Warning: this could be construed as mature. The rest will not be, but this is an anomaly. If you don't like it, just skip on to the next one!
The first time they make love, it is painfully awkward for both of them. They fumble their hands where, in kissing, they're sure; Penelope flinches when Percy enters her, and there are mottled bruises on her skin the next morning.
He cries, silent, soundless tears, when he sees the marks on her body. He weeps at the ravaged beauty she has become, at the ugliness he has wrought once more out of fine, fine beauty.
I'm sorry, he doesn't whisper. But I break everything I love.
Penelope is stronger, though, stronger in ways he cannot comprehend.
No, she murmurs soundlessly, and the bell-tolling-nightmares faded as moonlight before dawn at her touch. I am not broken, love. Do you see? I will be whole once more, and we will be together then. I've never asked for perfection, never wanted it.
The cracks in her alabaster surface sheds only god-light on his skin.