The_real_bartycrouchjr

(y/n) had transferred in halfway through the year, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, and Billy didn’t take kindly to someone else having a spine. Most people flinched around him. (y/n) didn’t. Not when Billy shoved past him in the halls, not when he spat some venom-laced insult during gym, not even when they nearly came to blows in the locker room the week before.

So of course, now, Billy had to push it.

The locker room was empty after practice. (y/n) had stayed late, hoping for a little peace. But peace wasn’t on the menu, just the slam of the door and Billy’s lean frame slipping in with a half-grin, curls damp from the shower and eyes burning with something far darker than annoyance.

“Forgot your towel again, pretty boy?” Billy’s voice dripped with mockery, but his gaze raked over (y/n) like a challenge.

“Forgot you existed,” (y/n) shot back, pulling his shirt off and tossing it into his bag. “Guess we’re both disappointed.”

Billy was close in two seconds flat. The air between them sparking like dry static. “You always talk this much shit, or am I special?”

“You’re nothing,” (y/n) hissed, shoving Billy back a step, but the grin that spread across Billy’s face was all teeth, all fire.

“You keep saying that,” he said, voice low. “But you keep letting me get close.”

And then he grabbed (y/n) by the collar, dragged him in, and slammed their mouths together.

It was brutal, all teeth and tongue and breathless noise, like they were fighting with their mouths now instead of fists. (y/n)’s fingers tangled in Billy’s damp curls, yanking hard, and Billy just growled and shoved him back against the lockers hard enough to bruise.

“You hate me,” Billy muttered against his mouth, panting, grinding their hips together with dangerous precision. “So why the fuck do you keep coming back?”

(y/n) bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Because I want to wipe that smug look off your face.”

Billy laughed, low and feral. “Then do it.”

Clothes hit the floor fast. Their bodies collided like they were still fighting. Billy slamming (y/n) into the cold metal again, (y/n) dragging fingernails down Billy’s back, leaving angry red trails. Everything was rough, messy, desperate. Neither of them asked. Neither of them cared. The only thing that mattered was the friction, the heat, the violent rhythm of two people who couldn’t stand each other and couldn’t stay away.

Billy’s grip was bruising on (y/n)’s hips, his breath hot against (y/n)’s neck as he growled curses and filthy promises. (y/n) clawed at his shoulders, biting down on a moan that still escaped too loud in the echoing space.

It didn’t last long, hate sex never did, but when it was over, they didn’t speak. Just breathed hard, stared at each other like they didn’t know if the next move would be another kiss or a punch.

Billy was the first to move, grabbing his shirt and yanking it on. “Same time tomorrow, pretty boy?”

(y/n)’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Go to hell.”

Billy winked. “Already there.”

~~~

The janitor had barely locked up the gym when Billy cornered him.

(y/n) didn’t even flinch, he knew that look in Billy’s eye. The storm brewing behind his smirk, that twitch in his jaw like he was one wrong word away from throwing a punch. They’d been dancing around this for weeks. Fights in the locker room. Shoves in the hallway. Snarled insults spat between clenched teeth.

Billy slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with a sharp click. “You’ve been running your mouth again.”

(y/n) dropped his duffel and turned to face him, chin high. “You gonna cry about it, Hargrove?”

Billy was on him in an instant, grabbing the front of his shirt, slamming him back into the cold concrete wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy growled, close enough for (y/n) to feel the heat of his breath, the way it curled and snapped like smoke.

(y/n) smirked, even as his head throbbed from the impact. “Make me.”

Billy’s mouth crashed into his like a weapon, violent, unforgiving, nothing resembling a kiss. Just teeth and tongue and fury. His hands fisted in (y/n)’s shirt, dragging him forward just to slam him back again. A grunt tore from (y/n)’s throat, but he didn’t stop him. He kissed back harder, bit his lip until it bled.

This wasn’t softness. This wasn’t affection. This was spite with hands.

Billy shoved a thigh between (y/n)’s legs, grinding against him through their jeans. “You always this fucking desperate, or is it just for me?”

“Fuck you,” (y/n) spat, but he was already grinding back, fingers curling in Billy’s jacket.

Billy yanked his shirt up, rough and fast, and didn’t wait for it to come off before spinning him around and shoving him chest-first into the wall. Cold concrete scraped against bare skin. (y/n) groaned, but it wasn’t a protest, just breath catching fire.

Billy pressed up behind him, hands sliding down to unbutton his jeans. “You know you want it,” he muttered, dragging the denim down just enough to expose him. “You pretend you don’t, but every time you see me, your mouth gets slick and your pupils blow.”

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole,” (y/n) gritted out, knuckles white against the wall.

“You like it,” Billy growled into his ear, one hand wrapping around (y/n)’s throat as the other palmed between his legs. “You like when I take it from you. When I ruin you.”

(y/n) didn’t answer, couldn’t, with Billy squeezing just enough to make his voice catch. His hips bucked involuntarily when Billy spat into his hand and stroked himself once, twice, before lining up behind him.

“No prep,” Billy murmured, voice low and vicious. “You don’t get it. You don’t deserve it.”

And then he pushed in.

(y/n) cried out, jaw tight, body tensing against the intrusion, rough and raw and unforgiving. Billy held him there, chest pressed to his back, one hand steadying his hip, the other still curled loosely around his throat.

“Fucking tight,” Billy hissed. “Like you’ve been waiting for it.”

“Go to hell,” (y/n) rasped, fingernails scraping at the wall for purchase.

Billy didn’t answer, just pulled out halfway and slammed back in, hard enough to knock the breath from both of them. He set a brutal rhythm, fucking him like punishment, hips snapping forward again and again until the sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the gym like a slap.

(y/n) gasped and bit down a moan, he wasn’t giving Billy the satisfaction. But it was getting harder to hide it. The way his legs trembled, the way he pushed back against each thrust like his body was starving for it.

“You fight me,” Billy growled, teeth grazing (y/n)’s shoulder. “But your hole tells the truth. You fucking love this.”

He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust, hand tightening around (y/n)’s throat just enough to make his vision flicker at the edges. Not enough to scare him. Just enough to remind him who was in control.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Billy said, voice thick with arousal. “Fucked dumb on my cock. Don’t even need your mouth, just bend you over and use you like you’re made for it.”

(y/n) choked on a groan, trying and failing to hold back.

Billy chuckled darkly, then bit into his shoulder, hard. (y/n) gasped, his legs nearly giving out.

“Fuck, Billy..-”

“Yeah?” Billy’s hand slipped from his throat to (y/n)’s cock, stroking it in time with each savage thrust. “Gonna come from this? From me ruining your tight little hole?”

(y/n)’s head hit the wall, eyes squeezed shut. His body was close, too close, everything burned, but it was fire he needed.

“Come,” Billy ordered. “Now.”

And (y/n) did, loud, desperate, his body clenching around Billy so tight it dragged a groan from his throat. Billy didn’t slow down, just shoved in deeper, chasing his own high with reckless force until he came with a snarl, deep and hard, spilling inside him with one final thrust.

They stayed like that for a moment, pressed together, panting, sweat cooling on their skin.

Then Billy pulled out without a word. No softness. No aftercare. He zipped up his jeans and ran a hand through his messy curls, smirking as he looked back at the wreck he’d left (y/n) in, shirt half-off, come dripping down his thigh, red marks blooming along his neck and shoulders.

“Same time next week, pretty boy?”

(y/n) didn’t look at him. Just grabbed his clothes and muttered, “Go fuck yourself.”

Billy laughed on his way out the door.

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