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It all started with that fucking shirt.
Evan had been going through his wardrobe yesterday, when he found it. An old band shirt, faded and stretched out, fraying at the hem.
Barty hadn’t taken much note of it then. Evan was always diy-ing clothes, sewing and cutting fabric, fixing tears and adjusting fit.
The noise of the sewing machine had become a comforting constant in their shared dorm. As familiar to Barty as the sound of his own heartbeat.
But now? At this party? With a drink in his hand and the lights down low?
He couldn’t look away.
Evan had cropped the shirt and taken the sleeves off it. And fuck.
His waist flashed above the top of his jeans every time he raised his arms, and his arms?
Oh lord. Someone save him.
That fucking waist was going to be the death of him. He threw himself down onto the sofa next to Regulus, not moving his eyes away from Evan, who was chatting to Remus.
‘What’s up, Barty?’ Regulus asked.
Barty groaned, tearing his eyes away. ‘I can’t do this. That fucking shirt, and his waist? You have to kill me, Reggie.’
‘So you’re finally admitting it?’
Barty glared at him. ‘Fuck you. I see the way you look at Remus.’
Regulus stuck his nose in the air and huffed. ‘At least I don’t lie to myself.’
‘Mhm.’
‘So, are you gonna do anything about it?’
Barty shrugged. ‘I don’t want to fuck it up, he mumbled. ‘I just-’
Regulus cut him off. ‘Look at who’s talking to him.’
Barty whipped his head around, ready to fight whoever-
Gilderoy Lockhart?
‘Oh hell no.’
He jumped up from the sofa and marched over to them, grabbing Evan’s arm and pulling him away from Lockhart, who made a wounded noise and started calling after them. Barty ignored him, pulling him towards the dorm.
‘Why the hell- Bee- what?’ Evan protested, but Barty just kept going.
Once he made it up the stairs, he practically threw Evan into the room, slamming the door behind him. He was on top of him in seconds, pushing him against the door.
‘I can’t believe you, Ev- walking around looking like that, talking to Lockhart- fuckin- ridiculous- should be illegal to look that good.’
‘What?’
‘I need you,’ Barty muttered, sliding a knee between Evan’s legs as his hands went to Evan’s collar, pulling it aside to press his mouth to the delicate skin there.
Evan hissed, sucking in a sharp breath as he grabbed Barty’s hands.
‘If this is one of your- your little flings, ’ he snapped, voice cracking, ‘then I can’t do it.’
Barty looked at Evan incredulously. ‘A fling? With you?’
‘What the fuck is this, then?’ Evan spat.
Barty considered lying, but the alcohol loosened his tounge, told him fuck the consequences. Maybe Evan would hate him, maybe he could never love a fucked up mess like Barty, but the alcohol told him; you’ll never know unless you try.
‘I like you, Rosie.’
Evan froze. ‘Really?’ he whispered, voice cracking.
In lieu of answering, Barty grabbed Evan’s face in his hands, and pulled him in for another kiss, biting down hard on his bottom lip.
‘Does that answer your question?’
‘I- Fuck, Bee.’
‘Perfect. Now- let’s stop talking. I have better places to put my mouth,’ Barty declared, dropping to his knees right there, ignoring the pain that flashed up his legs as he started tugging at Evan’s belt.
He got the buckle undone, yanked Evan’s jeans down to his knees, and looked up through his lashes at Evan. Evan groaned, leaning his head back against the door. ‘Shit. I’m in trouble, amn’t I?’
Barty chuckled, leaning forward to nip at his inner thighs, leaving quickly purpling marks scattered between his legs, laving over them with his tongue while Evan twitched and hissed above him.
‘Fuck, Bee, need you, please, please-’
Barty grinned. ‘As you wish,’ he said, then moved his face between Evan’s legs, smirking at the wetness he found there.
‘You’re dripping, baby.’
Evan groaned again. ‘For you- all for you, Bee.’
Barty huffed a laugh, then licked a stripe up Evan’s cunt, causing Evan to whimper loudly, banging his head against the door. ‘Bee- Bee please, need you to fuck me, please. ’
Barty gasped, hardly believing his luck. ‘Okay, but on the bed, love.’
Evan nodded, pulling Barty up for another kiss, tasting himself on Barty’s tongue.
The next morning, Regulus returned to the door, looking thoroughly shagged out, a deep purple bruise on his neck. He collapsed onto his own bed, still half asleep, then leapt back up with a screech.
‘ What the fuck, Barty? Did you fuck on my bed? ’
Barty and Evan were roundly chastised, and definitely learnt their lesson, because neither of them had a good reason for how they ended up on Regulus’s bed instead of one of their own’s.
(It would be too embarrassing to admit that it was simply the closest to the door.)