A/N: So this is just a little one-shot about Pansy and Dean, from my Dramione fic Dreaming of Spires. I just love writing them.

Hope you enjoy.

-Millie

AN INVESTMENT OF APPLE SEEDS

Pansy hadn't always felt Valentine's Day to be an over-rated and, frankly, foolish holiday - after all,what had confetti hearts and sickly chocolates to do with love? - but, once upon a time, she had been a tender young thing. She'd harboured fanciful, unrequited, crushes on the boys around her (Draco, and sometimes Theo, with his dark, awkward beauty) so certain that when it happened it would be 'true love'.

It wasn't. At least, not then.

She'd learned heartbreak early, followed by the slower, duller, chronic ache of disillusionment... and then after the war, she'd learned what it was to lose everything, and that love of any kind was, for her, a luxury she could neither afford or deserve. She'd watched as pieces of herself blackened and stained under the dark shawl of depression and loneliness and fear, and had known that there was no such thing as true love. It was bullshit.

And into that bleakness she fell, head first, with no care or heed for the consequences. Until Dean.

She had been in St Mungo's for three weeks, unspeaking and unwilling to eat or even sleep, when a face she knew approached. Soulful, serious eyes and a smile. Not the bland, generic smile of a Healer, but the kind and true smile of someone who cared. Dean.

He'd offered her the hand of friendship, when she had no one. Draco, like so many of her friends at that time, was gone, scattered and far-flung and broken. And what a good and honest friend he'd proved himself to be. He'd saved her, with one simple act of kindness.

She'd fallen in love with him so gradually, it was so incremental and sweet, she knew that there was no great defining moment; her feelings had changed with the slow thaw of her heart. And by the time she had realised, there was no going back, there was no way to unknit him from her soul.

There had been no question as to whether he returned her feelings. It was simple, and beautifully uncomplicated, and the first time they turned to each other as lovers, she'd known the truth: True love was real, really real, just not in the way she'd so naively thought in her youth. True love was a friendship, a kinship, that you felt, in the very marrow of your bones. It was a deep and abiding knowledge of someone, an acceptance of them, with all of their shades and pinnacles. It was loyalty, it was giving your everything, even if you have next to nothing to give, because this person, this someone, is your best friend, your best self, your best everything.

And she had it. Somehow, like a miracle, she'd found it.

She was slicing apples in the kitchen, when he found her. The kitchen was her refuge, and her solace. Apart from him, of course. He was her saviour. The apples were a vivid, life-affirming green, and the air around her was bright with their fresh, snappy smell. The blade in her hand was sharp and the weight of the wooden handle leant a finality to each slice as it fell.

She heard him come in, but didn't turn, and smiled in satisfaction as she felt his arm curl itself around her waist, pulling her back against the hardness of his body. He buried his nose into her hair, inhaling briefly, before sweeping the long swathe of her hair over one shoulder and began placing hot little kisses on her neck; the slow, seductive catch of his stubble against her skin making her shiver in swift and sudden arousal.

Her head fell back against his chest, a moan tripping from her lips with unbelievable ease, as the knife fell from her fingers, the apples forgotten in favour of a more tempting enticement.

"Dean..."

His name was the merest sigh, and she felt his answering rumble in her very core.

"Mmmm... Pansy, I've missed you."

But before she could reply he spun her around, raising gentle hands to caress her cheeks, her jaw-line, bringing her close for a kiss that was searing in its heat. She could feel the softness, the warmth of his lips against her own, the graze of his teeth, as they battled for dominance. The ferocity of their kisses made the gentleness with which he touched her – trailing his fingers softly, so softly, into the hollow of her collarbone, skimming them lightly over the plane of her chest – seem achingly tender.

Down then his fingers travelled, over the sensitive mounds of her breasts, lingering, pausing to run tense fingertips over the intriguing points of her nipples for the merest of moments. And then on, into the slenderness of her waist and out to the fullness of her hips, finally seeking out the bare skin of her leg, exposed by her skirt.

Her skin became alive with awareness, drawn from the soft tracery of his fingertips, feeling the faint scrape of his nails against thighs. Her body swayed into his, like instinct, and she crushed herself against him, feeling the hard, seductive length of his erection pushing against her lower abdomen, and she sighed into his mouth before taking his lower lip, so luscious, between her teeth and taking a deliberate bite.

He growled, and his movements changed, becoming charged and impassioned. His hands gripped her thighs in a tight grasp for a moment, before sweeping around to her claim her ass, pressing her close. Her skirt had ridden up, and she could feel frustration building inside herself, as she tried to get closer to him, feel more of him, and she brought her leg up to hook it around his hips. He understood, capturing her mouth in another kiss, and lifting her up onto the counter.

Spreading her legs wider, he pressed closer still and she could feel it then; the delicious, tense friction of his erection against her core, and the clenching rush of heat that followed. She ran her hands up the front of his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons 'til she lost patience and gave the garment an almighty rip, and pulled it from him, exposing his toned, coffee-caramel torso. She placed fevered kisses across his chest, on his neck, nibbling on his ear, and allowed breathy moans to escape her as she felt his fingers making their determined path to the juncture between her thighs.

The tension grew, and she could feel the heat building between them, as he began running his thumb along the dampened seam of her panties, stroking gently, teasingly, driving her slowly to madness. He played idly, never allowing his fingers to dip beyond the lacy barrier, as spasms of pleasure thrilled under the very surface of her skin.

And then finally, when she thought she would die from the simmering lust pounding through her, he pushed the fabric to one side and allowed a finger to sink into her warm, wet depths, and Pansy couldn't contain her long, lingering cry of pleasure.

"Jesus, Pansy, you feel amazing – so wet, so beautiful – oh God!" Dean rasped, as he slowly withdrew his finger, drawing the silky moisture up and over her clitoris.

She gasped as another rivet of pleasure went through her, causing everything in her to give a joyful clench, and she threw her head back as he slid a finger inside her, and then another.

"Don't stop, Dean, yes... oh, don't- don't stop, please..."

But he did, and her eyes flew open to meet his intense brown eyes, and just she was about to ask, he hooked her panties around his fingers and drew them down her legs, before flinging them to the side. Then, with a dark, heated look at her, he brought his hands up to her skirt, pushing it away, then fell to his knees and brought his mouth to her slick folds.

He began slowly, using the very tip of his tongue to trace the line of her labia down to the soft heat of her entrance, dipping in to taste her bountiful arousal, before running his tongue back up to tease her clit. Bringing one hand up to part her folds, he suckled and lapped and laved, as Pansy cried out, moaning with reckless need. Quivers ran through her, and she could no longer think, only feel, and it felt so good, as waves of pleasure began to build, low down in her abdomen. The burning, twisting, clenching pleasure built into something great, something tumultuous, and exploded into a crescendo as Dean slid his fingers into her again, fluttering his clever tongue across her clit, and she gripped his head, gasping as her orgasm overcame her.

Dean stood, a grin on his face, and eyes soft. He pushed her hair away from where it had fallen onto her face, and she watched him dazedly. Then he began pressing open-mouthed kisses onto her neck, tugging at her top, before finally pulling it over her head. He continued planting kisses, down over her chest, across the lace of her bra and the swell of her breasts.

Pansy could feel the irresistible pull of his kisses shifting and building into fresh arousal and renewed energy, and she guided his head up so she could claim him with a kiss of her own, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him flush against her. Their kisses grew desperate, and they began clawing at each other in their need.

And then her bra was gone, torn away, and her hands made their way down to his trousers, and the marvellous bulge she found there. It was the work of a moment to undo them and release his straining erection. She wrapped her hand around it, caressing, and then began stroking, up and down, slowly and teasingly, and felt the length of him grow harder.

She guided him slowly to her entrance, savouring the feel of his intrusion, but only briefly, as she slid his cock teasingly upwards to circle her clit, once, twice, and then back down again, feeling herself growing slick and needy. Dean let out a languorous groan, and she knew she could not hold off for long.

He slid easily inside her, and she felt her entire self clench in response, and she wrapped her legs tightly around him, needing to feel more, more. She bit down on his shoulder as he withdrew and thrust into her again, right to the hilt, and she could feel every movement stoking the fires within.

Again he withdrew, and paused for a second, before plunging back into her, and then again. She gasped, raking her fingers down his back, peppering his face and neck with fierce kisses. Faster and faster their pace became, a relentless, furious dash, and Pansy's vision began to blur, frissons of intense pleasure coursing through her veins with each thrust. And then the bubbling, searing heat overcame her, and she was lost, falling through a prism of bliss, and gave a cry of satisfaction as she felt Dean follow her into his own orgasm.

In the aftermath, as they clutched at each other, trembling and flushed and panting, and murmured soft words.

"Apples again Pansy?"

"I like them."

"I like you."

"You're all right too, I suppose."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

It was much later, nearing dinner time, when they returned to the kitchen. They had retreated upstairs for a shower, and had lingered there. Their clothes were still littering the floor, the apples scattered across the counter. Pansy shared an amused glance with Dean, before waving her wand and banishing the clothes to the laundry, and moving over to return to her apples.

She began slicing again, trimming the pieces away the pieces that had begun to yellow, while Dean went into the pantry.

"Pans," he called out, "What you want for dinner? My turn to cook. You know, Valentine's Day and all that."

"Surprise me."

"You're a pain in the arse, Parkinson," he said as he strolled

"And you're very clever, I'm sure you can figure something out" she purred, as he made his way over to her.

He crossed behind her, running a caressing hand over her waist, and leant up against the counter. She paused, blade still poised to make another cut, and met his eyes. Then he reached out and robbed a slice of apple from the cutting board.

"Thief."

He grinned in response, and popped the piece of fruit in his mouth, chewing slowly. Then his gaze fell down to the cutting board, and reached out again, this time taking not a piece of apple, but one of the small, shiny-dark pips and held it in his fingertips, a small frown furrowing his brow.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I was just thinking..." he paused, then looked up at her, his eyes dark and serious, "We should plant some of these."

"Apple seeds?"

"Yes. They grow into apple trees," he said, shooting her a fleeting smirk, "You know, when I was a kid... I always wanted them. We didn't have much space, I mean, you've been to my mum's, and you know, it's London, not much room anyway. But my gran, she had apple trees growing in her garden..."

She frowned. It wasn't that she didn't want to...

"That's quite an investment of time, don't you think?"

"I know. But, Pansy, what if it's an investment I want to make?" he asked softly, placing the pip back onto the cutting board and then reaching for her hand, "What if, my darling girl, I want to stay here with you, making this place a home again, watching the seeds we sow now grow into blossoming trees with deep roots? What then?"

Pansy felt the world blur before her eyes, and something almost painful was happening to her heart, because she knew now what he had been trying to say and it was more than anything she had ever imagined for herself, sweeter and greater and more eternal. Then she felt Dean's fingers on her cheeks, swiping away the tears that had fallen, and she gave a joyful little hiccough, before opening her eyes and meeting his dark eyes.

They were shiny with an emotion she recognised, because she felt it bubbling away inside herself, but could not name, and his lashes were spiky with moisture. And then she felt something cool brushing against the tip of her ring finger and looked down. It was a ring, wrought silver and garnet, and Pansy thought it was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen.

Her heart was racing as she looked Dean in the eye again, seeing the question in his gaze, and she already knew her answer, what her answer had always been.

"Yes. Yes, okay?" she finally spoke, leaning into him for a tender kiss as he slid the ring onto her finger, "In fact, let's plant a whole orchard."

A/N: What did you think?

Dean and Pansy are quite a rare pairing, but they are lovely to write.

This is also the first smut scene I've ever really written, and I'm not sure how it's turned out. I suppose its practice for the later chapters in Dreaming of Spires ;)

Please let me know what you think.

-Millie

EDIT: I've edited this for Valentine's Day, and added a bit more background to Dean and Pansy's relationship, so... 333 lovehearts for everyone (and damn what Pansy thinks of them, the cynical thing). Xx - M