#like 2 days late omg

[jamespottersmixtape]

september 6: heat 1,974 words @rosekiller-microfic

Barty and Evan finally go on a (not) date to the fair. They're so cute I hate them.

It isn't that Barty is nervous. No, very much the opposite. He's perfectly calm and composed about this whole ordeal.

He definitely hasn't spent the last 2 hours digging through his closet, panicking over what to wear on his date with Evan.

No.

Not a date.

Very much not a date, as he's struggling to remind himself. Just Evan, his friend Evan, who asked him to go to the local fair yesterday because, "It'll be fun!" he'd told Barty. "We can go on rides and eat fried food until we throw up next to someone's screaming kid."

And who was Barty to deny him that? Not when Evan's eyes had shone so brightly at the prospect, a lovely grin plastered on his freckled face.

The thing is, Barty knows this doesn't mean to Evan what it means to him. He knows this is just another way for them to fuck around and have fun for a night, which would be fine—amazing, even—if it weren't for the fact that Barty's practically been in love with him for the past 3 years.

Ever since they were 16 Barty's heart had raced a little faster and his cheeks flushed a little more whenever Evan got too close. It was inevitable that he fell for him—set in stone. Further and further, faster and faster each and every day.

But that's not important right now.

What is important is the harsh realization that Evan will be standing on Barty's doorstep in 5 minutes and he's just managed to get his shit together and pull on an outfit he deems acceptable.

He tries telling himself it doesn't matter what he's wearing. It's not like he'd be idiotic enough to try and impress Evan...maybe.

Maybe not.

Barty shoves on his best pair of shoes and grabs his wallet as fast as possible before wrenching open his front door to find Evan, his hand raised as if he were about to knock.

Barty's breath catches in his throat at the sight of him. Evan is wearing the forest green jumper Barty bought him for his last birthday and the dark hue brings out every strand of gold in his blonde hair. He looks fucking gorgeous.

Barty clears his throat. There's no time for this. "Beat you," he grins down at him.

"You were staring, B." Evan grins back, but his eyes hold a similar intensity that makes Barty's stomach squirm.

"Was not."

"It's okay, I know I'm pretty," he jokes.

"There was a bug in your hair."

Evan sighs. "Come on," he rolls his eyes and tugs Barty out of his flat by his shirt.

Barty doesn't miss the way Evan checks his hair in the car.

—

The fair is loud, is the first thing Barty notices when they finish paying for their tickets. There are children screaming and laughing, tired parents at their wits end, and a scatter of couples trying hard to win prizes at game booths. The lights are bright and colorful against the setting sun—it's all a lot to take in.

Barty looks over at Evan to find him grinning wildly, life and excitement clear in his wandering eyes, and decides then and there that he would do just about anything to keep that look on his face.

He nudges Evan with his shoulder. "What's first Ev?"

Evan shoots him a wicked smirk, his features sharp in the blinking lights yet soft in the glow of the sunset. He doesn't give Barty a response, just laces their fingers together and drags them towards the row of games.

Barty isn't sure what to do—isn't sure what he can do now that Evan's hand is clasped tightly around his own. Warm and steady, grounding him to the earth.

He doesn't want him to let go.

To Barty's delighted surprise, he doesn't.

Evan's hand soon becomes a comforting presence in his own, neither of them unlacing their fingers even as they try to pop balloons and play ring toss, Evan failing miserably as he attempts to utilize his non-dominant hand. They spin lucky wheels and manage to break the claw machine which earns them a dirty glare from a teenage employee who they quickly run away from, laughing loudly into the night.

At some point well after the sun has set and they'd gone on at least three ridiculously fast rides, Barty buys them a bag of cotton candy to share and Evan steers them to the ferris wheel.

"Didn't strike you for a ferris wheel kinda guy Ev," Barty muses, squeezing his hand lightly. Both their hands are getting a bit sweaty but Barty can't find it in himself to mind, he's enjoying this far too much.

Besides, if Evan wanted to let go he would've. Right?

"I dunno," Evan shrugs. "I thought it might be fun." He looks worried, Barty thinks as Evan's brows knit together, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

Barty nudges him with his elbow. "Hey." Evan looks up at him. "I never said it wouldn't be. Besides, I think I might actually fucking retch if we go on anything fast right now."

Evan laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "I'd pay money to see that."

"Of course you would, asshole." Barty shoves a piece of cotton candy in his mouth before he can get another word out.

They board the ferris wheel in comfortable silence, their hands never parting, and it's only when they begin moving that Evan finally breaks the silence.

"I've been thinking..."

Barty turns his head to look at him, waiting for the end of his sentence that never seems to come. Evan's brows are creased again and Barty has the sudden urge to smooth out the wrinkle on his forehead.

Which, no.

He cannot do that.

"Hmm?" Barty urges, not wanting to push whatever is clearly plaguing him.

Evan huffs a soft laugh but it sounds strained, his smile tight. "Nothing, nothing. Forget it, B."

"You can't tell me to forget it, I wanna know now," Barty whines. He shifts in the small seat so his torso is facing Evan's, their knees knocking together. The ferris wheel continues to move slowly, stopping every now and then to allow the exchange of passengers.

"It's not a big deal or anything. I've just—well I've—been thinking about...us?" The last word comes out as a question but Barty has to run his sentence through his head a few times, not quite sure what to make of it.

Did he hear that correctly?

"Us?" he asks, his voice embarrassingly small in the quiet that comes from being up so high.

"I don't know, B," Evan runs a hand over his face. "Fuck how do people do this?"

Barty laughs, a little uneasily as his stomach twists itself inside out. "Do what?"

"Do..." but Evan doesn't finish his sentence. His eyes meet Barty's and he swears neither of them are breathing. They're stopped at the very top now, the stars blinking above them where they can barely be seen over man-made light. Evan's eyes are blown wide and his face is all soft shadows dancing over smooth skin, a blush creeping up the side of his neck as their entwined hands sit heavy in the silence between them.

Barty doesn't know how it happens. Really, he doesn't.

One second Barty's staring at him like a love-sick idiot and the next Evan's eyes are flicking to his mouth, so brief that Barty barely manages to register it when Evan's other hand cups his neck and smashes their lips together.

Barty's sure he releases a sound so loud and unmanly that it could be mistaken for someone's little sister. But his brain, it seems, is working infinitely slower than his body because he kisses back without hesitation, pulling Evan impossibly closer, needing him everywhere.

The heat of his mouth is tantalizing, intoxicating—he already can't get enough of him. All Barty can think is, why the fuck didn't I do this sooner.

It's the first time their hands have unlocked the entire evening as Evan's thread their way into Barty's hair, grappling for purchase in soft locks and tugging, earning a soft groan from Barty's throat.

Barty's roam freely over the expanse of Evan's back, pulling at the green fabric without mercy. He bites Evan's lower lip and takes the moment when he gasps to slip his tongue inside. His mouth is warm and he tastes like artificial sugar and Evan.

Evan, Evan, Evan, his brain seems to chant as their kiss grows hungrier.

Barty starts to mouth along his jaw, nipping at Evan's skin with his mind blissfully hazy. Evan has his head tilted towards the sky with his eyes closed—both of them hold no grasp on reality. It isn't until Evan gives a particularly violent tug on Barty's hair, the latter releasing a sound not fit for PG television, that the ferris wheel starts back up and they break apart.

They're both panting heavily, cheeks flushed and lips successfully kiss swollen. They look properly debauched.

"Fuck," is all that Barty manages.

"Good fuck or bad fuck?" Evan asks, his chest heaving. They're still clinging to each other tightly, their noses mere inches away.

Barty stares at him incredulously. "A good fuck, obviously," he responds, clearly not thinking about how that sounds.

It only takes less than five seconds of them staring at each other before they're both howling with laughter, falling into each other's arms in a familiar sort of comfort. Their bodies shake with their raucous behavior, nearly causing the seat to swing with them.

Their laughter dies out soon enough and Barty's left staring into Evan's eyes much like before. Except this time his head is a whirling mess of holy shit, I just kissed Evan. Evan kissed me. We kissed. We just fucking kissed. What does this—

Evan leans forward to press their lips together again. It's softer this time, gentle and tentative and everything the two of them aren't. The warmth that floods through Barty's chest causes his eyelids to flutter and breath to hitch. The kiss doesn't last very long, both of them pulling back simultaneously. Barty thinks he could've let it go on forever and he wouldn't have noticed.

"I've been wanting to do that forever," Evan says softly.

"What?" Barty asks lamely.

"Shut up."

"No, really, what? Cause I've wanted to do that forever, and—fucking hell Evan why didn't you tell me?" They're at the bottom of the ferris wheel now, getting ready to make their second round. Some people shoot them weird looks at their position but Barty really couldn't give less of a fuck.

Evan rolls his eyes, "I practically just told you."

"Fair enough." Barty shrugs, one hand reaching up to brush a piece of Evan's hair from his forehead. The gesture causes the prettiest blush to heat his cheeks. He traces his hand down the side of Evan's face to rest on his cheekbone, thumbing over the smattering of freckles. Barty can't help it when the words slip out. "You're beautiful Ev."

"Didn't know you were such a sap, Crouch." Evan's voice is low, husky yet smooth as silk.

Barty scoffs. "Now it's your turn to shut up," he teases, brushing over Evan's bottom lip. Every soft touch shoots off signals of electricity straight through Barty's veins, each one more heart-stopping than before. If Barty from three hours ago thought Evan Rosier would be the death of him, Barty of the present doesn't know what to expect.

They spend the rest of the ride making small comments here and there, Evan tucked carefully into Barty's side with heat seeping through their clothes to warm the other. Eventually Barty reaches out to weave their hands together again, fingers gripping tightly in the cooling night air.

This time, he doesn't think he'll ever let go.