“You’re fucking sick, Rosie. I don't even know why I keep hanging around ya to be honest.” Barty looked down at the blonde boy disgustedly. Evan was cutting down into the stomach of the unfortunate passerby that had the misfortune of bumping into Barty and Evan during a fight, which led to Barty pulling out his gun and shooting the man point blank, inspecting his internal organs. “Because you find this hot, so who’s really the sick one, Crouch?” Evan replied blankly, not phased by Barty’s insults.
Barty cursed loudly, not being able to refute Evan’s words. He knew it was true, and didn’t mind admitting it. Watching Evan dissect bodies was one of Barty’s second favorite pastimes. Fucking Evan was his favorite. Something about the way the blood painted Evan’s fingers and hands, and when Evan wiped his eyes, the blood would smear onto his face and it would be the hottest thing Barty had ever seen. Evan always looked good with blood on him, especially his own.
“Are ya done yet,” Barty complained, fixing his hat, looking back at their horses who were standing in the middle of the road, “It’s gettin’ late, and I ain’t tryin’ to get caught.” Evan shook his head, still completely focused on the pile of intestines and organs in front of him.
“Not yet.” Was all he said. Barty sighed and tapped his foot as he waited for Evan to finish whatever the hell he was doing, since Barty still wasn’t completely sure what he was looking for in there.
Five minutes. “Ya done now?”
“No.”
Ten minutes. “Are ya almost done, Rosie? I’m sick of waiting.”
“No. Stop rushing me.”
Thirty minutes. “Okay, that’s fuckin’ it. We’re goin’ home. I’ll pack up the fuckin’ corpse on your horse, and you can ride with me. You can do this shit at home.” Barty grumbled before grabbing Evan’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Evan cursed at Barty, swinging at him. He caught Barty off guard, so the punch landed solidly on Barty’s cheek, causing his grip on Evan to loosen though not completely. “You bitch.” Barty growled, sick of Evan at that moment.
Evan swung again, and Barty didn’t move, letting the punch connect again. Each hit only made Barty angrier, each one getting him closer and closer to snapping. He let Evan beat him until his stomach and eye was bruised, and his mouth was filled with blood. Yet, not once did Barty let go of his grip on Evan. Only when Evan finally began to slow down and lose his breath, did Barty move to retaliate. He threw Evan to the ground, kicking him in the stomach, not giving him a chance to breathe.
“It’s my turn, fucker.” Barty didn’t hold back. He grabbed Evan by his half opened shirt, and began to punch him. Barty didn’t hold back. He never did, but especially not when he was mad. Barty when mad is comparable to a freed bull. Once they weren’t being held back anymore… there was no telling what they’d do.
Barty kicked and punched and scratched, anything that could and would hurt Evan. He wanted to see him crying, begging for Barty to stop. It was sick, Barty wanted Evan to hurt. Bad. But Evan being Evan, that wasn’t the reaction Barty got. Besides a couple of grunts and coughs when Barty would hit him especially hard, Evan didn’t make much noise, nor did he tear up. He just laid there, quietly taking the beating Barty gave him. Eventually, Barty got tired of Evan not reacting, and got up, leaving Evan bleeding on the ground.
“I’m goin’ home. You comin’?” Barty put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the black horse. He got no response from Evan, which made Barty spit out a slew of curses under his breath once more.
“You make me crazy, you make me act like a maniac,” Barty got down off the horse, walking back up to Evan who was still lying on the ground, breathing hoarsely, “I’m like a lunatic, you make me sick, Rosie.” Those words received a chuckle from Evan, blood spitting out of his mouth as he laughed. Slowly, Evan rose to a sitting position, glaring at Barty. “So,” Evan started as he got to his feet, “you let me beat the shit out you, before you beat the shit out of me.” He chuckled again, but it was dry, resigned.
“Eye for fuckin’ eye, Rosie. Ya fuck around with me, ya find out.” Barty said through his teeth, the anger still clear in his eyes.
“Indeed I do. It’s like one minute you wanna slit my throat and the next you want sex. Can’t make up your damn mind, can you?” Evan glared, pushing past Barty to head towards his horse.
“Well, no I can’t, because you’re just too damn infuriating and hot at the same fuckin’ time. So why don’t ya make up your mind and choose to be one or the fuckin’ other.” Barty had had it up to just about there with Evan, no matter how much he liked the man. Evan made Barty feel unthinkable things, and he hated it. Evan was never phased by Barty, no matter what he did. Barty robbing a store at gunpoint? Child’s play to Evan. Barty killing five dudes in one night at a bar? Evan helped hide the bodies. Barty fully believed that Evan might be the only other person in this world that truly understood him, and matched his energy. But just as much as Barty loved Evan, he hated him. To the point where Barty wanted to kill him, genuinely kill him. Barty rationally knew he would regret it if he killed Evan, as he would lose his best friend, but he supposed he could find a way to cut Evan up and keep him around the house, so he would always have pieces of him. Barty had seen Evan dissect and dismember people enough times to have figured out how to do it himself.
“No. This all started because you were too impatient to just let me finish what I was fucking doing.” Evan retorted, getting on his horse.
Barty sighed, the anger disappearing as if it were never there, leaving only slight annoyance in its place. “Yeah, cause ya were takin’ for-fuckin-ever. And ya swung first.” Barty said as he swung up onto his horse.
“To be fair, you grabbed me.”
“So? I grab ya all the time.”
Evan looked at Barty and sighed.
Barty stared back at Evan, confused as to what the sigh was for. “You’re an asshole, Crouch.” Was all Evan said before riding off, not even caring about the body on the ground anymore. Barty’s annoyance flared up once more as he rode off, trying to catch up. “Ya know somethin’, Rosie?” Barty caught up and brought his horse close enough to Evan’s so that he could reach out and kiss him. Evan leaned into the bumpy kiss, letting Barty’s tongue into his mouth, groaning at the new heat that fueled inside of him, drowning out the pain. But with a bite of Evan’s tongue, Barty pulled back, smirking at him.
“They say every man grows up to marry his own mother,” Evan raised an eyebrow at Barty’s words, not understanding where he was going with it, “Which would explain why you’re such a motherfuckin’ bitch.” Barty laughed as he flipped Evan off, riding up ahead of him. Evan flipped Barty off back, knowing the black haired cowboy wouldn’t see. “You’re such a dickhead, Crouch.” Was all he said before he rode off to catch up with the only man that would love him as much as he hated him. His own personal ride or die, except he could very well be the very reason for his death. As Evan caught up with Barty and rode ahead of him, leaving Barty behind, Barty grinned. Cause no matter how much, too much was never enough when it came to Evan. Maybe cause they’re crazy in love.