A/N: Wow, I've blown this out during my weekend! I'm impressed! I've been wanting to do a Balthazar/Dave for a while, but I wanted something fairly unique, and where I wouldn't have to kill off the girls. Luckily, I came up with the alteration of the line Blake says as soon as Dave revives him. Maybe they should Mad-Lib scenes from that movie, 'cause I laughed my rear off for days before I was able to make it into an actual story. But I think it worked beautifully. I don't like to write too sexually explicit, but I think I certainly get the message across!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, but I sure do like to have fun with it!

That's Not How It Happened!

Balthazar's eyelids suddenly fluttered, almost at the exact moment that Dave could feel his heart thump again under his desperate palms.

"I had a dream," he said softly, hoarsely, groggily. He was still trying to focus, dulled eyes struggling to stay on the boy's pale face. "You were molesting me, Dave . . . repeatedly."

"That's not how it happened!" Dave awoke with a start, grabbing nearly everyone's attention. Becky was across the stone room, where two twin sick beds had been placed just a few feet apart from each other. Veronica was seated in a chair next to Balthazar, who was the only one not startled by the boy's sudden yell, still out cold. Dave sat bolt upright in the bed, his girlfriend propping pillows for him to rest against, taking the damp washcloth from the comforter. She checked him for fever, then held it back to his forehead, frowning. He studied her face carefully, and realization finally dawned: "We never made it to France, huh?"

"No," Veronica said edgily. "Neither of you made it anywhere."

"You passed out on the eagle," Becky elaborated. "I screamed, and Balthazar called it back. He could barely move, but we all got on and came here."

"Balthazar sent the eagle home, but he was so drained he collapsed on the stairs."

"We carried both of you down the stairs, and here we are, 12 hours later."

"You're running a high fever from magical exhaustion—" Veronica started to explain, and he finished,

"And Balthazar had the living daylights beat out of him." The man was turned with his back towards him, hair flopped on the pillow, bundled under a comforter. Veronica nodded sadly.

"He has a fever, as well, some broken bones, and bruises all over." She paused, sighing, "My magic is weak because of the Grimhold, so I can't really heal him."

"Shouldn't you be resting, as well, then?"

"I've rested for over a thousand years, I've been told. I'm wide awake, but I'm overwhelmed." Dave regarded her carefully, now holding the rag to his own forehead. "I feel helpless."

"And there are hardly any supplies, here," Becky complained. "We need to go shopping."

"Well, I'm awake now—"

"You're not going out while you have a fever," the older woman said sternly.

"No," he agreed. "But I can watch Balthazar, and Becky can show you around."

"What about money?" Becky fretted.

"Balthazar always has plenty of cash," he knew. "His wallet'll either be in his coat, or his pants. I'm sure he won't mind." Balthazar's coat, pants, vest, arm warmers and chain medallion were hung over the chair Veronica was in, and she rummaged carefully through until she found it, Becky helping her locate the money, and counting it.

"Six hundred dollars," she whistled. "We'll just take five, so you can order in food if we're gone too long. We can get everything with this, including some clothes for Veronica," she enthused, though she was eyeing the woman warily as she put the wallet down on the nightstand between the beds.

"Do you think you have enough magic to alter your clothes more to something Becky's style?" Dave caught on immediately. "I mean, the dress is lovely, but it's a little—"

"Formal?" the woman smiled, eyeing the girl's jeans and boots. Her top remained a purple velvet with a neckline to show off the necklace, but she suddenly had on black jeans, boots, and a duster leather coat shorter but similar to her beloved's.

"Wow," Becky breathed, quickly removing her own jacket and purse from the back of the chair next to Dave's bed, ready to go in seconds.

"Check in every hour on your cell phone," Dave implored as Veronica kissed her sleeping man goodbye.

"Worried about evil sorcerers?" Becky smirked as they kissed casually.

"Just marginally . . . I think everyone's depleted, so now's probably the safest time."

"Remember to rest, David," Veronica commanded, palming his shoulder comfortingly before following Becky out of the room, down the hall, through the expanse, and up the stairs to the door. "Becky?"

"Yes?"

"What's a cell phone?" she wondered right before the door shut. Dave laughed. The women needed a break. They'd been caregivers since last night. Speaking of which:

"Balthazar?" Was the man really asleep? Maybe Veronica had given him something; or Becky, depending on how current or ancient a sleeping potion or painkiller they had around. "Balthazar?" he whispered again, though he wasn't sure why. The man's ears probably were the only part of him that didn't hurt. Well, and maybe one other part, his thoughts raced uncomfortably. It was really bothering him that the man hadn't moved an inch since he had woken up. "I really need to look at you." Preferably naked, and he shook his head, trying to clear the lusty thoughts that had suddenly come out of nowhere.

Laying aside the washcloth, Dave got up slowly from his bed, walking dizzily over to the far side of Balthazar's, studying the man intently as he finally saw his face, stumbling down into Veronica's chair because he wasn't paying attention. The man's eyelids fluttered slightly. His face had a couple small bruises. His black shirt was wide open, bandages wrapped around his mid to lower chest, and at least partly down both arms, the white showing under the open cuffs. He wasn't exactly tan, but he wasn't that pale, either. Kind of almost son (sorry, sun)-kissed. Or maybe apprentice-kissed. Dave jumped in the chair, shocked and annoyed at himself. Maybe his fever was making him delirious. He honestly didn't feel that bad. And Balthazar had a fever, too? He reached out a hand towards the man's forehead, and it was trembling. From what? Anticipation? Some errant wavy strands of hair were in the way, so he fingered them back as his palm carefully landed on the hot skin, but he nearly jumped out of his own skin as his wrist was clamped by a ringed hand.

"Balthazar?" he cried out, now, not bothering to whisper. The fluttering blue eyes were finally open, but they were cloudy, obviously from pain, but also from something else. Dave tried to pull his wrist back, but the grip was like iron, despite the obviously weakened state of the older sorcerer.

"The last time my forehead was touched, I was possessed by Morgana," he hissed.

"I was just checking to see if you had a fever—"

"I'm badly injured, Dave," he snapped impatiently. "Of course I have a fever."

"Well, I'm not injured, and I have a fever, too," he practically whimpered. Face softening slightly, the man released the wrist suddenly, carefully palming the boy's forehead, Dave leaning his head into the hand with a strange longing.

"Magical exhaustion," he remembered now, slowly removing his hand so the boy wouldn't fall forward. "You nearly fell off the eagle." He paused, "Luckily, you hadn't gone far." He was almost smiling, now, "You really need to stop scaring Rebecca like that."

"I bet she screamed louder when you fell back off of Drake's penthouse balcony."

"I seriously doubt that," he said darkly, suddenly restless and rolling over to sit up. His ribs burned, and made him cough from the effort.

"I'll help you—"

"No, Dave," he protested as he was reached for, the boy standing. "There's nowhere to grab me that won't hurt."

Oh, I can think of a place, Dave thought wickedly, then visibly shuddered. "Magic—" he tried aloud.

"You'll pass out, and that won't help me," he practically grunted as he struggled upright, letting the boy move the pillows behind him. "No magic, Dave," he ordered, now. "Not until that fever goes away."

"And how long will that take?"

"It's hard to say, but any exertion doesn't help, so sit down and stop hovering." He patted the bed expectantly, but Dave blushed and shook his head, shakily moving back into the chair. The comforter was haphazard by now, the man's toned legs covered by peach fuzz and bandages, and he was wearing black silk boxers.

"Don't those itch?" the boy asked, gesturing at the bandages, Balthazar giving him a look:

"Don't remind me." There was a pitcher of water and two glasses on the nightstand. Just to test himself, the man had the pitcher fill the glasses, which then floated over to him and the boy. "It's not Mountain Dew, but it's more helpful for your fever," he grinned, toasting the glass towards the other, Dave doing the same. "So," he announced suddenly, mischievously, feeling much clearer, "which one of us do you think is hotter?"

Well, thank goodness the boy hadn't sat on the bed, because the mouthful of water that shot from his mouth as he choked would've drenched Balthazar. As it was, the man only got a residual sprinkling as he eyed his apprentice, puzzled and slightly concerned until he got himself under control, coughing out the residue. "I won't say anything else until you've finished," he half-promised, half-commanded, Dave finally draining the glass before it was spirited back to the nightstand, his already there. "Just to clarify," he motioned, carefully picking up two oral thermometers and trying not to laugh, then turning to the boy in frustration: "Will you please sit here? You're too far away, and I'm too injured to keep enchanting things over to you." He patted the bed again, then yanked his hand away so Dave just missed sitting on it, a little too eager to please. He cleared his throat. "Just to clarify," he began again, "I'm curious as to who has the higher temperature: The physically injured sorcerer, or the magically injured sorcerer?"

"You're really bored; aren't you?" was the sudden realization as his master equaled out the starting mercury in the lamplight from the nightstand in the windowless room.

"Shush." They each held a thermometer, slipping them under their tongues at the same time, Balthazar watching the digital clock carefully.

"I did suspect that," he admitted five minutes later, Dave's temperature a full degree higher at 103.

"I actually think you're hotter, but you just have better control."

"Are we talking about the same thing?" the man asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I just mean that you can probably will your temperature lower," he answered quickly, trying not to blush again.

"I think you give me too much credit, Dave." He carefully laid the thermometers back on the nightstand, and motioned to his wallet: "Speaking of which, did our caregivers go on a shopping spree?"

"Food, supplies, and some clothes for Veronica." The boy smiled as his master nodded, "They should be gone all day."

"And this pleases you why, Dave?" he asked pointedly at the conspiratorial look in those milk chocolate eyes.

"Bonding."

"Them, or us?"

"Both."

"Both of them, or both of us?"

"All of us!" he squeaked in exasperation, before realizing the man was pulling his chain, especially since he really wanted him to pull something else, and he went red yet again. Balthazar started to chuckle, and ended up wincing, leaning back harder against the pillows and holding his side. "Did the stuff they gave you wear off?"

"They didn't give me anything, Dave; there's nothing here."

"Becky carries stuff with her—"

"I'm not taking Midol, Dave." And then they were laughing despite themselves.

Becky made her first call shortly thereafter, Dave telling her to text every hour after that, but to call when they were on their way back, as he didn't want to chance waking up Balthazar until he knew they were coming home. He had left the room when the phone vibrated, and stopped to visit the bathroom once it was back in his pocket.

"Are you alright?" he wondered with deep concern, Balthazar having laid down again, this time flat on his back, squinting up as he was hovered over again.

"It hurts less this way," he assured, not really answering the question.

"Stop using the ring, Balthazar," the boy pleaded, palming the man's perspiring forehead, the dirty blond hair damp and darkening.

"I know what I'm doing, Dave," he snapped out painfully.

"You're going to give yourself a fever seizure. You're not supposed to heal yourself for this very reason."

"Dave—"

"You're not letting me do magic, and I'm not letting you do it, either," he insisted, the stress of seeing his master doing something that could possibly be fatal making his temperature rise, as well, sinking to his knees as dizziness engulfed him.

"Get up here," Balthazar ordered, managing to scoot over and pull up on the boy's arm at the same time. Dave flopped down on the bed next to him, ears ringing as he barely managed to hang on to consciousness. He was on his right side, keeping all his focus on the man, who was studying him in return. The ringing had just completely stopped when he spoke again: "Now that we've both stopped trying to kill ourselves, I need you to distract me."

"How?" he asked weakly.

"Tell me about the nightmare that woke you up today—"

"It was nothing," he protested, trying to convince himself.

"'That's not how it happened', Dave? That's not how what happened?"

"You heard that?" he asked incredulously, Balthazar nodding. "You were unconscious: How could you hear that?" he demanded.

"I think all of New York City heard that, and this place does echo, you know."

"I think it's just the fever; that's all," he said firmly. Firmly, ha! his head echoed back at him.

"You're doing it again, Dave—"

"Doing what again?" he asked, really hoping he didn't know what the man meant.

"You've been flushing and leering at me every time something with a double meaning comes up- See, you're doing it again right now."

"It's nothing—"

"It's my turn to interrupt you," he peeved. "Give me a confession on one of the two counts, Dave: The leering, or the nightmare. Your choice."

"Are you sufficiently distracted, now?" Dave asked hopefully.

"Not enough," he said through gritted teeth, but only part of it was pain; the rest was annoyance at the avoidance tactics.

"Can I ask you something, first?"

"It had better be related to one of the above, Dave."

"It's—It's actually related to both," he stuttered, biting his lip.

"Go on," Balthazar prodded gently.

"When I revived you in the park, did something happen between us, to maybe change the way I feel about you? Or is it this fever?"

"Did you feel differently about me last night?" the man managed after a long pause. "Or was it just today?"

"As far as I know, it started with the nightmare." Dave scratched his head. "I wasn't really awake long enough last night after I revived you, if you'll recall. I got on the eagle with Becky and passed out."

"So, what was the nightmare?" Balthazar persisted, blue eyes piercing.

"Instead of saying that you had a dream that I was insulting you repeatedly— Do you remember saying that?"

"It's vague, but it's there," he shrugged slightly.

"Well," Dave said shakily, "one word was different."

"Which word?"

"Insulting."

"I'm trying to be patient, Dave, but I don't need a headache on top of everything—"

"Molesting—"

"Molesting replaced insulting?" he interrupted back, both eyebrows up.

"Y-Yeah."

"I originally said: 'I had a dream that you were insulting me, Dave, repeatedly'; is that it?"

"Basically."

"So, in your, ahem, nightmare, I said, quote, 'I had a dream that you were molesting me, Dave, repeatedly'?"

"Uh . . . yeah." The corners of the man's mouth were definitely up:

"And you believe molesting, in this case, to have a sexual connotation?"

"Is there any other way to define it?"

"It only matters how you define it, Dave; it's your, erm, nightmare."

"And just why do you keep saying nightmare like that?" he puzzled, the man sighing:

"Because it's your nightmare, but my dream." That particular distinction stunned the younger one:

"Oh." Boy, was this an awkward silence.

"So," Balthazar continued finally, "is that why you said, 'That's not how it happened'?"

"Exactly," he emphasized. "You were quoted wrong." His head was propped up by his hand, elbow resting on the bed, looking over at his master, still flat on his back, trembling hands resting on the bandages around his ribs. "Are you as okay with me molesting you as the nightmare suggests?"

"Do you still consider it a nightmare?" the man asked back. "Because if you do, any answer I give is a moot point."

"You have Veronica, and I have Becky, so that makes it a nightmare; yes."

"It makes the timing horrendous, but that doesn't make it a nightmare." Balthazar sighed heavily, now, which made his ribs catch. Grimacing, he shifted slightly, and his head spun even though he wasn't upright. Dave's left hand rested on his forehead again. "I'm not doing it; I swear."

"I know," he said gently. "If I consider it a nightmare, then why have I been leering at you all day?" he wondered.

"You consider it a nightmare because of Veronica and Becky, but that doesn't mean you're not attracted to me," he replied matter-of-factly. "Or," he added, "you also don't consider it to be 'right'. Or," he emphasized, adding a third point, "it's all the fever, because one, you weren't attracted to me before that, and two, sex is usually a great way to break a fever. Human bodies are fairly instinctive like that."

"What about guilt, and obsession, and all that other dark stuff?"

"Well, I certainly know about complications," Balthazar smiled wanly. "If things get out of hand, there are spells to erase memories."

Dave was bright-eyed now with hope. "I want to try and break these fevers, especially yours; it's scaring the hell out of me." He paused, moving his left hand from his master's forehead to the far side of his face. "Do you object?" he wondered. The man had been decidedly non-committal:

"It's not like I can run away, Dave." The boy shook his head, disappointed.

"Would you?"

"I can barely move, never mind leave."

"Why are you being so difficult?" he pouted, now.

"I'm not being difficult," he said simply. "You're being nervous, and talkative."

"Then why do I feel I should be gagging you?" Balthazar smiled at that:

"Just remove it before the girls come back." Dave went wide-eyed at that. He rose to his hands and knees on the bed, still dressed in loose jeans and long-sleeve tee shirt, his left hand still resting on his master's face. He straddled him carefully, kissing him slowly, and there was no doubt that the man could move his mouth, pulling him further in with his tongue when he was sure the boy could handle it. His right hand joined the left on either side of the man's face, slowly sliding down the sides of his throat, and to the upper part of his bared chest.

Balthazar's hands reached out carefully, grasping the boy's waist under the shirt, caressing his slim sides. He was testing to see how far he could stretch before the pain yanked him back, and his movements were severely limited. Dave was trying gallantly not to lean on him, as well, managing to keep a few inches of space between them at all times, but nearly faltered when large hands unfastened his jeans and went inside to engulf his crotch.

"Easy," the man soothed as his apprentice shook under his touch. With just a hint of a smile, Dave straightened up and pulled the shirt off over his head, then hopped from the bed. His own composure faltering somewhat, the older sorcerer raised a trembling hand, flicking away perspiration from his forehead before his apprentice returned, grasping his elder's wrists and pulling the hands onto his naked torso, straddling the man once again, kissing him hungrily.

Dave was on a serious high right now, his master's hands (a mix of the fingerless leather gloves, heavy silver rings, warm smooth skin, and short, blunt fingernails) tingling every inch of his body. Nowhere near full capacity, and much too weak to cheat with magic, Balthazar's touch was still electrifying. Even when the boy touched him in the few places he wasn't bandaged, an almost palpable charge met his fingers, and his lips. And when those hands had engulfed his crotch, it was almost too much to bear. And when he finally went for the man's boxers, yanking them off in one fell swoop, the surprised sound his master had made was nothing compared to the sound Dave made when he finally saw his prize.

Balthazar tried not to laugh out loud as his apprentice froze at the sight of his throbbing, stiff manhood, a hand up to his mouth to suppress the urge, although his chest shook painfully. "Are you a virgin?" he asked as carefully as possible. He hadn't seriously thought so until now. The boy had been dominant throughout, but he had just seriously faltered: He looked terrified. "It won't hurt you," he said in all seriousness, realizing the virgin question was pointless.

"How can it not?"

"Magic, Dave," he assured him. "I can use a little where it counts." A long pause as he was regarded with a mix of skepticism and hope. "Besides," he finished, "we can't have you walking funny, or the girls will notice, for sure." And they were both laughing again.
"Come here, Dave," Master finally beckoned Apprentice with his finger, the latter approaching immediately and eagerly.

A/N: So, do they get away with it? As far as I'm concerned, they do. High fevers can make people do crazy things. They're certainly not trying to hurt the girls, and nobody's magic is really working right now. They're pretty desperate, not to mention half-delirious.