Written for the "He Said, She Said" Challenge in the Lion's Den at Hogwarts! I chose Pansy and the prompt: "I suppose that's it."/"Looks like it," and was assigned Terry Boot as the other half of the pairing.

Warnings for language, mature sexual themes.

I Burn For You

It was Terry Boot.

Draco had commissioned Terry fucking Boot, of all people, to do Pansy's bridal portrait. And now he was standing on the porch of Malfoy Manor, camera dangling around his neck, looking far too yummy for his own good. He was dressed in a blue silk shirt and fitted black trousers, and his dark hair was combed back. Pansy had forgotten how just well he cleaned up.

She felt the blood rush towards her cheeks and made a valiant effort to stop it. She was Pansy Parkinson, for Salazar's sake. She did not blush like a common schoolgirl.

Well, perhaps she did when there was a shared, fiery history between them.

...

"I had fun last night, Boot," Pansy murmured, rolling over to kiss his jaw. "I admit, I underestimated you."

Terry let out a throaty chuckle, causing goosebumps to appear on her arms. Damn, she could get used to that.

"Thanks, Pansy," he said, then added, in a far less certain tone, "I think."

"Let's go another round," Pansy suggested coyly. "Then you'll know you should be thanking me."

...

Terry toyed with the strap of his camera for a moment before clearing his throat. "Uh, Miss Parkinson?"

Miss Parkinson. Well, she couldn't very well expect him to use her first name. For him to do so would suggest an intimacy between them that no one else needed to know about.

"Right this way, Mr. Boot," she said sweetly, opening the ornate front door a little wider and stepping to the side so that he could pass. She held her breath as he walked by, not wanting to know if he still wore the simple cologne that once made her knees weak.

"You've a lovely home," Terry said, and Pansy nearly let out an undignified snort. He had never been the type to be swayed by fancy things. No, Terry Boot didn't give two shits about the stately manor—she was quite sure of that much. She wasn't, however, sure of much else.

This Terry was different than she remembered. Older, obviously, but more reserved, too. He didn't carry himself with the same ease that he used to. It was almost as if he was afraid of being comfortable around her—as if he was afraid that she might scorch him with blazing looks and searing words.

She couldn't exactly fault him for that, though, considering the fact that their relationship had gone up in flames.

...

"Pansy, it was just drinks," Terry said, his voice weary. That had been his defense all evening, and Pansy had finally had enough.

"Just drinks, my arse," she shrieked. "The way you were carrying on with that girl, you can't convince me that there's nothing going on between the two of you."

"'That girl' is a coworker, and we weren't doing anything wrong!" Terry shouted. Softer, he added, "You shouldn't have been spying on me, Pans. I thought...I thought you trusted me."

"I did trust you," Pansy bit out, ignoring his accusation of espionage. "That's why it hurt so much to see you acting like a blithering idiot!"

Silence fell, and Pansy stared at a spot on the ugly wallpaper just beyond Terry's head. She had always despised that wallpaper.

"I suppose that's it, then," Terry said at last.

Pansy forced herself to shrug, her seeming nonchalance a front for the rage that still boiled inside of her. "Looks like it."

...

"The drawing room is through here," Pansy said, striding briskly across the manor's marble floors. Once inside the spacious room, she sat at the head of the large mahogany table and waited for Terry to join her. He chose to sit a few seats down, and she was grateful for that. "Now, I'm sure that Draco filled you in on everything, so we can get started right away."

"Isn't he—your fiancé—home?" he inquired, and she gave him a sharp look.

"No, he isn't," she said stiffly. "He's off on some Ministry business. It's just the two of us." As she said it, she realized how it must sound, and felt her cheeks warm again. What was it about him that disconcerted her so?

"That's actually for the best, I think," Terry said. Pansy stared at him, attempting to guess at his intentions, before he elaborated, "The pictures will be a complete surprise this way."

"Oh, yes, of course," Pansy nodded. She watched as Terry produced several pieces of parchment and a quill, marveling at the way his hands carefully spread them out on the table. Great Salazar, she wanted him to spread her out on the table like that, slowly, torturously, until she begged him for—

"Pansy?" Terry said.

Pansy briefly closed her eyes in a futile attempt to cool the heat between her legs. When she opened them again, she found that Terry was looking at her in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she managed. "Yes, I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine. She was burning, burning for him to touch her, to take her in his arms and have his sordid way with her. Draco had never had this effect on her. Why did Terry fucking Boot, of all people, make her temperature climb? Especially after what he had done to her?

She could now admit that younger Pansy had been the jealous type, though. Terry had probably been telling the truth all along, and she had been too proud to consider it. The realization that he might not have cheated made her head spin and the rest of her body flush.

She discreetly fanned herself with one hand as Terry scrawled some notes on the parchment, settling it back at her side when he glanced up at her.

"You'll be getting my Elite package, which entitles you to 10 different poses," he said.

Pansy bit her lip at the innuendo-laced phrasing and shifted slightly in her chair. Gods, he made it sound so sexy, talking of "packages" and "poses." The worst part was that it was probably completely unintentional on his end. He never had been any good at talking dirty, the poor chap.

She suddenly became aware that Terry was staring at her once more.

"Pansy," he said, waving a hand in front of her face. She blinked rapidly, then pasted on a wide smile.

"Yes, you were saying?"

"I was asking if you would like all of your portraits taken outside," he frowned, "but your attention seems to be elsewhere. Are you quite sure you're alright?"

Pansy nodded and pressed her legs more tightly together. She wasn't going to be able to keep this up for long. Hopefully Terry would be gone soon, taking his knicker-moistening capabilities elsewhere. "I'm sure. I'm just...feeling a little warm all of a sudden."

"Do you think you're coming down with something?" he asked, and she almost laughed out loud. He sounded so serious, and so concerned. If only he knew what really ailed her.

"Yes." The reply flew out of her mouth before she could stop it, but she quickly realized that it was the perfect way to get him to leave. "Perhaps we should...reschedule."

"Of course," Terry said graciously. "Feel better soon, Pansy." He stood, hesitated, then shook his head. "I can see myself out."

Pansy waved a hand at him. The sooner he got out of there, the better. "Good afternoon, Mr. Boot."

Once she heard the front door close, she hurried up to the bedroom and positively tore off the dress she had been wearing. Her skin felt as though it was on fire, and the ache between her legs threatened to overwhelm her. She needed relief, and she needed it now.

Pansy flung herself onto the cool satin sheets and let out a frustrated whimper when the sensation barely quelled her arousal. Blast that Terry Boot and his bloody stupid ability to reduce her to this quivering mess. It just wasn't fair.

She slipped her hand into her knickers and began to massage her folds, throwing her head back as she did so. The heat from the friction of her fingers gradually increased, building up to an orgasm that rolled over her in waves. Shaking slightly from the intensity of it, Pansy reached for her wand to clean herself up. After that was done, she flopped back onto the pillow and sighed.

Draco was going to have to hire someone else to do the pictures. That was all there was to it. She couldn't be around Terry and not be drawn to him like a moth to a candle—except in her case, she yearned for the fire, not the light.

And in her case, it was going to consume her if she let it.

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