsettled him, so he quietly followed her toward the smaller room.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Shane turned in surprise, only to find Oliver standing there.
The look on Oliver's face made Shane's breath catch, and the stack of letters slipped from her hands. There was no mistaking the intensity in his eyes. She'd seen that look countless times during their honeymoon. Oliver wanted her. Here. Now.
"I take it the lab's working for you, huh?" she asked, her voice unsteady.
Oliver stepped closer, his intentions written in every movement. "No," he said softly, eyes locked on hers. "Just you, Mrs. O'Toole. You work for me."
He paused, swallowing hard before adding, "And this dress… You had to know what it would do to me."
Though Shane had been very intentional in choosing this dress, she met Oliver's gaze with a mischievous glint in her eye, offering no confirmation, no denial, only a silent challenge.
After going so long without her touch, it seemed that now it was all Oliver could think about. Now, he could create some new and thoroughly more enjoyable memories of this dress. He chuckled softly, surrendering to the moment.
"Sometimes I just can't help myself," he said, his voice low. "I need to touch you."
"You'll get no complaints from me," Shane replied, her smile tender, her eyes full of affection.
Oliver tucked his head in embarrassment before continuing.
"I can't believe how much I feel like a horny teenager around you."
A delighted laugh escaped Shane as she stared at him, surprised by the uncharacteristically bold words from her usually composed husband.
"Oliver O'Toole using the word horny, now I've heard everything,"
"Well, in this instance, I find the King's English insufficient…."
Shane stepped in closer, her voice soft and teasing.
"Then I guess you'll just have to stop using your words… and kiss me."
He closed the distance between them, slipping one arm around his wife's waist while the other rose to gently caress her cheek with his fingertips.
He tilted her face up towards his and captured her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself onto her toes for better access. Shane moaned impatiently and gently pulled on Oliver's lower lip with her teeth in order to deepen the kiss.
"Who knew that it wasn't just your curiosity that was insatiable?" Oliver murmured against her lips, his voice low and heavy with desire.
"Like you're one to talk, Oliver," Shane said with a teasing smile, her fingers trailing through the hair at the nape of his neck, slow and deliberate.
Oliver's breath hitched ever so slightly at her touch, his hands instinctively settling on her hips.
"Oh, I'm not denying anything," he murmured, leaning in just enough that their foreheads nearly touched. "I'm just wondering how I'm supposed to focus on anything else when you keep doing that."
Shane's grin widened as she leaned in closer, her voice a sultry whisper. "Maybe you're not supposed to."
Oliver nudged her gently toward the counter, his eyes never leaving hers. The scattered letters on the floor faded into the background, forgotten. With a firm yet careful touch, his hands slipped to the backs of her thighs and lifted her effortlessly.
Shane let out a soft breath as her legs wrapped around his waist, their bodies aligning with a practiced ease that came from trust, history, and deep affection. Her hands gripped his shoulders for balance, though her heartbeat betrayed her calm.
As he settled her onto the counter, Oliver's hands and lips began to explore, each touch growing in urgency. Shane met him with equal passion, every kiss an echo of shared love, every sigh a familiar melody. They moved together in perfect harmony, completely attuned to each other.
Oliver's hands slid beneath her dress, slow and reverent as they traced the elegant curve of her thighs. His fingers skimmed over warm, silky skin, pausing where her stockings ended to linger on the delicate contrast of satin and lace. He looked up, meeting her eyes, and leaned in, capturing her lips in another searing kiss.
Moments later, with Shane's panties discarded and the world beyond the room forgotten, Oliver was aware of only one thing—his Shane. The way she moved with him, the way she felt under his hands, the way she whispered his name like a vow.
Sensing how close she was, he adjusted her hips, drawing her in deeper. Her breath caught, her fingers dug into his shoulders, and then she arched against the counter, lost in the moment as it overtook them both.
And then—crash.
With one final, ill-timed thrust, they knocked straight into a cluster of glass apparatus at the far end of the counter. Beakers shattered, metal clanged, and something definitely sparked.
They broke apart instantly, as though someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over them. Faces flushed, lips swollen, both breathing hard, certain the crash had drawn attention.
Shane slid off the counter with practiced grace, ducking down to retrieve her panties and hastily tucking them behind her back like contraband.
Oliver turned away, zipping up his trousers with the frantic energy of a man who had just remembered exactly where he was—and what, or rather who, had just been on that counter.
And then, footsteps.
Rapid, unmistakable, getting closer.
A heartbeat later, the door burst open—and in rushed Norman and Rita.
Norman surveyed the scene in silence.
Every beaker Norman used for his chemical solutions lay shattered on the floor, glass shards scattered like ice across the hard floor surface. Letters were strewn in all directions, forming a chaotic trail of paper in the wake of… whatever had just happened..
Without a word, he walked over to the broom closet and retrieved the broom and dustpan, his expression unreadable.
But as he turned back, his eyes sharpened with quiet scrutiny.
Oliver, always the picture of composure, looked distinctly dishevelled. His usually crisp suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened and askew. Shane's cheeks were flushed in a way Norman couldn't recall ever seeing before. Her makeup was just slightly smudged, lips a touch too pink. And unless his eyes were deceiving him, that was the beginning of a hickey blooming on Oliver's neck.
It took Norman a moment to fully grasp what must have happened to create the scene before him.
He let out a softly muttered, "Oh."
Rita, meanwhile, although trying her best to stay composed, failed spectacularly, laughter bubbling up and spilling out before she could stop it.
A flush spread up Oliver's neck as he realised just how exposed he was, especially being the ranking official. Shane, on the other hand, looked utterly pleased with herself.
"We, uh… maybe got a bit carried away," Oliver muttered, his words falling short as he avoided their friend's gaze.
Norman walked over to the counter, surveying the mess and checking for anything hazardous.
"Good thing you didn't set yourselves on fire," he said, deadpan.
Shane bit her lip, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, there was plenty of fire," she replied, unapologetically smug.
Norman shot a glance at Oliver.
"You know where the gloves and industrial bleach are?"
Oliver gave a long, resigned nod.
"Good. I trust any… compromised surfaces will be thoroughly scrubbed before Rita and I get back."
Norman took Rita's hand and turned toward the door, gently tugging her along with him. As they slipped out of the room, Rita tossed a cheeky glance over her shoulder, caught Shane's eye, and gave her a wink and a thumbs-up. Oh yeah, they were definitely going to have a conversation about this later.
It took all of Shane's willpower to keep a straight face until the sound of the double doors confirmed Rita and Norman had finally made their exit.
Oliver buried his face in his hands. "I am so very mortified."
Shane shot him a wicked grin as she shimmied back into her panties.
"And I am so very satisfied."
"If that's the response I get, I'll have to start dropping things more often," she added with a laugh, handing him the broom.
"Not in the office, please," Oliver muttered, moving to sweep up the glass.
Shane crouched down, beginning to collect the scattered letters.
Oliver hesitated, then grinned. "Well, I suppose Norman might need some upgraded equipment—courtesy of the O'Toole Foundation, of course—if we do keep breaking things around here."
Shane glanced up at him, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief.
"Well, that sounds like a plan."