Nothing can capture the sting
Religion. That was the only way to describe this. It was teeth and tongue and lips clashing together, hands on his waist and spine and hip. It was saccharin in the back of his throat, blood on the points of his teeth. He kissed Barty like a starved man, like this is what he had been waiting for for as long as he had been living. It was a single tortured thought passing through his head, straight between the eyes. One reminder he could feel everything, one reminder that it was Barty touching him. That it didn’t hurt when it was Barty.
The boy seemed to notice the shallow rise and fall of his chest and looked at him, swallowing a heavy breath, weighted on the back of his tongue. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want.” And Evan could tell it was a promise.
“I don’t mind. Not if it’s you.”
And then Barty was dropping to his knees as Evan took his place, sitting on the edge of the bed, of Barty’s bed. A thick tongue and cold metal tracing over hot skin, coating it in shiny residue. There were whispers of please and yes, and for a brief moment it was perfect. It was a year ago before anything bad had happened and they could just be each other's favourite secrets. Back when calling each other friends hurt but a kiss in secret was just enough to heal the bruises.
“I love you Rosie. So much, so so much.” His mouth tasted like sweat and popcorn. Evan loved him too. Evan had never really loved anyone but him, always him, only him. Fuck the baby steps.
“You already know I love you, Bats. I love you so much it hurts.”
“It doesn’t have to anymore.” And oh, oh. Evan had never been religious but for half a second he stopped and had to pray. Because if Barty was lying, Evan wouldn’t survive. He couldn’t survive his heart being broken again after he had worked so hard, after everyone had worked so hard, to fix it.
“Okay.” And then Barty smiles and everything just melts. And then the boy is pressing senseless kisses to any of Evan’s exposed skin, which at this point is everything. And how could he ever be sad when he’s being touched like this? When Barty knows just where to press down or drag his fingertips to make Evan feel worshipped.
And then Barty is pulling away, his bottom lip held by teeth and tongue, and there's a shine in his eyes that Evan has missed so much. “Can I draw you, Rosie? You look too pretty like this.”
Evan rolled his eyes before nodding. As much as he would have liked to draw on this moment, the lingering touches, the heartfelt whispers, he could never say no to Barty. That was a lesson he had learned a long time ago. “I’m naked, Bats.”
“Anatomy practice?”
Evan sat, jaw open, for a few seconds before breathing in and nodding. “You Barty, are an enigma I will never understand.”
“Shhh no big words, you’ll ruin my creative flow.”
Evan looked at Barty with a docile look. He pulled the blanket up so that it sat just below hip bones then picked his phone up off the bedside table, scrolling through old pictures. He was subtly aware of Barty hunched over on the floor, occasionally glancing up at him before returning to scribbling on the paper. It was oddly domestic. Evan felt at peace with the quiet for once. He felt safe.
“Have you filled any other sketch books since..” He didn’t say the last part of the sentence. It was still a sore spot and saying it out loud felt like pressing on a fresh bruise.
“Yeah.” Barty didn’t look up from what he was doing. “You want a smoke?”
Evan just nodded and watched Barty dig out a half empty pack and a very well loved sketch book. “Thanks, Bats.” He stole Barty’s lighter that he always kept in his bedside drawer, the dark green one with the gold stars that he must have had multiple of, and lit off of the cigarettes, before beginning to flip through the book.
It was mostly people. That had always been Barty’s favourite thing to draw. There was one of Regulus curled up on the couch, one of Remus mixing drinks, one of Pandora laughing with her head thrown back. And then he found one of him. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just smiling. It was dated to just a couple weeks back, before the party. He looked good, with highlights in all the right spots and careful lines framing him. He wanted to comment on it, to ask Barty why he had drawn it, but he didn’t dare.
“You can rip a page out, Rosie. You know I don’t mind if it's you.” He smiled, being extra careful to take the one of himself out. There was no drawing on the backside, just one word. ‘Rosie.’ What a fucking hopeless romantic, yeah? Evan almost laughed, God did he love that man.
Just then, the door swung open and Regulus stomped on in, flopping over on the bed at Evan’s feet. He immediately tried to pull the blanket up higher, staring down at the boy with shock and an open mouth.
“Shit- Evan, hi. Good to see you dude. Barty, I need to talk to you.” Barty dropped what he was doing and looked up at Regulus. Evan was suddenly far more aware of his current state underneath the blanket.
“Yeah- uh, yeah alright Reg. Can you just.. leave for one second?” Regulus sighed before marching back out, and Evan was quick to throw on actual trousers.
“Your face is red.”
“No shit jackass.” Evan sighed, tossing a shirt at Barty’s face.
“You can stay if you want. Not sure what Reggie dearest needs me for but you can help out as well.” Barty slunk his hands down Evans waist, kissing his cheek softly.
“I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Good to know.” Barty grinned, cocking his head to the side. “Reg, you can come in now.”
The boy stepped back into the room, flicking his eyes between Evan and Barty before raising an eyebrow. “Glad you two sorted out your shit. But um, it’s nothing B. I’ll tell you about it later alright? I just need to go to bed.” His voice got all sad and dry, like he was forcing it out. Evan wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to help his friend, but Barty cast him a look begging him to leave it.
“Yeah. We can talk in the morning, right Reggie?” Regulus nodded before leaving Evan and Barty alone once again.
“Y'know Bats, it is getting late.” Barty nodded before pulling Evan back into the bed, sketchbook long forgotten on the floor. Arms wrapped around each other and faces pressed against collarbones. Evan could feel his heart beat in his throat, each beat reverberating around and sending echoes of love in the form of whispers.
If you had asked Evan even two weeks ago if he thought this would ever happen again, he would have laughed in your face. But nevertheless here he was, with every part of him in contact with the boy he loves.
It was a good sleep, a quiet one. He didn’t dream and was very scared to move lest he awake Barty who. But he didn’t mind, he never could.
Of course it was only about an hour or two before Barty began to stir and consequently woke Evan up. “Ev, you best get going so I can talk to Reg, yeah?” Barty murmured, lips pressed against Evans neck.
“Sounds good, Barty. Text me though, yeah? Please tell me this wasn’t just a one time thing.”
“Far from it, Rosie.” Evan treated that phrase like a lifeline, like if he loosened his grip it would slip between his fingers and be gone forever. He wanted to sink his teeth into it, carry it with him until he grew sore.
“Good.”