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Barty hadn’t been a lonely child due to the fact that he was extroverted enough to speak to anybody, but he had an inclination towards destruction that most of the other kids’ parents hadn’t approved of. Thus, by age eleven, he had been labeled a problem child, a rebel.
His father had thought that sending him off to a foreign boarding school would solve Barty’s, and therefore his, problems, or at least create them far enough away that he didn’t have to deal with the fallout. In reality, Barty’s “problem” had always been his father himself; the man had spent the entirety of Barty’s life neglecting to acknowledge his existence, only made worse by his mother’s passing.
Barty’s acting out had never been anything other than a desperate plea for attention, but by the time he finally accepted that the only attention he’d ever receive from the man was in the form of punishment, his actions had transformed themselves from a cry for recognition to a natural inclination towards creating chaos. His brain had rewired itself, and there was no “fixing” it; not that he wanted to.
Barty had arrived at Hogwarts Academy halfway through his age group’s first year. He’d missed the initial welcoming and subsequent acclimation period; thus, when Barty entered the dormitory he was meant to live in for the next seven years, save for breaks, he had felt a sensation he was unused to: fear.
The two boys present in the room when he’d entered were clearly already good friends. They’d been seated on a windowsill on the far side of the room, a chess board wedged between them, pieces indicating they’d been in the middle of a game. The two boys contrasted each other greatly. Where one had skin so pale it was almost translucent and hair as dark as night, the other had skin as dark as ebony and buzzed hair clearly bleached a platinum white. They were antipodal in their looks, but their eyes revealed their similarity.
Neither boy had said anything upon his entering, merely watching him with twin stares as he stood with his bags in hand, slowly beginning to slip from the sweat accumulating on his palm.
But Barty swallowed his fear and replaced it with the mask he’d learned he could wear so well: cockiness, tinged with his best portrayal of confidence.
“What, no introduction?” He’d scoffed, throwing his bags down on the bed closest to him. He was sure it was meant to be his anyway, seeing as the others showed obvious signs of use.
“I’m Barty,” he’d said, refusing to let his voice waver.
He’d watched as the fair-skinned boy’s upper lip curled up slightly. “Regulus.” He had a thick French accent, but said nothing more as he turned back to the game of chess and moved a piece.
Turning to look at the other boy, he felt like a butterfly with its wings pinned, trying to escape but held down by the uncomfortable piercing weight of his gaze. His eyes seemed hollow, but not empty. Barty could tell even from ten feet away that there was emotion belying his stare; it was just that his eyes seemed bottomless, like they were an endless void the boy attempted to fill with whatever caught his attention.
The two had stared at each other for what to Barty had felt like an eternity before the other boy tilted his head to one side, gaze unblinking, and finally spoke. He hadn’t smiled, nor had there been any emotion in his voice, but Barty couldn’t help but smile as the other boy said, “I’m Evan.”
His voice had been high all those years ago, not yet touched by the force that was puberty, but Barty detected a slight French accent, not quite as thick as Regulus’s, but present all the same.
Barty had shot him a crooked grin and flopped back to stare at the cloth-covered top of his bed, hoping that for the first time in his life he could manage to keep a friend for longer than a few months.
Whatever deity may have been out there must have heard him, because fourteen years later, he stood waiting to make his way on stage with Evan Rosier’s arm slung around his shoulder and Regulus Black standing a few feet behind them.
They’d been fifteen when Regulus’s older brother, Sirius, and his mates decided to try their hand at making music. Regulus, though he would rather die than admit it, had a natural inclination towards following in his brother’s footsteps, even if how only followed at a distance great enough he could pretend the footsteps pressed into sand had been washed away by the forces of time.
Sirius’ band had admittedly been quite good, seeing as they’d managed to rise to stardom before even graduating Hogwarts. They hadn’t dropped out, rather continuing to make music in a practice room they’d claimed for themselves whilst they waited for the date of their impending graduation to finally arrive.
The Marauders, as they’d named themselves, had fans in all corners of the globe. Hogwarts hadn’t been an exclusion. They had fans sitting in classes with them and fawning over them in the mess hall, which would have annoyed Barty had he not been such good friends with them.
Regulus had only pretended to be annoyed for the better part of a year before begrudgingly admitting that they were good and that no his change of heart had nothing to do with his budding relationship with their lead guitarist, James Potter.
In their final two years at the academy, Regulus had begun to spend more and more time away from his own friend group, consisting of Barty, Evan, Evan’s twin sister, Pandora, and Dorcas Meadowes, in favor of hiding away with James in hidden alcoves or back corners of the library.
The rest of the group had begun to fade away, as well. Still present, always together for meals or random conversations spent congregated together in someone’s dorm or common room, but despite the love that bound them all together, it seemed as though everyone had begun to find love elsewhere, too.
Dorcas was a year older than they were, and why she had decided in her third year that Barty was someone she found rather amusing, he didn’t know. Still, he felt rather proud of the fact that her addition to their group had been because of him. When she had begun a relationship with her long-term rival, Marlene McKinnon, another member of the Marauders, Barty had been happy for her, but he couldn’t help but mourn the loss of her presence all the same; a feeling only exacerbated by her graduation a year earlier than his.
Pandora, lovely as she was, had always been lost in her own world. She was strange in her own right, always staring for a beat too long, like Evan, or injecting herself into a conversation to say whatever nonsensical thing it was that only ever made sense in her mind. Still, she was undeniably kind, and her friends extended past the group she’d found home in. She’d been pseudo-dating Lily Evans for years, but when they finally got their shit together and started dating officially, it seemed as though one was rarely without the other.
Their friend group had largely merged with the Marauders’ in their penultimate year, and while Barty didn’t mind, especially because the Marauders seemed to enjoy wreaking havoc just as much as he did, a piece of him couldn’t help but long for simpler times when his friends had been simply his friends. In that year, it seemed as though everybody was finding love, entering a relationship, leaving Barty, he’d felt. Only he, Evan, and Peter had remained single, and even though the three of them did often band together to poke fun at the others, Peter and Evan didn’t seem to mind third, fifth, or even seventh wheeling in the way that Barty did.
Barty hadn’t meant to feel abandoned, and he had been happy for his friends, regardless of how his emotions gripped his heart, reached in and pulled to light the memories of his father ignoring him in favor of his latest girlfriend; still, he had.
Barty had coped by using his long-established propensity for flirting with anyone and anything to sleeping with whoever showed him the most attention when he craved it most.
But then there was Evan.
Evan was Barty’s direct counterpart. Where Barty was chaos, a hurricane, Evan was the eye at the center of his storm. Evan was calm, but he was slightly unnerving. His eyes had a way of making one feel like they weren’t just being seen, they were being seen through. He was socially awkward and tended to avoid conversations with those he didn’t know well, preferring to stand off to the side with his arms crossed, observing in that slightly unsettling way of his, but Barty never minded.
Evan had taken some time to warm up to Barty. It wasn’t because he found Barty’s erratic behavior stressful, or that the chaos Barty always seemed to leave in his wake was too much for him to want to deal with; it was simply that Evan was naturally more reserved. He took time to warm up to people in general, but once he’d warmed up to Barty enough to reveal his true personality, Barty decided right then that Evan was the other half of his soul. Platonically, of course.
It was as if they were the creatures Aristophanes had supposedly spoken of in Plato’s Symposium: one being, split in two. Too strong they’d be together to be bound together physically. Still, they completed each other.
Barty knew that the way he acted wasn’t necessarily “normal.” He was brilliant, for one; his mind always moving too fast for anybody else to be able to follow. But he was also spontaneous, impulsive. He did exactly what he wanted exactly when he wanted to do it, with none of that brilliant thought put into calculating exactly why he should avoid, for example, picking fights he logically should have known he would lose, or mixing the wrong ingredients in the chemistry lab to cause an explosion because he thought it would be funny.
But Evan, evidently, had enjoyed the chaos he created. Had helped him in his own right. At first, when Barty picked fights, Evan had let him. Had simply watched as punches flew and teachers intervened, only to drag Barty back to their dormitory to wipe blood from his face and apply salve to his bruises. When he caught sight of the gleam in Barty’s eye that meant he was up to no good, he’d distract the teachers with meaningless questions until Barty could enact whatever plan he’d had on his mind.
When Barty had, in their fifth year, discovered that he quite liked the cigarette he’d stolen from Remus Lupin, Evan had appeared the next day with a brand new carton full of them and a lighter. Later that same year, when Barty had decided that he wanted to try the weed Dorcas kept talking about, Evan had been the one to show him how to roll a perfect joint.
While everyone had always shied away from helping Barty escape via self-destruction, Evan had always been right there to aid him. Perhaps it wasn’t the most conducive to his healing, but Barty didn’t want to heal. And Evan had also been the only person who managed to settle Barty’s thoughts when all was said and done.
Regulus was Barty’s best friend, that was a fact. Barty had always been able to confide in him when it came to matters of how he was feeling. Barty was able to express himself with him in a way he couldn’t with anyone else.
Pandora was Barty’s best friend; that was also a fact. She’d always been able to make Barty laugh, or make him see what he didn’t necessarily want to with her vaguely unnerving perceptiveness. But she was understanding in a way that allowed Barty to never feel judged in her presence.
Yet another fact: Dorcas was also Barty’s best friend. It would appear he had a lot of those. Dorcas was dissimilar from the rest of his friends solely because she was older than he was, and her family life hadn’t been like theirs. While Evan and Pandora’s parents had been just as neglectful as Barty’s own father, and Regulus’s parents had been abusive enough to cause his and his brother to run away to one James Potter’s home in Barty’s fourth year, Dorcas had been raised by her incredibly sweet and almost cloyingly loving grandmother. Dorcas had known familial love in a way that none of his other friends had, and perhaps that was why he always felt as though she knew how to give it best. She could be cold and cutting, but she also knew how to break through Barty’s walls and force him to accept the love that she was willing to give him.
Evan was not Barty’s best friend; he had always been something more. But it wasn’t until that fateful penultimate year that a flip seemed to switch in Barty’s brain.
Evan had always been tall, and Barty knew that while the anger he harbored within his soul found its way to explode outwards, Evan preferred to use his to lift heavy weights in the academy’s state-of-the-art gym. Barty had never put too much thought into that fact, aside from thinking that his best friend was unfairly beautiful, until Barty started yet another fight. He was well-versed enough by then to know that while he’d thrown the first punch, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to throw the last. What he hadn’t been expecting was for that last punch to be thrown by none other than Evan Rosier.
Evan had always been a lot of things to Barty. In his mind, the older boy was perfect, beautiful, calm. Most of all, he’d always been Barty’s safe place. Evan had always allowed Barty to cling to him whenever he wanted. Barty more often than not used that as an excuse to crawl into the other boy’s bed late at night when he couldn’t sleep, or drape himself on top of him whenever he felt like it. Evan had always been there to hold together the pieces of Barty’s soul, no words needed to be exchanged between the two for an understanding to arise anyway. Evan knew Barty in a way that he was sure no one else would ever be able to.
Barty had never thought that Evan could be violent, but when he’d turned to smile at Barty with blood on his knuckles and nostrils flaring slightly, Barty had felt his heart stutter in his chest. It would appear he had also never stopped to think that maybe Evan was also the love of his life.
That revelation had not been a welcome one, however. It hadn't had anything to do with his father or realizing that he was gay, because by that point, Barty was quite happy to have another means through which to disappoint his father. Perhaps one of said disappointments would be large enough to warrant the anger that Barty knew raged within the other man’s mind. Perhaps one of them would warrant that anger being directed at him; anything would be better than the cold indifference his father seemed to reserve only for him. But despite Barty’s acknowledgment that Evan would do anything for him, that anything, in his mind, had not extended to loving him back.
But Evan was nothing if not a surprise, and when he’d cornered Barty later that year to demand, in a way wholly unlike himself, an answer as to why Barty had been shying away from his touches and had been “sleeping” in his own bed for the first time in years, Barty had cracked under the weight of his love and Evan’s fury and let it all pour forth from his chest like a fire he could no longer tame.
Evan had shut him up mid monologue by grabbing his face in his large hands and kissing him squarely on the mouth. The fire that had been raging in Evan’s eyes and Barty’s chest had converged, blazing wildly from the force of their collision, before mellowing to a warmth that Barty was quite certain could keep him alive even in a blizzard.
In their final year, when the Marauders were gone and most of the couples that had formed were thus separated by distance, it was suddenly everyone else’s turn to feel the discomfort of being single in the presence of two people so clearly enraptured with each other.
That wasn’t to say the chaos that Barty caused and Evan encouraged had dimmed at all; in fact, it seemed to have gotten worse now that they had a new form of it to unleash.
X
Two years after they’d all graduated, Regulus finally gave in to Barty and Evan, abandoning his previous desire to remain his own person, unimpeded by Sirius’s or their parents’ respective legacies, and he had joined them in the formation of their own band. Dorcas and Pandora had joined them, as well, and the Seprents had been born.
It may have seemed ironic that all of them had musical talent but, in reality, most of them had been born into extremely wealthy families. Wealthy families that had forced them into music lessons for no other reason than to impress dinner guests or, in Barty’s case, so that his father could have him out of the house for a few more hours after school ended.
The rest of them, who hadn’t had music engrained into their muscle memory from the time their fingers could properly hold a guitar or play the keys of a piano, had made up for it with dedication and a reason to make their own name for themselves.
Despite Regulus’s repeated statements that their band would remain independent of his brother’s and his boyfriend’s, however, it had not. In his defense, it was quite hard to when Sirius and James had proclaimed quite loudly in an interview that everyone watching should immediately click off and listen to the Serpents music.
Their music had reached the top of the charts the next day, and a year later, they were opening on tour for the Marauders. The two groups would always be connected in more ways than they truly knew, and Regulus had grown to accept that over time.
During their time opening for the Marauders, the Serpents had grown to a similar level of stardom, however. That was a shocking fact to Barty, seeing as the music they made was fundamentally different. While the Marauders were indie-pop-rock and radio hits, the Serpents were far more alternative. Their songs consisted of pure anger distilled into imagery of death, gore, and sex. It was truly a wonder that any of the Marauders’ fans had become fans of the Serpents music, but, hey, Barty wasn’t going to complain.
It was during a joint interview with the other band that Barty and Evan had made a mistake that Barty regretted every day thereafter, however.
Barty was loud, and he had never been good at masking whatever it was he was feeling. Of course, that had translated to his love for Evan being incredibly visible whilst performing onstage. Evan wasn’t loud, but he was clingy. Their opening sets had consisted of Barty openly flirting with Evan at any given opportunity and Evan finding a way to touch him whenever he could, something that proved difficult given Evan’s hands were constantly occupied by his bass guitar.
Still, Barty flirted with everybody, from girls in the crowd to Regulus, which he only did with the sole intent of pissing James off. It worked every time.
He knew that their fans theorized about his and Evan’s relationship, but he never minded this, especially considering that he had never been trying to hide the fact that they were together. His favorite pastime was scrolling through stan Twitter and finding the most unhinged theories to show Evan, who didn’t have social media.
“Rosie, come look at this,” Barty said from his spot on the couch of their London flat as Evan made them tea. The sun was just beginning to set, tinging the space a slight pink-orange hue. He was sprawled out lengthwise, with one leg dangling off the side as he held his phone in one hand and twirled the drawstring of the hoodie he was wearing, Evan’s, around the other.
“One sec, Bee,” Evan said as he made his way over to place the mugs of steaming liquid on the coffee table by the couch, the scent of chamomile and mint wafting through the air as Evan dropped a kiss to Barty’s forehead and moved to collapse on top of him. He was too long to fit, and his legs rested bent against the opposite armrest as he turned his head to look at Barty’s phone.
The hand that had been occupied with the hoodie came to card twist one of Evan’s locs around his finger, tilting the phone to show Evan the screen where a video of their interview with the Marauders was displayed.
As Barty hit play, the sound of their own voices from nine months back filled the room.
“So, this one I have to ask,” one of the interviewers, a kind woman named Alice, began. “Barty and Evan, there are a lot of fan theories online surrounding the nature of your relationship; I’m not sure if you’ve seen those.”
Barty rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips as he responded, “Well, this one,” he said, nudging Evan, “doesn’t have social media, because he’s too cool for that.” He was interrupted by Pandora laughing softly, shaking her head as he continued to speak, “But I do, everyone else does. I can’t speak for if anyone else also has a secret stan account, but I personally love the fan theories,” turning to the camera, he’d added enthusiastically, “keep them coming!”
Regulus had rolled his eyes at Barty, “Literally, why would you admit that?” He interjected, “That’s A-incredibly embarrassing for you, and B-they’re going to find it?”
Barty turned to the camera again with a gasp, “No, please don’t stalk me,” he grinned, “I’m into that.”
Everyone broke into a mixture of laughter and exasperated sighs at that, and Evan prodded him softly in the ribs with his elbow.
“I’ve a feeling they’re going to cut that bit out,” Alice said, “But I hope they don’t.” She laughed, “Anyway, so safe to say you at least have seen the theories. A lot of them think there’s a potential relationship between you two.” She raised a hand to gesture between Barty and Evan, “I’ve to ask, are they true?”
The rest of the present musicians sighed, rolled their eyes, or performed a combination of the two. One side of Evan’s mouth pulled up slowly, but dramatically, as though he couldn’t quite control it. His eyes raised from the floor to stare straight into the camera, and Barty felt like his soul was being stared into from the screen where he watched.
On screen, Barty grinned, “Oh, he’s the love of my life;” he paused, for dramatic effect, “But I’m straight, of course.”
“Yep,” Evan said, popping the p, “completely platonic.” His smile was gone, voice a deadpan; the only thing that gave away the fact that he was lying was the glimmer of amusement Barty could see shining in his eyes.
Barty reached out to hold his face in his hands, planting a comical kiss on his lips complete with a smacking noise, before pulling away to press their cheeks together as he smiled at the camera, still holding Evan’s face, “Completely,” he drew out the ending vowel, “platonic.”
The video clip ended, and Barty turned his head to look down at Evan, who’d been watching in minor confusion, his brow wrinkling slightly at the screen paused on an image of their two faces smushed together.
“Why did we watch that?” Evan questioned, “Haven’t you seen that a thousand times?” He huffed a short laugh, propping himself up with an elbow to reach across Barty and grab his mug of still steaming mint tea.
“Yes,” Barty huffed, reaching to take the tea back, knowing it hadn’t cooled enough and would burn Evan’s tongue in a way he’d complain about for hours. Evan released his grip on the mug with a small noise of complaint, flopping back down to run his teeth along Barty’s clavicle bone as Barty stretched to place it back on the coffee table.
“But it’s the comments I wanted you to see.” Barty continued.
“Why wouldn’t you have just started with that, then?” Evan asked, voice muffled from where his lips were preoccupied with Barty’s neck.
Barty rolled his eyes, “Well, context.”
“I was there ,” Evan said, propping himself up again to look Barty in the eye, “What ‘context,’” he raised one hand to make air quotes, “do I need?”
“Ok, ok, whatever; the video wasn’t necessary,” Barty acquiesced, “just read.”
He held the phone far too close to his eyes as he exited the video, which had been re-posted recently despite the original being posted nearly a year ago. It had been accompanied by a poll titled, “Do we believe them, or not?”
Shockingly, to Barty at least, the poll had a majority of votes for “Yes.”
As he scrolled through the comments, a majority of them explained their reasoning.
@BartyB33Luvr: They’re surrounded by a group of openly queer people almost daily, if they were actually together they would have admitted that.
@RowdyRosierRenegade: Honestly, they both seem like the kind of people confident enough in their sexualities to kiss their male friends 🤷♀️
@WLWforWolfstar: @RowdyRosierRenegade Barty has also said in interview that he’s kissed most of the Marauders/Serpents; I agree in that I don’t think the kiss meant anything.
@Siriussteponme: I agree with everyone else, I think they’re just like that.
A number of other comments affirmed their opinions, and only one comment had appeared thus far in the opposite opinion:
@EvansWhoreOfficial: They’re definitely together??? That was clearly a joke???
Barty himself had commented that on his stan account, which was truly just a place for him to retweet photos of his boyfriend under the guise of being a fan page. His boyfriend was hot, ok?
His account was quite popular but, unfortunately, his comment had been irreversibly ratioed, with every reply telling him he simply didn’t understand straight-male logic, as that was exactly what a straight man would do. There weren’t even shippers that could come to his aid, since those didn’t seem to exist.
Apparently, the majority of the Marauders and the Serpents being queer meant that their fans tended to be, too. That also meant that said fans took the proclamation of one’s sexuality quite seriously. If there had been accounts dedicated to shipping Barty and Evan, they were gone now. Thus, there was no one at all to come to Barty’s aid in the comment section.
Barty felt warm air blow against his neck as Evan laughed at the comments, grabbing the phone from Barty’s hand and settling back against his chest as he continued to scroll. Barty used his now free hand to card his fingers through Evan’s dreads, his blunt nails scratching at the other man’s scalp softly.
“You’ve been absolutely eviscerated in this comment section, Bat,” Evan laughed. Barty snatched the phone back from him, turning it off and throwing it across the room as he pretended to faint dramatically, complete with a hand to his temple and all.
Evan didn’t react, used to Barty’s dramatics, and when Barty peeked one eye open, Evan was simply watching him, chin propped up on the cloth covering Barty’s sternum.
“They still think I was being serious,” Barty whined, “They never take me seriously, why-” he raised his hands to his face, the red of his inner lower eyelid revealed as he dragged his skin down, “Why would they still believe I was being serious? And months after the fact?”
Evan seemed to pick up on his mood and reached up to take Barty’s hands away from his face, holding them in his as he said, “Bee, why does this bother you?” He raised one of Barty’s hands to place a kiss on the palm before turning to hold that palm to his own face, effectively keeping his face cradled in Barty’s hand.
Barty smiled softly, running his thumb over Evan’s cheekbone as he answered, “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I just-” he cut himself off, pouting slightly as he tried to organize his thoughts. “I just want them to know that I’m yours. I guess it’s my own fault, but.” He trailed off, looking off to stare at the mugs of tea sitting side by side, unsure of how to continue.
It wasn’t that he necessarily needed their fans to know that they were together, but in the same right, he did. He felt his heart constrict in his chest whenever he saw a post on Twitter or Instagram outlining a claim that the hickies on his neck had come from a random groupie or that Evan was secretly dating the model he’d been photographed talking to at an awards after party. Everyone who needed to know that they were together did know, and that should have been enough, but Barty was possessive, jealous.
Evan was much the same, though his jealousy clawed its way to the surface whenever someone got too close to Barty, reaching to put their hands on his hips or trace their fingertips down his arm. Evan would always step in, whenever that happened, pressing himself flush against Barty to get the message across. Evan didn’t have social media; he never saw any of the theories or posts that Barty didn’t show him.
Barty had regretted everyday after the interview for letting his chance to claim slip away like he had. He may have had proof of their love tattooed all over his body, but he had missed his chance to stain it into the cracks of the world, imbuing it with the knowledge that their souls were tied together.
“Well, we’ll just have to try harder to prove to them that they’re wrong, won’t we?” Evan grinned from his spot on top Barty, letting his hand drop from Barty’s in favor of pushing himself up to hold his lips a hairs breadth away from Barty’s.
Barty didn’t respond, allowing himself to grin maniacally before placing a hand behind Evan’s neck to drag him into a brutal kiss. It was more teeth than anything, and Barty tasted blood from where his canine caught Evan’s lip, metallic in a way that Barty loved.
Prove it to them. We’ll prove it to them , Barty thought, before Evan made him stop thinking at all, mugs of tea forgotten, destined to grow cold on the coffee table.
X
It was another year before the Serpents were on tour again, needing time to release their second studio album. This would be their first headlining tour, but it seemed that their brief stint opening for the Marauders had garnered them enough attention to skip straight to larger venues.
Barty stood just off-stage with Evan’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, leaning forwards slightly to watch their opening act and the crowd. They were playing an open-air venue and, in the heat of July, the warm air was causing his palms to sweat slightly. Without taking his eyes off the crowd, he reached over to grasp Evan’s shirt, unbuttoned and with nothing on underneath, between his hands to dry them slightly.
Evan made an indignant noise, prying Barty’s fingers off of the fabric and trying to smooth out the wrinkles he’d created in the fabric.
“Sorry, Ev,” Barty said, turning to look at the taller man, “I’m not wearing a shirt.” He raised his hands to gesture at where his torso was uncovered save for the leather jacket that was sure to only make his palms sweat more.
“I appreciate that,” Evan said, “But don’t take it out on mine.” He grinned wolfishly and drew Barty in closer with the arm around his shoulders and to place kiss to where his hair was beginning to curl at his temple, dyed a bright green at the tips. They stood and watched together as their openers sang their final song, moving only to congratulate them when they made their way off-stage.
“Barty, Evan,” Regulus called from a few paces behind him where he was stood in a semi-circle with Pandora and Dorcas. Barty and Evan made their way over, completing the circle in what he knew would be an image captured by Lily, their photographer and Pandora’s girlfriend.
As they all held their arms around each other and bent their heads slightly, Regulus spoke again, “I’m not giving you a pep-talk, because you don’t need it. But I’m-” he cut himself off with a dramatic eyeroll, “I’m happy to be here with you guys.”
He seemed pained to say it, and Barty adopted a shit-eating grin as he turned to look at the other members of the group. Pandora was smiling in that dream-like manner of hers, and Barty could see that Dorcas was squeezing Regulus’ shoulder from where she was stood next to him. Evan’s lips were turned up slightly at the corners, lower lip trapped between his teeth as he fought a laugh.
“You hear that, guys,” Barty began, “He’s happy !” Barty exclaimed, reaching his arm out to ruffle Regulus’s hair in a way he knew would anger him.
“Barty, what the hell?” Regulus exclaimed, removing his arms from around Dorcas and Pandora to smooth out his hair as Barty laughed, “I’m not happy anymore, prick. Do you know how long it took to get my hair to sit right?”
Evan laughed, running his hands aggressively through Barty’s hair, “There, now you’re even.”
“Hey!” Barty spluttered, “I thought you were on my side?”
Evan merely stared at Barty, though Barty could see a smile threatening to break free.
“OK!” Dorcas clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention, “We’re on in one, sort yourselves out.”
As Barty and Regulus fixed their hair, the rest of their band made their way to the wings of the stage, peering out at the crowd they were to appear before in less than a minute’s time.
As Dorcas, Pandora, and Regulus made their way to walk out onto the stage, Barty looped his fingers into the belt loops of Evan’s low-slung jeans, pulling him back slightly. The taller man turned with confusion etched into the lines of his brow.
Barty said nothing, but he dipped the pads of his fingers underneath the exposed waistband of Evan’s boxer shorts as he stood on his toes to whisper, “Prove it to them, yeah?”
Evan’s eyes darkened slightly as he pulled Barty into a bruising kiss, stealing the breath from his lungs as their stage manager, a man named Horace Slughorn, cleared his throat from behind them. They turned in unison to face the man, who was standing with a hand propped on his cocked hip, an eyebrow raised as he gestured to the stage with his other hand.
Barty laughed, kissed Evan again, and finally the two walked out onto the stage.
The cheers from the crowd grew as the two made their way out, Evan reaching out a hand to swat Barty’s ass before their paths diverged for Barty to take the center microphone and Evan his bass.
“Well, hello London,” Barty said, deepening his voice and looking up through his lashes in a way he knew would make the crowd feral. He said nothing else, only pausing to turn to his bandmates as they began to play the opening chords for their first song.
As he crooned the lyrics into the microphone, he couldn’t help but turn to Evan, standing off to the right of the stage. About halfway through the set, their eyes met, and Barty shot a feral grin at the other man before letting his leather jacket slip off of his shoulders and onto the stage, now stood in nothing but a pair of low-slung black baggy jeans. From the roses that decorated his neck to the handprints on his hips that disappeared beneath his waistband, his body was living proof that he belonged to Evan. He was determined to make the crowd recognize that.
For the most part, their set took place without incident. Pandora twirled around the stage in her long, flowing black dress when she wasn’t singing backup vocals for Barty, her blonde hair braided intricately lay partly over one shoulder. She was a goddess of death as she spun, an angel when she opened her mouth to sing.
Regulus played the guitar resolutely, abandoning his usual style in favor of a black tank top that revealed his pale, unblemished skin, leading into a pair of form-fitting black trousers that were just low enough for a sliver of skin to peek through. His silver rings caught the light as he plucked the strings of his guitar or held the microphone to interact with the crowd. He was mean to them, in his sardonic manner of being, but they liked it.
Dorcas played the drums like a woman possessed, braided black hair flowing around her head as she swung it from side to side. She was dressed in a long black skirt, couldn’t be caught dead in jeans if she tried, with an emerald green top, low cut to reveal a tattoo of a snake etched onto her sternum. The bangles around her wrists created a cacophony that oddly fit the music well and her muscles flexed around the silver armband she wore on her left arm, a serpent.
For the most part, Evan and Barty acted no differently than they normally did. Barty still came up to trail his hands down Evan’s exposed chest as he sang, and Evan still stalked over to stand behind Barty, bass slung to hang around his back as he held Barty’s back to his chest when there was a moment for the band to interact with the crowd. Truly, how their fans perceived this as completely hetero-sexual, platonic behavior was a marvel to Barty. Then again, they’d been the ones to tell them that.
It wasn’t until halfway through their set that Barty came up with a plan to take things a step further, and it wasn’t until the final song rolled around that Barty saw his opening. Their final song started out completely instrumental, Barty not entering to sing until about halfway through. Turning to Evan, he mouthed, “Watch me,” before reaching up to take the cordless microphone off of its stand, turn it off, and place it into his back pocket.
He made his way to the left side of the stage, where a truss rig began. Upon reaching it, he looked back at Evan once more, who was already beginning to walk over to Barty, and began to climb.
He climbed as fast as he could, knowing there was only so much time before he needed to sing, but he looked down as he heard Evan shout, “Bee, what the fuck?”
Barty paused on a rung of the structure to laugh as he watched Evan unwind the bass’s stap from around his neck. The song definitely had a bass, definitely needed a bass, but Evan discarded it on the stage as he began to climb after Barty.
With his back to the crowd, he knew that the bat wings tattooed across his shoulder blades were fully visible, and he continued his climb until he reached the top of the structure, easily twenty feet in the air. He reached the top only moments before Evan, the other man’s height allowing him to climb the structure faster.
“Bee, what the fuck,” Evan said again, slightly breathless as he looked down at the stage so far below them.
Barty turned carelessly from his spot, feet almost slipping from the narrow rung he was standing on.
“Bee, what the FUCK ,” Evan shouted, releasing one hand from the rail he was holding onto to steady Barty by his hip, hand landing in a perfect mirror of the ones etched into Barty’s skin. Barty shivered at the feeling of skin on skin, but he reached behind him to loop his arm through the metal with one arm, supporting himself more securely, the other extending down to his pocket to grab the microphone.
“Sorry, Ev, that’s my cue,” He quickly flicked the mic on, shooting Evan a smirk as he began to sing.
His voice was raspy, filled with lust as he began to slowly roll his body into Evan’s. From where Evan stood, his feet on a rung a few down from Barty’s, Evan’s height didn’t quite account for the space in between the metal they were standing on. As a result, Barty was grinding more into Evan’s upper chest than anything; Evan’s head only reached to his sternum.
Evan followed Barty’s example by looping his arms through the bars, supporting his weight with his forearms and his feet as he moved to grasp Barty’s waist in his hands, encircling it in its entirety. Barty’s gasp could be heard by the mic, interrupting the lyric he was in the middle of singing. Barty knew that everyone’s eyes were on them, but the only piece of his attention that wasn’t on Evan was divided between singing the song and trying to keep his balance, which wasn’t that difficult given the amount of bars pressed against his back and Evan pressed against him from the other side.
Evan’s grip on his waist tightened infinitesimally, and Evan stretched his neck to just barely trace his lips along Barty’s clavicle, sending a shiver down Barty’s spine as Evan continued his way lower, mouthing across one of Barty’s pecs, brushing a lip over the exposed metal in his nipple, just barely flicking his tongue out to lick it, before tracing his nose up the length of his sternum and repeating the process on the other side.
It was undoubtedly intimate, but not too obscene.
Evan managed to step another rung higher, gripping the bar behind Barty’s ribcage as he brushed his lips, warm breath ghosting along his traps before he opened his mouth wide, just grazing the matching bite mark tattooed there. Despite the warm night air, Barty shivered like it were a few dozen degrees colder.
As he reached Barty’s neck, Evan began to place full kisses, sucking slightly at the skin there, continuing up to nose at the skin underneath Barty’s ear, where Evan knew he was most sensitive. He inhaled deeply before tilting his head to suck a bruise there, seemingly determined to make it impossible for Barty to sing. Barty thought it was a miracle that he didn’t come in his pants, whining pathetically, and embarrassingly, into the mic as he forced himself to stop the movement of his hips.
He did manage to continue singing–barely–but when he ran out of lyrics, leaving the band to finish the song instrumentally, he was grateful. He tried to calm his breathing as he turned off the mic, returning it to his back pocket and adjusting his pants slightly where he was still pressed up against Evan.
Evan’s arms held Barty pressed tight against the rails behind him, and Evan’s body. Barty released his hold from the rung above his head, arm tingling from the sudden rush of blood to the appendage, as he wrapped his arms around Evan’s neck.
“Well, this was better than I imagined,” Barty said.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Evan laughed, already having the answer. Barty’s picture was probably the search result when one typed ‘crazy’ into Google.
“Yeah,” Barty said smugly, “But that’s why you love me.”
Evan didn’t respond, but he raised themselves those final few inches to Barty’s lips and hovered just a breath away. Barty brought one of his hands to Evan’s face as he brought their faces together with enough force to bruise, aggressive and demanding. Evan’s lips were smooth against his, biting Barty’s lip to slow the kiss down, reigning in the fire of all that was Barty.
Barty wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped in each others embrace and clinging desperately to the bars that were the only force keeping them from making another spectacle on stage by plummeting violently to their deaths. Barty thought it would have been quite beautiful if they had fallen, though.
The thought startled a laugh from his chest, and their kiss broke when Barty’s smile made it more a press of Evan’s lips against his teeth. Evan pulled back slightly, watching Barty with that all-consuming stare of his, and Barty couldn’t help but place another quick kiss on Evan’s lips before wiping the saliva that had accumulated around the other man’s mouth with a thumb, bringing it to his own mouth to lick it off.
“Bat,” Evan growled, “Are you trying to give me an aneurysm?”
“Always, Rosie,” Barty laughed. The noise of the crowd finally reached Barty’s ears, and he noticed that the song had finally stopped playing.
“Gotta head down now, Ev,” Barty whispered, leaning forward to embrace the taller man for a moment before beginning to turn around. Evan remained in his spot until he was sure Barty wouldn’t slip off the thin rail, and then began to climb down, looking up every so often to ensure Barty was doing the same above him. It made warmth bloom in Barty’s chest, and pool just below his navel.
When they reached the ground, Barty quickly adjusted his pants, and caught sight of Evan doing the same. Laughing, he launched himself onto the other man’s back, and Evan’s hands quickly came up to grip his thighs tightly, not faltering under the added weight as he made his way over to center stage where the rest of the band stood.
Regulus had been in the middle of thanking the crowd, but he paused upon their arrival to sigh dramatically and lift a hand up to his forehead in a sign of clear exasperation. Pandora, who’d been smiling serenely next to Regulus turned to glare at Evan with the force of a thousand suns. How he didn’t burst into flames under the weight of her glare was a marvel.
“Evan, I swear to God,” Pandora whispered, though the knife edge in her voice outweighing the softness of her tone, “If you ever make me watch anything like that again, I’m disowning you AND leaving the band.”
Evan looked sheepish, lifting one hand from Barty’s thigh in a placating manner before he said, “Sorry, Dora; had a point to make.”
Barty’s loud laugh resonated through the air despite the lack of a microphone to project it, but it was quelled instantly seeing the glares sent his way by Pandora, Regulus, and Dorcas.
Regulus raised the microphone to his lips again as he finished his thank yous, a task that typically belonged to Barty or Pandora, who were each preoccupied with Evan in some right: Barty burying his head in the other man’s neck to bite down hard, and Pandora resolutely looking away from the sight.
As they exited the stage, Barty still clinging to Evan’s back like an oversized backpack, Barty apologized to the other members of the band. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to mean the apology if the display had gotten him what he wanted.
Later that night, scrolling through Twitter while sprawled across Evan’s lap, the trending tags #What?! #They’reDating?? and #They’reDating!! were all Barty needed to turn the phone off and press his lips to Evan’s in a searing kiss.
Mission Accomplished.
And if Barty posted a photo of Evan’s back, a bat that matched the one Barty had tattooed along his own spine clearly visible from where Evan lay asleep, the photo clearly taken from where Barty sat straddling his ass, legs tangled into the sheets, onto his no longer secret stan account with a caption of “Told ya so,” then that was for Barty to know, and for Evan to only much later find out.