The stage lights cut through the haze of smoke, casting long shadows across the faces of the restless crowd. The venue was packed tonight, bodies pressed together, buzzing with anticipation. The energy was electric, but Barty Crouch had barely noticed the sea of people—they were just background noise. His gaze kept flickering to one spot.
Evan Rosier.
Evan stood near the side of the stage, adjusting the strap of his electric guitar. His face was all hard lines and focus, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he ran through a few chords, barely paying attention to the room around him. Barty couldn’t help but stare. There was something about the way Evan moved, all casual precision and quiet intensity, that had Barty hooked from the moment they met. It wasn’t just attraction—it was curiosity. Fascination.
Evan was a guest player, filling in last minute as a favor to his sister, Pandora. She was the band’s bassist, and she had made it clear that Evan wasn’t really into the whole band scene anymore. He had his own thing going on, but she convinced him to step in for a few gigs while their usual guitarist was out of commission.
Barty had been skeptical at first. Temporary members usually meant the chemistry on stage would be off. But from the moment they started rehearsing, it was obvious that Evan was more than capable. He wasn’t just filling in—he was adding something new, something dangerous. And Barty was all too aware of the way Evan’s presence had shifted the dynamic, especially between the two of them.
“Barty, you good?” Pandora’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She was tuning her bass, throwing him a knowing look from across the stage. She had seen the way Barty’s eyes lingered on her brother, and she hadn’t been subtle about teasing him for it.
Barty shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just getting in the zone.”
Pandora rolled her eyes but didn’t press. She knew better than to try to get Barty to admit to anything, especially when it came to his feelings. He was stubborn like that, always keeping people at arm’s length. But Pandora had a plan, and if everything went right tonight, Barty’s walls would start to crumble. It was all about timing, and she was a master at it.
Regulus Black, the drummer and the band’s quiet backbone, was already behind his kit, tapping out a rhythm with his sticks. He didn’t say much, as usual, but Barty could tell he was thinking about the setlist. He had written the lyrics for most of the songs they’d be playing tonight, including the one Barty had been waiting for—I Wanna Be Your Slave. It was a bold choice, a song full of raw, unfiltered desire. Barty had pushed for it, and Regulus had agreed, though now that they were minutes away from playing it live, he looked like he might be regretting it.
“Ready?” Regulus asked, his voice low but steady.
Barty nodded, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline kick in as the stage manager gave them the signal. They were on in two minutes. The crowd was chanting now, the noise building, feeding the growing tension in the air.
Evan finished adjusting his guitar and finally looked up, his eyes meeting Barty’s across the stage. There it was again—that flicker of something, something unspoken. Barty felt his pulse quicken, his fingers tightening around the mic stand.
Evan gave him a nod, barely noticeable but enough to make Barty’s chest tighten. There was a challenge in that look, a silent dare. Barty wasn’t sure who would break first, but he knew that tonight, something was going to give.
The lights dimmed, and the crowd roared as the band took their places. Barty stepped forward, the spotlight catching the sharp angle of his jaw, the smirk that never seemed to leave his face when he was on stage. He lived for this—this moment when everything else faded away, and it was just him, the music, and the connection with the audience. But tonight, there was more than just the audience. There was Evan.
The first song kicked off with a heavy bassline from Pandora, followed by Regulus’ steady, powerful drumming. Barty let the music wash over him, his voice slipping easily into the melody as they moved through the first few tracks. It was good—tight, well-rehearsed. The crowd was eating it up. But the real moment was still to come.
When they reached the midpoint of the set, Barty felt the shift. The crowd was ready, and so was he.
“This next one…” Barty said, his voice smooth and low as he spoke into the mic. He let the words hang for a moment, watching the crowd fall into an eager hush. His eyes slid to Evan, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “This one’s special.”
Regulus started the beat, slow and deliberate, setting the tone. Then Pandora came in, her bassline dark and seductive. Evan’s guitar followed, the notes sliding in like a whisper, threading through the melody.
Barty gripped the mic, his eyes never leaving Evan as he leaned in and began to sing.
“I wanna be your slave, I wanna be your master”
The lyrics dripped from his mouth, each word laced with intent. His voice was a low growl, raw and dangerous, and it sent a shiver through the crowd. But it wasn’t just for them. It was for Evan.
Evan’s eyes flicked up, meeting Barty’s gaze head-on. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, he played harder, his fingers flying over the strings, matching Barty’s intensity with every note. The tension between them was palpable now, a live wire, sparking with every verse.
As the song built, so did the energy on stage. Barty moved closer, his voice rising with the music, but his eyes never wavered from Evan’s. He was singing to him, for him. And Evan was giving it right back, his guitar roaring to life as they reached the chorus.
“I wanna be a good boy, I wanna be your gangster.”
The crowd was wild now, feeding off the heat between them. But for Barty, it was like they weren’t even there. It was just him and Evan, locked in this battle of wills, each daring the other to make the first move.
"Cause you can be the beauty, and I can be the monster."
By the time the song ended, Barty’s heart was racing, his breath coming in shallow bursts. The room was buzzing, but his focus was laser-sharp, zeroed in on Evan.
And then, without warning, Evan smirked.
It was subtle, barely there, but it was enough to send a thrill down Barty’s spine. He’d seen a lot of things on stage—anger, lust, joy—but this was different. This was the start of something new, something dangerous.
Backstage after the show, the air was thick with post-performance adrenaline. The band was buzzing, high on the success of the set, but Barty had only one thing on his mind.
Evan.
He spotted him near the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. Barty made his way over, weaving through the throngs of people, his pulse still pounding from the performance.
“You played well tonight,” Barty said as he reached Evan, his voice low and teasing.
Evan looked up, meeting Barty’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah? Didn’t make it easy with all the staring.”
Barty chuckled, stepping closer, the familiar smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t.” The response was quick, almost too quick, and it made Barty pause for a split second. There was something in Evan’s tone, something that told Barty he wasn’t the only one feeling this pull between them.
They stood there, the tension thickening again, the noise of the backstage chaos fading into the background. Barty could feel the heat between them, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on stopping.”
...