Mistletoe (Pt. 2)
“Rosie, relax. I have everything under control,” Barty says, not bothering to stop walking down the corridor. Evan, the untrusting dickhead he is, continues chasing after him, looking rather infuriated. “I promise you, he won’t know anything.”
“You can’t know that!” Evan accuses, throwing his hands wildly around him. His hair is messy, and Barty doubts he even realises. Normally, it’s very neat, but now several locks are sticking out in random directions because he can’t stop stressing and worrying, thus constantly running a hand through it. Barty should probably tell him about the state of his hair, but he can’t help but think it looks cute on him.
Almost like post-fuck hair.
Barty also wouldn’t mind rumours about him causing Evan to have post-fuck hair.
“Nah, but it probably won’t happen.”
“Probably isn’t good enough! Look. Slow down.” Evan forces him to halt, grabbing him by his shoulder and turning him so he has no choice but to meet Evan’s piercing blue gaze. He feels like a child about to be scolded. “What happens if he finds out we took it?”
“It won’t-”
“Fine, It won’t happen. But, in that other dimension, where it does happen, what do we do there?”
Barty sighs, looking to the wall for a moment. The truth is that he doesn’t know what to do if Mulciber realises they stole his assignment about Usage of Moonstone in Potions. And Evan knows. Knows he’d rather ignore the problems, because what if Mulciber doesn’t realise? What if everything turns out exactly like they were supposed to?
“If he accuses you of anything, Evan, just blame it on me. I’ll take the fall.”
“Won’t work,” Evan states, eyes glaring daggers at Barty. “If it’s proven that you did it, he’ll know I took part in it too. Even if the teachers tell him I didn’t.”
“Wait.” Barty narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the right. “Does that mean that if you could get away with blaming it all on me, you would?”
Without missing a beat, Evan replies, “That’s not the point, but yes, absolutely.”
“You wound me.”
Evan sends him another one of those looks, and Barty quickly looks to the wall once more.
“Then,” he tries again, finding that he’s at a loss of ideas. Fuck, why did it have to be so complicated? “Then…I have no idea, Evan. Can’t we just take it as it comes?”
Barty sighs defeatedly, throwing his hands up into the air. It’s getting late, and he’s tired. He really doesn’t need Evan to tell him how stupid and naive he is being right now. Honestly, he’d rather just lay down and die somewhere - preferably Evan’s bed. Somehow it’s always comfier and warmer than Barty’s.
“Uh, okay,” Evan says, his voice suddenly very little. Barty turns his head, narrowing his eyebrows as his gaze lands on Evan.
“Okay?” he asks, confused.
“Yeah, I just, uh, realised I have something I need to get done,” Evan says, quick to raise a hand to his forehead and rub his nose bridge. Barty sees the action for what it is: a shield. Evan won’t look at him. “As in right now. I should go.”
“Why?” Barty asks, trying to contain the accusations in his tone.
“I have an assignment I need to turn in.” He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What assignment?”
“The Herbology one.”
The one he finished two days ago, Barty knows. Barty was asleep in Evan’s bed, refusing to be productive like always. When he woke up Evan sat on the floor, deeply engrossed in three different books at the same time. He looked cute like that, hair tousled and shiny in the dim light from his wand, because of course, he wouldn’t want to disturb Barty’s beauty sleep with more light than what was absolutely necessary.
So Barty said nothing, didn’t move, simply stayed on the bed, watching Evan study dutifully - which Evan, of course, didn’t know about.
“Sorry, but Sprout will kill me if I don’t finish it before tomorrow.” Evan shrugs, looking anything but sorry.
What throws Barty off isn’t that Evan’s lying. It’s how bad he is at it. Evan is a good liar. So good that even Barty sometimes can’t tell if he’s being for real or not. But right now…
This is probably Evan’s worst ever attempt at lying.
No, not probably. It’s definitely Evan’s worst attempt at lying.
Ever.
“Oh, okay,” Barty says, refusing to reveal what he knows. It gains him another shrug, and then Evan is taking a careful step backwards, looking grateful to create distance. “Hold on. Come back.”
Barty sees the relief drain from Evan’s face, sees the colour leave his cheeks before he hesitantly comes closer again. He’s clenching his hand by his side so hard his knuckles are going white.
“Look at me,” Barty commands, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Evan visibly swallows, pressing his lips tightly together. Carefully, he lifts his gaze, and though Barty can see something is wrong, he can’t for the love of god figure out what. “You’re trying to run away. Why?”
“I’m not trying to-”
“Evan.”
“It’s nothing. Just leave it, Barty.” Evan turns his side, and Barty sighs.
After a few seconds, he nudges Evan’s shoulder and carefully asks, “Did I say something stupid?”
“No.”
Barty doesn’t believe him.
“Are you sure? I feel like I did. You’re mad at me.”
“What do you mean? I’m not mad at you,” Evan exclaims, turning back around so he can hold Barty’s gaze again. “I just…” He interrupts himself.
Then something strange happens.
Evan’s cheeks go slightly red - just a tad, but still enough for Barty to notice, and Evan looks away to the floor again.
“I’m not mad,” Evan repeats, leaving his prior sentence hanging unfinished.
“No,” Barty ponders. He’s not mad. He’s madly flustered, and Barty knows it’s a dickhead move, but nonetheless intends to find out why. “You’re flustered.”
“I’m not,” Evan denies, but his cheeks continue changing colours anyway.
“You are. What is it?” Barty grins. Now that he knows he didn’t do anything the worry is gone, and he’s back to being as annoying as possible. “Am I too close, Rosie? Is that it?”
“No, fuck off,” Evan says. His gaze is still glued to the floor, and then suddenly a thought strikes Barty.
It can’t be…
No.
Before he can stop himself, Barty tilts his head back, eyes fixating on the little plant that do indeed hang right above his head.
No wonder Evan was trying to escape.
“Oh.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, he feels Evan’s gaze fixate on him again, no doubt realising that Barty now knows too.
There’s a mistletoe. And they’re standing right underneath it.
And the best part - the dumbest part about the whole thing - is that it’s probably one of the enchanted ones they bought from Zonko’s last week and hung up around the castle as a joke. Barty suspects this might be what people usually call karma. When your actions come back to kick your ass - or kiss you.
Barty looks back to Evan, and as predicted he’s even redder now, basically a tomato at this point. It’s mean to say, but it’s incredibly adorable, and Barty can’t help the way the corners of his mouth curl upwards.
Evan’s flustered about a kiss.
Slowly - to give Evan time to pull away - Barty steps closer. Closer than what good is. So close he can feel the heat from Evan’s body like a magnet, urging him nearer.
The corridor is dead silent. It has been the whole time, but Barty only now realizes how heavy the stillness feels, loaded with anticipation. Gently, Barty tilts Evan’s head up, leaving him no choice but to meet Barty’s gaze.
They joked about this once. Or rather: Barty joked about this once. That he’d give Evan the kiss of his life underneath a mistletoe, that he’d leave Evan wanting more and more, but now that they’re here, Barty can’t help but be nervous. He’s scared he’ll be the one left wanting more.
Evan’s cheek feels perfect in his hand, like Barty was made to hold him like this, and as his eyes drop to Evan’s lips, his stomach turns. The need to kiss Evan is urgent and it sings through his body, begging him to just do it.
“Tell me to stop,” Barty whispers, desperately praying Evan won’t. Then he surges forward, pressing his lips to Evan’s.
At first it’s soft, tentative, because he’s unsure if Evan is uncomfortable or just stunned. But then, barely a second passes before Evan kisses back. It’s subtle—a gentle press of lips that Barty can barely believe is real until Evan’s hand cautiously slides up his shirt, finding his collarbone and resting there.
Rests, like he wants to but isn’t sure if it’s okay.
It is. Barty doesn’t even need to know what it is. It’s Evan. It’s okay. It’s more than okay.
Tilting Evan’s head back slightly, Barty deepens the kiss, realising he needs more instantly. It’s dizzying to have him this close, but Barty wants to feel like he’s falling.
All caution is thrown away and Barty steps even closer, his free hand curling around Evan’s waist to hold him there, impossibly close.
Barty kisses him again - feverishly, this time - and Evan kisses back, and then Barty’s tongue is grazing his lower lip, silently asking for more than just the little kiss the mistletoe demands. They shouldn’t. Deep down he knows they shouldn’t. But he also told Evan to tell him to stop, and Evan doesn’t tell him to stop. Quite the opposite, actually. So Barty doesn’t stop. Quite the opposite.
Evan’s lips part, inviting Barty in, and his tongue finds Evan’s, eliciting a content sigh that Barty eagerly swallows. The voice inside his head is chanting more, more, more, and Barty is helpless to it. Evan is a drug and Barty’s the addict, constantly chasing another high.
The hallway is empty except for them, and every messy, sinful sound reverberates off the walls, music to Barty’s ears.
It’s dangerous. They could be caught at any moment, and Barty doubts the mistletoe would be a convincing explanation, considering how far down Evan’s throat his tongue currently is. He’s not even sure they’re still standing underneath the mistletoe. He’s basically cornered Evan against the wall by now.
Evan’s hand fists in the collar of Barty’s shirt, tilting his head to the other side and licking into Barty’s mouth. Barty responds by sucking harder on Evan’s lower lip, nipping at it mindlessly. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving uncontrollably, but still he refuses to remove himself from Evan, stealing every second he can while he has the chance to.
He pulls out every dirty little trick he knows to hopefully leave Evan needing more, because if Barty doesn’t get to kiss the shit out of Evan again, he might just lose his mind.
Barty feels like a madman. Didn’t know it could be so good to kiss your best friend. Knew the thrill, but not to this extent. Every taste feels right, right, right - but oh, it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.
Then, suddenly, it all crashes to halt. A faint sound - a soft click of footsteps - echoes down the corridor. Barty instinctively breaks the kiss, whipping his head around in the direction of the noise. Someone is coming.
Gulping, he looks back at Evan, and his eyes are immediately drawn to Evan’s lips - puffy, red, and kiss-bruised. His stomach does that thing. The somersault-thing that leaves Barty beyond stunned.
It was just a kiss.
“We should go,” Evan gets out, sounding slightly out of breath, which shouldn’t be hot, but is. Barty nods, a bit dumbfounded.
It’s just Evan, he tries to convince himself. But that only makes it worse, because that’s the problem. problem. It’s just Evan. Evan, his best friend. Evan, who subconsciously bites his lip and makes Barty wish he could do that too. Bite Evan’s lip.
Evan glances down the corridor, where the steps grow larger. Then he looks back to Barty, turmoil and something like guilt shining in his big blue eyes. Carefully, he releases Barty’s shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand. It doesn’t really work, but neither of them say anything.
There’s no time to linger if they want to avoid being caught, but Barty can’t move. All connection between his brain and his body has been severed with a single touch of Evan’s lips against his own.
They don’t really have time to wait if they want to avoid being caught, but Barty is completely frozen in place. Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how you see - Evan seems to have snapped back to reality. Without a word, he grabs Barty by the wrist, tugging him along in the opposite direction of the approaching steps.
The darkness swallows them and hides the evidence of what they did from prying eyes.
Neither of them mentions the mistletoe accident ever again.