Title: Perfectenschlag

Author: Mi Mariposita / notquiteandrea

Warning(s): NSFW. Sex. But also fluff? Sexy fluff.

Details: From imperfection comes perfection, and from perfection comes perfectenschlag.

Word Count: 2667

Disclaimer: All characters, events, objects, etc. that were the property of The Office and NBC before this fanfiction are still the property of The Office and NBC. I just took some… creative liberties. Dotted some i's and crossed some t's, if you will.

Author's Note: Ok, so, life update. Ya girl got engaged over Labor Day weekend. As a result, I'm posting fluffy, smutty Dwangela in honor of myself. This takes place just after the finale. Honestly, I'm probably going to turn this into some long, fluffy, smutty, family-esque thing with no actual plot because I have no self-control. But for now, I think it's fine by itself. (Also, how could I post an A/N without mentioning the lovely Veridissima? I adore our Dwangela discourse - it's prompted so much fanfiction.)

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Perfectenschlag

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The trees and shrubbery blended together as their car zipped by. The soft whir of the engine, the gentle clinking of cans bouncing against the dark, well-traveled road. In beautifully written letters, courtesy of Pam Halpert, the words "Just Married" adorned the rear window of the blue Cadillac. Inside of the car sat a newly wedded husband with his newly wedded wife. The husband occupied the driver's seat, his eyes on the road and his hand gently resting on his wife's thigh. Her hand sat atop his as she slowly drew intricate patterns on the back of his knuckles.

She smiled softly as she brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying for the umpteenth time that day to fend off tears. She felt a strong tickle of emotion in the back of her throat, so she wrapped her hand around his and squeezed for comfort. He lightly squeezed her thigh.

"Did you have a good day, Monkey?" he asked. She could see the smile on his face and hear it in his voice. He sounded chipper, or at least what would constitute as chipper for him. The way his pet name for her slid off his tongue, often slipping out in public now, still filled her with joy.

"Perfect," she said dreamily, and she meant it.

"I'm sorry Mose had you locked in the trunk for so long. I had no idea he had it in him." She detected a hint of pride in his tone, as well as something else she couldn't quite pinpoint. It was important to him that she and Mose get along, and after a full year of living under the same roof, Mose was finally starting to come around. At least he got along well with Philip, even if he was still wary of the toddler.

She turned towards Dwight, running her hand up and down his forearm comfortingly. "If that's what it takes to be a Schrute," she said, giving his arm a gentle hug.

"Oh, it takes much more than that to be a Schrute," he said quickly. "But you've proven yourself quite capable… Mrs. Schrute." An unabashedly happy smile spread across his lips. Mrs. Schrute, he thought. How lovely it sounded. Mrs. Angela Schrute. God, he would never get tired of hearing that name, his wife's name, her name.

"Is that so, Mr. Schrute?" she teased, unable to conceal a small giggle. "Surely, we Schrutes must have some traditions outlining the expectations of the wedding night," she said as her hand made its way to his thigh. His body jolted with startle. "I hope I can prove myself… capable."

He shivered. "Woman, I will pull this car over right now and make passionate love to you until sunrise." She couldn't help but smile broadly.

Angela didn't like to think of her ill-contrived marriage to The Senator, but it was difficult for her not to compare it to how much better - how much happier - her marriage to Dwight would be. Understandably (retrospectively), The Senator had always been hesitant about touching her intimately. He had insisted that they not have intercourse until after the wedding, and at the time, she had appreciated his devout dedication to his faith - or what she had assumed to be a devout dedication to his faith. And while she had agreed with his devotion in theory, she hadn't quite agreed in practice. She had almost made it to their wedding day, almost, but she had given into her carnal desires just barely a month short of the big day. And since The Senator wouldn't give her what she wanted, she had turned to someone who would. At the time, she had convinced herself that her unfaithfulness had been equivalent to one last hurrah, one last taste of the forbidden fruit she had already bitten into so many years before. It had been tawdry and primal and passionate and everything she had needed. After their night together, she had bided her time with The Senator. And when that time had come, they had consummated their marriage on their wedding night, and it had been accomplished quickly and without emotion, without expression. He had done his duty, and she had served her purpose. She had learned of her pregnancy early on in their marriage, and The Senator had been relieved to have conceived so quickly. Then he had concerns about intimacy during pregnancy, about hurting the baby, about her sensitive postpartum body. And then he had been preoccupied with all sorts of late night campaign meetings (which she now knew were lies) almost every day of the week.

But Dwight? Dwight… He wouldn't hesitate to touch her. He could barely keep his hands off of her. And when he touched her, he touched her with hunger and desire, with a fire that lit her up from the inside out, with heat that burned through her blood like a flame through gasoline. When he touched her, it was never just for him. Even their first time together, he had had a drive to please her, to fulfill her in ways she had never imagined possible. Sexually, emotionally, mentally… he lit a fire in her that she couldn't suffocate. She felt happier when she was with him. She felt loved and protected and cared for.

She felt important.

"Is that so?" she asked, slowly running her hand up his thigh. Yes, her marriage to Dwight would be much better than her marriage to The Senator. Fact. But despite their differences, they would have one interesting thing in common. One thing that, years ago, wouldn't have existed in her theoretically perfect world. Yet somehow, her world was perfect, and these things did exist, and she couldn't imagine it any other way.

Angela had been married twice now (not counting the time that Dwight had secretly married them, because really, it didn't count), and twice now, she had been pregnant on her wedding day. She really ought to have been more careful. "Do we Schrutes have a policy regarding intercourse with pregnant women?"

"Well, obviously intercourse would cease to serve a purpose," he mused, intrigued by her offbeat question. "But it's not expressly forbidden." He nodded slowly, content with his answer, his face holding a look of mild amusement. "Why? Would you like to attempt procreation immediately?"

A small, coy smile adorned her face. His eyes flashed over to her for a brief moment, then back to the road. He knit his brows in confusion. "What is it, Monkey?"

She squeezed his arm, trying her best to conceal her excitement. "Dwight," she said, in a low, sensual voice. "Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over," she repeated calmly.

He looked confused, but he signaled to the nonexistent cars on the road that he was pulling over, and he easily rolled the car to a stop in a flat, grassy clearing. Once the car was stopped, Angela reached over and turned the vehicle off, tossing the keys into the backseat.

He looked at her, still confused. "Angela, what-"

"I'm pregnant," she said, cutting him off excitedly. His mouth fell open, almost matching his wide, shocked eyes.

"What?" His voice was soft, barely audible.

"I'm pregnant," she said again, grabbing his hand. She couldn't control the radiant smile that graced her lips, cheeks, and eyes. "Four weeks. I scheduled an appointment while everyone was at the panel." Dwight's mouth moved as if he intended to say something, but no words came out. "Dwight?" Her stomach felt tight; her heart jumped into her throat.

"You're pregnant?" he asked, disbelievingly.

She nodded once, still beaming.

"With a baby?"

She nodded again.

"My baby?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed, taken back by his question. "Dwight, I-"

His fingers curled into her hair, pulling her to him, and he kissed her lasciviously. She grabbed his forearms, bracing herself from the impact of his kiss. His lips on hers, her lips on his. Biting, sucking, teasing, playing. In that moment, all felt right with the world because she was his wife, and they had a son and now a new baby on the way, and God, he just loved her so much. He separated his lips from her lips and pressed his forehead against hers. Eyes closed, he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, smiling all the while.

She kissed the corner of his mouth. "Backseat," she whispered hastily. He nodded and pulled back from her slowly. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before opening the driver's door. She crawled over the middle partition and into the backseat, avoiding Philip's car seat and kicking her shoes off in the process. Dwight quickly entered the back of the car and closed the door hard behind him. Before he had time to settle in, she was on top of him, straddling his lap as she pulled his face to hers. The hem of her crisp, white dress slid up to her waist, and he grabbed her bare thighs, pulling her as close to him as physically possible.

"When I was pregnant with Philip," she said airily between kisses as she slid his vest off over his firm, broad shoulders. "I craved you." She started undoing the buttons of his shirt, nimble fingers fumbling down his torso. She pushed his shirt away, down his arms. She tossed it to the floor of the car as Dwight pulled his undershirt off over his head. He pulled the zipper of her dress down as his lips reached her neck and suckled her smooth, pale skin. "I even… never mind," she mumbled, lolling her head back as he kissed down her neck and across her collarbone.

"What did you do, Monkey?" he asked breathlessly. He slid the sleeves of her dress down over her shoulders and exposed her bridal undergarments. Nothing but white lace and fantasy. He ran his hands across her bare back as he dipped his lips into her cleavage.

"Sometimes," she breathed. "When I was alone…" He unlatched the hook of her bra, and the thin garment fell to her hips and was quickly discarded to the car floor. She fumbled with his belt, eagerly attempting to undo his pants. "I would think about you… and me…"

"Mmhmm," he groaned, propping her up as she wrapped her tiny hand around his hard shaft.

"And I would…" she said slowly, pressing her lips to his ear as he pulled her white, lacy panties aside. She lowered her voice and spoke softly, so quietly that he wasn't sure she had spoken at all. "Touch myself."

She sunk onto him, and both of them moaned in pleasure. Then the door of the car flew open, and a loud, clear, "Oh my God!" was heard.

Angela screamed and jumped off of Dwight, who also yelled loudly. They scrambled to cover themselves, Angela quickly pulling her dress up and Dwight trying to refasten his pants.

"We're so sorry!"

"What the hell?!" Angela yelled, looking up at the perpetrators, who happened to be a very pale-faced Jim and Pam Halpert.

"What are you doing here, Halperts?!" Dwight yelled, attempting to cover Angela with his dress shirt. "Were you spying on us?!"

"I, I - oh my God," Pam stuttered, eyes wide. She immediately looked away, anywhere but at the scene in front of her. She wanted nothing more than to bleach her eyes and permanently remove the image of Dwight and Angela having sex from her brain. "Sorry - uh, sorry, we were driving home, and we, uh, we saw your car - stopped, and with all the lights off and everything, and we thought something might have happened, and," she rattled on, barely able to collect her thoughts.

"Yeah, uh," Jim backed her up. "We just wanted to make sure that you guys were ok," he said, looking straight up as he balled his hands in his pockets.

"We're fine!" Angela yelled, clinging her dress tightly to her chest, Dwight's shirt covering her otherwise bare legs. She knew her face was beet red, bright with embarrassment and humiliation.

"And you're, uh… yeah, yup, you're fine. So, I guess we should be going now, right, Pam?" Jim said, laughing awkwardly.

"Yup, yeah, we should be going," she agreed. "We'll, uh, see you guys later." She awkwardly reached for the car door and lightly pushed it closed. As Jim and Pam walked away, Dwight reopened the not-fully-closed door and then slammed it shut.

They sat still for a moment, breathing heavily and registering what had just happened. Dwight, sitting oddly on half the back seat, had his knees pulled into his chest. Angela had fallen onto the floor of the car, and she continued to hold everything tightly to her body.

"Are you ok?" Dwight asked, extending his hand to help her up. Angela took his hand, and he repositioned himself to sit properly in the backseat, giving Angela room to sit between him and the car seat. He looked her up and down, still titillated by the sight of her. "You don't still want to…?"

"No, Dwight. No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "Let's just go home." He nodded, and they both started to redress. Angela slid her bra back on, and Dwight fastened the hook for her. Dwight pulled his undershirt on as Angela pulled up her dress. He zipped her up, and she buttoned his shirt.

He moved his arm to open the door, but she placed her hand over his, stopping him. He looked at her, confused. She smiled softly and pulled his hand back. She wrapped both of her arms around him and rested her head on his chest, listening to his strong, comforting heartbeat.

"I love you," she said, squeezing him tightly.

He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. "I love you, too, Monkey. More than you can imagine." He kissed the top of her head. She smiled and nuzzled his chest. They sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying each other's company. The rustic, musky smell of the farm embedded in his skin, the scent of vanilla and ginger wafting from her hair. The moon and the stars twinkled brightly in the sky, leaving nothing but soft illuminance to highlight their faces.

"Monkey?" he asked softly.

"Yes, D?"

"I thought you didn't approve of masturbation."

"Dwight!" she yelled, pulling away from him and smacking his arm. He looked at her innocently.

"What?"

Her features were severe, disapproving. "I don't," she clarified. Shaking her head. "I don't."

"But you were just saying-"

"I know what I said!" she exclaimed. Upon seeing Dwight's still confused expression, she sighed and tried to relax her body a bit. "Look," she said. "I don't approve of… self-pleasure. But, under certain circumstances…" She sighed again, trying to figure out how to make her murky point clear. "Listen, there were a lot of unsavory hormones, and - and it was either that or cheat on my husband every time I felt… aroused." She didn't like talking about sex. She loved Dwight, and she loved sex with Dwight, but she just didn't think that such open and bold talk about sex was appropriate. She took a deep breath. "I don't know why I mentioned it. I guess I just thought that, since you… approve… of self-pleasure, you might… like knowing that I did that while thinking of you." She nodded affirmatively, not meeting Dwight's eyes.

A slightly devious smile crept to his lips. He wrapped his arm back around his wife. "Thank you," he said. He kissed her temple. The red hot embarrassment that colored her cheeks was adorable. "Maybe we can talk about it more later tonight." Angela rolled her eyes and smacked his arm again, but a small smile spread to her lips.

"You're incorrigible," she said. She sat up a little taller and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad I married you." She rubbed her nose against his jaw.

"Likewise."

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