Spoilers: I don't suppose there are any but this takes place during Chamber of Secrets
Disclaimer: They're JKR's, dammit.
Notes: Standard warning applies for two underage boys having sex. Yeah, I know, my place in the handcart has been reserved so the rollers can get off my back. And you know, show me a sixteen-year old boy who doesn't think about sex and I'll rethink my stance on this being within the realm of possibility. Yet another in the series of my own little OPVerse. This started off quite silly as a gift for my beta reader, Jenfr, and my friend, Jodi. They wanted a crossover. They wanted Oliver and LotR's Legolas but no matter how I tried, this is as crossed as I could get. And I don't imagine it's quite as silly as I intended. But then, they know me so well. Thanks to Dana for the beta on this one.

I can hear his laughter rippling through the empty halls. His footsteps grow closer and his howling becomes more animated. I didn't expect him back for hours, at least not until more of the Sixth Years returned, or at least the Quidditch team. But there was no mistaking the joyous ring of Oliver's laughter. His time in Hogsmeade was supposed to give me a bit of the quiet I needed to study. I have found, in this my sixth year, that I'm spreading myself far thinner than I thought possible. My future looms before me and I must pave the path to ease my transition away from all the comforts of Hogwarts that I have begun to realize I cannot take with me.

For a moment, I find myself frowning at Oliver's total disregard for my needs. That is until the door swings open and he pushes his way inside. His cheeks are rosy with excitement and he's grinning from ear to ear. I can't help but smile back at him, even as I feel a reproach rising from my worry-addled mind. "You're early. You said you'd be in Hogsmeade all day."

Oliver rushes to the bed, where I've been reading, and kneels on the floor. He throws something next to me, his grin widening even further. "I know, but I had to get back. Just look at what I found!"

I reach for the packet beside me and read the label. "Famous Elves of Middle Earth Trading Cards," I look to him questioningly. "What are these?"

He almost falls over as he starts laughing again. "Open them. Even you'll laugh at these, Weasley."

I have come to know him so well. In his lighter moods, he's always referred to me as 'Weasley'. I've never actually been sure why, but the moments before I see his face cloud and hear his voice drop to actually use my name, I realize he needs the distinction between what's for them and what's for us. And I know no one but me has heard him utter the word, 'Percy'. It is only lately that this has become a source of guilt for me, as I feel more and more how he has locked me away into the most trusted reaches of his heart, a heart I am sure to break before we're through here.

My hands fumble with the packet he's given to me, as I try not to think of Oliver and the future I've been so preoccupied with. I know he senses changes but in his ardor to win the Quidditch Cup, he's been keen to let more and more slide. So, I suppose now, I should take advantage of this time alone.

I look down at the cards in my hand and they remind me of the very Wizard Cards I collected as a young boy. Only these cards are adorned with elves from a land far, far away. And yet, when I look closer, I am shocked to see what these elves are doing. My eyes remain fixed on one, a blond bloke called 'Legolas'. And I remember reading about him before. He's a legendary figure with extraordinary courage and strength.

"Thes-these are unlicensed!" I am shocked that Oliver would bring such things home. "How, where," I'm sputtering, unable to tear my eyes from the card in my hand. "Where did you get these?"

"Hobby shop. They were mixed in with some wizard packs. Aren't they the gas?"

"Gas!" I gasp as the elf in the card in my hand continues to work on himself. "It's pornographic! It's, it's-"

Oliver rolls his eyes. "That's the fun of it, you see."

Of course it is. In the gleam of his eyes and the enthusiasm of his laughter, I am reminded of the youth he embodies, the same youth I find slipping farther and farther away from me. And I know it's leaving him as well but he has the spirit to hold on far tighter than me and just allow himself to be.

"But if you don't like them," he continues and plucks the cards out of my hands, "I'm sure Fred and Geo-"

He's laughing at me now, from his bottom, staring down at the dashing blond elf whacking off. It's really all too much for me, and once again, Oliver's pushed all my buttons, sending me crashing to the floor after him, my hand reaching for the card he holds. "You wouldn't dare!"

He's lying flat on his back with his hand raised over his head. I find myself straddling him as he keeps Legolas just out of my reach. He's laughing so hard, I can feel it vibrating in his belly. I look at him, and for a moment his laughter stops. His brown eyes shine in mischief and pure delight. Delight in me. I close my own eyes against the emotion I can feel building in my chest. But he breaks the silence with his voice, playful and yet full of longing. "Should I be jealous, Weasley? Or glad that I can do this to you?" His free hand glides between my legs to the very evidence of my own excitement.

I stifle a cry and force myself to meet his gaze. He's flushed now and his eyes have grown darker. I want to do so much. I want to scream and cry and tell him everything that's in my heart and mind. We're so young, him just beginning his seventeenth year and me on the verge of mine. Our bodies are raging and changing and searching for answers both physical and emotional, with a longing to know who we are and what our place is. And yet, with him, always with him, I find that I just want to sink down, in the comfort of his arms and be who he thinks I am.

"Percy,"

His voice breaks me and I crush myself against him. My mouth meets his and we're still awkward and inexperienced but that doesn't matter. We simply want each other. And all of our little dalliances together have been like this. They've filled me. He's filled me and I can't wrench myself out of my treacherous mind to let that be enough. And I find myself almost angry, at him for making me feel like this, and myself for being too much of a bloody coward to allow myself to enjoy it as he does. I can't imagine that he feels the same confusion and rage that I do.

But then he always surprises me.

"Percy... Percy..."

I hear him gasping against my mouth. Both of his hands are on me now and I can't control my desire to do something different, take us somewhere else, to yet one more place I'll simply hide away.

I break away and shush him with a finger to his lips. He nods, and in his silence gives me his trust. I push past my own self-loathing and guilt, and offer him a smile. I push his sweater up over his belly and rest my palm against the smooth skin there. I don't know how he does it, but his breathing is steady and my hand rises and falls in time with him. He is a paradox of peace and pandemonium, rolled into a beautiful brown-eyed package.

"Are you just going to sit there?" His voice is low and quite hopeful. "'Course, I wouldn't mind... much, but it's only a matter of time before,"

For once, he's the voice of reason, and I waste no more time in sentimental portraits of who and what we are. I unbutton his trousers and release him from his undershorts. His calm hooks for a moment and I enjoy those moments before I throw caution to the wind and take him into my mouth. I hear him gasp and feel his body shake beneath me. He tries to talk but nothing he says is discernable and I like it. I like his wiggling and writhing. I like the sounds, the wonderful Oliver sounds that echo in our empty room. I even like the buck of his hips and how it forces him deeper into my throat causing me to gag. But then I hear him panting and I feel his fingers curling in my hair.

"Percy, Percy," he's trying so hard to tell me what I already know and I can feel the resistance of his hands in my hair, but I don't yield. He does. He comes furiously, the heat of him hitting the back of my throat and sliding down deeper into me. And for several moments, I'm sated. Sated, even as his shaking stops. Sated, even as I pull away and force myself to look at him. He's looking at me from under droopy lids, but he's smiling contentedly. He grabs my hand, and with all the grace that is Oliver, pulls me down to him and kisses me.

He's always surprising me.

"You're right mad, you know that?" His voice is shaky and I'm glad. "Where'd you, why, you didn't have," He can't complete a single thought and I find myself smiling even more.

"I'm thinking you should see what Fred and George'll do with these," I reach over his head and pick up the pornographic cards.

"I don't know about that, Weasley. Not sure I fancy giving them up now." His devilish smile returns. And still, for a while, I'm happy.

~End