A/N: It's been a while since I've written anything, and now that school is out for me for the summer, I find myself longing to write something down. And since, unfortunately, it may yet be some time before we see a new episode, I thought I'd offer up a post-honeymoon scenario for our favorite pair. I hope you enjoy my little one-shot.

Public Displays

The alarm on Shane's phone blared its synthesized tone, and Oliver startled awake. Heart racing, he opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. His wife, one arm draped over his naked chest in abandon, didn't even stir as the wordless tune continued to play. It was a far cry from being gently pulled from slumber by classical music emanating from his old clock radio. Marriage often hinged on compromise, he thought morosely.

"Shane," he said, nudging her. She mumbled incoherently. She was definitely not a morning person and didn't actually characterize herself as a person at all until she had her coffee. But in their brief marriage of three weeks, he had learned a thing or two about bringing her back to life. Beneath the covers, his hands began to wander, and his lips caressed her temple, then slid down her cheek to the corner of her lips, gently parted in sleep.

"Hmmm…" she hummed in appreciation, a sleepy smile in her voice. She turned her head just enough to meet his mouth. The alarm suddenly forgotten, Oliver rolled her over to her back, and proceeded to wish her a very good morning indeed.

Sometime later, in Oliver's Jaguar, he tapped his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel as they waited in morning traffic. He sighed heavily.

"I can't believe we are going to be late on our first day back," he said in annoyance.

Shane grinned, and the faintest blush of roses bloomed in her cheeks. "Now whose fault is that, Mr. O'Toole?" She sipped from her to-go cup and leaned against the seat back, smiling beatifically.

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "As I recall, Mrs. O'Toole, we must both share the blame equally."

She met his blue eyes, warm with the banked fire of their morning's passion.

"If you continue to look at me that way, Oliver, we might never make it to work."

He chuckled sheepishly, though his expression didn't change. "You might be right. Which brings me to a rather delicate subject—our workplace behavior."

She knew what he was driving toward, and she looked at him expectantly. This was going to be fun, she thought. She always found secret pleasure in uncomfortable, awkward Oliver.

"Oh?" she prompted innocently. "I pride myself in always displaying the utmost professionalism on the job."

He raised an eyebrow—another expression she adored. It always released the butterflies in her stomach, squeezed her heart with longing.

"Ms. McInerney, I will try to ignore that obvious falsehood, and focus on the main issue at hand—that of, uh, public displays of affection."

The fact that he lapsed into using her maiden name in that pedantic way of his showed that he meant business, and she failed to hide her amused smile.

"So, I take it you have no problem with my private displays of affection?"

"Of course not," he replied, flustered and flushed. "I merely caution you to well—to attempt to keep your hands to yourself while we're at work. Those absent touches of my face, my hand, my arm. Standing closer to me than is required, driving me mad with your perfume—"

"People will say we're in love," she sang, dramatically belting out the old showtune.

His lips quirked, despite his intention to stay on point. "Yes," he said, "and it is quite unnecessary to give them fodder for gossip. They all are well aware that we are recently married—they don't need constant, uncomfortable reminders."

Unable to resist, she reached across the seat to trace her fingers through his short hair, sliding them over his scalp and down to his sensitive ear. He shivered involuntarily and briefly closed his eyes, helpless against the wave of desire that coursed through him. The car behind them honked and he jumped, while Shane dropped her hand and laughed. He jerkily pressed the gas and they lurched forward.

"That's precisely what I mean," he said through clenched teeth, resolutely directing his attention on driving and not on his tempting wife, while trying to ignore the lingering stirring in his blood.

"I get it Oliver," she said with a sigh. "But let me point out that, while I may have flirted and snuck in a few teasing touches in our courting days, it was you, dear husband, who had major lapses in propriety in the DLO."

"What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, you know exactly what I'm talking about." She cleared her throat, and took on the manner of a prosecutor addressing a witness on the stand. "Was it not you, Mr. O'Toole, who frequently engaged Ms. McInerney in romantic dancing for weeks on end in the office, holding her closely, your hands in hers, smelling her hair when you thought I-she didn't notice…dipping her while you looked deeply into her eyes?"

"Well, yes, but that was after hours, and no one was around—"

"And was it not you, Mr. O'Toole, who initiated passionate kisses in that very office on more than one occasion, the door unlocked, when anyone might have ventured in and caught us?"

"All right, I take your meaning. But I will not take any of that back, nor will I promise it will never happen again."

"I would hope not," she whispered, her hand moving to his thigh. He looked down at where she touched him, and back into her eyes. He swallowed. Traffic had come to a halt again, and he reached out to touch her soft, pink cheek, his thumb brushing over her moist lower lip.

"What are we going to do?" he asked hopelessly.

"We are going to act normally and naturally. We work with our two best friends, who love us and understand what it is to be newlyweds. You will not throw me on your desk and ravish me, nor will we make out like teenagers in the middle of a brainstorming session. In other words, we will go on just as before, being ourselves. It's no secret how much we love each other, Oliver, for as much as we tried to hide it, people have been gossiping about us since I started working there."

"They have?" he said, horrified. He'd still been married when she was first employed.

She chuckled, recalling how coworkers would sometimes whisper as they passed them in the halls, how Hazel had shared unsolicited gossip with her on many occasions.

"Of course. People would have had to be dead not to see the chemistry percolating between us, as much as you didn't want to admit it."

"I couldn't at first."

"I know," she said gently. "But that is all in the past, and now, we are respectably married, deeply in love, and it doesn't matter anymore who knows it. As a matter of fact, I think there would be more gossip if we went out of our way not to show any affection. We wouldn't want them thinking there was trouble in paradise so soon."

"My goodness, we're living right on the razor's edge, aren't we," he said, amused.

"Oliver, we are both professional people, and as much as I would enjoy hanging all over you at the office, I'd be uncomfortable too, letting others, even our friends, see the more intimate side of our relationship. I am content to share that only with my husband."

She leaned over and kissed him, her lips fitting warmly against his. He deepened the kiss for an all-too-brief moment, before the sound of moving cars brought him back to reality, and he forced himself to pay attention to the road, although his lips still tingled and his heart pounded quickly in his chest. He supposed he should get used to the feeling, he thought wryly. An occupational hazard, being married to such a beautiful, sensual wife.

The last few weeks had been a dreamy haze of love and lust and long hours in bed. It was almost embarrassing how much he wanted her, how he couldn't get enough of her, couldn't stop kissing her or touching her. It was almost painful to him, emerging from the passionate bubble that had surrounded them. He'd been spoiled by a lack of inhibitions, and he realized it was his fear of his own tenuous self-control that had prompted this entire conversation.

"You're right, of course," he said finally, glancing over at her. "We are naturally private people, and minor strains on strict propriety will not be met with condemnation, especially not by those who really know us. I think we will be able to keep a respectful distance, for the most part."

"I have faith in us," she declared. Then her voice dropped to a sexy murmur. "But Oliver…once we get home, all bets are off."

Just the thought of what awaited him at the end of the day, not to mention what had occurred earlier that morning, would be enough to be a major distraction for the rest of the day.

"Talk like that, my love, is not very helpful."

She grinned. "Believe me, I can already tell these first few days back will be a major adjustment."

"I'm happy to know we'll be in it together."

"Always," she said, her eyes tenderly meeting his.

"But just to be on the safe side," he added, "you might stay away from my desk today. That image you so vividly painted of what we could do there will be forever impressed upon my mind, and I fear if you venture too close, I may not be responsible for my actions."

They both laughed, though there was a certain amount of heightened titillation surrounding the fantasy.

"We could always lock the door after work," she suggested mischievously.

Oliver's reply was to lean back against the headrest with a frustrated groan.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been a difficult day, a Herculean test of self-control, on both their parts. Certainly everyone had welcomed them back, and Oliver had tried not to look too mortified when coworkers grinned knowingly as they punched the clock twenty minutes late. Shane had looked at him with eyes sparkling with laughter, and he didn't hesitate to purposely take her hand in the same way as in the days leading up to their wedding. She was right; no reason to change their past behavior now.

Still, throughout the day, even through the course of normal business in dealing with the day's misdirected mail and dead letters, Oliver would find himself staring longingly over at his wife, busily typing on her computer. She would sense his regard, meet his eyes, and a slow smile would spread across her lips. He would shake his head and with a sigh, begin his work anew.

At lunch at the Mailbox Grille, after much good-natured teasing from Ramon, Oliver and Shane sat closely together in the booth across from Norman and Rita, his hand frequently dropping to her bare knee beneath the cover of the table. Nothing more improper than that—just a tactile connection to reassure himself of her nearness as they regaled the other couple with stories from their honeymoon in London.

Finally, the workday ended, and Oliver was once again wending their way through Denver's rush hour traffic.

"I'd like to stop by my house to pick up a few more essentials," he said, aiming his car toward his old house. Topmost on his list was his clock radio.

They were in the process of moving his things to her place. Surprisingly, despite Oliver's bachelor ways, he found himself more comfortable in her home, surrounding by her flowers, her tasteful knick-knacks, and even her mystery novels. They had spoken on their trip of turning his old place into a museum of sorts, in honor of his grandfather. It was already listed as an historical home after all, and people loved to tour old houses. He would open it to charitable events, and perhaps even as a societal venue, the proceeds from which would help fund the O'Toole Foundation. It would also be used for a much-needed official office for the foundation, given how it seemed to be expanding every day.

For her part, Shane had offered an empty bedroom in her home to be reserved just for him, where he could re-create his study, complete with bookshelves, his desk, and favorite armchair. His man cave, as she'd so charmingly termed it. He loved that she recognized his innate desire for solitude, although lately, he'd found that being alone was much less preferable. He enjoyed her company completely, and missed her desperately when she left the room. He wondered if that feeling would ever ease in him. As inconvenient as it was at times, he almost hoped not.

When they arrived at his old house, she followed him up the front steps, and the moment the door closed behind them, he took her into his arms. They kissed wildly, passionately, and her fingers went to his tie, while his found the buttons of her blouse. The pent-up emotion and physical restraint had worn on them both, and they kissed and undressed their way down the hall. Halfway to the bedroom, he paused.

"Hey," he said breathlessly, his hands caressing her bare shoulders, "I know of a certain desk that is quite solid and sturdy." He inclined his head toward the open door of his study.

She laughed and looked up at him. His eyes were blazing down at her with a heady mixture of desire and humor.

"By all means, Mr. O'Toole, lead the way…"

THE END

A/N: Thanks for reading. Have a great summer!