Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Those rights belong to Jerry Brukheimer and Disney.
Author's Note: Oneshot, non-linear. I haven't written anything for these two in a while, so I hope it sounds alright.
Pairing: Drake/Dave, some Becky/Dave
The first time he thinks of Drake is on accident.
.
The lights are just beginning to dim in the theater and he hesitantly fumbles for Becky's hand, ignoring the burning, stinging sensation currently flooding over his cheeks.
She lets out a soft laugh, a quiet, tinkling (perfect) noise, and he can't help but sneak a glance at her.
Her eyes almost seem to glow underneath the layers of smoky kohl, flecks of glitter shimmering in the sparse rays of light.
It seems he's not the only blonde in his life with a penchant for eyeliner and glitter.
The thought hits him so hard he almost chokes on air; where did that come from?
.
He doesn't look at her for the rest of the night.
.
"If it isn't the Prime Merlinean'."
His heart almost stops when he hears that cockney lilted voice echo throughout the halls, and he forces himself not to turn around and stare because this is just…
Wrong.
He closes his eyes, willing the figure to be an illusion, a dream, a mirage, anything; the sharp thunk on his forehead informs him otherwise.
"See ya around."
.
The throb in his chest refuses to fade though.
.
"You've been distant lately."
He's taken aback by her bluntness; for weeks they've been dancing around the subject, never quite broaching it.
"I just… have a lot of things on my mind."
He has to bite down on his cheek to keep from confessing what all those things entail.
"Right."
She surveys him for a moment, bright eyes sharply addressing all of his features, searching for any hint of the truth; finally, she lets out a sigh.
"I'll talk to you later Dave."
She presses a small kiss on his lips, her mouth lingering against his for a brief moment as if she were trying to place a name to the emotions she didn't dare say, before walking away.
As he watches her retreating form grow smaller and smaller against the horizon, the butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach.
.
Funny, they don't grant him any relief like they used to.
.
Drake has been visiting him daily for almost a week now.
Even now, as he types up the results from his latest lab experiment, he can feel his eyes watching him from across the room, making the hair on the back of his neck prickle up.
He doesn't know whether it's from fear or anxiety, but the feeling isn't as unpleasant as it should be.
Soon after, a pair of lean arms wind their way around his stomach, and he tries to ignore the way his throat knots up from the contact.
Deep down, he knows this is sin, that heroes don't fall for the villains, that this will never go anywhere-
His thoughts scatter and diverge when a pair of rough lips catches the corner of his mouth and he can almost feel the smirk beginning to form on them.
He tastes like honey and musk and ancient magicks.
.
Right and wrong slip away and for a moment, he just feels.
.
Briiiiing!
He should pick up the phone.
Briiiiiiiiing!
It's what decent boyfriends do.
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!
(But he doesn't)
He lets out a tired sort of noise when the sound finally dissipates, pulling the battered cell phone out of his pocket.
That makes the third missed call today.
He no longer needs to check for messages; she stopped leaving those ages ago.
Neither of them knows how to end this, because somehow, they both know it never really was.
.
And that hurts a little more than it should.
.
"What is tha'?"
A simple question is all it takes for him to invite the Morganian into his own little world; he ushers him into the confines of the cage as he activates the Tesla coils.
The electricity begins to crackle with life, sparks soaring through the air, each colliding with another fragment of metal.
He looks through the crisscrossing wires, eyes softly tracing the pathway of each volt, his eyes alight with awe.
He can almost feel the sparks resonate inside of him, drawing him in closer, calling out to his very essence; the blood in his veins is singing of magick and wonder.
.
He wonders if the older boy feels it as well.
.
It's raining.
The normal reaction would be to scurry inside, away from the cascading droplets and chilly breeze; instead, he draws his hoodie tighter around him, the burgundy fabric taking on a blackened hue from the saturation.
As the hours pass by, a pair of indigo leather boots comes into view, silver grommets and studs lining the heels.
He doesn't have to look up to know who they belong to.
"She left me."
A weight settles beside him on the stoop and a hand rests against his forearm.
The touch is hesitant, unsure; without really knowing why, he slides his hand out of his jeans and wraps it around Drake's.
The silence feels warmer somehow.
.
Over the years, her picture begins to fade from the Encantus, but never quite disappears; some scars never heal.
.
When he remembers his first time on top of a skyscraper, it hadn't been quite as agreeable as this; as the breeze ruffles his hair, he looks toward the familiar face beside him, the sole reason why he is up here.
"How'd you come back?"
The question hangs in the air, refusing to be drown out by distant sirens and howls of wind.
"I don't rightly know myself."
Drake looks down at the passing cars, each another neon blur, all traveling towards some unseen destination; his eyes flicker for a moment, before he casts his gaze up towards the heavens, lips split in a wide grin.
"Maybe I had something worth livin' for."
He slides closer to the Morganian and together they watch the stars twinkle in the sky.
.
The first time he thought of Drake may have been an accident, but every other time was on purpose.