This came from am outing with my best friend yesterday. I'm currently on vacation to see my friend and yesterday, the two of us went to Orlando to catch Wicked on tour (to those of you who have ever had to drive on I-4, bless you). The play was amazing, but especially the As Long As You're Mine scene. All I can remember is sitting there thinking "Yes! THAT is how it should be done". It was intense and passionate and it just sent chills down my spine for the rest of the evening. Hopefully, I've managed to catch even a tinge of that feeling in this story.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Oz, he's perfect.

Perfect and charming and amazing and certainly someone I have no business loving as I do. But there is the sad truth of the matter. I love him. Completely and deeply and honestly. I love this man more than I ever thought I could love anyone, more than I thought I could love anything. I can't fathom that he's really here, holding my hand as if I'm something to be treasured, something of value. He leads me silently through the forest, the soft crunching of leaves under our feet the only noise seemingly for miles. For my part, I realize I'm afraid to speak. I am afraid of what I may say, what innermost thoughts might escape without censure. Moreover, I realize I am afraid of what I won't say.

He stops then, suddenly turning, bringing those incredible blue eyes to mine and I feel my breath immediately tense. Any innocence or curiosity that might have been there before is gone, vanished as quickly as it had come. Instead, his gaze burns, boring into my own and I feel naked and exposed before him .It is almost as if he can see straight though me, down to the deepest parts of my soul where I've kept everything hidden for so long. My darkest secrets and somehow, he knows them. He knows everything about me. It altogether frightening and terrifying and….and wonderful. He is wonderful.

He advances on me and I swear my heart will beat right out of my chest. His steps are caught somewhere between hesitant and eager, not quite himself believing he is here. That I might want him too. Of course, that thought is ludicrous. Should the Fates, even by some accident, bring him willingly to me, the worst mistake I could make would be to push him away. His grip on my hand tightens and I find my feet moving of their own accord, meeting him halfway. The pull between us is too strong to fight and suddenly, I need to touch him. To feel him with my own fingers, make sure this is not just another of the countless dreams that has haunted me. I need to know, for my own sanity, that he is here and he needs me as much as I need him.

His last few steps are hurried. Before I can fully comprehend the situation, his hands are on my waist, grasping me as if I am the only steady thing in the world. My hands have seen to have grown a mind of their own as they reach forward, searching, groping for something, anything, that will satisfy their desire. They settle on his shoulders, drawing me closer to him, bunching the fabric of his uniform, that regal green I have come to despise suddenly beautiful before my eyes. I am unable to look at him. My head is bent, my eyes tightly closed. Over and over I tell myself, this can't be real, this can't be happening. But it is. I'm here. He's here. And it's better than any spell I could have ever cast.

I can feel his breath on my face and I am surprised to hear how it mirrors my own, coming in short, tight gasps of air. My eyes unconsciously raise to his and I am even more startled at the intensity that is within them. In a single moment our eyes lock and I am overwhelmed with a sea of emotions. Confusion, longing, desire, denial, guilt, want and something else. Something that is stronger than any of the others: the strangest love I could ever imagine. As we sink to our knees on the forest floor, the truth washes over me like an ocean wave. This is happening. This is real. He has chosen me. He loves me.

And suddenly, I somehow know nothing will ever change that.

With this realization, the last shreds of my resistance fall way and suddenly the want is replaced by a current of need. Suddenly, I need to be near him, need to touch be, need to be touched by him, anything to, once again, confirm the truth of it all. His hands have moved from my waist, sliding down my arm to twine our fingers together. Feeling brave, I grasp his hand and move it toward my body, placing it on my waist. He looks at me then, surprise melding to a smile as it settles there once more, sliding up to cradle me closer to him. He leans toward me, his lips making their first contact on my check before moving down the column of my throat. Helpless, I lean into his touch, savoring every touch of his lips, every caress of his hand on my shoulder, my side.

I don't deserve this. I'm not naïve enough to believe that I do. But, if just for this moment, I'm content to have him just as he is. No preamble, no overzealous declarations of love. Just to be held as he is doin now, loving me with in his own unique way, making feel things I've never felt. This is what allows me to believe in this; to believe that he loves me just as I am for whatever time we may have.

Finally, the torturous exploration commences and his lips seek my own with a renewed vigor. It is no secret to him that this is new to me. I'm not used to being touched, much less passionately embraced. It scares me, the way I respond to him. Suddenly, I feel like I can never get enough. I struggle to get closer, further into his arms, closer to his lips. My arms hold him in a vice and I am unsure I could release him even if I wanted to. He's holding me closely as he has since the first tentative touch and I sigh contentedly into our kiss, feeling his mouth lift into a smirk against my own. The hand that held my shoulder now moves to my face and my head tilts slightly, needing to feel the cool, calloused skin of his hand. My arms loosen then, sliding down to rest on his chest as my finger fisting in the material of his shirt.

Surely this is what heaven feels like. Over and over, he kisses me and I find myself returning each one with more ferocity than the next. The sensation is new and strange, thrilling and terrifying all at once. For a moment, guilt claws at my conscience as I suddenly remember who's he really is and for a slight moment, I am tempted to pull away, to stop it all before it goes any further in a final effort to be the friend that I should. Fiyero, however, mistakes my hesitation for encouragement as he deepens the kiss, a hand unconsciously brushing dangerously close to my breast. The slight brush of his fingers is my undoing and suddenly, I am limp against him, powerless to deny him anything and frankly, not caring at all should he decide to take me right there on the forest floor.

Thankfully, he's able to control himself (although I know one word would send us both past the point of no return) and simply presses a kiss to my forehead and hauls me back into his arms. Sensing his need, I let him hold me without protest, winding my arms around him as well. It is in this simple moment that all my thoughts and fears are put to rest and the truth comes with aching certainty.

I love this man. Hopelessly, completely love him. Yes, there's passion and desire and want, but it's so much more. There's also a contentedness, a happiness, and a calm that somehow lets you know everything will be alright. The type of love that is natural and real, genuine and authentic. I steal a glance up at him, see his smiling face and can't help the smile that creeps across my own lips.

Somewhere in my memory, I recall someone describing what love is supposed to be. It was compared to a star. With the right care and encouragement the star shone brilliantly in the dark of the night. As he leans down to press once more fierce kiss to my lips, I feel as if I finally understand. With Fiyero beside me, holding me, loving me I am complete. There is no pretense or hiding in the shadows. I come as I am, who I am and we shine brighter than I ever thought I could.

Reaching up, I touch his face, giving in to the unstoppable urge to kiss him again, brief and potent because, for the first time, I feel unstoppable.

For the first time, I feel wicked.