Romance at its worst

Evan~

Evan gripped his personal bottle of alcohol. He generally liked to bring his own to these sorts of affairs, at least to start off with anyway. He didn’t trust Gryffindors, he didn’t trust their parties, and he certainly didn’t trust their taste in drinks.

His own concoction, which he and Pan had dubbed ‘moon water’, was a mixture of lavender oil, blackberry gin and herbal vermouth, infused with rosemary, cloves and thyme. It was exactly the kind of spiritual energy he was in need of, surrounded by crazed, drunken Gryffindors as he was, and he sipped it quietly as he stood against the wall. Usually his friends didn’t associate with these kinds of parties, they preferred their own, but for some fateforsaken reason they’d been dragged along to this one. Evan blamed Regulus, and he was going to let him know as much as soon as they were back in the Slytherin dorm.

His eyes scanned the room lazily, searching for something interesting to entertain him. He found just what he was looking for, albeit not exactly how he would have liked. Barty was dancing with a Ravenclaw girl. Dancing was a strong word, perhaps. He had his hand buried in her dark curls and was murmuring into her neck. Murmuring turned to love bites and Evan took a long, deep sip from his magically enlarged bottle (he’d charmed it to hold twice the alcohol). Barty looked up from the girl’s neck, catching Evan’s eye and grinned wickedly. A normal person, a decent person, would’ve turned away, caught in the act, but Evan was neither normal nor decent. He stared on harshly at the other boy, never wavering.

The truth was, he was smitten with Barty, and had been for years. He’d run them through every test and superstition he knew (wand cores, star signs, moon charts, pendulums, synchronicity, dream analysis, energy alignments, soul matching, card reading), he’d even stooped so low as to try the silly muggle tradition Reg had once mentioned and plucked all the petals from a wilting daisy, counting ‘he loves me’ and ‘he loves me not’ (the answer was ‘he loves me’). Every single trial had been a resounding yes. But reality was a resounding no. Barty Crouch Jr had only once devoted himself to a single person, and that person had been Regulus, not Evan. Besides, everyone knew how that had ended, in bitter tears and explosive fights and then the eventual rekindling of friendship. Barty wasn’t meant to be tied down, he’d said as much himself, multiple times.

But the most definite, most concrete, most resounding ‘no’ of them all, was something no amount of tests and trials could disprove; Barty wanted sex, craved it, was practically addicted, and Evan was sex averse, repulsed by it, resolutely incapable of giving it.

As if to prove Evan’s very point, Barty left the girl (who had pushed him off in disgust after he licked the side of her face) and joined an older boy, who promptly led him into a side room of the Gryffindor common room that was famous for party sex. Barty sent Evan a little wink as he went, and Evan glared. Just because he couldn’t give Barty sex didn’t mean he wanted others to do it instead. That was another thing about Evan, not only was he utterly, inescapably, unresiprocatedly in love with Barty, he was also horribly, horribly jealous of anyone else who went near him. Usually he was a master at hiding his emotions, but right now he wasn’t bothered enough to try.

His eyes began to gaze over the Gryffindor Common room once again, this time searching for his cousin, Dorcas (who had all but disappeared), or even for Regulus. He spotted Pandora dancing with him and began to make his way over.

Regulus wasn’t normally much of a dancer. He was typically quiet and reserved, not unlike Evan, but tonight he was at the centre of the room, swaying and smirking. Evan had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“Evan!” trilled Pandora brightly as Reg spun her around and she caught sight of her cousin. She was scarily sober looking, perhaps a product of her large, owlish eyes or generally strange behaviour. Pandora was just like that; he could never tell how much she’d been drinking, or if she was even drunk.

He joined them on the dance floor, his still, looming form sticking out among the other dancers.

“Moon water?” he offered her, and she took a long sip.

She offered it to Regulus, who shook his head, clearly eager to get back to dancing.

“Who are you dancing for?” asked Evan over the music. Regulus feigned deafness, cupping his ear as if he hadn’t heard. Evan had no qualms with repeating the question. “Who are you dancing for, Reg?” he asked again, loud enough for those around them to hear.

“Me of course,” smiled Pandora, bringing Evan’s bottle away from her lips. Evan shook his head slightly. Bless her heart, jumping in to save Regulus like that.

“You’re too nice,” he scolded, but this time the music had been turned up even louder and they really didn’t hear him. Pandora tried to coax Evan into dancing with them, but he refused, returning back to his corner to finish his drink. Maybe later, he assured her, when he was so hammered he could barely remember his own name.

He leaned back against the wall, itching for a smoke, but he’d left his wizard cigarettes in the dorm, and he wasn’t about to use any low grade Gryffindor stuff.

He was just contemplating returning, when Barty reappeared from the room, looking more unkept than usual (if such a thing was possible). The two of them locked gazes again and Barty came dancing over to him, eyes wild. There was an unlit cigarette between his teeth and a few white stains on his face that Evan didn’t care to think about too much. With a flick of his wand they disappeared.

“Merlin I’m thirsty,” he told Evan, without so much as a hello.

Evan shoved his bottle of moon water at Barty’s chest and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. Barty immediately threw his head back, guzzling as much of the cocktail as he could. He handed it back to Evan with a grin, wiping his mouth.

“Not much left,” he commented. His voice was hoarse. Evan tried not to think too much about that either. Instead, he looked into the bottle and downed the remaining few gulps. Merlin knew he needed all the strength he could get.

“I’ve got a bottle of brandy back at the dorm, d’you want to come with me to get it?”

Evan weighed his options. On the one hand, he would be keeping Barty from more encounters in the Gryffindor side room, he could retrieve his own cigarettes and he could momentarily escape this awful party. On the other hand, well nothing. There was nothing on the other hand, he was just fucking with Barty by pretending to deliberate.

“Come on,” whined Barty, catching on. He grabbed Evan’s arm and Evan allowed himself to be dragged out of the common room, out of the tower and out of the chaos that was Gryffindor. Finally, he could actually breathe.

Barty~

Barty swung his long, gangly arms by his sides, walking slightly ahead of Evan. They were headed back to the Slytherin common room in search of a forgotten bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy, taking a break from the busy Gryffindor party. Normally they wouldn’t stoop so low as to attend one of their loud, chaotic, red and golden ragers, but Reg had insisted, and a party was a party.

Barty had spent the better part of the evening giving out blowjobs in the little side room, drinking cherry vodka and chain smoking as he lay halfway out the window. The rest he’d spent by Evan’s side, flirting, or maybe just being annoying.

“You know,” mused Barty, as they descended the stairs to the dungeons, “Some people are calling me a slag.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and Barty twisted around, walking backwards as he surveyed Evan’s reaction.

“No!” gasped Evan mockingly, “You? A slag?”

Barty grinned.

“Exactly,” he spat, still grinning, “Completely baseless accusation.”

Evan shot him a tired look, raising his eyebrow slightly.

“How many different blokes were you with tonight again?” said Evan dryly, “Three? Four? That’s a very unlucky number you know.”

“You keeping track?” teased Barty. Evan looked away, frowning.

“Perhaps.”

They opened the common room door and turned left to climb the stairs to their dorm. Barty reached under his bed for the bottle, his arm groping blindly. His fingers brushed against the cold glass and he gripped the Dragon Barrel Brandy, hand closing around the neck of the bottle. With his back turned to Evan, who he could only assume was waiting impatiently with his arms crossed, a question passed into his head. A question he maybe would have kept to himself had it not been for the copious amounts of cherry vodka he’d consumed.

“You ever kissed a boy?” he blurted out. He knew the answer of course. Even without looking he could tell he’d caught Evan off guard. Without waiting for an answer, Barty pulled the brandy out from under the bed and in one swift motion, stood up and spun around. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity.

Evan was indeed standing with his arms crossed, by the exit.

“No.” he replied eventually. Barty walked over to him, standing perhaps a little too close.

“Hmm,” he commented. He unscrewed the cap from the bottle, discarded it on the floor, and took a swig. It didn’t taste hardly as sweet as the cherry vodka, but a drink was a drink at the end of the day. He passed it to Evan, who followed suit.

“Do you want to?”

More silence. Barty leaned in closer. Evan brought the bottle away from his lips. Perhaps a different boy would’ve asked ‘want to what?’, but Evan wasn’t stupid. He kept his silence for a minute or two. Barty’s tongue flicked over his red lips. Evan’s eyes dipped quickly, distracted by the fleeting motion.

“...Yes.” he finally confessed. To anyone else Evan would’ve appeared stoic and immovable, but Barty knew better. There was a hint of… breathlessness in his velvety voice. Barty couldn’t help but revel in it; he was making Evan Rosier breathless.

He leaned in further, inches away from a kiss, trying to tease the other boy. Barty wanted to gauge his reaction. He decided he liked Evan’s soft little gasp and fluttering blonde lashes. He liked the reaction a lot. He leaned in a third time, closing the gap between them.

He’d been meaning to leave Evan with a soft, lingering, chaste kiss on the mouth, but things escalated quickly. For someone who’d never kissed a boy before, Evan was certainly good at it.

Barty clutched the other boy’s face, his fingers snaking up into Evan’s dreads. His ‘soft’, ‘chaste’ kiss had turned into something different altogether. He pushed Evan backwards into the nearest bed, not being the least bit gentle. Evan let him, pulling Barty along just as hard by the arms he’d wrapped around his waist. Evan fell into the bed and sat down (arms still circling Barry’s waist) as Barty climbed into his lap.

They were kissing furiously and carelessly. Barty slipped Evan some tongue (making sure to press his tongue piercing into Evan’s cheek) and grinned into the kiss when the boy let out another gasp of surprise. Growing more adventurous, he bit at Evan’s soft lips, drawing more soft gasps. Despite the fervent urgency that had overcome him when their mouths joined, Barty was being more considerate than he usually was. He was building up to his signature wild unpredictable snogging, trying to pace himself for Evan’s sake.

He leaned down and bit Evan’s neck, hard. More gasps, but the shock sounded more like pleasure this time. He kissed and sucked around the bite, coaxing out a small bruise onto Evan’s smooth neck. Before he could finish, Evan had pulled him back up to his mouth and they were kissing again. Barty slipped him some more tongue and this time Evan reciprocated. He moaned loudly as Evan’s tongue slid against his own. Barty had never been ashamed to show what he liked, and he was always eager to assure whichever partner he was with when they were doing a good job, which Evan definitely was.

Barty moved himself further up Evan’s torso, gripping his waist with his legs. Evan’s arms moved below his thighs to support him and he leaned his head back to give Barty better access to his lips.

Eventually, after longer than he was sure Evan would care to admit, the two broke apart. Barty stayed in his lap for a minute or two, catching his breath. His dark eyes were wide and glittering as he surveyed Evan, who was managing to look a little more put together than him. The corners of his mouth were smeared with dried spit, and without thinking, Barty leaned in and licked it off. Evan put up little resistance, and once Barty had climbed out of his lap, he wiped the other boy’s mouth with his sleeve.

They sat side by side on the bed (which, luckily, Barty had realised was his own). Barty kept his mouth shut for the time being, allowing Evan to process what had just happened. He smirked to himself as he waited, feeling Evan’s eyes flick to him every few moments. The silence lasted two minutes (Barty wondered to himself if Evan had waited this long on purpose, obsessed with superstition and numbers as he was).

“You really are a slag,” breathed Evan, but there was no real bite to it.

“Only for you Rosie,” winked Barty, giddy from the kisses and the alcohol (mostly the kisses).

“Yeah, me and those four other guys,” he snorted. This time there was bite behind it. Barty was too inebriated to care.

“They got a shag, not a snog,” corrected Barty, “And,” he added petulantly, “None of them were my friends.”

“Oh, well that changes everything,” Evan deadpanned, rolling his eyes, “I’m so glad that we have the power of friendship between us, Jr.”

“What are best mates for?” grinned Barty. Merlin, he was drunk. “Say, Evan?” he asked sweetly.

“Mm?” he replied warily.

“You ever slept with a boy?” Barty already knew the answer to this question too.

“No.” said Evan curtly. He almost sounded disappointed.

“You want to?”

“No.” There was a lot less deliberation this time round. Barty almost felt hurt. He supposed he shouldn’t have pressed his luck.

“Alright then,” he slurred, “Well, let me know if you do. It’s a lot better to lose your virginity to a friend, you know.” he added matter-of-factly, taking another swig of brandy. He was barely lowering the bottle when it was snatched from his grip. “Oi!” he exclaimed as some of it spilled over his front (joining the sweat and vodka stains).

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

This was a threat. Evan was threatening him.

“No,” he smiled contrarily, “I was thinking I should keep drinking till I blacked out. What do you say, Evs? Give it back?”

Evan frowned at him. Barty wanted to kiss him a second time. Really wanted to. Before he could lean in again, Evan had raised the bottle to his own lips and was gulping down the Brandy like there was no tomorrow. Barty blinked, his addled brain taking a second to understand.

“Wait!” he hissed, making a clumsy lunge for the alcohol, “Don’t finish it!”

Evan held a flailing Barty at arms length, continuing to chug the remainder of the drink.

“Rosie you twat– It’s mine!”

Evan came up for air, there was a lot left in the bottle still. Well, a little. Enough was left (there was about a quarter remaining. He could work with that). Barty felt relief pass over him, but a moment too soon. He’d counted his eggs before his chickens, or his baskets, or whatever the stupid muggle saying was.

The brandy splattered over the dorm floor as Evan flipped the bottle upside down. Barty watched in horror. Without thinking, he launched himself past Evan’s strong hand and onto the floor, trying to catch the last few drops in his mouth, and when that didn’t work, he tried slurping up the liquid from the carpet.

“Merlin, Barty,” groaned Evan, “Don’t be disgusting.”

Barty pushed himself up from the floor and flipped him off.

“That was mine.” he said sourly.

“I’ll buy you another.” came Evan’s easy response.

“Now?” asked Barty hopefully, his mood greatly improved.

“Next time.”

“Fucking wanker.” he swore.

“Come on, let’s go.” Evan pulled Barty to his feet and they left.

Evan~

Evan was back in his corner, this time no drink, and he realised suddenly, no cigarettes either (he’d forgotten all about them).

Barty had quickly rejoined the crowd, finding someone new to romance. This time, Evan looked away. While he was doing his best to look impassive (and his best was generally quite inscrutable), his mind was positively spinning, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. He tried to remind himself that it didn’t mean anything, that Barty was like that with everyone. At that very moment, he was with someone else, someone new, who would probably give him the sex that he wanted. Someone better for him, Evan told himself.

But even if it didn’t mean anything (and it didn’t, hadn’t Barty called them best mates within a few minutes after they’d stopped?), Evan couldn’t help himself from thinking back to Barty in his lap… Barty’s lips on his… The feel of his tongue piercing…Of his snake bites…

He wouldn’t have let himself linger on these recollections, but Evan was drunk now. Almost hammered enough to forget his own name. He’d be out on the dance floor with Dora and Reg soon. His head pounded. It was that stupid brandy, he was sure of it. He’d drunk it far too quickly. Foolish. Not as foolish as saying ‘yes’ when Barty asked if he wanted to kiss a boy, though. That was disgustingly foolish.

But it had been worth it. Evan was thrown into more recollections. But it meant nothing to Barty, he reminded himself, nothing to Barty and everything to him.

Evan could feel his mind clouding. Reality was dimming, less sharp around the edges. The lights were brighter and streaked across his vision. He went to find his friends.