A/N: This fic was written for Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Facebook group's Flash Comp. My chosen main character is Percy Weasley, and the prompt for this Edition was Careers.

Winner: Best Characterization

"Do it again." Pansy Parkinson stood in Percy's office on a Friday evening after most of the staff of the Magical Transportation Department had cleared out and gone home, save for the two of them.

Demanding little thing.

Percy complied anyway, tapping his wand to the small wooden box resting on the floor, watching in amusement as unabashed curiosity painted the expression of the witch before him.

A surge of magic rolled out from the box, and Percy reached inside to pull out a broken pocket watch, tapping it with his index finger. A faint blue glow shimmered around the watch, confirming that the magic had worked.

"It will have to be regulated, obviously, and only used by Portkey offices, but the process is far easier than having to activate each one by hand using a spell. The box contains the magic necessary to convert several ordinary objects at a time into Portkeys instantly."

"It's incredible." She leaned closer to inspect the box, sleek black hair falling like a curtain around her face. Her scent hit him then, flowery. Fresh, like spring. In his mind's eye, he saw the lilac bush in the back garden of his family home, lovingly tended to by his mother.

Comfort. Home.

With a jolt back to reality, he realised he'd leant forward and was very nearly sniffing her hair like a bloodhound. Pulling back to an appropriate distance, he said, "It is. A rather complex bit of magic, if I do say so myself." He squared his shoulders, standing taller with pride he was sure bordered on arrogance.

But it had been his idea, after all. He had been the one to put in extra hours to perfect the project. Wasn't he entitled to just a little bit of bragging?

When Parkinson was finished peering at the box, her gaze flew to his, big, bright eyes blinking up at him in the dim glow of twilight descending on the office.

They'd never been quite this close before—face-to-face—despite working in the same department. He noticed a freckle just beside her right eye, and it was charming, the little hint of imperfection in a witch that tolerated nothing less than perfection in most areas of her life.

He thought back to the times when they'd been in the lifts at the same time, how she'd walked in and glanced at him, standing in front of him so close he was certain she must feel his breath ruffling her hair. Or when they were both at the tea cart and their hands brushed as they reached for the sweetener at the same time.

It had been going on for months now, longing glances and "Oh dear. Pardon me," from the witch as she accidentally ran into him in the halls, bouncing off him and leaving him no choice but to reach out and hold her upright. Percy knew what she was doing, but he enjoyed the game, the push and pull as they both attempted to get the other just a little hot and bothered. He knew he'd succeeded when her accelerated breathing drew his gaze to her chest as it rose and fell, the thin fabric of her blouse quivering with the movement.

She knew she'd succeeded when he had to surreptitiously adjust himself, and the smug smile on her face each time made him want to kiss her until the smirk faded into a round "O" of pleasure.

Tonight, when she'd knocked on his door frame after hours and asked to see the fancy new magic everyone was talking about, he'd thought nothing of it at first. Only now did he realize they were alone, standing so close he could lean down and brush his nose against hers, both cloaked in the shadows and bathed in the fading warmth of the summer day.

They worked together. It wasn't appropriate.

But he wanted her as she wanted him, and who was he to deny her? No one else had to know.

Fingers tucking under her chin and tilting her head back slightly, he leaned close, lips brushing against the tender spot just below her ear as he said, "May I kiss you?"

An eager nod was her response, prompting him to nip at her ear in disapproval. "Use your words, Parkinson."

A small whimper escaped her, and she pushed closer, baring her neck for more of the same treatment he'd given her earlobe. "Yes. Yes, kiss me." Slowly, he trailed his mouth down her neck, stopping once to suck a tiny mark on her skin— front page, full-colour proof that she'd let him touch her, that she welcomed his attention.

Pressing featherlight kisses along her jaw, he teased her just a bit more, holding out until "Please, " escaped her on a rough exhale, and then he pressed his mouth to hers, hands raising to cup her face.

Her own hands rested on his shoulders, and she pushed up on her toes to meet him halfway. The room was silent save for their harsh breathing and the wet slide of their tongues. He sucked on her bottom lip, tugging on it, biting down just enough to sting before releasing it with a pop.

When she stepped back an inch or two like she was about to pull away, he thought they were done and that she'd had enough.

On the contrary, he realised as she grabbed his wrists, sliding his hands down until they were firmly grasping her waist. With a hop, she gracefully launched herself at him, legs wrapping around his hips. Gripping her arse, he turned and pushed her against the nearest wall, lips and tongue and teeth tenderly attacking her neck as he revelled in the feel of her fingers twisting in the hair at his nape, sweet little moans floating from her lips.

When he reached a particularly sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, her head fell back, hitting the wall with a thunk.

Her fingers had left his shoulders, furiously tugging at the delicate buttons holding her blouse closed, baring more skin for him to press hot kisses against.

Trailing his lips over the tops of her breasts, he cinched her lower half closer until there was no space between them, using his grip on her to slowly grind her hips into his.

The sound of a something shattering on the floor startled Percy, and he froze, leaning in to shield Pansy's partial nudity from view with his shoulders.

"Oh goodness. I— I'm sorry, dears." He looked over his shoulder to see the receptionist for the sixth floor standing out in the hallway beyond his office door, one hand covering her eyes. With a deep inhale to get his body back under control, he waited as Pansy rebuttoned her blouse, releasing her and letting her slide down until her feet reached the floor.

Percy walked over to the older woman with the overly-large pink hat perched on her head. "Mrs. Reynolds, I apologize. We were… I was out of line."

It was his office, technically, but they could have at least had the decency to shut the door.

"Quite all right, young man. I left for home only to realize I'd left my favourite mug, and, well, I wasn't expecting anyone to be here." The poor witch still had her eyes covered, and he reached up gently to pull her hand away.

"We're all back to rights, Mrs. Reynolds." Carefully, as if she were expecting him and Parkinson to still be humping each other against the wall like randy teenagers, she peered out through a crack in her eyelids to confirm that the coast was clear.

He felt bad about her mug, so he pulled his wand from his pocket, wordlessly pointing it at the pieces of porcelain littering the floor, before stooping low to grab it and hand it back to the elderly witch as he stood.

Mug fixed, Mrs. Reynolds thanked him and bid them adieu, telling them to have a nice evening with a twinkle in her eye.

Turning, Percy watched as Pansy walked to him, her purse in one hand and wand in the other. She looked at him boldly, saying, "Your place or mine?"

The direction the night had taken was unexpected, to be sure, but Percy found he didn't mind a little spontaneity if it came with a handful of warm, soft witch.