Disclaimer: Still not mine. Never were, never will be.

Warning: It gets a bit graphic here. Not too badly, just more then we've seen.

Dedication: This is for all of you Percy/Oliver fans. You converted me!

Author's Note: Okay folks, this is it. Last chapter. It's short, but I hope you enjoy it. :-) I certainly enjoyed writing this. I wanted to try and make it a bit longer, but it would have been...choppy. I apologize. I hope it is a fitting ending. I think it is.

Same As It Ever Was

Chapter 8

Oliver says nothing for a very long time. I raise my eyes after I have said the words, my courage coming back to me. I look at him almost challengingly, daring him to respond. What can he say, after my admission? I know I don't know, but I am curious. My courage falters as he continues to say nothing, to simply look at me, mild and unshaken.

He leans forward. I feel his lips on mine again, soft and tender. I have not the strength to push him away. I surrender to his lips, letting myself be swept away, despite the protests from the inner recesses of my mind. His hands take mine, pulling me up, leading me. I am undone. By his lips, his hands, his scent, his feel. I cannot fight it. It overwhelms me, pulls me down, pushes me to a place I've never dared go before. I wonder why he does not speak. But he communicates to me in a far baser and eloquent manner then speech. There is something in his kiss, an assurance, a promise. I do not question it, for once. I cannot bare to.

I feel the bed against my legs. I falter, my heart missing a beat as Oliver's hands caress my back, fingers seeking out sensitive spots on my spine. I cannot suppress a moan as his lips descend upon my throat, and I shudder. These are sensations I have never even conceived of. The imagination pales in light of the reality of talented, soft lips. And hands. And skin. I am lost in a void of sensual pleasure

This is not right. This is debauchery. But I am not a willing victim, rather I give myself over completely, even join in. I allow my hands to find his shoulders and back, allow them to slide awkwardly over fabric covered muscle. I have never been in such an intimate position before. I am confused, but I try not to show it. He pushes me down, and I lay back on the bed, not certain what to do.

"Taking things a little fast." Oliver says softly, and with amusement. He sits next to me, and I flush. He takes my hand, pulling me up to kiss me again. I open my lips to him, allowing him access. This is a strange sensation, another's tongue inside of my mouth. But it isn't bad. It is as though he is exploring my mouth. He leaves no crevice untouched. My teeth, tongue, palate. I shiver, and I move my tongue against his, finding it eager and willing.

I am well aware I will be an inferior lover, if it goes that far. What I have done has been tame and unrelated. Holding hands with Penny, a few chaste kisses are the extent of my knowledge. This is above and beyond tameness and propriety. But there is nothing immoral in physical pleasure. Not the act itself. The immorality resides in the circumstances. We continue to kiss, and I begin to relax. His hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my bare back. This new sensation overwhelms me.

"Oliver..." I am not sure if I say his name in protest or encouragement. He takes it as the latter, his hands coming around, sliding easily over my skin, to undo the buttons of my crisp white shirt. I make no move to help or hinder. It is out of my hands now. Regardless of what I want, I will do nothing to stop him. He draws the shirt off of my shoulders, tossing it aside. I frown at the careless treatment, but say nothing.

He takes me in his arms again, lips meeting lips. I close my eyes, not paying attention to mundane things. My hands caress him, and I hope I am doing it right. I mimic his hands on my own body, feeling his smooth skin, rough from old scars in places. He is muscular and defined, and I run my palms reverently over his shoulders and back. He pulls back, slipping easily out of his shirt. He is beautiful to behold, smooth and sleek, skin a light dusk color. I let my eyes travel over his body, feeling distinctly inferior. What is this? What does this mean to him?

My resolution to abandon my sensibilities falters. I cannot do this. I cannot stand to have something so fleeting. I cannot reach for a dream, brush it with my fingers, only to have it ripped away. I look at him, our eyes meeting. I know there is sadness in mine, but I cannot stop it, cannot hide it. My barriers have fallen, and I am exposed to him.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek?

"I suppose." It's an honest answer. I don't know what I want. I don't know what I should want. I know I want Oliver, but not in a way he is willing to give. I want him wholly and completely. I will accept nothing less. If all else in my life must be second rate, tiresome, bland, this will not be.

"What's wrong?"

"You know very well what's wrong." There is no malice in my words and I rest my cheek firmly into his hand. It is warm and good.

"I do?" He raises and eyebrow, rubbing this thumb over my cheekbone.

"Yes." I nod, sighing at the sensation of skin on skin.

"Care to refresh my memory?"

"Oliver." This time I do not turn away. I meet his gaze unflinching. I wrap my bravery about me, like a cloak. I know I will perhaps drive him away, if I persist, but rather drive him away then lose him. I have accepted that Oliver Wood is not something I am to have. He is a dream, not a reality. Something to long for, strive for, but never achieve.

"If this continues, I will fall in love with you." That's a lie. I'm halfway in love already. Or as in love as I suppose I'll ever be.

"I know." Oliver says, lips sliding tantalizingly against mine. His next words seal my fate. In one breath, he manages to redirect the course of my life, alter my entire future. And for once, I do not mind. He kisses me deeply, before speaking again. His eyes are bright and deep and soulful, his voice soft and warm. I sink into it, falling into an abyss there is no way out of. Nor that I *want* out of.

"I'm going to fall in love with you, too."

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