A gathering of evil-loving slashers

new

shellycrimson — Fri, 27 Dec 2013 17:35:23 GMT

Hi I'm new to this community. I haven't wrote anything that's chack yet I want to give it a strong whirl. I was hoping to catch a Beta first though, as I work best with one. So if some one could spend some time that would be awesome.
Thanks.

xiaolin showdown kink meme

xskink — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 21:55:26 GMT

~*~*~*~* XIAOLIN SHOWDOWN KINK MEME *~*~*~*~

click on the image to get there :>

Hello : { D

vavavoomstick — Tue, 07 Aug 2012 04:45:30 GMT

I'm new to this community and I just wanted to say Hello. I have two stories of Chase and Jack but a little nervous to post it on this...So I just wanted to say hi :{ ) and hopefully everyone is doing fine.

Meta. Discuss.

gunitneko — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 16:26:37 GMT

I've been reading the Journal series Silvarbelle and Crystalicsky wrote and stumbled on this randomly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Mb5QgXEGUg&feature=related

I thought of Chase Young and had a good laugh. To me, the guy with the dog food made me think of Jack Spicer (and then the whole lip licking as he passed gave me pervy ideas, but that's a different topic). But if Jack is the Dog food guy... who are the other three dudes? What are they doing being trained by Chase with Jack in their presence but not participating (in fact, doing "menial" labor)?

Anyway, all of this caused me to wonder: What method/agenda/regime/circumstances would Chase use to "train" Jack if he did take him into his... keeping (I couldn't think of a better word).

REALLY think about this. What is the mostly likely use Chase would have for Jack and how would that work? Would he try to train Jack as a warrior? Would he start out physical or mental exercises? Would he train Jack at all? Would he be subtle or blunt? Would he be open or reserved? Would he be hands on or off? Are they to be partners one day? Will they eventually compete? Is it possible Jack would turn (either on Chase or turn good, either or)?

(Not that it isn't fun, but try to keep the pervyness out) Would they be "lovers"?

I would really like you to think and put down an answer before reading anyone else's. Why? Because there is not suppose to be a right answer or a debate. I just feel like I'm seeing the same "method" to train Jack in every fanfic and I wonder if we can get the ball rolling on some other plots.

I would love to hear from everyone. That and I just think it's a good mental exercise.

New Xiaolin Showdown: Chronicles Leaked snippet

gunitneko — Wed, 09 May 2012 03:11:14 GMT

Friend of mine found this on Youtube.

NEW! Xiaolin Chronicles 2013

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mT8oanBEOA&feature=youtu.be

There are many things I don't like about this. Take a guess what they are.

Searching for a Fic

beowulvez — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 16:10:01 GMT

So, I just got back into Chack and I forgot how much I love it. I've reread a bunch of my old favorites, but I can't find one and not being able to locate it is killing me. What I remember about the story is that Chase and Jack have been together for a while and Chase decides to try something new. He asks Jack to have sex with him in his reptile form and Jack agrees. Awesome reptile sex ensues.

I remember loving it and I cannot find it. Help me!!!!

For a PRICE {fanfic; NC-17}

tsukitenchichan — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 04:04:17 GMT

Title: For a PRICE
Fandom: Xiaolin Showdown
Author: hitagashi
Warnings/Spoilers: Anal, tail play, PWP
Character(s); Pairing(s): Jack Spicer, Chase Young; Chack
Rating: NC-17 (aka NSFW)
Genre: PWP, AU/AR, slash
Summary: Jack will help Chase for a price. The price being sex.
Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown nor do I profit from this story.
Notes: Basically Jack's superhuman and shit because he mutated after WW3 and is sex deprived. Please forgive any and all errors within, I don't make it a point to go through three times to check for mistakes on one shots. If I miss it in my proof read it's stuck there.

Fake cut to my own journal. Please remember it's not safe for work. I think this is all I need to mention. Oh... there's crossdressing too but whatever.

Fic: Leftovers

otakujeannie — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 18:23:59 GMT

Long time no see, eh? Well my muse is fickle at the best of times
Here's something I hope to continue but if I don't, feel free to try to anyways.

Leftovers: A Xiaolin Showdown Fic
By: Jeannie
Rated: PG
Warnings: None
Summery: There is a larger picture but could Jack Spicer see it? Notes follow fic.
Disclaimer: Xaiolin Showdown is property of Warner Brothers Animation, no infringement is intended

For as long as he could remember, Jack Spicer engineering prodigy was plagued with dreams. They seemed so real, yet impossible and had driven him from his childhood home and into a quiet collage town. Here he worked on his doctorate, trying to fill an inexplicable void in his life.

From his desk, Jack Spicer looked up from his reports to see a storm rolling in. “Looks like it’s an early night for me.” The redhead thought with relief as he closed his book and looked down at the page of notes that had long since ceased to make sense.

He then powered down his laptop and unplugged it along with several other pieces of expensive and fragile equipment. Jack yawned, arched his back and began pulling up the garment. Jack groped the air for a moment as he struggled to find his cane and pulled himself to his feet.

He casually tossed it into the hamper shoved into the far corner of hisroom and quickly made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Oncefinished he closed window and shut the blinds before stripping out of his pants and underwear tossing those lazily into the hamper as well. Once that was done, Jack turned off his light and flopped onto his bed to try and get some sleep as the storm approached.

Even in the dimness, Jack could see the antique mirror gleam. It was alarge ornate frame of gold with a stylized eye inlaid with deep green enamel; an heirloom in the Spicer family for who knows how long.

Despite is obvious value, when he’d left home it had made it‘s way into his possession. It was the one pure indulgence Jack had taken with him on his journey to find his own way in the world. The rest of his new home was furnished in reasonably priced furniture chosen more for function than style. Jack had even declined to bring the robots he’d obsessively made as a child.

The thunder crashed and rattled at the flimsy walls of the tiny cabin built more than two hundred years ago. Jack bolted out of a fitful sleep when a thunderclap dislodged the mirror from the wall with a crack. He looked about and was about to snuggle into this nest of pillows and comforters when a movement caught his eye. The lightning flashed just in time for Jack to catch a glimpse of something large and menacing watching Jack hungrily from the mirror’s shards. Jack froze and sunk into his bed, squeezing his eyes tightly as he prayed that if he couldn’t see another morning for the end to be quick.

~~~~~

“Yeah so you see, I was getting too jittery and got rid of every mirror in the house.” Jack said nervously taking a sip of his coffee. “I know it seems crazy, Brandy.” He continued with a nervous laugh looking at his cousin as she sat at her desk.

“Not so much,” She said gazing out the window. “This town has many legends of the unknown. One big rule is that, you shouldn‘t mess with the unknown because then the unknown starts messing with you.” She let out a dry laugh and tuned one half of her wheelchair to face Jack. Brandy’s eyes focused sharply on Jack as she approached him. “It’s more than mere idle talk.” Another feeling of dread settled into Jack's stomach.

“If you are smart, you’ll forget what you saw Whisky.” Brandy continued,something dark in her unnaturally bright eyes. “I don’t know what you were tangled in last time, but you got off lucky with just a shattered leg and a hole in your head where your adolescence should be.” These last words were punctuated by a light tapping on Jack’s forehead. “And then there’s that mark on your ankle.”

Jack was sweating, glancing down at his right foot where a snakelike green band twisted itself around his ankle to form an infinity sign with a stylized eye in the juncture that matched his mirror. “So what do you think I should do then?” Jack asked warily.

~~~~

“Crazy as ever.” Jack said as he passed by Brandy’s bathroom mirror andpulled up the lid to use the toilet. As Jack closed his eyes and tried to calm his frazzled nerves, he heard the sound of water running. Jack’s eyes cracked open to see the sink’s faucet had turned on, the steam forming an opaque sheen on the mirror. Jack quickly scrambled for his cane. A movement in the mirror caught Jack’s eye. Behind the steam a shadowy figure was writing in the mirror, all Jack could make out was glairing yellow eyes.

“You will return the mirrors now Spicer, I enjoy watching you sleep. Now cease trying to anger me.”

TBC?

Notes: Based heavily on the creepy pasta “In the Mirror” by Unknown Author.

Just for Now

storm_rain — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 01:12:50 GMT

Title: Just For Now
Fandom: Xiaolin Showdown
Pairings/Characters: Chase Young/Jack Spicer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,157
Warnings: Slash.
Spoilers: Just in general, for Chase Young if you don't know who he is.
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown and don't make money from writing this story.
Summary: Jack tries to visit Chase during a storm. He crash lands at the lair instead, and is brought inside...
Notes: I realized I hadn't posted this here. Oops! And sorry to those of you who were hoping for a Supernatural update, I'm still working on that.
Jack Spicer, boy genius extraordinare. Flying high in the cloudy sky in the harshest area of the storm, soaked to the bone. Jack's teeth chattered noisily, and he shivered.

I Don't Hate You

crystallicsky — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 03:21:27 GMT

Title: I Don't Hate You
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Language, homosexuality, implications of sexual situations, teensy bit of gore, etc.
Notes: I wrote this one because I realized that whenever I'd written in first person, it was always from Jack's perspective. I wanted to give Chase a try, and I think it turned out pretty cool. Anyway, I hope you guys liked the fic, and Happy Holidays/New Year! :D

I have spent a lot of time here.

That is the understatement of the century, and of all people, I would know. I spend most of my time here and I have learned it well. I know every nook and cranny; every feature of every room in my home is burned into my memory for eternity.

I'm beginning to entertain the idea of renovating just a bit, to spice up the monotony. The den could certainly use some new curtains, a less-worn coffee table, a splash of color somewhere.

Yes, boredom takes up a surprisingly large amount of my time these days, and I have nothing but time. Funny how in all the mentions of immortal life and power, the soul-deep ennui is never once brought up.

I don't regret my choice. I still do not want to die or age, ever. I simply wish things were a bit more entertaining now and again.

And then…I hear it: the sound of footsteps down the hall, only a few yards away.

I'm in a mood right now, much as I hate to admit having them. Truly, I can't be bothered to get angry at the thought of someone so deep within my inner sanctum, though surely, I should be. By all rights, I ought to be in the hall now, shrouding myself in an aura of indignant fury and snarling like the wicked hellbeast I am. That never fails to send my foes fleeing like frightened weasels, leaving the odor of ammonia in the air behind them if I'm in particularly good form.

Perhaps I would do so now if I felt at all threatened; something besides apathetic, at least.

Instead, I listen to the footsteps, determining what I can. If the situation calls for it, I will make myself get up and threaten the intruder, but I doubt that it will. How many enemies do I, Chase Young have to honestly worry about?

With each step outside, bringing the interloper ever closer to my current position, I notice an absent click. That familiar click is how I know that whoever this is deserves the name, 'interloper,' for the sound of clawed paws against marble floors is unmistakable and this isn't it. My warriors have given me a wide berth today, and I appreciate it. However, they must also be slacking to have allowed someone inside my palace without my permission. They'll receive a stern talking to, later: I truly cannot be bothered right now.

Steps, though, human steps. There is a mortal in my hallway.

I briefly entertain the notion that it could be Bean using that damned Moby Morpher to imitate a human form, but I just as quickly dismiss it. No matter how badly my minions are slacking, none of them would ignore an attempted invasion by Hannibal. Whoever it is, they must have been certain of my capability to handle him or her alone.

That, and Bean tends to carry a very nasty Heylin miasma with him wherever he goes, and I sense none of that, now.

I close my eyes, sharpening my already excellent hearing and listen. The strides are long, I hear, each step taking the person a good distance nearer to me than before. The intruder is tall, and I rule out half of the Xiaolin monks. It cannot be Tohomiko, as young ladies of her race and parentage do not get that tall. Omi is also out of the question for obvious reasons.

Thinking on it, I decide to rule out Bailey, as well. The cowboy is certainly tall enough to possess those long-legged strides, but the person in my stronghold is alone, and that is not his style. Bailey's pack-mentality is too strong for him to attempt some sort of lone, renegade assault against me, no matter how deep his righteous hatred of me might run.

Pedrosa, however, is still very possible. That sort of thing seems right up his alley.

An unpleasant thought slips into my head. Perhaps it could be Wuya: for a woman, her legs are fairly long, and we last parted on terms that were…almost amiable. She could easily be sniffing about looking to be taken in again, Shen Gong Wu detection and a desperation-fuck or two in exchange for providing her with room, board, and protection from whomever she had betrayed this time. I wonder if Spicer has had the sense to kick her out on her ass, yet.

And suddenly, I realize: Spicer.

Yes, it must be, absolutely. The footsteps fit too perfectly. Spicer is tall enough to warrant those long steps and he's likely to have come alone (what allies could he bring along to see me?).

The idea that it might have been Wuya seems silly, now. After all, the witch always goes barefoot, doesn't she? The footfalls outside are dull, loud and clunky in a way that suggests heavy-duty footwear, undoubtedly boots.

Pedrosa does not wear boots.

So, Spicer has come to visit me. That certainly explains why my minions trusted me to handle him alone, though I do wonder how he managed to actually get in and how he knew to come this way to look for me.

Perhaps I should not be so surprised: Spicer has the luck of fools and it's not inconceivable that he could've found me by sheer chance alone.

Spicer, unless I've missed my guess completely, is just outside the door, now. Puzzlingly enough, he has stopped walking as if he knew this was the door he had been searching for.

I ponder teleporting elsewhere to avoid whatever headache he intends to cause me today, but the effort doesn't seem worth it. Honestly, Jack isn't that annoying; not irritating enough to dispel my apathy.

There is only a moment of silence for me to think about this in before there is a knock on the door.

Before I can ask myself why I'm opening my mouth to speak, I am. "Come in," I distantly hear myself say and I resist the urge to wince at the sound of my voice. That came out far less demanding than I'd meant it. It almost seemed casual.

But, there was no time to mourn the temporary lapse in my commanding presence, for the door was easing open.

Spicer. Just as I'd thought.

He sees me and smiles, and I find I cannot even force a sneer to my face today. How vexing.

"Hey, Chase," he says to me in greeting, and I do manage to regally incline my head, acknowledging him properly.

"Spicer," I say. "Do you have business with me?" The 'or are you just trying to make a nuisance out of yourself?' went unsaid. I simply don't have the fire for it, today.

Nonetheless, Jack seemed to have understood the words I did not say, for he answered quite promptly. "Actually, yeah," he said, his grin becoming sheepish.

I resisted the urge to smirk at that. It seems even he has realized he can be a pest, sometimes. Instead, I raise an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

The sheepish nature of his smile leaves as quickly as it came. Jack's grin is now a proud one. "Well," he begins, "not to brag or anything," what a saint I'm becoming, I didn't even roll my eyes!, "but I won a Showdown today!"

At that, I am surprised for two reasons. Most prominently shocking is the fact that Spicer was telling me he had won a Showdown. Him, Jack Spicer, a paragon of clumsy mishaps and embarrassing failures! The second reason is, of course, that I'd been completely unaware that a Shen Gong Wu had gone active today.

These moods of mine are going to be the death of me unless I find something to entertain me soon.

As unbelievable as his words are, however, he reaches a hand inside that jacket of his and removes the unmistakable proof of his claim's veracity: the Wu in question.

I recognized it, of course. The small, scarlet orb he holds in the palm of his hand is the Blood Pearl, imbued with the power to replenish any amount of lost lifeforce. A life-saving Wu, the Blood Pearl is most useful in the hands of warriors who frequently find themselves cut up and losing blood.

I wonder, then, with my skill as a warlord to prevent me from being injured in battle, why Spicer is holding the Wu out to me in offering.

"I know it's not a good one," Jack admits with a shrug, "but I thought you might have some use for it."

"You're giving it to me," I say, a statement and not a question. I watch him nod and frown lightly. "I have no need of it. I have no opponents that make me bleed; it is the other way around. If anything, Spicer, you have more use for it than I."

And that was surely true. If Jack's body could speak, it would certainly confess a desire to bleed all over everything from every possible orifice. From his frequent bloody noses to the ease with which his skin split when battered, it seemed that some days, Spicer never stopped losing blood.

By all rights, he ought to be hoarding that Wu more jealously than a miser with gold.

Still, he doesn't retract his hand. He holds the Blood Pearl out to me even more firmly than before. "Well, yeah, you're too awesome to get cut up…" he says almost casually, but I can hear a waver in his voice that sounds like embarrassment. Why is Spicer embarrassed? "But I mean, it could help your cats…or something, right…?"

I consider it. Yes, occasionally, my warriors do find themselves injured. The Blood Pearl would ensure a speedier recovery, and if the unthinkable should happen, it might be useful for me to keep it around. Even so…

"Why do you care about my warriors, Spicer?" I ask.

"I don't," he says immediately, only to realize how his words had sounded. "Not in that way," he quickly amends, "and I don't hate them or anything! Some of 'em are actually pretty nice. That one jaguar told me where you were and everything, so…"

I tuned him out for the briefest of moments. So that was how he'd found me: he'd had help. I have very few jaguars serving beneath me, and only one who might be presumptuous enough to send me a visitor during one of my moods. I would have to punish Diol when I felt more up to the task, the cheeky bastard.

Jack shook his head abruptly and in such a daring move that I was stunned enough to let him, he reached out and caught my wrist, forcing the Blood Pearl into my hand.

"Look," he said stiffly and I found myself suddenly struck by the sound of his voice. It was a bit deeper than I last remembered hearing, but a smooth timbre that was actually…quite pleasing. "I know you hate me, but I want you to have it, anyway."

Before I could even think of reacting, Jack was out the door, his booted footsteps once more echoing in the hall; this time away from me.

I am proud, but not so proud that I cannot admit it when I am confused. Right now, I could almost be called baffled.

What was all that about? I wondered to myself. Virtually nothing about that encounter with Spicer made any sense. Truly, I should be on my feet and catching Jack, forcing him to explain himself.

Damn it all if this apathy doesn't have me sitting here, choosing to think about it, instead. The Blood Pearl is warm in my hand from the residual heat of Jack's hand and chest (why do I know his coat has an inside pocket right at his heart?).

'I know you hate me,' Jack had said, and now I wonder for the first time since meeting him.

Do I really?

I close my fingers around the Blood Pearl and stand, exiting my den. I don't go after Jack. Instead, I head towards my Shen Gong Wu vault, where his gift can be properly kept safe. My steps are as sure and steady as always, but I find my mind wandering to only a few moments in the past.

The sound of Spicer's pleasant voice confessing perceived hatred and the patter of his steel-toed boots slapping against the floor as he fled from me… Those sounds would not leave me and as they echoed in my head I continued to wonder.

Why did they displease me so much?

--

It is weeks before I see him again. If I didn't know better, I'd say Spicer has been avoiding me, as his near-daily visits have suspiciously stopped.

My bland mood has since faded quite completely and I feel much more like myself. I stand on the battlefield with my head held high, a proud and elegant warlord once more.

Fuck apathy, truly.

I revel in the glory of a wicked victory and it has truly been too long since I've last cared enough to even bother showing up to a Showdown, much less to win it. I take a brief moment to admire the crystalline Panaceia's Teardrop gleaming brilliantly white against the darkness of my glove. It's another healing object, one designed to accelerate the natural process by roughly twelve times.

Like the Blood Pearl, I have little use for it, but why should I allow the Xiaolin to have it?

Said monks are already gone, having fled on their precious Dojo after I'd thoroughly trounced them. It is not them I am thinking of, now.

At the moment, it seems my thoughts lie with Spicer, who is nowhere in sight. Honestly, I'd only caught a glimpse of him earlier, as I'd arrived. Once the fight began, he practically vanished and never once engaged me.

Strange, but I can't help but wonder where the boy's gotten to. He can't have left: that helipack of his would've made some noise, and even over the din of battle, I heard no such thing. If he hadn't flown away, perhaps he'd run…?

"Son of a bitch!" I hear from somewhere off to the left and my eyes pinpoint the source of the curse easily. A wide crater left by one of Bailey's attacks, and from within it, the sound of breathing and minute shifting.

There you are.

In mere moments, I am down inside the deep depression, naturally untouched by the dust that kicks up around me.

Before me, however, Jack is decidedly less so.

Covered head to toe in dirt, his beloved leather jacket scuffed and torn, I watch as Jack pushes himself up into a sitting position. His heavy breathing and pained expression do not escape my notice, and neither does the odd way his booted foot seems to be resting. It is impossible to ignore the rock lying just beside it, either.

"Are you alright, Spicer?"

Jack's entire body seems to flinch at the sound of my voice. Those unnaturally red eyes of his look up at me, impossibly wide as he says my name and attempts to stand.

I'm not surprised in the least when his gaze goes cloudy with something like agony, only a few seconds preceding a dizzy sway and flop to the ground. Even as a gurgling moan escapes him, I find I'm at his side.

"Hold still," I order him, and he does so without a second thought. I almost preen at such blatant deference to me, but now is hardly the time. "What happened?"

Spicer takes a moment to answer, shaking his head as if to clear it of irrelevant thoughts. "I…fell," he says eventually.

I glance upwards to the mouth of the crater. A sight calculation tells me it was a fall of roughly fifteen feet. "You fell," I echo, and he nods to confirm it. "And then what?"

Jack frowns troublingly. "I dunno," he admits. "I guess I…blacked out?"

I feel myself frown as well. Unbidden, my hand is cupping the back of his skull, feeling amidst thick red hair for anything that might indicate a head injury. Even as I do so, Jack is struggling against me, albeit weakly, skittering backwards and away from my touch with what looks to be fear.

Regardless of my beauty, I am a monster. A beast with a beast's instincts and Spicer's conduct is bringing them out of me. Injured, weak, and afraid, insolently trying to escape me, anyway…

Everything inside of me is labeling Spicer as 'prey,' and I growl in the back of my throat; a warning for now, but not to be disobeyed.

Thankfully, Jack seems to understand it and freezes completely, allowing me to do as I wish. The obedience is enough for me to get myself under control again, and I calmly resume my investigation without resistance.

Sure enough, my fingers find a hard knot on the back of Spicer's head. He hisses in pain the moment I touch it, but it seems I cowed him well enough, for though he squirms a bit, he does not attempt to pull away.

"You hit your head, Spicer," I tell him matter-of-factly. "You likely have a concussion."

His eyes are on me at that, and I resist the urge to stare. There cannot be a more open book than Jack, truly: one look at those blood-red eyes of his, and I can tell everything he is feeling. Pain, worry, and confusion all swirling so clear in his eyes that I wonder briefly how he can stand to be so unguarded all the time.

"…shit," he says at long last, scowling deep in thought. "Probably shouldn't try to fly home," he then decides, tilting his head. "Maybe I could walk. I don't think it's too far from here…"

Briefly, I contemplate stopping him as he sits up again and makes to stand. I just as quickly decide it will have more of an impact on him if he attempts to do it himself and realizes the consequences.

Jack doesn't even have a chance to try putting weight on his damaged ankle before he yelps and collapses into the dirt again, which is…disconcerting. There shouldn't have been that much pain just moving his leg unless he was perhaps more injured than I'd realized.

I turn my eyes downwards, focusing on the strangely laid foot. The angle alone suggested a twisted ankle, but if it were hurting Spicer so badly, it could very well be broken. The boot made it difficult to tell.

"I'll have to take a look at that," I warn him, even as he hisses through his teeth and tries to distance himself from whatever he is feeling. "Be still."

I reach for the heavy black boot and go about undoing the buckles and straps. It takes a good deal of my concentration to do so gently enough that I don't set Jack to screaming again. Once that's done, I take the shoe by the heel and ease it off.

My only warning for what I see when the boot comes off is a disturbing squelch and the scent of blood.

Truly, the entire ankle is a mess, and a morbidly amused snort escapes me. "Twisted, broken, and bleeding," I chuckle. "Congratulations, Spicer, you've reached a new standard for injuring yourself."

Jack attempts a laugh as well, but it comes out more whimper than mirth. "Sweet," he says, "new high score!"

I shake my head, grinning despite myself. "You aren't walking anywhere anytime soon," I say unnecessarily. "How do you intend to get home in this condition?"

Jack shrugs in a way that suggests he has no idea. "Dunno," he admits aloud. "I'd have a bot carry me home, usually, but…"

He trails off, but I know what he means to say. During the Showdown earlier, I constantly found myself sidestepping scrap-metal and avoiding bits of circuitry on the ground. Clearly, all of his machines had been smashed to pieces before I'd even arrived.

And then, I nearly slapped my palm against my forehead: the Showdown; Panaceia's Teardrop.

"You'll be able to fly yourself home in a moment, Spicer," I assured, bringing forth the white crystal Wu.

There was more confusion in his gaze, more helpless uncertainty, but he was silent and allowed me to do as I pleased.

As if I wouldn't have, had he any objections to vocalize.

I placed the Panaceia's Teardrop against Jack's bloodied ankle. This particular Shen Gong Wu healed from the place of contact and outwards, so it only made sense to lay it upon the worst injury. Though Spicer gave a stifled grunt at the pressure on the fragile area, he bore the pain amazingly well, and I wondered how much he had suffered to be able to do it.

Announcing the name of the mystical object, I activated Panaceia's Teardrop and watched coolly as for Jack's battered foot, time appeared to reverse. Locked up muscles relaxed and allowed bone to shift back into place and fuse together properly. Broken skin sealed up easily, leaving no evidence of a cut save for the blood smeared over now smooth flesh.

Spicer sighed in relief and experimentally rolled his ankle, encountering no trouble whatsoever. I continued to hold the crystal against him and glanced at his face out of the corner of my eye as he sat up.

He reached up to touch the back of his head, right where he'd hit it on who knows what and abruptly, I found I could not look away. Even as I acknowledged somewhere in my mind that any head injury Jack had was fading away and he was far more coherently inspecting himself, I was…stuck, for lack of a better word, watching his movements.

The sight of dusty white fingers buried in fire-red hair, complimented by ruby-red eyes that were full of so many emotions that naming them all would be a fool's errand… It was a surprisingly enchanting view.

I then found myself completely silent trying to reconcile that word with Spicer, of all people.

While I was busy with that, Jack managed to get his feet under him and stood up, balancing awkwardly on one leg as he replaced the boot I'd earlier removed. I remained kneeling on the ground for the moment. Only an insecure man would be troubled to have another man of nearly seven feet towering over them, and I was far from insecure. I would stand when I was ready to stand and not a moment before.

As I'd already known, I was fully capable of being intimidating in a less-than-intimidating position, for as I looked up at Jack and made eye contact, he flinched almost imperceptibly and turned away. He could not meet my gaze.

"Um…thanks," he said at length, fidgeting awkwardly. "For fixing me and…yeah. I don't know why you'd bother, but I'm, uh…grateful and all that."

"Consider it a favor for a favor," I replied without thought. "In exchange for your gift of the Blood Pearl, I allowed you use of Panaceia's Teardrop. We are even."

Jack's eyes widened with something like understanding, and just as quickly, his expression crumpled. He reminded me vaguely of a kicked dog.

"Right," he said quickly, nodding even as a tone I couldn't decipher caused his voice to waver. "That's…that makes sense. Even. Right, good."

Having said this, he activated his helipack and chanced another glance at me. Before he hurriedly looked away again, I saw a raw flash of pain in his guileless eyes. "I'll see you later," he muttered almost to himself as he took off into the sky. "Maybe…"

I watched him become nothing more than a speck on the horizon and then got to my feet. I looked to the crystal in my hand and saw that it was still stained with Jack's blood. The contrast reminded me all the more of the strange boy…strange young man who'd just fled from me a second time.

I truly have been evil a long time. Is my tongue so accustomed to spinning lies whenever they suit me that one could slip past my lips without a conscious decision to obscure the truth?

I did not offer my aid to Spicer with the evening of a debt in mind. The Blood Pearl had not encroached upon my thoughts even once. I had simply done it.

Curling my fist around my latest conquest, indifferent to the blood dampening my glove, I watched the horizon for a few more moments where Jack had disappeared.

"Hmm."

--

I am irritated.

The source of that irritation is only serving to aggravate me further. I loathe cyclical emotion loops like these.

It has been three months since I've last seen Jack. If anything, I should be rejoicing in this. I should be relieved at the sudden peace and quiet in my home, finally able to concentrate on my thousands of complex Heylin machinations and plot in solitude.

Instead, I am bothered.

I do not like this silence that has descended over my stronghold. At some point, it seems I became accustomed to Jack's visits; his tendency to intrude upon me and run off at the mouth about anything and everything his mind can think of, and it can think of quite a lot.

I wonder when, precisely, this happened, for I surely hadn't noticed. When did Jack cease to be merely an annoyance to be brushed off?

…and when did I begin thinking of him as 'Jack' instead of 'Spicer'?

I don't seem to have answers for either of these questions, and it irks me tremendously.

Following my last encounter with him, I went about my business as usual, certain he would come to see me eventually. I had surmised he was avoiding me after the Blood Pearl incident out of fear that I might be angry with him for his presumptuous behavior. He had seen for himself during the business with Panaceia's Teardrop that I wasn't the least bit upset with him. Knowing he wasn't going to be facing my unholy, evil wrath, I was positive his visits would resume.

But they haven't. He's still avoiding me.

Why? And why does it bother me to think he is avoiding me?

However, I am certain that we haven't crossed paths intentionally. I have kept an eye on Jack since we parted last.

He is not special: I keep tabs on everyone aware of my existence. It's only a prudent precaution for a Heylin lord to keep watch over potential dissenters to my rule. Even so, I have been checking up on Jack more than usual; more than the others.

I want to know what he's up to. What does he mean by only attending Showdowns for low-level Wu that I have no interest in? Why did he deny a renewed partnership with Wuya and order her to leave "before Chase comes looking for you"? Why does he look at his helipack at the same time of day he used to visit my palace and then storm out of his lab?

Why is he avoiding me?

I'm going to find out right now.

It takes only a few moments and a small expenditure of magic before I am standing in the middle of Jack's lab, arms folded over my chest and my expression schooled into a blank, authoritative mask.

"Spicer," I say, and it's all I have to, for Jack spins around to face me immediately, his wrench clattering to the floor in surprise.

"Chase," he all but breathes, and I am displeased to see his eyes dart over towards the stairs. He is fighting the urge to bolt.

It would do him no good if he did. The barest flicker of my power, and the door at the top of the stairs was locked.

The click of it was enough to send Jack's gaze back to me, full of fear and something I can't quite name. He swallows hard and I can see him stifle a shiver. "Chase," he says again. "Hi."

That, I do not dignify with a response. I merely raise an eyebrow and wait for him to say something worthy of a reply.

"Um…it's been awhile," he settles on eventually, and then I speak.

"Just as you seemed to want it."

Nervousness in his eyes, so obvious that it seems pathetic when he begins to feign ignorance. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "I wasn't—"

"I'm not stupid, Spicer," I remind him in a very no-nonsense tone, and his eyes fall elsewhere guiltily. "You have gone out of your way as of late to avoid seeing me."

It takes a few moments to get a reply. Jack's fists clench and unclench and his gaze cannot remain on any one thing for long. It never touches me. He worries his lip with his teeth, but sucks in a deep breath and declares, "Yeah, I have," in the most pseudo-confident voice I have ever heard.

"Why?"

To this, he says nothing.

"Spicer." The tone in my voice is a warning. I will not be ignored. I am not to be trifled with. Answer me, now.

He frowns, his expression that of one put in an uncomfortable position, but he answers me. "I didn't want to see you."

Something dark rises in me at those words. "What is that supposed to mean?" I demand to know.

Jack shrugs. "It means what it means," he says woodenly. "I didn't…I don't want to see you."

I'm scowling before I realize it. "Why not, Spicer?" I ask him, and my voice is practically a hiss. "Have you done something I should be angry at you for?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I just…I don't want to see you anymore."

I can feel fury welling up within me, indignant at the implication of his words. I force the worst of it back: Jack is a mortal, he could never withstand the full force of my anger.

"Why?" I ask again, and Jack flinches in fear because I am only a few inches in front of him, now, a very unfriendly aura rolling off of me in waves. He fears for his life; he fears I will hurt him.

I just might if he doesn't explain himself soon.

"B-because I," he stutters out, "because…you…I—"

"Today, Spicer," I growl.

And there it is. "Because it hurts when I look at you!" he blurts out and I'm startled enough to take a step back when he meets my eyes.

Pain, I see in his again, not physical, but much deeper. The same, raw pain I saw after I healed his ankle for him; after I gave him an explanation for why I'd done it. The same pain I saw when I implied I had only saved him as a matter of repaying a debt and nothing more.

Ah.

He takes a step back, as stunned by his declaration as I am. His face is stark and he stares at nothing with wide eyes as he places a hand on his work table to steady himself. Then, he lowers his head and sighs deeply.

"F…forget I said anything," he mutters desperately. "It's…it doesn't matter. Just go…do evil warlord stuff or whatever it is you do. I'll do evil genius stuff, and we never have to cross paths again. Just…forget it."

He turns ever so slightly and takes a step toward the stairs.

I know perfectly well the door is locked. I know he cannot leave this lab unless I let him.

The sight of him attempting to run from me a third time sends me into action, anyway.

My hand locks tightly around his wrist in the space of a second and I have him. Jack is in my grasp and he is not going anywhere.

Neither of us say a word, but Jack seems frozen in place, staring at me in shock and disbelief. I didn't read his eyes, this time: I simply know.

I am…occupied by the feeling of Jack's hand in mine. Why am I not wearing gloves today? Was I agitated enough to forget them, or had I needed to remove them for something? I couldn't recall and the reason didn't seem very important now.

What was important was the warm, white skin against my palm. Jack wasn't wearing his gloves, either, and the flesh he usually hid beneath them was mind-bogglingly soft.

I can't say what I'd expected. I can't say I'd ever put my mind to the task of imagining what Jack Spicer's skin might feel like. Even so, there was a disconnect in my mind between the loud, brash, and reckless boy I once met and this stunned, quiet, and hurt young man whose hand was pleasantly soft in mine.

Intrigued, I loosened my grip enough to turn Jack's hand over, palm skyward. He was either too shocked by my actions or too frightened of me to resist; possibly both.

I touched his hand gently, inspecting it from the long fingers to the square palm. This part of his hand was much more like something I could've expected. Calluses and tiny scars decorated the palm and the underside of every finger, a latent effect of working with one's hands for a number of years, even more so when that working is done with sharp metals. Such roughness is normally off-putting to me, a mark of a blue collar peasant unable to make a living any easier way.

On Jack, it is fitting. These marks and calluses do not represent lower class; they represent work done for the sheer joy of it. I know for a fact that Jack could sell his machines for profit at any time he wishes and become infinitely richer than he already is. I also know that he would never do such a thing, because he does not build his machines for profit. He enjoys it. It is his passion.

To sell his creations would be to cheapen his passion, and for a moment, I find myself admiring the strength of Jack's principles in keeping his mechanical wonders to himself.

I turn his hand over again and marvel at the sheer contrast in texture. So smooth and warm beneath my fingers…have I ever felt such wonderfully delicate skin before?

Something logical in me points out that I must have, somewhere in one of my hundreds of years, but I cannot call it to mind, now.

I realize immediately that I want to touch Jack even more.

"Chase," he gasps, shocked and maybe a little frightened as I reach for the zipper of his trench coat, "what are you—"

"Quiet," I order him, and my tone isn't very commanding; subdued, even, and a bit hushed, but it does the job well enough. Jack doesn't say a word as I unzip his coat and slide it off of his shoulders.

I'm certain he fears the worst as the leather jacket pools on the ground about his feet, but I would never stoop so low. I simply wish to touch him.

And touch him, I do.

Jack seems to have a penchant for wearing sleeveless shirts beneath his coat. The Frankenstein's monster one he used to wear so often must have gotten too short for his long body in between then and now. The shirt he wears currently is black with a biohazard symbol emblazoned upon the chest. The pale yellow-green color of the decal tells me it must be glow-in-the-dark and I almost grin at how such a shirt is completely expected for a young man like him.

Instead, I place my hands on his forearms, feeling his skin beneath my touch. He is warm here, but not as warm as his hands were, so I stroke him gently to coax a bit more heat into him.

He gasps under his breath at this, and I see his flesh prickle ever so slightly with goosebumps. Smirking, I repeat the rubbing upon his bare biceps and all the way up to his shoulders, where that shockingly white skin momentarily disappears beneath a strip of black cloth before reappearing on the other side.

I ponder slipping a thumb beneath that strap and pulling it over his shoulder, but judging by the quick breaths Jack is inhaling and the thudding of his heart that I can hear from where I stand, I discard the idea. I have no desire to frighten him.

To avoid doing just that, I take a step closer and hear Jack gasp again. We are nearly chest-to-chest, now; nose-to-nose. I almost have to look up at him. When did he get so damnably tall? Never mind, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the look in Jack's eyes when I lay my hands against his face. Even as his cheeks heat quickly beneath my palms, I see a whirlwind of emotions in those bright red irises of his. Complete bewilderment, most prominently, alongside a growing sliver of desire and no small amount of trepidation.

"Chase," he quivers out and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my face. "What…what are you doing…?"

Isn't that the question of the century? I don't entirely know myself, but I'm not about to admit that aloud.

"Whatever I want," I say calmly and lean in a little further. Now, we are nose-to-nose and this close, my senses are saturated in Spicer. I can hear his ragged breaths and his trip-hammering heart behind his ribs. I can see the contrast of reds and whites his face embodies; black, too, when he loses the nerve to keep his eyes open and shuts them to allow dark eyelashes to fan across his cheeks. I can still feel his soft skin, hot under my hands and his body fits nicely against mine. And his scent…

One deep breath and it takes all I have to hold back a very base, very carnal desire that would undoubtedly injure this young man trembling in my grasp. I smell the fear on him, of course, but it's practically drowned by something else.

Pheromones. Lust. Desire. Want.

He wants me to touch him; he wants me to do with him as I will; he wants this so much that it's suffocating whatever fear he has that I might use him or hurt him or kill him.

I kiss him and he squeaks, a sound so embarrassing to come out of a man that I might've teased him about it had my mouth not been crushed against his. His eyes are open again in shock, but they close again quickly.

It should be mentioned for the record that I am an excellent kisser.

In mere moments, I have his mouth open for me and he's sighing and shivering against me like this kiss is all he ever wanted; ever needed from me. The feeling of power and control I get is dangerously heady and I teach this untried young man how to properly kiss. He's a marvelously quick study.

I pull back the shortest distance possible to separate our lips and Jack leans forward trying to get the contact back, a distressed noise escaping him when he finds it impossible.

How long had Jack wanted me to do this that he was so desperate? Certainly a long time if he was worried I was going to abandon him forever or whatever nonsense he's thinking after kissing him.

"Jack," I murmur quietly and I feel him tremble in reaction to my voice. "Is this what you want?"

"Y…yes," he says helplessly and I'm struck by how lost he looks right now. "I want…I want this. But I thought…"

"What?"

Another flash of pain in his eyes. "I thought you hated me," he confesses again, sounding horribly confused.

I'm briefly silent at that. I thought I had once, too. But do I?

I think of Jack, particularly in these last few encounters we've had. I find I can no longer call forth any of the feelings of resentment that used to come so easily at the mention of his name. I can't even seem to muster basic annoyance, anymore.

When had that happened?

All I can bring to mind is the sound of his boots echoing in my hall, the sight of dingy white fingers ruffling through that unnaturally red hair, the feel of soft and callused skin in turns, and the lingering scent of fear and lust as I kissed him.

And those brilliantly clear eyes that looked at me with such intense desire and love that a lesser man might be reduced to a cinder under their burning weight.

"I don't hate you," I decided firmly, dipping back down for another kiss; to commit his taste to memory like I had the rest of him.

No, I didn't hate Jack Spicer.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Glory Midst the Fires

crystallicsky — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 04:32:40 GMT

Title: Glory Midst the Fires
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Language, homosexuality, implications of sexual situations, nonsexual graphicness, etc.
Notes: This was written for , who won the place of CHACKstar for December over on . She requested a fic in which Jack becomes full-fledged Heylin and drinks the Lao Máng. I hope this fulfills that request!

"Are you sure I'm ready for this?"

"Are you sure you're not?" Chase coolly inquired.

Jack shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not leaning one way or the other right now."

Chase clucked his tongue disparagingly. "That's an awful attitude to go into immortality with, Spicer."

"So is, 'A talking bean offering me eternal youth and power in exchange for my soul? This seems legit.'"

Chase laughed. "Touché, Jack, touché." Nonetheless, he began to add the finishing touches to the steaming bowl of soup before him.

Jack watched his master do so, his expression calm, but his eyes apprehensive for the first time since this began. His gaze seemed locked on the peculiar garnish adorning the bowl, a long, bright red feather that shimmered like flame in the light.

"I don't…have to eat that feather, do I?" he wondered. He grinned as he joked, "I get the feeling it wouldn't go down easy."

The warlord offered a wry grin in response. "Considering that one feather is sharper than steel and murderously hot to the touch? I would rather you not eat it."

Jack gulped. "Yikes," he agreed, "that'd be…bad."

"Are you starting to get nervous?"

"A little," Jack admitted. "Were you? Y'know, when you…?"

"A little," Chase said. "My desire outweighed my fear." He turned a critical golden gaze on his consort. "Does yours?"

"I don't know," Jack said honestly. "Could you…I don't know, walk me through it? I'd feel better if I knew what to expect."

"Pain," Chase responded immediately. "It will hurt more than anything else you've ever felt. You will feel as if you're being ripped apart little by little; like your skin is being peeled away, your muscles shredded with a cheese grater, and your bones plucked out of you and thrown straight into the fiery pits of hell."

Jack stared at the bowl. "Well, that is honest."

"Lying to you would serve no purpose here," Chase said. "You want to be informed: I'm informing you."

"Can I ask other stuff?"

"Of course."

"Did you kill it?" Jack asked.

"The bird? No," Chase assured. "Save for that one feather, it is perfectly fine."

"How? Don't you eat the whole dragon in your soup?"

"Yes, but that's because the secret to a dragon's immortality lies in its very flesh," Chase explained. "I must eat the whole dragon to yield the desired effect."

"And phoenixes have the immortality magic in the feathers," Jack deduced.

"Precisely," Chase confirmed. "One feather's magic is enough to sustain a mortal's youth for a century."

"So, I'll only have to drink this every hundred years?"

Chase nodded. "That's exactly the reason I chose the phoenix for you. Lao Máng Féng is far more efficient than Lao Máng Lóng because the phoenixes don't have to be killed and the effects last so much longer. That," he smirked, "and they do so fit your character."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What else?" Chase set the bowl of soup before his consort. "You love to fly, reds and yellows are most definitely your color, and how many times have you 'died' only to rise from your own ashes undamaged, if not better than before?"

Jack blushed even as he eyed the Heylin soup. "It's not gonna taste like…dirt or something, is it?"

"It will taste like phoenix," Chase said simply. "Its magic, dissolved into that concoction, is what flavors the whole thing."

"Well, what does yours taste like?" Jack challenged.

"Frog's legs," Chase said automatically, only to pause. "Well…somewhat like frog's legs. Dragon muscles are tougher than a frog's, more robust and tinged with magic and wisdom, but the basic flavor is the same."

"What the hell do magic and wisdom taste like?"

Chase frowned. "You're nitpicking, Spicer."

"Yeah, maybe," Jack conceded. "I don't think I'm looking forward to that whole unimaginable pain thing."

"Your experience may be different from mine," Chase allowed. "The pain likely varies with how different from your original human form your new bestial body will be."

"…you're saying something with wings is closer to a human than a dragon?"

"You're fucked, then," Chase said bluntly. "Is that what you want me to tell you?"

"That's the opposite of what I want you to tell me," Jack pouted.

"Then, stop being so precious about it," the warlord ordered.

"But—"

"I'm not making you do this, Jack," Chase reminded calmly. "This is your choice and no one can make it for you."

Jack stared at Chase. Something cold that felt heavy as lead began to pool in his belly. "I thought you wanted to keep me," he said.

Chase was easily able to identify the accusatory tone in the goth's voice. "I do want to keep you," he promised. "You are my consort: you are mine and I would sooner slay a million men than face an eternity without you."

"Then, wh—"

"I won't force you," Chase said firmly. "I will not. There is nothing worse I could do to you than trap you in an immortal body against your will."

If Jack's skin hadn't been albino-white already, he'd have blanched at the implication. "You'd let me die?" he asked, his voice harrowed and shaken.

"Of nothing less than old age," Chase assured. "I would be sickened and furious to have to watch death slowly take you decade by decade, but if it was what you wanted…" He trailed off, but his meaning was abundantly clear.

Jack shook his head. "I don't want to die," he said. "You're…you've always been…I always…I don't want to die."

Chase smiled, though the sentence was largely unintelligible. He had become quote good at translating the highly complex tongue unique to Jack Spicer and undoubtedly, the latest bout of Spicerese came out to mean: 'I don't want to be where you aren't.'

"Jack," he said seriously, "I am allowing you to be your only master in this one instance. There is only one way to know that you have chosen the right thing, and that is to make the choice yourself. Once you've made it, I will resume my role as your overlord: for however long that is."

"Forever," Jack said without hesitation. "I don't want just one lifetime with you. I want as many as I can get."

"Excellent," Chase declared. "We're on the same page."

"I've just got one more question," the youth said. "Y'know, before I," he gestured to the soup, "do this."

"Ask away."

"How should I handle the pain of the transformation?" Jack asked. "Is there, like, a meditation technique you can teach me? Should I go to my happy place?"

Chase snorted. "Honestly, what you do to deal with the change is up to you. As for what I do…" He smirked. "I remind myself of my reasons for becoming Heylin in the first place: the power I needed, the extra years I wanted to have, the status I had to achieve. Whenever I change, I remember all of these things and know that I could not call myself Chase Young, lord of all I survey if I could not endure a little bit of pain."

"Desire versus fear again?" Jack guessed.

"Exactly that. Which is stronger in you, my Jack?"

Jack took a deep breath. As he did so, the scent of the hot soup in front of him wafted up into his nose. It smelled distinctly of fire and ash.

Briefly, he was reminded of his crippling pain allergy and that damn self-preservation instinct of his, both of which were screaming at him to not do this. Alongside those shrieking voices, however, was his love for his master, his devotion howling just as fervently that he go through with it at any cost.

Though it was outnumbered two-to-one, there was no doubt in Jack's mind which was the loudest.

Chase watched as Jack reached out and took the bowl in his hands. There was no relief for him: he had known from the beginning what Jack would choose.

"Well," said Jack, "bottoms up." And with that, he tipped the bowl decisively, drinking down the Lao Máng Féng.

His Adam's apple bobbed once, twice, thrice…then, the bowl fell to the floor and shattered, spilling what was left of the soup across the marble tile.

Chase was already on his feet and at the ready. Three swallows was all he had been able to handle the first time, too.

Jack's body jolted and reeled backwards, as if he'd been struck in the solar plexus with a sledgehammer. Chase caught him as he staggered and fell.

Jack was oblivious to his master's arms around him, but with good reason, for Chase had not been exaggerating in the slightest when describing the pain.

Agony lit his every nerve on fire. He broke out into a cold sweat, but he didn't even feel it. The heat building inside him was enough to smother any chill and suffocate the very idea of 'cold.' Like an incendiary explosive detonated in his body, something hot was eating him from the inside out. It felt as if his organs were boiling from the fiery pain that licked at them, singeing his innards right down to the very marrow of his bones.

It hurt so badly that he almost forgot to scream.

Almost.

Chase resisted the urge to drop his consort and cover his ears at the tortured scream that ripped through the air. It was painful to his sensitive hearing, but Jack was clearly hurt more if the volume of the outburst was any indication. His scream was loud and only seemed to be getting louder by the second. Louder and higher-pitched; less human.

The change was happening.

In a sharp motion that reminded Chase of the crack of whip, Jack arched his back with an alarming snap and his body began to grow. While he started to become overall larger and taller than a normal human, the most obvious growth occurred in Jack's arms. Both appeared to be lengthening with a disturbing swiftness and entirely out of the normal proportion; soon enough, Jack's arms and fingers had put on several feet in either direction, giving him a total wingspan of what had to be no less than fifty feet.

Wingspan, however, was the most appropriate word, because Jack's arms no longer resembled that human appendage. The Heylin soup had, in essence, made evolution its bitch within Jack and was using the concept of homologous structures to change his forelimbs' function. In this case, arms to wings.

No sooner than the thought crossed Chase's mind, Jack's pale skin turned an irritated red as something from beneath it struggled its way up. The warlord jumped, startled when a tiny jet of flame spurted from a spot on his consort's flesh and disappeared, leaving a feather in its place. The surprise was not repeated when this occurred countless more times all over Jack's body, covering him with a fine coat of avian quills, though Chase did admire their softness against his hands.

Jack's face, twisted with pain as it was lengthened and hardened, forming a beak with all the unimaginable strength of the human jaw. It would surely be dangerous risking anything one wanted to keep near that beak; would be if Jack had any mind to close it on something. At the moment, it was still open in a shriek, but all humanity had left it. Jack's scream was now distinctly the scree of a bird in distress; a predator's battle cry.

Jack's kicking legs were not to be ignored either: they were changing, as well. In what looked like a positively agonizing process, they were bending at the knee…forward at the knee as if to laugh at the very mechanism of human legs. Taking on a pale shade of gray, the skin grew rough and ridged with terrifyingly sharp talons bursting forth where feet had been. Chase was sure to stay clear of them as Jack continued to thrash wildly in his arms and was especially glad for it when one of them clawed into the marble floor and tore out a good-sized chunk of rock.

Clearly, Jack was getting a good deal stronger.

What Chase couldn't see was the transformation occurring inside his consort, but that didn't mean it wasn't happening.

All of his muscles were being enhanced beyond all things imaginable for a human. This included his clearly powerful legs and talons, but neither came near the intense musculature being added to his chest. It was strength he would need to be capable of flapping his new wings hard enough to get himself off the ground, and the stronger heart, larger lungs, and more hollow bones were going to be just as important when Jack attempted his first flight.

That flight, unfortunately, looked to be quite a ways off from now.

Jack's shriek ended abruptly and just as suddenly, he went limp in Chase's arms like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Lying against his master for several long minutes, he was unable to do anything but pant for breath.

Chase held him and waited patiently for his consort to speak.

"F…fuck," Jack uttered breathlessly. "You were not kidding about the ow-making."

Chase chuckled. "Should I take your attempt at humor as a cue that you're alright?"

Again, Jack was momentarily quiet. He shifted awkwardly in an attempt to sit up only to flop back against Chase. "Is it normal to not be able to move right?" he wondered.

"Yes, actually," Chase said. "Your body has changed. You have new appendages that your brain doesn't recognize. Until you become accustomed to them, it's going to be difficult sending the proper impulses where you want them to go."

"Then, I think…I think I'm okay," Jack decided. He attempted movement again, this time managing to lock eyes with Chase. "How do I look?" he sheepishly asked.

There was no consideration before the reply. "Beautiful," Chase said and meant it completely.

Unlike his own beastly form, Jack was hardly menacing and ugly. Just like the creature he now shared immortality magicks with, Jack's new body was lovely and majestic.

Deriving a sort of grace from the birdlike shape, Jack looked up at Chase now with glimmering red eyes set above a long, narrow beak. At some point, his napalm orange hair had changed to fit the rest of him, becoming a gorgeous plumage of scarlet and gold quite befitting a virile male. A lengthy tail of the same colors sprouted out from the base of his spine to splay across the floor in a way that was inherently pretty.

What truly enhanced the vibrance of Jack's colors, though, was the lack of them everywhere else. Yes, save for the vivid plumage, Jack's coat of feathers was pure white from head to toe and soft as silk to the touch. Really, the only things preventing the feathers from comparison to a fresh snowfall was the heat radiating from beneath them and the opal-like shimmer they held in the light; reds and oranges and yellows glittering with each of Jack's movements.

"I'd never have imagined an albino phoenix could exist," Chase mused, "but now that I've seen one, I can't imagine a lovelier sight."

Jack made a strange noise. It sounded as if he tried to snort, but squawked instead. "Stop trying to make me blush," he demanded. "I'm not sure I can like this."

Chase laughed. "No, probably not," he agreed. Again, he observed his consort's body; felt the magic and immortality pouring from his very aura. "How does it feel, my Jack?" he wondered. "Now that you're truly Heylin?"

"A little weird," Jack admitted. "I always wondered why you tried to say that 'urge to disembowel' was a legitimate emotion whenever we played Scattergories, but I think I'm starting to see where you're coming from."

Chase laughed again. "Humor truly is your defense mechanism, isn't it?"

"Yeah, maybe. How do I…y'know, turn back? Not that it's super-important," he delegated, "but I'm pretty sure birds don't have penises and I'd like to be able to perform my duties as your consort eventually."

With a grin, Chase advised, "Will yourself human again. You have the magic, now, and you've gone through the change once already. Try and make it work for you."

"Jeez, you're so helpful," the phoenix-Jack muttered, but he nonetheless closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

It took awhile for him to find and tap into his magic, but once he did, Jack slowly began to shrink. The long feathers atop his head shrank back into hair while the rest began to drop off one by one, disappearing in a puff of flame before they could touch the floor. The beak retracted into nose and lips and talons reshaped themselves into feet. Wings were rapidly shrinking into limbs once more and Jack shuddered at the strange feeling of his organs resituating themselves inside him.

By the time he opened his eyes again, his form was once more human. The only difference he could see from before he'd drunk the soup was…

"And I'm naked why?"

Chase smirked. "You'll learn how to incorporate clothing into your transformation later," he assured. "The harder things come first: flesh, bone, muscles, that sort of thing. Once you've got that down, I'll teach you how to change back into something besides your birthday suit."

This time, Jack laughed. "Now, who's funny?" he challenged.

Chase stood and offered a hand to his consort. Though Jack had not noticed it yet, his human form had changed and the lean, toned body he pulled up from the floor was not the same thin beanpole it had been pre-Lao Máng Féng. The beaming grin Jack gave his overlord was without fangs, but the bright eyes above it were a different shade of red; a mystic fire flickering within their depths, and there really was no mistaking the newness of those pointed ears. In fact, looking closer, Chase was able to pinpoint several strands of gold peppering Jack's once purely red-orange hair and adding to the absurdity of its naturalness.

If the change bothered him, Chase didn't show it in the slightest as he leaned forward and kissed Jack firmly, purposefully as if to mark his ownership on the newly immortal young man. Jack didn't bother to protest, happily accepting Chase's dominance.

"Mine," Chase said upon pulling away.

"Forever," Jack gladly confirmed.

Knowing Jack's legs would be weak, Chase plucked the youth from the ground and began carrying his lover to their bedroom for a bit of rest. Halfway there, a thought occurred to him, and he spoke.

"Jack," he said. "When you drank the Lao Máng Féng…what did it taste like?"

Jack looked away. "…You'll laugh," he said eventually.

"Tell me," Chase insisted. "I'm curious."

Jack was silent for a few more steps down the hallway. "Honestly?"

Chase only waited for an answer.

"…it tasted like chicken."

As predicted, Chase laughed and continued toward the bedroom with his consort. This was looking to be the start of a wonderful eternity.

FACEPALM

crystallicsky — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 19:08:07 GMT

Alright, so, I guess it happens to everybody, but I just had a brain-fart of epic proportions.

For weeks, I've been going around on deviantART and Fanfiction.net trying to pimp a story I co-wrote with silvarbelle , The Diary Project. Basically, this project is a year's worth of diary entries from the perspectives of Chase and Jack (I wrote as Jack, Silv wrote as Chase), and yes, there is Chack. Quite a bit of it, actually.

Anyway, I've recently managed to get all the entries posted up on the LJ accounts they're being hosted on and then, I started pestering people on the other sites I frequent to go make a LiveJournal account and friend the Diary accounts, as that is the only way to read them.

It's been a huge hassle scooting over some of the stragglers who were reluctant to do this, so I suppose I can give myself a break on it, but in all my prodding of Chack-fans to go read this massive, (in my opinion) epic story, I completely forgot to mention it to the folks on LiveJournal. The ones who ALREADY HAVE ACCOUNTS AND DON'T NEED TO BE HASSLED.

I reiterate, *facepalm* XP

So, to rectify that oversight, hello, people of LJ! Silv and I wrote a crazy-long (a whole year!), crazy-fun story, and all you have to do to read it is friend these accounts (tech_lord and dragon_lordcy ) and be friended back.

Happy reading, and I'm sorry it took so long just to let you know about it! ^^;

Fic Search

earths_fury — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 03:22:23 GMT

Hi all! I am looking for a fic in which Jack was a rare hermaphrodite and he and Chase had sex. Jack ended up having 2 kids I think for Chase, but died during childbirth. I think the authors name was oxbow? I am not sure. If anyone can help me, I will be so grateful. Thanks!

Domination

crystallicsky — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 21:01:15 GMT

Title: Domination
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Language, homosexuality, implications of sexual situations, etc.
Notes: This all started kinda randomly. I was talking to silvarbelle about the third movie in the Mummy franchise, Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. I was watching it at the time hoping to be inspired to write Chack, because I was having creative urges and nothing was coming to me. In any case, I was mentioning that a downside of the film was how little time is spent with the Bad Guy. All the focus was on the Good Guys; nothing wrong with that per se, but it's hard to root for said Good Guys if you don't really have a feel for how bad the Bad Guy really is.

Having seen it three or four times prior to the rewatching, I could hardly even remember what was so bad about the guy. I knew it was something about gaining immortality and taking over the world, but that's the cookie-cutter parameters for a generic Bad Guy. It's when you flesh out the Bad Guy from those parameters and give him/her depth and substance that they become an awesome villain. Example: Chase Young.

And that's when inspiration struck: I realized I'd never really written a fic that explored the motives for villainy before, which is kinda ridiculous considering that my favorite pairing are two villains. Chase's motives and methods for being evil are pretty much explained in the show, and I felt that to write a fic solely about that would be a little redundant. Jack is a different story: we know he wants to be evil (and unfortunately, fails very badly at it), but not really why.

So, here's Jack's tribute-fic: a why/how he wants to/can be truly evil. =)

"What do you want?"

"To take over the world," Jack easily scoffed. "I've only been saying it for, like, eight years."

"So you have," Chase agreed. "Do you even know what that means?"

A frown. "Taking over the world?"

"Yes."

"Of course I do."

"What is it, then?"

Jack's frown deepened. "It's… I don't… What are you even…" He floundered for a few moments more before shaking his head. "This is one of those things that you can't just explain," he decided.

"Why?" Chase wondered. "Because you don't understand it?"

"Because everybody understands it!" Jack snapped. "Taking over the world is taking over the world: you can't simplify it beyond that."

"The 'it is what it is' argument, eh? I beg to differ. There is more," the dragonlord insisted.

Most certainly not pouting, Jack demanded, "Like what?"

"Like where, when, why, and how, for starters." Chase crossed one leg over the other, leaning back into the plush armchair he sat in. "These are questions you must ask yourself before you just blindly strive for a goal."

"I have!" Jack exclaimed. "I have asked myself that stuff! I'm not some kind of idiot who'd just charge into something like that. Give me a little credit, Chase."

"I will," Chase acquiesced. "You say you've asked yourself those questions: what were your answers?"

The youth paused. "What were…? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say. What were your answers to the where, when, why, and how of your plans for global conquest?"

"Oh… Well, the 'where' is everywhere," Jack said slowly. "I want to conquer the whole planet, after all."

There was a fairly long pause, and Chase quirked an eyebrow when his lover said nothing else. "And the 'when'?" he prompted.

"There isn't one," Jack eventually admitted. "It's…an ongoing project. I'm working on it now, and I don't know when it'll be finished."

Seemingly content with this as a response, Chase continued. "Why?"

"Because I…do."

"That's not an answer."

"It's my answer," Jack sharply retorted.

Chase eyed the young man for a moment, reading his defensive posture and hostile aura as only a seasoned warrior like himself could. It was immediately clear to him that Jack did not have a ready answer beyond that, even without seeing the blatant uncertainty in his bright red eyes.

"Then how?" he chose to ask instead of dwelling on the 'why.'

"How?" Jack parroted.

"Yes, that was what I asked you," Chase confirmed. "How, specifically, do you intend on taking over the world, Spicer?"

The warlord watched passively as the goth blinked once…twice…thrice before turning his gaze to the floor, looking deeply unsettled. His legs came up to his chest, stark white arms wrapping around them.

Jack muttered something under his breath, a delicate pink creeping across his cheeks.

Chase heard it perfectly clearly, of course. There was no need for him to ask Jack to repeat it whatsoever.

But he did anyways, because what the youth had admitted needed to be confessed, out loud, to another person for it to have any impact on him.

"What was that?" he said, enunciating firmly in such a way that demanded a reply.

"I said I don't know!" Jack barked, managing to look both sheepish and irritated at once.

"You don't know," Chase repeated.

The blush darkened. "I never really…nailed anything down, I guess," Jack admitted. "I was just gonna…I dunno, wing it?"

"So, you're saying you have no solid plan."

"…no. No, I don't."

"And that is precisely why we're doing this."

Jack looked up from the floor beneath the couch he sat on, over to his lord and master. "What?"

Chase gave him a look of utmost condescension. "Did you think I was asking you these things to irritate you, Jack?" he wondered.

"No," Jack replied instinctively. This reply was quickly amended after an eyebrow raised across from him. "Okay," he confessed, "maybe a little…"

"Not at all the case," Chase assured. "I'm asking you these things because I want to help you."

"Take over the world?"

"Precisely."

"Why?" Jack demanded.

It was Chase's turn to frown. "What do you mean, 'why'? You are my consort. Isn't that reason enough to want to help you?"

"Well, yeah, but…isn't it your goal, too?" Jack inquired suspiciously. "Why would you help me do what you're trying to do?"

Chase grinned. "You forget that I am immortal, Spicer," he said.

"So am I, now. What's that got to do with anything?"

"It is everything," Chase asserted. "I have time. There is no need for haste in terms of subjugating this world as far as I am concerned because I can always get to it later, so to speak."

"But…I have time, too, don't I?" Jack wondered. "Why do you want to help me do this now?"

Chase's smile widened. "Because you want it," he answered. "Because you have wanted this for most of your life and you don't have enough of the patience that I have in order to wait for centuries. You want the world now, and I would like to help you get it now."

Jack nodded slowly. "So…what? You'll help me take over and then, you'll take over some other time?"

"Why not? Considering I have that time, I don't see that it is impossible."

"Okay, so…help me," Jack prompted. "What do I have to do?"

"That, I cannot tell you," Chase informed.

This yielded a less than pleasant reaction from his consort.

"You can't tell me?" the goth demanded. "What the hell does that mean?! You said you weren't just fucking around with me, and then you tease me like this? What--"

"Calm down, Jack," Chase coolly instructed. "I promise I'm not teasing you."

"Then--"

"I can't just tell you what to do," he explained. "If I did that, it would hardly be your conquest. It would just be you doing what I told you to do. The end result would be the same, with you as Earth's ruler, but it would hardly be as satisfying as it would be if the plan and the execution thereof were yours and yours alone."

"An empty victory," Jack realized.

"Exactly."

"Alright. So, I have to think of how to do this on my own. Fine, but you said you were gonna help," the albino reminded. "If I've gotta figure it out, what are you here for?"

"To give you a nudge in the proper direction," Chase answered with an enigmatic grin.

Jack eyed his overlord with an unwavering stare. "So, nudge me," he said without hesitation.

"Return to the basic questions," Chase said.

"…but…"

"What is it?"

"We were just there," Jack pointed out. "We just talked about that and didn't get anywhere…"

"We got nowhere, yes," Chase agreed easily, "but you didn't have answers for every question, now, did you?"

Looking positively perplexed, now, Jack stared at his lover. "Yeah," he confirmed, "I don't know the 'how.' That's what we're supposed to figure out."

"Before the 'how,' you must have the 'why.'" Golden eyes, a predator's eyes, flickered over the seated youth, sizing him up; appraising his worth. "What is your 'why,' my Jack?"

"I… What do you mean?"

"Conquering the world isn't the average pastime for prepubescent boys, Spicer," Chase pointed out. "Why was it—and is it—yours?"

"Why do you need to know?"

Jack's tone was suddenly frigid and guarded, his shoulders tense. One look in his eyes, those perfectly clear windows into the evil genius' heart, mind, and soul, told Chase of the insecurity that seemed to block the answer from escaping his lips.

Jack had not told his 'why' to anyone, before. He wasn't certain he wanted that to change.

"'Why' is just as important as 'how,'" Chase said calmly. "In fact, exploring the 'why' often leads right to the 'how.'"

There was a pause as Jack considered this, curling in on himself subconsciously as he acknowledged the point. "Do I have to explore it out loud?" he asked eventually. "Couldn't I just…think about it?"

Chase nearly winced at the blatant vulnerability he heard in his consort's voice. Such open susceptibility would do Jack no favors if he wanted to rule the planet.

"You could," he conceded, "but then, I would be unable to help you."

Jack said nothing.

"That," Chase continued, "and I am honestly curious."

Jack looked up.

Chase felt his consort's eyes on him, inspecting him, adoring him, taking all of him in.

"It's…"

"What?" the dragonlord wondered when the pause trailed off into a definite silence.

"It'll probably sound stupid if I say it out loud," Jack admitted. "I don't…I don't want you to think of me like that. Stupid."

"If I considered you to be stupid, I would not have made you mine," Chase spoke honestly. "Your reasons are your own and I will respect them."

Jack wavered, but held strong: his lips yet remained sealed.

"I have no room to speak of stupid decisions," Chase pointed out. "I sold my soul to a bean, Spicer. I have yet to truly regret it and the power and immortality I gained from it, but the decision itself was a stupid one. I swear on my honor that whatever reason you have for wanting the world, I will not sneer at it."

At that, Jack broke: he knew that Chase would never break his word, not once he'd sworn on his honor.

"It's because I'm…lonely," he said meekly.

"Lonely?"

Immediately, Jack's walls were going back up; closing himself off to head off any hurt or insult before it came.

Chase put a stop to it quickly. "I'm not criticizing you, Jack," he promised. "I'm merely curious. What do you mean, you're lonely?"

The defenses eased back again. "Just that. I'm lonely. The usual stupid fare," Jack shrugged with half of what might've been a mirthless chuckle. "Mommy didn't love me enough, daddy's never home, the kids at school are mean to me… It's all really cliché and emo, I guess. Stupid."

Chase shook his head. "It's far from stupid," he assured. "It's a stereotype and made light of these days, but people overestimate emotional resilience and underestimate the toll that emotional unavailability of family and peers can take."

Relief in those lovely red eyes: not stupid for being so hurt by others, for wanting their attention anyway, for not being able to 'suck it up and deal with it, crybaby.'

"Really?" he wondered aloud. "It's not…I'm not…?"

"Not at all," Chase promised him.

Jack sighed almost inaudibly. "That's… I… Good."

Chase smiled. "Really, consort, you should know better than to think I would look down on you for having feelings and having them damaged. That's hardly any fault of yours. If anything, it's their fault."

Their fault. Them.

Both knew who they were: everyone who had ever scorned Jack; ever hurt his feelings, ever called him names or done him injury. Anyone who had looked down on him, or told him he was stupid, or failed to be there for him when he needed it.

They were anyone who had ever made Jack feel lonely.

"Yeah," Jack slowly agreed, "it is. The whole damn world's fault. I know that."

Chase grinned wider. "Of course you do," he said. "That's why you want to rule them. You want to subjugate everyone and make them pay attention to you. You want to show them how wrong they were to ignore you and mistreat you. You want them all to see how great you are."

Jack's gaze flicked over to the armchair. "…Are you making fun of me?"

"Certainly not."

Chase allowed himself to look at his lover; truly look.

His eyes followed the long, folded legs up and down to slender hips that fit his hands perfectly. A slim torso branched out into the long and graceful arms yet wrapped around his knees, and the dragonlord couldn't help but remember all the wonderful, wonderful times those arms had been wrapped around him, blunt nails digging into his back while cries of, 'more' and 'harder' teased his ears with the almost-musical timbre of Jack's voice.

His face was hardly awful on the eyes; far from it. Chase loved to look at his consort's face, especially now that manhood had changed him for the better. Without baby-fat, Jack's face was a thing of aristocratic beauty: all high cheekbones and full lips and a straight, elegant nose, not to mention how nicely his features were accentuated by his red eyes and white skin.

Had Jack been around in his time, Chase surely would've mistaken the young man as some sort of prince or demon, possibly both.

Of course, he was more than just his beauty. His mind was what really attracted the dragonlord.

Jack truly was a genius. Such an interesting intellect he had and such skills it gave him! His mastery of mechanics was decades, perhaps even centuries ahead of its time, and Jack himself…

Well, Chase had known from the moment he'd met Spicer that no one quite like him would come along again for thousands and thousands of years; possibly even never again.

Unique, intelligent, beautiful, magnificent in bed…

"I'm not making fun of you at all, Jack," Chase confidently assured. "You are truly great and I should be far less surprised than I am that no one in this world of fools besides myself has yet realized that."

The blush was back, and Chase smirked. It was so terribly hard to embarrass Spicer: his physical resilience after being beaten down in a fight combined with both his obliviousness in social situations and his bold personality made it thoroughly difficult to discomfit the youth.

It was most definitely a source of pride for the dragonlord that he could make one comment and Jack's cheeks would redden like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"You're right," Jack admitted, only to become flustered. "Oh, wait, no—I don't mean you were right about me being great! I mean…well, I'm not not great, but I--"

Chase laughed. "Spicer, truly," he said, "don't attempt to be modest on my account. You never are, and for good reason: it doesn't suit you at all."

Jack gave up. "Okay, fine," he agreed, "I am great. And you're right. I do want to show them that. I want to prove that I'm great. I don't want there to be any doubt anywhere that Jack Spicer is totally awesome in all ways possible."

"That's more like it," Chase smiled. "So, my great and beloved consort wants to show the world how 'awesome' he is. What in particular do you want to show them?"

It seemed that this was something that had not been considered before, because there was a long pause as Jack appeared to think it over.

"Well…" he said eventually, "I'm a genius. Should we start with that?"

"We can start wherever you'd like, Jack. It's your conquest, after all."

The albino nodded. "Okay, then, let's start there. How do I show people I'm a genius?"

"Turn that question back on yourself," Chase suggested.

"But…I don't know," Jack frowned. "That's why I asked you."

"I promise you that you know the answer," Chase enigmatically assured. "You've always known. Ask yourself; why do you think you're a genius?"

"…because I am?"

"Deeper," the warlord urged.

Jack stared hard at his knees as he struggled to answer his master's question to him. Chase could tell immediately that he was searching his mind for some life-changing, ground-breaking revelation that he had never thought of before and coming up with absolutely nothing.

"You're over-thinking this," Chase said. "The answer is exceedingly simple. What is it that makes you a genius?"

Biting his lip, Jack made a face. "Um…" he began uncertainly, "I dunno…my IQ…?"

"Which is how high?"

"312, you know that."

"I do," Chase agreed. "And what is the average IQ for everyone else on the planet?"

"Like, 100-ish," Jack shrugged, "what does that have to do with--"

He cut himself off, eyes wide in revelation and Chase grinned.

"If other people knew my IQ, they'd freak," Jack declared.

"Now, you're on the right track," his lover praised.

"Nobody's ever had an IQ as high as mine before," he continued, more to himself than anything. "If it gets out, I'll make headlines everywhere. I'll be breaking records, doing interviews on television, getting fan-mail… I'll be famous."

"And what comes with fame, my Jack?" Chase wondered, clearly not for his own benefit.

"Fortune," the goth answered automatically. "I'll get even richer than I am; my own money instead of my parents'. I'll be rich in my own right."

"And what comes with money?"

A deliciously evil grin came across Jack's face, one that made Chase thoroughly proud to call the youth his consort. "Power," he answered. "With that kind of finance and reputation backing me up, I could do anything. I could bribe world leaders, blackmail people in higher and lower standing than me…" Abruptly, he looked up, locking his intent gaze on his master. "Chase, I could be the typecast billionaire-supervillain character—but for real!"

"You could be even more," Chase suggested. "Don't forget your extraordinary talent with machines and robotics."

By now, Jack had definitely caught onto the idea and seized this fact immediately. "You're right," he eagerly nodded to himself. "I can market my inventions! Not the really good ones; those I'll keep for private use, but I can sell the rest to corporations and the public."

"Why?" Chase knew this answer already, of course, but he just knew Jack would want an excuse to say it.

"Because it'll boost my reputation even more," he replied, clearly excited at the prospect. "I'll make more money, get even more famous, and then…"

"Then?" Chase prompted.

"Then, I'll have machines and robots distributed worldwide," Jack declared. "People today are lazy: they like machines to do their work for them. I just have to take advantage of that. If everybody knows what a genius I am, there's no way they'd mistrust something I'd designed and produced. The public, private companies, everybody who can will buy from me and rely on my robots for anything they can be relied on for. And then, when my machines are everywhere--"

"They'll rebel at your behest," Chase finished. "As their creator, their deepest loyalty will have been programmed to go to you. No one on the planet has yet mastered robotics on the scale that you have, so it will be all but impossible for anyone to reprogram them against you, and besides that, the mechanical uprising would happen too suddenly and unexpectedly for anyone to even think of that."

Jack nodded, grinning widely. "Human soldiers would be no match against my bots, of course. Not after their most recent upgrades."

Chase offered a wry smirk in return. "Are you referring to the new tungsten frame that keeps them from being destroyed by any kind of external damage, or the new weapons system you've installed that should rightly be in the dictionary under 'overkill'?"

"Why not both?" the genius laughed. "Either way, nothing will be able to stand against them—or me, for that matter."

"What of the world's nuclear weapons? I can think of several world leaders who would consider the lives of hundreds of thousands of people a necessary sacrifice if it meant taking you and your robotic legions out, as well."

"I'll be capturing and/or killing the world leaders first," Jack assured, easily waving away any concern over that. "And if anybody else tries to initiate a nuclear strike against me, they've clearly never had to contend with my hacking skills. I could break past government firewalls and redirect nukes wherever I want; maybe the Xiaolin temple, if I haven't leveled it already by the time I seize control of the globe."

Utterly proud of his lover and minion, Chase smiled. "Congratulations, Jack," he practically purred, "you have your 'how.'"

"I do, don't I?" Jack grinned, obviously elated. "You're good at 'giving nudges.'"

"Naturally: I've had centuries of practice at it."

"Devious bastard," the goth chuckled. "You can be my right-hand man in my new world order. Maybe I'll even let you be my consort!"

Chase laughed. "Very well, master," he teased. "And when should I expect to assume this position for you, O Great Emperor of Earth?"

Jack hummed thoughtfully. "That's a good question. I guess it depends."

"On?"

"How soon I can put things into motion, how long it takes for people to really take notice, how quickly I can get the money and the rep to start producing machines globally and people will actually buy them, how long it'll take for said products to be distributed just about everywhere… Several factors, actually."

Chase nodded, acknowledging this. "What do you think?"

"Well," Jack said, "I could start as soon as tonight, although this plan isn't particularly time-sensitive; so long as I get the ball rolling before mankind catches up to my level of robotics, and that'll be decades in the future. Still, the sooner, the better, right?"

"Knowing you? Certainly," Chase agreed.

"As for how quick I'll get noticed for being a super-genius, that'll probably be a matter of hours thanks to the interwebs. A strategic information leak to a few of the right sources," he explained, "and I could be all over the news by morning; one of those, 'overnight sensation' deals."

"Money and reputation will take a bit longer than that," the dragonlord warned. "Not too terribly long, but certainly more than a few hours."

Jack nodded. "Definitely. I'd say months for that part. Four or five, maybe six, and then a few more for distribution. From there, it'd pretty much be a handful of days until I have complete control and…"

Chase watched as Jack trailed off, only to laugh out loud a moment later.

"Holy crap," he grinned, "this is gonna happen in less than a year. Eight years of failure and then you talk to me for an hour and, boom! Global conquest before the year is out!"

Jack uncurled from his position on the couch, making a beeline for Chase in the armchair. The everlord was utterly pleased to see the usual love and admiration in his red gaze, mixed with anticipation and glee.

Chase was kissed deeply on the mouth and responded eagerly, uncrossing his legs and straightening up into the kiss while affectionate white hands played briefly with his hair.

"You know I love you, right?" Jack cooed at him, his tone sultry and warm.

Chase smirked. "I should hope so," he said. "You certainly tell me often enough."

His Jack smiled at him and kissed him again, dipping to nuzzle at his neck just so before pulling back.

"I'm gonna head down to my lab and see what I can do to get myself out there," he said. "Then, I'll be back up and we can celebrate my soon-to-be victory with a bottle of wine and a movie or something."

And with that, he was off, practically skipping out to go and conquer the world.

Chase watched him go with less of a smirk and more of an honest smile. Earth was in need of new management and Jack…

Well, Jack was the perfect candidate for it: it would most certainly do Chase's Heylin heart good to see such an evil, talented young man appointed its ruler.

Pleased with himself and his consort, the dragonlord returned to his home to browse through the selection of wines he'd accumulated over his many years of living.

After all, only the finest of wines would do in order to toast the beginning of a glorious new era.

Viral, Part 2

crystallicsky — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 12:39:14 GMT

Title: Viral
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Language, homosexuality, implied sexual situations, etc.
Notes: Anyone remember the Osmosis Chack idea I've dabbled briefly in with Anthology and Back in Business? Say hello to the origin-story! I've actually had this done for awhile, but I've been saving it so I could post it on a special occasion. I figure today qualifies and in light of that, I have something that needs to be said to silvarbelle ...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! =D

I hope you guys enjoy her present as much as she does! =)

Jack was quite obviously on the last legs of his immunity.

The first day in the Vena Cava Arms had seen the nonfatal enthusiastic, still untouchable by Sharon's white blood cells and excited to cause as much mayhem as a common cold could. He'd spent very little time in the hotel room, preferring to go out and make trouble.

This left Chase alone to entertain himself with bland television and the fast food and magazines Jack had been considerate enough to drop off for him.

The second day, however, brought a drastic change to the young virus and Jack had not left the room even once. He also made a point of keeping the shades tightly drawn over the window and the 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign slung over the door knob.

Jack's very aura spoke of nerves and anxiety, so much so that Chase had ordered a glass of tryptophan for his companion to drink in order to forcibly calm him down.

"Do leukocytes truly scare you so much?" he wondered aloud.

Jack, currently rifling through drawers and gathering up his meager belongings to leave, looked over at the calm virus on the bed. Not for the first time, he noticed just how beautiful the other pathogen was and both lust and jealousy burned his heart for all of a split second.

Then, the fear returned and he resumed packing. "Uh, yeah," he confirmed, "they really do."

"Why?" Chase inquired. "You were so confident before this morning."

"That was before I saw this," Jack declared, tossing a newspaper in the direction of his companion's head.

Chase, with his excellent instincts, caught it easily and looked it over, pausing in surprise at the sight of Jack on the front page.

The Black Death scanned the black-and-white print to read the story accompanying the photo.

"Citizens of Sharon can now rest easy," he read aloud. "The brave men and women of the local police force have at last identified the culprit of recent heat waves, congestion of nasal highways, and seismic activity near the Respiratory district. Name unknown, the perpetrator is none other than a rhinovirus, AKA, a common cold."

"They're onto me, Chase," Jack murmured nervously. "They know what I am, what I can do, how to stop me…"

Chase eyed the article for a few more moments, picking up the warnings that advised cells to be on the lookout for individuals with exceedingly pale membranes not wearing a police uniform and to alert law enforcement officials immediately should they spot him. Despite the fact that he was a nonlethal pathogen, civilians were still advised to avoid confronting the rhinovirus themselves as he could be in possession of a weapon.

Having seen enough, Chase set the magazine aside and stood, going to Jack's side. "Don't be so anxious," he calmly soothed, "it shouldn't take long for the two of us to safely move to another body."

"……the two of us?" Jack echoed dumbly. "You're coming with me?"

Chase snorted in response. "Of course I am," he declared. "I don't know this body nor do I feel safe in it. Why in the world would I want to stay?"

"I dunno," Jack shrugged, "I guess I-"

"Besides," Chase cut in, "was it not you who declared yourself my retainer? You'd be doing a piss poor job of that if you simply left me here with no one I know and no one I can trust!"

Cytoplasm darkened Jack's cheeks. "Sorry," he sheepishly apologized, "I dunno why, but...I guess I didn't think you'd want to stick around..."

Recalling his decision from the night prior, Chase spoke up with the intent to begin making himself clear to Jack. "Why wouldn't I want to remain with a cell like you?"

Jack looked up. "A cell like me?" he asked.

"Yes," the once-deadly virus confirmed. "You-"

There was a loud knock on the door of the room.

Chase frowned, annoyed at the interruption. Jack flinched and zipped up his bag, nerves on edge.

"Yeah?" he called past the door.

Chase saw the immediate flood of terror on Jack's face as a gruff voice responded, "Immunity, open up!"

"Shit," Jack cussed under his breath, "that bitch at the front desk must have ratted us out." Jack put on a dark black trench coat and obligingly replied to the man outside the room. "Alright, officer," he said, his voice docile and compliant, "gimme just a second and I'll let you in."

To Chase, he once more dropped the volume of his voice, his tone devious; almost playful. "We don't have much time. You're airborne, right?"

Wordlessly, Chase nodded, only to have an overcoat similar to Jack's thrown at him. He was quietly grateful that its ends were not tattered stylistically as Jack's was, preferring his coat to have a touch more class.

"Then, you know how to use one of those," Jack smirked. "Follow my lead."

With that, Jack fanned out his coat and ran at the clear, thin membrane of the window. It burst easily and Jack's boots hooked into the hem just before the ripped ends of his trench, using it as a hang glider.

Chase chuckled and leaped out the window after him, gliding on the air currents with his own jacket. Behind him, he heard the hotel door slam open as the leukocytes on the other side grew impatient in waiting and their aggrieved cries to stop when they discovered their suspects escaping. He felt and saw the blasts of superheated plasma whiz by him ineffectively as the officers fired at he and Jack.

He paid them absolutely no mind and glided after the rhinovirus on the way from the Cardiac district to the throat, thoroughly content to enjoy the view of Jack's lithe and slender body in flight.

By the time they touched down on something solid, the air was overwhelmingly humid, the ground was soft and moist, and petty criminals, inconsequential germs were to be found everywhere.

The mouth, Chase immediately recognized: it looked the same in just about every body.

"Whoo!" Jack crowed enthusiastically. "That was easily one of the coolest getaways I've ever made! Ya' think we lost 'em?"

Chase hummed in contemplation, inspecting the immediate area. "I believe so," he said warily. "Still, we should be cautious."

Jack nodded and began making a course for the teeth, Chase close behind him. They would scale the enamel, squeeze past the lips, and glide to another host; one where the rhinovirus would once more be effective and the bubonic plague would still be unknown.

"So, what do you want to do in the next person?" Jack spoke up, not taking his eyes off their goal. "I'm gonna hydrolyze some real food. I haven't ingested anything since this morning, and even then, it was just a donut with a jelly-filled nucleus."

"I'd like to find a bed to sleep in," Chase confessed, "and...perhaps someone to share it with."

Jack glanced furtively at his companion. Darwin, Chase was beautiful and so amazingly awesome, too! He honestly didn't care how long ago Chase's glory days were, just the legacy was enough to impress the common cold.

Jeez, here Jack was practically swooning and Chase was talking about getting laid!

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, feigning disinterest. "Got anybody in mind, or are you gonna just...pick up somebody when we get there?"

Chase cast a sidelong glance at Jack, eying his long, lean limbs in motion with each stride forward. How graceful the young virus seemed; how lovely he appeared now that he cared to look!

"I've already got an idea of who I want," Chase purred none too slyly, preferring to be obvious rather than subtle. His intended seductee was more likely to notice he was being seduced if it were out in the open.

Jack's step faltered slightly at the warm, inviting tone. That had sounded a little...almost like Chase...

Could he really be interested?

Jack turned, facing Chase who was likewise looking at him. "Chase," he began, uncertain, "do you-"

A blob of superheated plasma zoomed past both of their noses and they turned to see where it'd come from.

Dread pooled in Jack's stomach at the sight of a police squadron approaching from the back of the throat, sirens wailing as several men shouted for the two of them to get down on the ground and surrender peacefully.

Chase snapped into action immediately, shoving Jack towards the teeth. "Go," he said calmly, "I'll catch up."

"What?!" Jack yelped, staggering back a few steps. "Chase, you're not really thinking-"

"I am," Chase assured.

"That's crazy!" the rhinovirus declared. "You're nonlethal! They'll lyse you if you try to-"

"Go," Chase growled again, glaring darkly at his companion.

Jack took one look into those stern, gold eyes and knew he would not be told again.

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed, turning and running towards the teeth, "but if you get yourself killed, you're so not my idol, anymore!"

To himself, Chase grinned and murmured, "Then, I'd best remain alive, now, shouldn't I?"

The once unstoppable virus, now completely nonlethal, stalked confidently towards the leukocytes as if he still had the ability to force each and every one of them to undergo apoptosis with a single swipe of his claws.

Chase was only vaguely aware of the shouting at him, the demands to, 'stay out of this, neuron, it doesn't concern you.' He breathed deeply, centering himself and forcing down the instinctive urge to flee and remain safe.

He had someone weaker than himself to protect: this was no time for letting cowardly instincts get the best of him.

The first of the leukocytes to be felled was surprised, to say the least. He had not been expecting the unarmed, harmless-looking neuron to approach him casually only to grab his arm and twist it so far behind his back that he had to drop his gun.

Chase couldn't help his grin as he maneuvered the officer in front of him, a literal living shield. There was more shouting, demands to let him go, but Chase ignored them. "Drop your weapons," he ordered, "or I give this cell something much worse than a sore arm."

The leukocytes were obviously displeased about the situation, but with a fellow officer in danger, there was little more they could do. Their guns were dropped to the moist ground, their hands raised in a gesture of harmlessness.

Chase acted immediately.

The group of men and scattered women grunted as the hostage leukocyte was thrown into them, knocking the breath out of them and pushing them to the ground. Those that remained standing were soon dealt with through a series of kicks and strikes, and soon enough Chase was the only one who remained upright.

The Black Death had originated in Asia, a land of many martial arts that were practiced even by cells. Considering his place of birth, his age, and his legacy, it was almost ignorant to assume Chase was unable to fight like the one cell army he was.

Nearly all of the leukocytes were subdued, now, though there was one who appeared to still be conscious. He was crawling to his squad car, broken and clearly trying to call for backup.

Chase let him: he had more important matters to attend to.

The virus was at the teeth in mere minutes, searching for a ridge or a crack; some sort of foothold so as to get over.

"Chase!"

Chase looked and blinked in surprise to see a disembodied hand waving at him. "...Jack?" he hesitantly inquired. A closer look revealed that the hand was not disembodied at all and rather was wedged between two large, off-white teeth, the rest of the rhinovirus was undoubtedly on the other side. "Tell me you aren't stuck," Chase demanded.

"No, I'm not stuck!" Jack's slightly distant voice exclaimed. "I was waiting for you! Now, grab my hand." The fingers of said hand wiggled emphatically in a gesture that read, 'come on, already!'

A bit perturbed by the sight, Chase nonetheless approached and did as instructed, lacing his fingers with slender white ones that gripped him back firmly.

"You're gonna wanna hold on," the Black Death heard preceding the appearance of Jack at the top of the tooth he'd been behind. Chase noticed that the rhinovirus's arm was stretched impossibly long behind him, but that was all he really had time to notice.

With a grunt of effort, Jack jerked his arm forward, pulling it back through the crevice it'd been squeezed through in the first place. That would've been the end of it were his body not naturally elastic, but since it was, it immediately made an effort to snap back into its original shape.

Before Chase was fully aware of what was happening, he was being pulled upwards as Jack's arm shortened, effectively being slingshot over the tooth. The force of the movement had both viruses crashing into one another and falling over the edge of the enamel cliff, landing them in the small, dark space on the other side.

For the third time, Jack found his cheeks darkening with cytoplasm in so short an amount of time that it had to be a record for him when he realized that Chase, the big, bad, totally amazing bubonic plague virus was on top of him.

Hurriedly, he disentangled himself from Chase until there was a respectable distance between them. Curling his knees up to his chest, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Chase's silhouette, too, composed itself and sat upright.

There was a brief silence between them.

"That was really cool," Jack eventually said. "How you beat the crap out of those guys, I mean."

"It was nothing," Chase replied. "If I hadn't fought them, they might have gotten to you."

Red eyes widened in the darkness. "You did that for me?"

There was a snort. "Of course I did. If I hadn't, you would've been lysed."

"You could've been lysed, too!" Jack pointed out. "Why would you put yourself at risk to save me?"

Chase paused for a moment, then, "Because standing by and watching someone get killed is hardly any way to court them."

Jack's reaction to this statement was nearly lost to the darkness in the space between lip and tooth. It would've been completely lost if Chase's eyesight hadn't been so good.

As it was, the rhinovirus seemed...blank, for lack of a better word. His facial expression said absolutely nothing about what he was feeling and Chase felt a skirl of anger sweep through him at the thought that Jack might be unhappy with this newest development.

"...you're not messing with me, are you?"

Chase blinked. "What?"

"This isn't...some kind of joke, is it?" Jack asked again. "'cause if it is, it's been tried before and it's not funny."

"I'm not joking," Chase promised, even as a different sort of anger reared up at the thought of Jack being the butt of such a cruel joke.

"Why?" was Jack's next question.

The answer came surprisingly easily. "Because I like you," Chase said. "Because you are interesting and attractive and because I see a kindred spirit in you that I haven't seen in anyone in a long time."

Jack stared at nothing for a few moments, letting the statement sink in. Then, amazingly, he laughed.

The sound startled Chase, who watched the younger virus laugh and sincerely hoped he hadn't gone mad.

"Oh, thank Darwin!" Jack chuckled, a hand on his face. "That's...I mean, I thought..." He broke out into incoherent giggles again.

"You're...alright with this?" the Black Death wondered.

"Hell yeah, I am!" Jack immediately exclaimed. "Chase, you're hot and you're awesome! There'd be something wrong with me if I wasn't attracted to you. I thought all the sexual tension was wishful thinking; like I was imagining it or something. To hear it from you? Oh, man, it's just such a relief!"

Chase grinned and moved closer to Jack. "Is it really?" he asked quietly, his tone a low and very sexy rumble.

Thankfully, now that everything was out in the open, Jack did not hesitate to respond. "Yeah," he confirmed, getting close as well, "it definitely is."

Surprisingly, it was the rhinovirus that made the first move, pressing his lips inexpertly to Chase's.

Chase, naturally, kissed back with fervor. How good the beginnings of intimacy felt after so long...!

Jack made a sharp noise in the back of his throat as Chase shoved him down, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Briefly, the irony of what they were doing dawned on him: making out behind a lip, but he didn't focus on it very long as he simply didn't have the will or the time at the moment. Chase was very good at kissing though he did so as a man starved of it.

White arms wound their way around the older virus's body, Jack relaxing and signifying his acceptance of Chase's dominance. In virus circles, division (whether new cells came of it or not) was all about dominance and two could not proceed if one failed to accept a submissive role. In just laying back and holding on, Jack might as well have said, "Do whatever you want, I'm up for it."

To Chase, who had not had anyone for centuries, this was the green light of green lights.

The kiss escalated much faster than any cell with patience would've allowed it to and Jack's fingers dug into the leather of Chase's overcoat in surprise as the famed bubonic plague delved past his lips and sucked, pulling his cytoplasm into their joined mouths.

The cell-equivalent of open-mouth kissing was much different than the human version; much more intimate. Whereas full-blown organisms like humans kissed with only their tongues playing, cells kissing with open mouths meant a mingling of cytoplasm, a literal example of the expression, 'sucking face.' Such an act was incredibly suggestive and to do it in public was considered one of the most lewd, obscene things a cell could do because of how closely the act mimicked sexual reproduction, specifically the interchange of cytoplasm that was normally meant to remain in one individual.

Luckily, to Jack, obscene was a turn-on of epic proportions.

For a moment, Chase feared he might have erred in initiating an open-mouth kiss so soon into the proceedings and wondered if he was frightening away a perfectly willing sexual partner. Then, however, Jack had reciprocated the kiss, fervently sucking back and drawing Chase's cytoplasm up to mix with his own.

The taste of it was unbearably arousing for both, Chase's aged, robust essence combining with the flavor of Jack's spicy sweetness. The kiss broke and red and gold eyes met in the darkness.

Then, the scramble for nudity began.

Both viruses clutched eagerly at one another, doing their damnedest to lose their clothing while not separating from each other any distance great enough that they stopped feeling the other's body heat. The closeness made the removal of clothing difficult, but they were eager enough to couple that helping each other become naked was less a matter of charity and more a matter of similar interests.

They managed to shrug off their coats on their own, but Chase had trouble removing his grey sweater (that was now much too warm for him) alone and Jack appeared to be unable to undo with only one set of fumbling fingers the belt that kept his pants closed and therefore, his lower half hidden.

Chase and Jack were both about half-naked when the police sirens decided to start up again.

"Fuck," was the only thing they could think to say.

Immediately, they were up and reluctantly away from each other, redressing even faster than they'd stripped (if that were possible). Jack appeared to be having a slightly more difficult time of it than Chase, his mind more affected by the cloud of lust occupying it, but even he was only an article of clothing or two behind in terms of getting dressed.

As Chase shrugged on his coat, Jack finished with his belt buckle and began fumbling around in the darkness for his own jacket while his almost-lover hazarded a peek in between a crack in a nearby tooth.

The situation was less than good: there was no fewer than six police cruisers rolling up the tongue and gathering beneath the uvula, lights flashing and hostility certain upon discovering their fallen comrades.

Internally, Chase cursed. If he'd known his rhinovirus companion was going to be eager enough to want to divide with him right here and now, he'd have taken the time to incapacitate that last leukocyte so they'd have had time to do so!

Now, it would have to wait.

"How bad?" Jack inquired from behind him, having at last found and put on his trench coat.

"Bad," Chase said simply.

Jack winced. "Yeah, I figured as much," he admitted. "We've definitely gotta make a break for it. You're pretty kick-ass even as a nonfatal, but not even you can take on that many guys."

"You are correct there," Chase agreed. "A single squadcar of leukocytes with the element of surprise on my side is one thing; six or more without it is quite another."

"Six?!" Jack hissed. "Fuck, do we need to get out of here!" He looked up into the dark, dampness of the enclosed space, scanning for any ray of light coming from the outside and seeing none. "Okay, if we're gonna live to see another day, Sharon needs to open her mouth." It went unsaid that he did not require this with his malleable, elastic form that could squeeze through the large and heavy (for a cell) lips, but Chase, with his not-so-malleable body, did lest he be crushed trying to escape.

It was fairly certain that neither party wanted this to happen.

"So..." Jack began, instinctively glancing backwards at the teeth though he could not see through them, "how do we get her to open up?"

"We could always bait the leukocytes," Chase reasoned. "Provoke them into firing at us, hope they get sloppy and injure a tooth or the tongue. We would only have a few precious seconds to escape at her cry of pain before she clamps her mouth shut immediately afterwards, but it's better than just hoping for a mira-"

His words were cut off by a jarring force of impact that every cell in the mouth felt right down to their nonexistent bones. The was a rumbling sound as Sharon's mouth opened on its own, her tongue lifting up and causing screams as the blockade of white blood cells was essentially tipped backwards down the throat. The two viruses trapped between the mostly-stationary bottom lip and the definitely stationary teeth were jostled quite a bit, but they for the most part remained where they were.

Sharon had opened her mouth at a very opportune time. While it was unbelievably close to the miracle Chase had decided it wasn't worth waiting for, he was not about to look a gift Sharon in the mouth.

While the mouth had been opened, there was no light streaming through, which could mean one of two things: either she was yawning with a hand over her mouth, or there was another mouth being joined with hers. Based on the forward motion of the tongue, it was a safe bet that it was the latter.

Chase took the slim chance that it was the former and wordlessly seized Jack by the arm, pulling him along as he used his mostly-harmless claws to scale the inside of the lip. The rhinovirus caught on quickly and moved so that he piggy-backed Chase instead of hanging from his arm, allowing him the use of both hands and getting them to the top much easier and quicker.

It was most largely a blur of adrenaline and motion from that point on. Jack was shrugged off of the plague virus's back and once again caught by the arm, dragged through the mouth of the man Sharon was currently making out with and up towards the brain. Briefly, it was noted that the Cerebellum Hall of the body was labeled with the name, 'Leonard' instead of Sharon's husband, Harold and the woman was mentally cheered on for at last ditching the uninterested jerk for somebody who might treat her better.

It was not dwelled on very long as the two viruses made their way to the ear and jumped ship as soon as possible, to a passing coworker, Julia. From there, they likely could've remained, but in the interest of throwing off any chance of being caught, they hid out in Julia's body for a number of hours, waiting until she got home from work and greeted her teenage son, Max before again jumping bodies.

Truly, they'd had plenty of time to resume their activities from just before their evacuation from Sharon, but it wasn't until they'd gotten settled in their semi-permanent home in the up-and-coming Testicular district of Julia's son that anything was done about it. It was clean and new, heavily-populated and popular amongst young, lusty cells looking to meet people to divide with. As Max got older, the area would almost certainly become a, no pun intended, breeding ground for prostitution and sleazy clubs, but now, it was a perfectly reputable place with many hotels that didn't really ask a whole lot of questions about your name or your reasons for staying.

Jack flopped down onto the clean, white bedspread of the room he'd rented, eyes slipping closed as the breath left him in a whoosh. "Good sweet Darwin," he sighed, "that was rough."

"Yes, it was," Chase agreed with his companion, idly staring out the window. Considering the fact that this particular hotel was in the city and there would be no spectacular natural scenery to look at, the room at least had a nice view of the Seminiferous Tubule expressway at night, the zooming lights of billions of spermatozoa driving past at great speeds.

Losing interest, he closed the shades and removed his coat, the weight of it disappearing wonderfully from his shoulders as he slung it over the back of a chair. Chase joined Jack on the bed, allowing himself to relax. A smile quirked his lips as Jack cuddled up to him, nestling close at his side.

"Next time," the rhinovirus proposed, "let's not cut it so close."

Chase laughed quietly and looped an arm around the other virus. "I could not agree more," he said. "I can't remember the last time I've been so exhausted."

"I'm half-asleep as it is," Jack confessed. "Get the blanket?"

Obligingly, Chase took hold of the bedspread's edge, maneuvering it out from under his body and sliding beneath it. When Jack neither opened his eyes nor moved to do the same, he jerked the blanket and watched as the rhinovirus grunted from atop it and rolled over a teensy bit.

"What?" he inquired. "You mean I gotta move?"

Chase snorted. "Yes," he insisted, "you most definitely do."

"Fuck," Jack muttered, even as he opened his eyes and grinned back at the plague. Slipping under the thick comforter, he scooted in close to the other cell, sharing space and warmth.

Chase was perfectly happy to snuggle back, holding Jack close to him as they both got some very well-deserved rest.

--

Jack awoke much later (to his delight), when a glance at the clock would reveal that the majority of Max's inhabitants had been up and about for at least six hours. Silently grateful that neither of them had asked for a wake-up call, the young virus rolled over and was greeted with the glorious sight of his slumbering bedmate.

He hadn't be lying or exaggerating in the least when he'd told Chase he was hot: the Black Death was positively gorgeous, even more so when he slept. Silky smooth darkness pooled around his face, as if he'd fallen asleep in a puddle of distilled shadow. His expression was relaxed into a perfect serenity, not a single wrinkle on his lovely, handsome face that drew Jack in like a magnet.

Chase, of course, was immediately awake upon feeling the result of that magnetism; lips against his own, and realizing who those lips belonged to, he was soon kissing back, as well.

Despite the haze of sleep over them both, it didn't take long for Chase to end up on top of Jack and swapping copious amounts of cytoplasm, tasting what the other was (literally) made of. They rolled around on the bed like cats in heat, pawing and rubbing at each other's bodies with warm, gentle strokes of their hands. By the time the kiss broke, Jack was panting hard for breath, clutching the other virus's shoulders like his life depended on holding onto him and not letting go.

"Well," Chase purred to him, a grin on his face so charming that his soon-to-be lover felt like little more than a puddle on top of the sheets, "is this about where we were...?"

By all accounts, Jack should have been too intimidated by Chase's beauty to respond with any coherence, but one had to take into account that he was horny and here before him was a chance to get laid. Instead of sputtering shy nonsense, Jack instead responded, "Almost: we had less clothes, last time."

At this, Chase laughed. "Too right," he agreed with a chuckle. "Let's just see what can be done about that."

Again, the pair was struggling for nudity, peeling off clothing and tossing it away with all the care of a wealthy man for pennies. Shirts, pants, and undergarments were discarded with little to no concern as to where they landed and if they would wrinkle, and soon enough, there was nothing left to remove.

Chase eyed the rhinovirus beneath him with obvious pleasure. His body, now completely bared to greedy, golden eyes, was soft and slender, wiry in a way that suggested Jack was built for speed and stealth in contrast to Chase's own body-shape. He truly was the same, stark shade of white all over and Chase idly wondered how easily he could litter that pretty membrane with marks. Then, of course, his eyes moved downwards to the main event, so to speak.

Human scientists believed that bacteria were the only single-cell organisms to possess pili, appendages protruding from the surface of a cell and most often used for conjugation. This was untrue and many viruses had these. They tended to use them quite often as well, but because viruses were less inclined to engage in sexual division under a microscope like the less-intelligent bacteria that knew no better, it was widely believed that they simply didn't have pili.

It was also believed that viruses didn't have sex pili, either, pili used for the sharing of genetic material between two organisms. Even when studying the process between bacterium, scientists had decided that a sex pilus could not be equated with a human penis, but they, of course, had no testimony from bacteria or viruses who could vouch first-handedly for the fact that they didn't know what they were talking about.

Jack's sex pilus, Chase cheerfully noted, was surprisingly impressive in both length and girth and, due to their arousing activities from moments before, had already stiffened between his legs. Delighting in the startled gasp Jack gave when he curled a hand around it and squeezed, Chase leaned down to the other virus's neck, pressing kiss after suckling kiss to the smooth membrane there.
Jack shivered in response and clutched at his lover, instinctively rolling his hips upwards and crying out as he made delicious contact with Chase's own pilus. The Black Death snarled in reaction to the sensation and bit down on Jack's neck, leaving a bright red mark amongst the pale pink ones he'd already made.

"Eager, are we?" he growled upon pulling back, meeting the rhinovirus's half-lidded stare with his own.

"It's...it's been awhile," Jack sheepishly admitted. "We can...go slow later...right?"

Chase heard very clearly the hope that there would be a 'later' to speak of and he smirked. "Yes," he assured, "we can. If you're ready, now, though," a slight jerk of his hips had him grinding down against the younger virus again, relishing in his pleasured yelp, "nothing says we can't make this quick..."

"Yes...!" Jack hissed. "Now, quick, definitely!"

Laughing, Chase happily obliged and Jack's eyes went wide as he felt the very tip of Chase's pilus pressing against his own. He immediately forced himself to relax to avoid unnecessary pain.

Even so, there was a startlingly painful pressure as the most sensitive parts of their anatomy were pressed together, both of them groaning at the discomfort. There was purpose to the pain, however, and so neither pulled back from it, powering through until finally, finally...!

Jack shuddered and went limp as the semipermeable membrane of his pilus lived up to the 'permeable' part and joined with Chase's. He only vaguely felt the older virus panting on top of him, struggling to remain still as their mating bridge stabilized and created a direct contact between their bodies. Mostly, Jack was trying to hold himself still and had no time to worry about Chase doing the same.

A full minute passed before either of them could do anything but breathe heavily, and it was then that Chase reached down, laying his hand on Jack's flushed, white cheek, forcing their eyes to meet. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Y...yeah," Jack promised, "I'm fine. You?"

"Yes, I'm alright. Are you ready to...?"

Jack decided to display his readiness rather than speak it and daringly thrust upwards. Immediately, there was pleasure as their cytoplasm mixed within the mating bridge, stimulating the sensitive membrane there. Chase groaned at the wonderful feeling and got the message, thrusting back and beginning the age-old motions of sex. For a long time, they shared each other in the deepest way possible, enjoying the mindless pleasure that their single-cell bodies instinctively got from sharing genetic material. Rutting upon the sheets, the headboard thumped rhythmically against the wall behind them, joining the symphony of gasps and moans they made.

Were it a hotel in any other neighborhood, the front desk would have been called and they would be asked to keep the noise down. As it was, however, the viruses were not the only cells conjugating, and there were many other headboards banging against the wall to the point that nobody seemed to mind.

It wasn't too terribly long before both organisms were practically burning in lust, clutching at each other and making noises of such satisfaction as to indicate neither would be lasting very long. Chase knew this, of course, and decided an experiment was in order. He had had sex before and he had kissed before, but he had never attempted to do both at the same time.

The idea having just occurred to him, the Black Death bent down and tried it.

Jack arched wildly as his mouth was taken, a muffled scream tearing through his throat with his cytoplasm now meeting Chase's from both ends. Their bodies practically formed a circuit, their innermost components mixing thoroughly between them and bonding them in a perfectly lewd and intimate way.

For two viruses who hadn't had anyone to divide with in a very long time, it really was too much all at once.

Chase tore his mouth away from Jack, jerking his body off of him and falling to the bed as their mating bridge separated. Trace amounts of cytoplasm stained the once-pristine sheets, the viruses returning to two separate, exhausted beings.

Heavy breathing filled the air for several long moments, just long enough for Jack to come back to himself and snuggle close to the older cell. "Wow," he sighed when the ability to speak returned to him, "that was great..."

Chase grinned and allowed the snuggling, pulling Jack over so that he lie half on his chest. "Glad you enjoyed yourself," he said.

Jack snorted. "Oh, like you just hated it."

"And what if I did?" the plague virus challenged, obviously not sincere. Sex, as many agree, is like pizza: even when it's bad, it's still pretty good, and sex with Jack had been fairly spectacular for a quickie. He hoped to have many more opportunities to share genetic material with the lovely young rhinovirus in the future.

"Well, if you hated it, then, I'm way out of practice," Jack smirked. "Mind being my practice-dummy?"

Honestly amused, Chase laughed and bent to kiss his lover, chastely with lips only. Jack eagerly accepted the kiss and then proceeded to roll over, arms behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm thinking maybe I'll head up to the Respiratory district and overload the pressure on some phlegm tanks after a shower," he informed. "You wanna come with?"

"To the Respiratory district or the shower?" Chase wondered.

A naughty glint in his eyes, Jack asked, "Why not both?"

Grinning, Chase stood from the bed and waltzed over to the bathroom, making absolutely sure the younger virus got a wonderful view of his lean, very much naked and muscular body on the way. "I'll meet you there," he decided, slipping coyly past the doorway.

"No need to tell me, twice," Jack smiled playfully, instantly on his feet and after the Black Death.

Viral, Part 1

crystallicsky — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 12:36:13 GMT

I hope you guys enjoy her present as much as she does! =)

Jack was severely wishing that he had chosen Sharon as a carrier and not a victim. Had that been the case, he would most definitely not be in this position right now.

The virus behind him tightened his grip upon Jack's throat, sharp claws digging into the membrane there, and the pale white cell whined softly in fear.

"Who are you?!" it snarled at him in a raspy, underused voice. "What are you doing here?!"

The young rhinovirus strain was terrified. He had no idea what this other virus was and how it operated or what its overall purpose was.

It could be the sort that hijacked other cells in order to reproduce itself! What if it mistook him for one of the cells native to Sharon? It might inject its DNA into him and use him to make copies of itself, causing him to undergo apoptosis and die; or worse than the lytic cycle, it could put him through a lysogenic cycle and keep using him over and over again to make copies, forcing him to live through it until it finally saw fit to kill him!

Without realizing it, Jack had begun trembling like an autumn leaf in fierce gale, whimpering a steady, frightened mantra of, "I don't wanna lyse, I don't wanna lyse, I don't wanna lyse…"

He suddenly heard a rough sigh behind him and the claws around his throat retracted, the brawny arm coiled around his middle pulling away. Instantly, Jack ran forward clear to the other end of the Hypothalamus Control Room, waiting until his back was pressed flat against the wall before turning to face the other cell.

What met his gaze was a virus of impressive stature, dressed in boots, breeches, and a peasant-style shirt. His membrane was a dusky golden color, shifting into a very dark shade of black at his waist-length mane; so dark a shade, in fact, it seemed to shine green. Sharp-looking eyes, similar to the virus' membrane but brighter, glimmered at him sternly from a handsome, masculine face.

"Who are you?" he repeated calmly, his voice smoother now as he took the opportunity to give it use. "What are you doing here?"

It took a moment of opening and closing his mouth like a salmon just plucked out of a stream before he was able to actually speak. Eventually, he managed, "Jack, my…my name is Jack! I'm a rhinovirus: I just…I just came here to fuck with the temperature a little and…and cause a mild fever."

The other virus' stern expression softened at the information. "A common cold?" he questioned. "Then, you are no threat to me."

Jack nonetheless remained tense and pressed firmly against the wall, staring warily at the other cell for fear of apoptosis.

The virus saw this and scoffed. "You can relax, Jack," he assured. "My name is Chase. I am a bubonic plague virus: I can do you no harm."

At the virus' self-identification, red eyes went wide but not from fear; from awe. "Oh my God," the common cold gaped, "you're...you're the Black Death…"

Chase cocked an eyebrow. "Yes…" he slowly confirmed.

"Holy crap, no way!" Jack squealed in glee, all fear forgotten in a second. "You're like, my idol! I've followed your whole career!"

Golden eyes blinked, surprised. "You have?"

"Of course!" the rhinovirus exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I? You're, like, the baddest virus ever! You're like AIDS but without the gross infection method and less-wussy killing method; with old-school class! You're totally awesome!"

Chase offered a serious gaze to the starry-eyed cell singing his praises. "…Thank you," he replied after a moment. "It has been…a very long time since I was given praise…"

This seemed to surprise Jack. "Huh?" he less than eloquently inquired. "Why?"

The bubonic plague sighed, his face turning away from his current cellular companion for a moment. "If you have followed my career as closely as you have claimed, you know the reason why: I am dormant."

"So what?"

Startled a bit by the statement, Chase turned to the pale, white cell, making a noise of curiosity in his throat.

"Who cares if you're dormant?" Jack elaborated. "That doesn't change the stuff you've already done (which is awesome, by the way; two-thirds of Europe) so who gives a fuck if you can't do it anymore? You're still the baddest virus ever!"

Chase let out a bitter-sounding chortle. "Yes, well...if only all cells thought like you do, young rhinovirus."

Jack frowned, staring almost apprehensively at the older virus for a long, drawn out moment. "Hey are you gonna be in Sharon for awhile?" he abruptly inquired.

Chase blinked. "I..."

"'Cause if you need a place to stay," the pale cell continued, not waiting for an answer, "I've got a pretty nice setup down by the Fallopian Tubes. This body's already hit menopause, so it's pretty vacant there. There's no cops, and I've been lurking around Sharon for a couple of days already, so I know the layout and stuff if you wanna see the sights. What d'you say?" Jack entreated with a dazzling smile. "Us viruses gotta stick together, right?"

The bubonic plague considered this for a moment. In most cases, he preferred to be alone. However...he really didn't know anything about the city of Sharon, most importantly where the leukocytes of this particular woman most largely grouped.

While he loathed admitting it, being dormant not only negated his ability to infect a body, it made him vulnerable. Should so much as one white blood cell get ahold of him, he was quite literally dead.

Chase had been living since before the Renaissance and had no urge to undergo apoptosis anytime soon. If this younger virus was able to help him avoid that fate, he was all for allowing the nonlethal to drag him around a bit to at least get some lay of the body he was currently inhabiting.

Besides...Jack was clearly a fanboy of his, something he hadn't had in centuries, and the ego-boost he'd surely get with this rhinovirus around might do him a bit of good.

"Very well," Chase said at last. "I will take you up on your offer: show me the sights this body has to offer, Jack."

Said cell made a joyous, squealing noise, his white-membraned hand grabbing onto the golden wrist of the elder virus. "Awesome," he gleefully exclaimed, dragging Chase towards the door in order to exit the brain, "you won't regret this!"

--

The nonfatal virus had proven himself truthful in his promise, Chase mused to himself, sitting across from the cell at a plain but nonetheless sturdy carbon table within his home.

Jack had taken it upon himself to first of all drag the Black Death to a relatively nice retail outlet for the purpose of buying him new clothing (because medieval fashion, while all well and good, didn't quite fit in amongst the modern denizens of Sharon) and had insisted upon paying for what was bought, to which Chase offered no protest: he'd no proteins to exchange for the clothing, anyways.

Jack had encouraged him to pick out whatever he wished, and the elder virus had eventually settled upon a more modern style of boots, a dark pair of dress slacks, and a comfy dark grey turtleneck, all of which the white cell assured him looked positively dashing. This opinion was only reaffirmed by the looks given by the various other cells in the city the two passed on the way to the Fallopian Tubes district.

It had made Chase a bit uneasy at first; the stares. He was a virus, recognizable as one (or at least he believed so) and the more cells that knew of his presence in this body only increased his odds of being fatally introduced to a white blood cell.

That unease had passed when a female blood cell had approached him, saying she knew his category of cell didn't really divide but was he willing to give it a shot for her?

She'd mistaken him for a neuron! Not too great a leap, he supposed, considering the length of the membrane that formed his hair (which could be interpreted as message-relaying dendrites) and his rather impressive height even for a virus (potentially making his torso a long, myelin-coated axon), and if one cell in the body had made that error, chances were good that others would as well.

Apparently, it had been so long since he'd last infected a body that he was no longer recognizable by even average cells as a threat.

How sad.

Regardless, the Black Death was currently undetectable within Sharon so long as he was able to avoid contact with any leukocytes, and thanks to Jack, that would likely be no issue.

As Jack had said, the Fallopian Tube district was now a largely deserted neighborhood in comparison to the vital center of activity it must have been when the woman was actively menstruating and bearing children every few years. With what Chase'd been told of Sharon's husband's aversion to touching her since menopause, he safely assumed the Vaginal district would likely be similar.

Very few cells took up residence in this part of town, and those that did were the seedy, less-than-reputable types, only leaving their run-down dwellings to enact their seedy, less-than-reputable transactions, whatever they may be.

Chase was positive this area in particular had been abandoned by the lymphnode's task force long ago: he was safe here.

Jack's 'sweet setup' was essentially more of a dive, in every sense of the word: no ATP, no running hydrogen, and a distinct lack of all but the most basic and necessary carbon furniture. However, it was better than all the other houses and apartment complexes the elder virus had seen in the area, and at the very least, there was a solid roof to the place and none of the walls were caved in. That was a good thing.

The nutrients that were kept in stock, too; those were very good, as well.

"Do you hydrolyze glucose every night, Jack?" he found himself inquiring, watching the colorless cell engage in said activity.

The rhinovirus looked up at his guest's question, choosing (to Chase's great pleasure) to swallow his mouthful first before replying, "Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I tend to change bodies quick, so I usually end up with more stolen protein than I know what to do with. I don't stay in one place for too long, so instead of wasting it on a really nice place to live, I spend it on really high-end nutrients. You can use those no matter what body you're in, y'know?"

"Intelligent thinking," Chase complimented honestly, ingesting a bit of the meal himself. "So, what is said of your adaptability being the method of your survival is true."

"Oh, definitely," Jack agreed. "If I didn't genetically change myself just a little bit, like, every day, I'd have had a vaccine made for me by now. Gotta keep changing; keeping the humans on their toes so they can't get rid of you with a little injection, y'know?"

"Mm," the Black Death replied simply to that. "I certainly wish I was as adaptable as you are. If I had the ability to change my genetic make-up that quickly and make myself resistant to a cure as you do...well, simply put, the entire world would be reliving my glory days by now."

To Chase's confusion, the rhinovirus's cytoplasm gathered behind his cheeks, flushing the membrane there a pale-pale pink color.

"Yeah, uhm," Jack coughed awkwardly, desperately trying to think of somewhere better to guide the conversation than the implied genetic recombination (he'd only just met Chase, and the cell was implying things like that? How forward!) and eventually coming up with, "so, what brings a cell like you to Sharon?"

Golden eyes blinked once in mild confusion but thankfully, the change in topic was accepted. "This woman was visiting a pathology lab recently, yes?" Chase knowingly inquired.

"Yeah," Jack confirmed, "her husband works in one, so, she's probably been there to visit him recently."

"I was being studied in that lab," Chase said. "Apparently, I'm so small of a threat these days that the scientist researching me, I assume Sharon's husband, didn't even see fit to wash his hands of me before kissing his wife." Chase ignored the empathetic look Jack gave him and continued, "I ended up on a strand of her hair, made my way to the ear, and from there to the brain. At the time, the Hypothalamus Control Room was the only one empty, which is where I was when you happened to attempted that mild fever."

"Wow, you were in a lab?" the rhinovirus interestedly inquired. "How long were you there?"

"Several months at least," the Black Death informed him. "Before that, I was just barely surviving on the long-rotted bones of former victims buried in the ground and was taken by archaeologists to the pathology lab for research purposes."

From such a statement, Jack deduced, "It's been awhile since you've been in an actual person, then. I'm curious: is Sharon any different than the medieval bodies you've lived in?"

"I have noted differences," Chase conceded, idly sampling a bit of the sucrose and finding it just as high-quality as the glucose. "This city is much larger than I am used to and...more high-tech. Too, I've never seen so many adipose cells in my life. They seem to make up a much higher population than they did in the Renaissance, but overall, I suppose bodies are roughly the same as they were."

"People have evolved to be taller since then," Jack nodded, "and they've got way higher-fat diets on the whole along with a pretty sedentary lifestyle. Sharon's in pretty good shape comparatively; you'd be shocked at all the adipose neighborhoods you'd find in an obese person!"

"Things have changed, it seems," the virus mused. Idly glancing around the room, golden eyes were for at least the hundredth time abhorred by the not only plain but also shabby quality of the living space. While it was better than others in the neighborhood and he could admittedly understand Jack's logic behind taking such poor living conditions, it was a very far cry from what he was used to.

When he had been actively infecting bodies and remaining in individuals for very short periods of time (similar to what Jack was currently doing) due to how quickly his presence and wreaking of havoc resulted in their deaths, he had stayed in very high-end communities, and why not?

He was a monster-virus, a juggernaut completely unstoppable by any cell or immunity, and they could do little more than submit to his whims and let him do as he wished lest they be exposed to his claws and forcefully lysed!

Or at least…that was how things used to be…

Regardless, while Jack did not pack quite the punch the bubonic plague once did, he was still just as immune to immunity, so to speak, so long as he was not arrested or encountered after the standard 10-17 days the lymphnodes would need to recognize him and mount a counterattack. There was no reason he couldn't at least take advantage of the period during which he was untouchable and get himself at least something middle class to live in!

"Jack," he began, decided that he would be changing the rhinovirus' mind on this issue, "how is it that you can stand to live in such a manner?"

Red eyes blinked back at him from across the table in confusion. "What d'you mean?"

"Surely you have noticed the lack," Chase insisted.

"…of what?" Jack wondered when his idol failed to elaborate on his final word.

"Of everything," he clarified. "Granted, your environment is sugar-rich, but what if you require more hydrogen than you currently possess in order to break down your meals? You're quite out of luck without any hydrogen running to your dwelling."

"Well…" the common cold considered this for a moment, acknowledging it as a valid point before arguing back, "that's what those hydrogen fountains in the park down the block are for: all the hydrogen I need to hydrolyze sugars, and I don't have to pay a single protein for it."

Chase scoffed. "So, in exchange for 'free hydrogen,' you are required to leave your own home for a drink as if you were a lowlife canine cell and in such a lousy neighborhood that your chances of being mugged or forced to divide against your will skyrocket through simple existence?"

Jack responded to the statement with a sheepish look. "When…when you say it that way, I guess-"

"And what of the absence of ATP?" the Black Death demanded. "You're once more out of luck should you wish to be active after dark or if you need to keep track of the news to determine your own safety based upon the body's response to your actions."

"Well, I-"

"And surely your reputation is suffering from this sort of lifestyle," the virus informed his host. He immediately knew he'd struck a nerve at the suddenly-desperate and disturbed expression upon the white cell's face. It was obvious to Chase that to Jack, reputation was everything (a likely reason he idolized Chase for having made such a name for himself) and that the swiftest way to alter the cell's opinion was to call his 'rep' into question.

Smoothly, Chase continued, "No leukocyte will take you seriously living in such a hovel as you do; neither will any other cell, for that matter. It makes you appear weak and insignificant, dwelling in such a place. It causes the assumption that because you do not have anything but the worst the body has to offer, you cannot have anything but the worst the body has to offer: you are too weak to take the best by force in the eyes of others."

"That's not true," Jack immediately protested, a dark, bitter vehemence lurking in his voice as he said it. "I'm not weak. I'm sick of people telling me that just because I'm not fatal. I can knock any world leader I damn well want of their goddamn feet for two weeks and nobody can fucking stop me from doing it. I'm not weak."

"I'm well aware of that," Chase placatingly promised. "It is others you should be seeking to convince; that you must show you are not guilty of inferiority by association. Wouldn't you like to be respected, maybe even feared to an extent?"

"Yes," Jack answered honestly and immediately, fists subtly clenching at his sides. "I've always wanted that."

Chase grinned. Even after all these years of isolation, his skill at manipulation was as powerful as ever. "Then, perhaps you should seek a nicer dwelling than one such as this," he suggested. "Something away from the ghettos and slums of run-of-the-mill germs and illnesses and into a higher class of neighborhood, a place fit for a self-respecting virus."

Red eyes gazed blankly down at the carbon tabletop, thinking the issues over seriously. Eventually, Jack agreed, "Yeah…yeah, I want…I think you've got a point."

"I'm glad you think so," Chase smiled. "Does this at all influence your plans for the rest of your stay in Sharon?"

"No…yes…well, kind of," the common cold eventually settled with. "I've been here for almost two weeks already: I've only got, like, two days at best to hang out here before I'm in danger, so it probably wouldn't be any good to get a nicer place now. I doubt I could even find a property in time to live in it any more than five minutes before having to leave. Still, there's some pretty nice hotels over by the Cardiac district we could check out. I can afford a two-night stay at one of those pretty easy." Jack glanced back up at the older virus, uncertainly inquiring, "Would...that still help my rep, or...?"

Highly against the idea of remaining in this dump, Chase confidently assured, "Of course it would. When can we leave?"

--

Chase appreciatively eyed the large and lavish-looking building that now loomed before him, finding it a far preferable alternative to the run-down shack of a mere thirty minutes before.

The Vena Cava Arms was a high-class hotel located near the aforementioned pathway to the heart-- home, Jack had told him, to the innumerous affairs of the mayor herself!

Said estrogen cell had been elected by unanimous decision sometime after menopause, when the entire body had become fed up with the lack of sex and its beneficial properties. The female steroid's entire position had been romantic overtures and seductive actions in order to coerce Harold (Sharon's husband) into sex, sex, and more thankyougod sex, so of course, she'd been a shoo-in.

Since that had, so far, failed utterly and election day was once more rolling around, Ms. Eve Magdalena was now pushing a much more aggressive stance and was finding droves of loyal supporters in her emphasis for the need of an extra-marital sexual rendezvous. Sharon had already begun taking subtle, rudimentary steps towards piquing the interest of that sweet and handsome Leonard in the booking department in which she worked, already yielding bright smiles and engaging behavior from the blond and divorced forty-year-old.

Regardless, none of that information was relative as Chase calmly strode into the lobby of the fine hotel, head held high as if he owned the place and a lovely female cell (likely appearing to others as a loose, floozy type of girl) hanging off his arm.

A common method of avoiding detection when you didn't belong was to act as if you did belong and the once-deadly virus followed this method precisely, waltzing up to the front desk and asserting, "Excuse me, miss, but I'd like to rent a suite for two nights." The girl beside him giggled and squeezed his arm affectionately, and with a smirk, Chase added, "My date and I wish to make the most of the time we have together."

The young muscle cell behind the front desk looked the handsome male neuron up and down, sparing a brief thought to how she'd like to make the most of two nights with someone like him before allowing her eyes to fall momentarily on the lucky woman who was being allowed that privilege.

A pale membrane, short pixie-cut hair, and bright red eyes to go with a highly curvy body (tiny waist, wide hips, and a chest so large she had to have had cytoplasm infused) and blatantly trampy clothing.

Pfft, of course: such a hot cell would go for the hooker-type.

"Of course, sir," she nonetheless replied, smiling brightly. "Two nights here will cost 200 proteins." The woman held out her hand for the male's credit card and was given pause as the precise amount was instead handed to her in bills.

"I insist on paying, baby," the girl with the neuron cooed, pressing her ample chest seductively against the cell's body. "It's the least I can do."

The muscle cell behind the front desk grimaced upon noting the majority of the bills to be either very low or singles and, seeing the female they'd come from, she was subject to an unwanted knowledge as to the sort of undergarment these had likely been stuffed into at a strip club. "Ah, thank you," she stiffly spoke, gingerly placing the proteins away from her. "Before I give you your room key, I'll need a name to put in the register."

"Chase Young," the neuron casually informed her and, eager to get the classy male and trampy female out of the lobby where the other guests would see them, she quickly wrote the name down and handed over an available access card for one of the rooms.

"There you go, sir," she said courteously. "Your room is number 806, on the fourth floor. I hope you and your...date enjoy your stay."

Chase gave the muscle cell a winning smile. "Oh, don't worry," he assured, "we will..."

--

"Oh, gawd," Jack groaned in discomfort as the door to the suite clicked shut behind him, "could chicks wear any more uncomfortable stuff?!"

Chase chuckled in amusement at his companion. "Uncomfortable or no," he said, "you make quite the convincing woman, rhinovirus."

The white cell blinked as he kicked off the thigh-high stilettos he had deemed 'hooker boots' before glancing down at himself. The miniskirt he wore barely concealed the fact that he had male genitalia and he'd only just managed to cram his chest into the tube-top.

"Well," he admitted, "if I were narcissistic and stupid enough to not know I was me, I'd probably tap my ass."

Raking his gaze over the male virus' currently female-looking body, shapely and attractive, Chase had little doubt that he, too, would divide with a woman so lovely as Jack was masquerading as.

"Sexy as I am," said common cold declared, "this is uncomfortable as shit."

That said, Jack squeezed his large, feminine chest until the cytoplasm that'd earlier been displaced there mercifully returned to his waist from whence it had come, letting out a relieved sigh as one might upon unbuttoning their pants after a Thanksgiving feast. The nonfatal then did the same to his wide, curvy hips and proceeded to smooth out his torso to his liking; shaping his malleable body back to the way it'd been and was supposed to be.

Recalling how Jack had earlier cinched his middle with a tight hiss of discomfort at the displacement within his own form, Chase inquired, "So, this is how you manage to avoid detection and treatment for so long?"

"Mmhm," the rhinovirus affirmed, slipping off the tube top that had lost its purpose along with his loss of breasts and removing a black sleeveless shirt from the small bag he'd brought along to the hotel. "It's all about confusing Immunity with me. I can't kill my host, so I've gotta change my appearance a lot to keep the leukocytes from catching on before I'm ready to split." Red eyes turned onto the elder virus. "I'll bet you had a more, 'make 'em suffer as much as possible and kill 'em as quick as you can' kinda strategy, right?"

The Black Death had a brief memory of laughing with a purely wicked mirth as he took off into the air and infected a new host, watching as the old host, dead and covered in boils and lesions, was tossed into a burial trench filled with at least twelve of his other victims and set ablaze. "Something to that effect," he answered Jack's query.

"Mmm," the white cell hummed, slipping on a pair of boxer shorts and pants before sliding off the skirt. "I wish I could do that," he spoke with a definitive tone of want. "I mean, yeah, I'm still active and everything, but...I'd give just about anything to be fatal, even if that meant I'd have to go dormant."

Immediately, Chase wanted to call the younger virus a fool; tell him he should never wish for dormancy after the ability to kill, as it was the bubonic plague's own personal hell and had been for far too many years now. What else could one call having had a taste of near-limitless power and then being cursed to never possess it again?

But then he stopped to think about it.

Jack's situation was not his. Unlike Chase, who had from the very beginning of his career been deadly and respected, the rhinovirus had always been nonfatal.

Among the virus community, nonfatals were treated poorly and looked down upon: only nonfatals that, instead of killing, crippled their hosts were given so much as the time of day, and it was a pitiful body that couldn't survive a common cold. Jack had quite likely been ignored or treated unkindly for his entire life, despite the fact that he was essentially unstoppable, because who would truly find it a top priority to stop him? At the most, he was a temporary inconvenience to whatever body he happened to inhabit-- a petty, inconsequential criminal.

From his perspective, it was natural to want a taste of that limitless power; to want to be able to kill for just a little while so that he might prove himself to the peers that had seen him as weak and inferior his entire life, even if that meant he would be doomed to an eternity of dormancy and would only have a legacy to live on.

"We...are a bit alike, Jack," Chase decided after a bit of thought. "At the least, we strive for similar goals."

If there had been any doubt in his mind as to Jack's intelligence, they were dispelled immediately when the rhinovirus considered every thought Chase had taken several moments to think about in a split second and agreed, "Yeah...I guess we do."

Jack then proceeded to unceremoniously flop onto the king-size bed of their suite, announcing, "I'm tired. I know there's only one bed, but I stay mostly to one side, anyways, so, I don't care if you wanna join me later."

"As if I would've slept in a chair for your comfort," Chase snorted. "If anything, I would remove you from the bed."

Jack took no insult. On the contrary, he chuckled good-naturedly, throwing the blankets over himself in a haphazard manner. "Well," he said, fluffing one of the pillows to his liking, "if you kick me out, at least let me get a couple of hours sleep before we switch. I get seriously loopy on no sleep, and I'm thinking you won't wanna deal with that later."

Chase watched as the youth rolled over, back to him as he chirped, "G'nite!" before promptly going to sleep.

The bubonic plague scoffed in mild derision as Jack fell asleep within a minute. A brief glance at the clock beside the bed revealed it to only be about 6:30 in the evening.

Some five hours of watching television (the programs near constantly interrupted by Mayor Magdalena's ad campaigns) and idly flipping through the staple copy of 'On the Origin of Species' placed in all hotel room bedside drawers later, Chase decided firmly that to remain awake any longer was a complete and utter waste of time.

The virus flicked off the television, changed into the more comfortable clothing Jack had lent him (baggy on the slender cell but of a nice fit on Chase), and turned off the lights before slipping into bed alongside the common cold.

Jack was not an elegant sleeper, one that lie down at night and woke up in the same position in the morning, but at the very least, he hadn't been lying earlier and did indeed remain of the side of the large bed he had chosen.

The snoring and relatively consistent movement were mildly agitating, but to a patient cell such as Chase, it was tolerable.

And yet, as he settled down to get a bit of rest, sleep proved oddly elusive.

Within moments, a strange compulsion took the virus; an inkling towards an action that niggled at the back of his mind and made his arms feel stiff and uncomfortable as he denied it.

He wanted, inexplicably, to drag the sleeping rhinovirus from the left of the bed over to the right-- to his side of the bed.

Chase, instead, did no more than roll over to his side, facing away from his bedmate, and dismissed it entirely in favor of much desired sleep.

It was forgotten until approximately 2:00 AM, when the Black Death was awakened by a particularly loud snort, a vicious yank of the blankets towards the left side of the bed, and a dull thud.

Gold eyes blinked open, adjusting to the darkness immediately and glancing over to ascertain the reason he'd been woken up.

It wasn't a very good one.

Jack, in some dream-fancy or other, had managed to roll over and fall off the bed, dragging a pillow and a good deal of the covers along with him.

He'd somehow remained asleep.

The compulsion to drag the rhinovirus closer to him was pulled back to the forefront of the virus' mind as Chase realized he cared as to whether or not Jack remained on the floor for the rest of the night.

How odd, he mused to himself.

Regardless, this current compulsion was stronger than the one previous and would not be ignored as easily, and so Chase soon found himself scoffing quietly as he stood from the mattress and walked around the bed to where the pale cell lay in a heap of white and black amongst the red of the blankets.

Chase easily scooped the youth (possessed of a relatively small frame and musculature) up from the ground and was forced to pause, as Jack slumped unconsciously against him, at how warm the common cold virus was!

The warmth was largely to ensure the ability to cause fevers, Chase knew, as he too possessed a bit more heat than the average cell for precisely that reason, but Jack was far warmer than he. Perhaps it was because while the bubonic plague could cause a fever, it was in addition to many other worse symptoms that required much more of the virus' attention.

In Jack's case, fevers were accompanied by much fewer symptoms comparatively, and ones that didn't need all that much focus to enact. Maybe that allowed Jack to concentrate his efforts into making the fever he gave a bit worse?

Chase had the brief, fleeting desire to not let the common cold out of his arms, to keep that pleasant warmth all for himself.

Instead, he resettled the youth on the bed, threw the covers back over him, and returned to his side of the bed in order to get back to sleep.

Luck was not on his side in that department because around 4:30 AM, he once more awoke and this time, for no reason whatsoever.

His frustration was immediate: why in the hell could he not simply sleep?

Annoyed, the virus glared at the ceiling for several long moments before a slight rustling of the blankets called his attention to the left side of the bed once more.

Jack slept quietly now, in complete contrast to the snoring and movement of before. He lay partially on his side, inclined towards Chase in such a way that he could see his face and chest clearly. He exuded an…innocent and fragile aura, as if a single touch could shatter him in the same way one might shatter a porcelain doll.

Quite unlike his waking demeanor, Jack appeared very much like a porcelain doll, Chase reflected: silent, easily damaged…lovely, even.

The young virus shifted minutely in his sleep, his hand that had previously rested at his hip sliding upwards to the middle of his chest.

That would've been all well and good if his lax fingers hadn't caught the bottom hem of his tank top and dragged it upwards to where the hand now lay.

Chase found himself staring unabashedly at the sight of the pale cell's middle. Of course, he had known Jack's membrane lacked pigment indefinitely and that he would surely be just as white as refined glucose beneath his clothing, but…simply seeing that paleness on only Jack's hands and face allowed for the sight-assumption that it was makeup; that the rhinovirus had simply painted himself that way as some sort of fashion statement.

There was no mistaking what Chase saw now as a fashion statement.

The membrane of Jack's stomach was as pristine and as shockingly white as the rest of him, the moonlight streaming through the barely-open curtains casting it in an entirely different, entirely brighter perspective. Contrary to Chase's own well-defined body, Jack had no prominent abdominal muscles, a 'six-pack' he believed it was called, to speak of, but neither was he pudgy. This led his middle to be flat, the membrane taut and nearly concave as it sloped down from his ribs into his hips that just barely peeked out from the waistband of the dark pair of sweatpants Jack wore.

Why is he still clothed? Chase managed to wonder before abruptly realizing just what he had thought.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

It made sense why he had allowed Jack to be his retainer despite the fact that he was normally wont to be alone. It made sense why he'd found the young virus's falsely-female body attractive when, as a rule, he tended to find females unattractive. Too, it made sense why he found himself sympathizing with Jack's struggle, why he had been delighted to find his intellect keen, and most recently, why he'd wanted the rhinovirus close to him and preferably without clothing.

Chase wanted to divide with Jack.

Honestly, the revelation was…far less surprising that it probably ought to be. After all, Jack was a virus young in appearance and certainly attractive enough. His mind was sharp (Chase had never been fond of fucking idiots) and what with him being enamored of the Black Death already, it didn't seem as though it would be a struggle to seduce Jack to the point of willingness to incubate.

To add…it had been a long time since Chase's glory days when he could divide with whomever he wished. To date, the last time he'd been with another cell was several hundred years ago.

It made sense for Chase to be attracted to possibly the most perfect candidate.

Unfortunately, now was not the time nor the place to be shaking Jack awake and demanding he conjugate with him. Jack would surely balk at the sudden prospect and not only deny him, but flee Sharon and leave him behind, as well.

Dormant or not, the Black Death was not a virus to be refused or rejected: he simply would not stand for it. Jack would be seduced.

For now, Chase pulled the bottom hem of Jack's shirt back to his hip (gently so as not to wake him), once more concealing the lovely expanse of white-white membrane with cloth. The crimson comforter was then pulled upwards to drape over Jack's slim form, keeping him warm for however much longer he would sleep.

Confident in his decision on what to do about his current bedmate, Chase was finally able to get to sleep and remain asleep.

What If?

crystallicsky — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 12:27:08 GMT

Title: What If?
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Homosexual implications and FLUFF.
Notes: Random idea that popped into my head while wracking my brain for something to write. Short, sweet, to the point, I figured why not write/post it up? XD

"What if I'd given up on you?"

"You would be sad and I would have no idea what I had missed."

"What if I never loved you in the first place?"

"Neither of us would know what we were missing."

"What if I were younger when you'd realized?"

"I would wait for you."

"What if I were older?"

"I would regret that I hadn't come to my senses sooner."

"What if I were Xiaolin?"

"I would seduce you to my side, of course."

"What if I had an element?"

"Your element would doubtlessly be metal if you could tap into it. I would train you and temper your metal with my fire."

"What if I were stronger than I am?"

"I would perceive you as a threat and wouldn't have let you get so close to me. Not as quickly as you did, in any case."

"What if I were even weaker?"

"I would dismiss your presence entirely as unworthy until you proved otherwise to me."

"What if I wasn't a genius?"

"I would find you less interesting, likely. Still interesting, but less so than I currently do."

"What if I weren't albino?"

"My feelings towards you wouldn't change, having never known what you look like as such. Thinking now of that, though…I am saddened by the idea of trading such unique colors for normalcy."

"What if I had friends instead of robots?"

"I would be jealous. Human friends tend to monopolize one's time. Robot friends do only as they're told. I am too…possessive to want you to have human friends that can't be shooed away quite so easily."

"What if my parents were actually parents to me?"

"I would be irritated. I doubt I would be pleased with constant nagging to treat you well and not keep you out all night; same for your mother's failed attempts to 'accept me into the family' and your father's failed attempts to intimidate me into being a good 'boyfriend.' That, and I rather like the quirks you've obtained through a neglectful upbringing. They're endearing."

"What if you were my boyfriend?"

"I wouldn't be. I would never be something so juvenile, not to anyone. I am your lover."

"Well…what if I were bad in bed?"

"I would teach you to be otherwise. You're a quick study and if you weren't, we would have plenty of time to work on that, now."

"What if you'd never made me immortal?"

"I would lose you and regret it for the rest of my days."

"What if you were mortal, then?"

"I would've died centuries ago and we'd have never met."

"What if you were born when I was?"

"We would both be mortal in this time and live a mortal life together."

"What if I were born when you were?"

"I would still be alive now and you would've died centuries ago, and I would hate it."

"What if things were just…different?"

"We would find a way. Knowing your persistence…my possessive nature…I can't see us existing together in any situation, at the same time and in the same place and not wanting to have…this."

"Chase…?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"…What if I said I loved you?"

"I would say it back."

"…I love you."

"I love you, too."

looking for fic rec and looking for a fic

whereislife90 — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 07:47:31 GMT

hey all,

im new to this journal site and i was wondering if you the online readers could suggest some great chack. and im also looking for a fic that has chase, jack and the maybe the others as wolves i have read rough waters by crystalicSky. just wondering if there is a wolf fic

thanks

The Tree of Life

crystallicsky — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 03:49:12 GMT

Title: The Tree of Life
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Homosexual implications.
Notes: A fluffy, fairytale style quickie I started ages ago, but finished recently for Silvarbelle, who has had something of a rough night. <3
I hope it lifts your spirits, too, and thanks for reading! :D

Once upon a time, there was a mighty emperor who ruled his land with an iron fist. He was proud and strong, but most of all beautiful, and so when the time came for him to choose a bride, many clamored anxiously for his hand.

However, the emperor's standards for a wife were not easily met and the women that attempted to court him were much too far off from them. He wanted someone able to match his intelligence so that he would never be bored in conversation. He wanted someone attractive and willing to be taught how to properly use their bodies so that he would never be bored in bed. He wanted someone who was genuinely attracted to him, not simply his handsome face and body. He wanted someone submissive to his will, but not simply out of fear of his wrath.

The emperor was after someone unique, and among his suitors, it was just more of the same.

With this knowledge, he shunned them and determined that he should not marry at all, instead returning to the task of ruling his land.

His advisor, perhaps, was the most upset over this choice, likely because she had been one of the most anxious clamorers to be his bride.

The emperor's advisor was not a young woman, but neither was she yet a crone and she had considered herself the most ideal choice as a wife from the beginning. The emperor wanted unique, and she was certainly that much with her dark skin and red hair, not to mention her green eyes unlike all others!

She decided to use her sway over the man to convince him to reconsider his stance on marriage and coyly suggested one day that he had been looking in all the wrong places for a wife.

Far from her intentions, however, the emperor came to entirely different conclusion.

"You are right," he told her. "I have been looking in all the wrong places. I have heard tell of a tree somewhere far from here. It is mystical in nature and is called the Tree of Life. It is said that this tree can create living beings from its branches. With such a thing in my possession, I would no longer need to look for an ideal bride and could simply make one!" He frowned at his advisor and ordered, "I know you are a witch: you shall use your magic to locate this Tree or I shall see to it personally that you are burned at the stake."

Though thoroughly upset that her plan had gone awry, the advisor was without choice and did as she was told. The magical Tree was located and the emperor immediately set out on a journey to find it, accompanied by his most trusted advisor.

Upon discovering it, the emperor found himself with renewed hope for a lover and wife and knelt before it.

"Tree of Life," he beseeched, "I am in need of a bride with which to rule my kingdom. I have come to you this day to request your assistance."

The Tree immediately knew the emperor's sincerity in his request and agreed. "I will assist you, O Great Emperor. What do you desire in a wife?"

The emperor regaled all that he wanted and though it was a tall order, the Tree of Life consented to create this being for the man.

Pleased beyond all measure, the emperor thanked the Tree profusely and left with the promise to return in three months to check in on its progress.

The advisor, however, was filled with jealous fury. She had heard that which her emperor had wanted and immediately come to the realization that what he wanted was that which she could never be.

She hated it. She would be denied the opportunity to be empress and to have such a lovely young man on her arm all because of some useless tree that would kowtow to the emperor's every little whim? No!

The advisor decided that she would not allow this to happen and when they reached the castle once more, she waited for the emperor to retire to bed before calling upon her magic to take her back to the Tree of Life.

"Tree," she explained to it apologetically, "it appears that the emperor has changed his mind about his wife. He has decided he wants her to be a he."

The Tree of Life was confused by the sudden change of mind, but it nonetheless agreed. "I shall do as the emperor asks," it said. "I shall make his bride a man."

Smiling wickedly to herself, the adviser returned to the palace in triumph. This would certainly put a stop to all this nonsense! What man would choose to lay with another man? No man would!

Pleased with her ruse, the woman went to bed to dream of her future: steamy, luxurious nights in the emperor's bed and rich, wonderful days in the throne beside his.

Three months soon came and went and the emperor, advisor in tow, returned to the Tree of Life.

"Tree of Life," the emperor implored, "show me my bride-to-be."

The tree conceded to the request and parted its branches, revealing the infant human life it'd begun to create.

The emperor paused at the sight of the being. "A man?" he inquired.

"Does this not please you, lord?" the Tree of Life asked. "I was under the impression that this was what you wanted."

"No," the emperor said, and his advisor mentally rejoiced until he continued, "I am plenty pleased. I enjoy the sexual company of men just as much as that of women, and it shall be interesting to take a man as my spouse."

Satisfied, the emperor returned to the palace once more, promising to return in another three months.

Once again, his advisor was furious. How could her scheme have fallen through?! How could the emperor actually like to share his bed with males?! It was inconceivable, but more than that, it was intolerable.

She decided that she would not let this happen.

Again, she used her magic to return to the tree and interfered with the production of the emperor's wife.

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you like this, Tree," she told it, "but the emperor has decided that his bride must have red eyes."

The Tree of Life was once more puzzled by the request, but he abided by it. "I shall do as the emperor asks," it repeated. "I shall give his bride eyes of blood."

The advisor was pleased beyond measure. Surely this would put the emperor off, she thought. Why on earth would he wish for a wife with the eyes of a demon?

Content, she returned to the palace to wait.

Three more months and the emperor visited the tree again, eager to see the growth of his spouse.

"Tree of Life," the emperor again beseeched, "show me my bride-to-be."

The tree's branches parted and revealed the being that had now become a young boy amongst them. The emperor smiled, pleased with how nicely his wife was progressing: from the looks of him, he would be a handsome young man in no time.

"I am satisfied," the emperor said.

"What of his eyes, my lord?" the Tree of Life prompted. "Do they satisfy you, as well?"

The emperor glanced to the child's unconscious face, the eyes of which were closed. At the prompting of the tree, his eyes snapped open sightlessly and the emperor was forced to gasp at the unexpected sight of ruby-red.

The advisor waited in malicious glee for her lord to denounce the child as a devil and unfit for marriage.

"They are lovely," the emperor murmured, approaching the boy to get a better look. "Now, my bride shall truly be unique for he shall be the only one to see the world through eyes of crimson!"

This time, the witch's rage was immeasurable. She would not stand this makeshift…thing replacing her, she would not!

This time, as the emperor thanked the Tree and promised to return in yet another three months, when his bride would be ready to survive without its creator, the advisor remained behind.

Cloaking herself with magic, she lie in wait, fooling her emperor into believing she was with him as he left through an illusion of herself.

When night fell, the witch approached the Tree for a third time.

"Tree," she beseeched, "my emperor has one more request of you."

"I shall do as the emperor requests," the Tree again said. "What does he ask of me?"

Slyly, she grinned. "Allow me to see him, first," she asserted. "Then, I will tell you what must be done."

Suspecting nothing, the Tree of Life willingly parted its branches again, allowing the advisor to behold the growing young man.

Before she could even be asked what was meant to be changed, she acted and tore the youth from the tree, severing the connection from which he had grown.

"What are you doing?!" demanded the Tree. "He will die parted from me so soon!"

"I'm counting on it," the witch declared. Without even a moment's hesitation, she summoned a mystical fire and used it to destroy the Tree of Life, ensuring that no more 'perfect brides' could be made from it.

Briefly, she spared a glance to the first 'perfect bride.'

He was juvenile, still, in the awkward stage between boy and manhood. His trembling form clearly wasn't ready to survive the world without his father, the Tree, and he was unclothed, entirely unprepared to survive a cold, autumn night such as this.

The most obvious mark of his prematurity was his unfinished coloring: a white body with a splash of red tinting his hair. The advisor decided he looked quite a bit like an unripe strawberry!

Easily, she dismissed him and returned to her emperor's palace, certain that her courtship of him would remain uninterrupted.

She did not at all account for the youth's fighting spirit.

He was frail and weak, having been 'born' so prematurely, but his will to live was stronger than the witch's wish for his death. Empowered by his own drive to live and by the innate knowledge that he had been made as someone's other half, he survived.

The young man crawled, not truly knowing how to walk, for miles. The odds were stacked against him, certainly: it was cold, he was weak, and he had no real idea where he was going.

Even so, he persevered, trusting his own heart to lead him true. Since he had first come into being, the youth had felt a tug upon his heart, a pull towards the man that came to visit him.

He was certain that this man was the one he had been made for, and that if he followed it, he would find his other half.

It was how, after a long journey, he eventually came to be at the emperor's palace.

Hands and knees bloodied and dirty, exhaustion written all over his face, and the emperor's name on his lips, the palace guards could do nothing but bring the boy inside and present them to their ruler.

The emperor recognized him immediately for who he was and gave orders for his bride to be taken care of. Healers were brought to tend to his open wounds, food and water was given to nourish him, and he was wrapped in thick, warm blankets to ease the late autumn chill that'd frozen his very bones.

It was as such that the young man found himself seated in the emperor's lap, nestled up against the ruler's chest and feeling safer than he ever had in his admittedly-short life.

"My bride," the emperor crooned at him, his large, gloved hand rubbing the youth's skull. His fascinated golden eyes watched the contrast between the dark glove and the bright red hair. "What has happened? Why have you come to me so early and in such poor shape?"

"I don't know," the young man admitted. "I don't remember much. Only…being torn from my father and following my heart to you."

He cared not to think about those terrible memories of cold and pain and those poisonous green eyes, especially not when he had current sensations of warmth and love and his emperor's eyes to think of instead.

"Regardless of what has happened, I am glad that you are alright." The emperor held his bride to him more tightly, as if to assure his presence.

"I'm glad, too," the youth decided, and why wouldn't he be? Here with his other half, safe and loved…why would he be anything but happy?

It was then that the doors of the throne room were thrown open, the young man tensing at the sound only to freeze altogether at what he saw.

Cold, green eyes filled with bitterness and hate.

The emperor was startled when his bride yelped and made a powerful effort to squirm through him. "What is wrong?" he asked of the young man. "You have nothing to fear; it is only my trusted advisor."

"No!" the boy denied, trembling and clinging to his future husband. "It is her! She is the one who tore me from my father and left me for dead; who burned my father to ashes!"

A scowl immediately took the emperor's face. He nudged his bride off his lap and stood, allowing the pale boy to take his place on the throne while he stepped forward to defend him.

"Advisor," he spoke, his tone a low, threatening rumble like thunder before the lightning, "is this true?"

"N-no, my lord!" the woman immediately denied. "I would do no such thing!"

But the emperor was no fool. He knew a lie when he saw one, and his advisor was hiding hers badly.

"Witch!" he snarled. "You have disobeyed me and gone against my wishes! You have destroyed the sacred Tree of Life and nearly murdered my future queen! Your punishment shall be ultimate!"

"My emperor, please," the advisor begged, "I meant no disrespect! I only--"

"I will hear none of your excuses," the emperor declared. "For the crimes you have committed against me, you are sentenced to die as my bride's father: you shall be burned to death at the stake."

And so, it came to pass that the traitorous advisor was executed and the emperor was finally given the lover he had wished for.

They were wed in the spring, in the very field where everything had begun and their nuptials were heard by both the entire kingdom and the tiny sapling that had begun to grow from the ashes of the boy's father; the reborn Tree of Life.

The emperor continued to rule his land with an iron fist, but it was now gladly encased with the velvet glove that was his soft-hearted bride, and they all lived happily ever after.

Haiku

crystallicsky — Mon, 31 May 2010 03:29:06 GMT

Title: Haiku
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Homosexual implications.

I'm his biggest fan
I love him like no other
I wish he'd see that.

He's so beautiful
A Helen of Troy, but male
Good thing I'm not straight.

Great and powerful
I will never equal him
I wouldn't want to.

His gaze does something
Golden eyes pull me closer
Just like a magnet.

He is a monster
A mean thing with scales and fangs
I really don't care.

I can't break away
He has me in his grasp, now
I don't want to leave.

It sure seems hopeless
Waiting for him to love me
But still, I'll chase him.

For his attention
For him to look at me once
I'd give anything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He is quite foolish
Fickle, hyper, I hate him
Or so I insist.

Red, white, orange, and black
Colors of my admirer
So unique, they are.

Those red eyes of his
With such passion, they burn me
How can I resist?

Skin white as the snow
Like from a quaint fairy tale
I will be his prince.

That strange hair of his
Such a shame he uses gel
I'd love to touch it.

'Evil boy genius'
Such a frivolous title
'Consort' suits him best.

His mind is frightening
Never have I met his match
I must make him mine.

Now is not the time
He is perfect, but too green
I will have him soon…

Perfect

crystallicsky — Thu, 27 May 2010 03:13:38 GMT

Title: Perfect
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Bad language, sexual implications, homosexuality, etc.

"What time is it?"

Jack looked up from the machine he was buried elbow-deep in, dutifully, acknowledging his overlord. He leaned back on his heels and set aside his beloved wrench, wiping his oily hands on a nearby rag.

"It's about a quarter after two," he answered, receiving a grunt in response.

Chase Young, the glorious Heylin dragonlord stood before him, the absolute pinnacle of masculine beauty.

Jack's eyes wandered the length of his body, taking in the handsome face, the well-defined pectorals, the chiseled abs, and the powerful calves. He positively adored how easy on the eyes his lover was; the natural beauty of him even fresh out of bed as he was. His only true regret was that Chase's sexy thighs and possibly the most magnificent part of him were concealed by a pair of boxers.

Even so, Jack would gladly swoon for him if he were of a more delicate countenance. Though he wasn't, he was more than satisfied with looking.

"You look great," he happily commented, at last tearing his adoring gaze from his master and back to his current project.

Chase, for his part, moved to sit upon the nearby plush recliner, sneering in utmost derision.

"Is that some sort of joke, Spicer?" he demanded.

Chase knew very well what he looked like after just waking up: tangled and thoroughly knotted hair, horrendous bags beneath his eyes, and occasionally, a bit of stubble on his chin if he were badly in need of a shave.

'Great' was not the adjective to describe that appearance.

Of course, none of that registered in Jack's mind and he replied, "What's there to joke about? You're sexy."

It occurred to Chase that such a response meant the previous compliment was not sarcasm: Jack sincerely thought he looked good this afternoon. "How generous of you," he amended. His gaze fell upon his minion as he returned to his work, biding his time in waking fully by just watching.

Jack, he decided, was lovely in concentration, altogether focused upon the pile of metal, screws, and wires that was to be some fabulous creation or other. He clearly enjoyed his work, as his red eyes always seemed brighter when working with his machines. Chase surmised this was a product of the youth's devotion to his art.

Jack was a picture of contrast this afternoon, Chase decided. Normally, he was hyper and flighty, but here and now, he was calm and level-headed. Physically, he was lean and relatively weak, yet his musculature was enough to afford him strength for the lifting of heavy contraptions and the tight-tightness with which certain screws needed to be affixed.

Chase's golden eyes observed the white, again oil-slicked hands darting in and out of the in-progress contraption and it was decided that those hands alone were many contradictions.

They were fairly small, deceptively delicate when Chase knew for a fact that they had one of the strongest grips he'd ever felt. The fingers were long and dainty-looking, digits fit for a princess, but the palm was coarse and calloused in a manner more fit for a peasant or a blacksmith. Currently, their motions were precise; mechanical, and yet, they could be warm and passionate, silently loving in a way that needed no words spoken.

Chase couldn't help his smile at that thought. Yes, Spicer loved him: it was unendingly obvious in his every action and mannerism.

The way he spoke of or to Chase, the way he looked at Chase, the very way he moved in Chase's presence: it all testified to the unquestioned fact that Jack Spicer adored the wicked Heylin prince with all he had.

There was something about that which Chase sincerely liked. Whether it was because it made the young man a very devoted consort or just the pleasant feeling of being so loved, despite his cruel deeds and all his flaws, Chase was not yet sure.

This morning was a perfect example of the latter. After all, how many could tell their groggy, sleep-weathered lover that they looked 'great' and actually mean it as opposed to just trying to score some brownie points?

Spicer was ever so perfect; for his ego and his libido.

"How'd you sleep, baby?" Jack inquired abruptly, still at work on his machine. It seemed as if the question had been asked automatically, but any who truly knew Jack would know that he was invested in the answer, only that circuitry was delicate business and required near-full attention.

"I slept fine," Chase replied, lying back on the couch. "How long have you been awake, my albino early bird?"

"Like, eight hours?" Jack estimated. "I got up kinda early, even for me, but it works out, 'cause I thought up a really cool idea and I've been working on it ever since."

"Oh, yes?"

Jack nodded, his expression blank in concentration. "Best I can it explain it so your head won't explode from being forced to think too hard right after sleeping is that it kind of manipulates reality. Not literally, but if I handle it right, it can turn things into other things. Y'know, like alchemy, but without circles and reagents."

Yet another thing Jack was perfect at! Chase's consort was a genius, not only by his declaration of being such, but in truth, as well.

It'd been a pleasant surprise to discover the young man to be as intelligent as he bragged to be, despite the fact that his speech and deeds sometimes told a different story.

Jack was a genius, alright: he'd been overachieving mentally for his age since he was two. Chase had seen the proof of that in the home movies Sylvia Spicer had taken of her son before the thrill of having a baby wore off and a nanny was hired.

Little Jack had been positively cute in his pajama-onesie, arguing with his mother behind the video camera that he couldn't go to bed, yet; not until the flux capacitor had been installed properly!

"Interesting project," Chase complimented. "When do you estimate it'll be finished?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Jack admitted, chewing on his lip in concentration. His hands were in mechanical-mode as he snipped, twined, and soldered various wires within the tungsten shell of his machine. "It's kinda complicated to hash out on paper alone, and it's even harder keeping everything straight now that I'm building it for real. I'm thinking…a month? Maybe two."

Chase blinked in surprise. "That's long for you, Spicer," he noted. "Is it really so difficult?"

"Kind of," Jack admitted. "Mostly, there's a lot going on this month and next month, and I'm not sure I'll have that many straight days to do a full inventing-immersion."

"Precisely what is going on?" As an immortal, Chase's memory was not quite as good as a mortal's. He could remember large events and things that happened annually and had been happening annually for a number of years, but with all that he was forced to remember in his long, long life, newer events tended to slip his mind quite easily.

"It's my dad's birthday next week," Jack reminded him. "I don't really give a shit, but mom'll disown me if I don't at least make a cursory appearance at likely his last one."

"I'll come with you," Chase volunteered immediately. "It sounds like it could be quite the fun outing."

Certainly, it would be: it was always a fun outing when old, decrepit Martin Spicer sneered and made petty insults at the sight of his son cuddled up to another man while his wife hissed at him to, "Shut up, Martin, don't you dare drive Jackie's boyfriend away!"

"Cool," Jack smiled, "it'll be nice to have somebody there who won't judge me if my tux isn't on right."

"I'd prefer it not be on straight," Chase suggested. "In fact, I'd prefer it off altogether."

Jack snorted. "Horndog," he scoffed, regardless of the smile on his lips. "I'll bet you won't be wanting me naked the next week, though."

"And why not?"

"Because it'll have officially been fifty years since I went Heylin," Jack reminded. "Real Heylin, anyways. I'll lose all the abilities I've learned since then and come down with a cold to end all colds. For twenty-four hours, I'll be prime pickings for the Xiaolin monks, and you know how wrong a foot we got off to."

Yes, Chase remembered that quite well, particularly the withering glare the now-Shoku leader had given Jack at their very first Showdown as monks. In all fairness, it'd been a little uncalled for to tell Renji Pedrosa that he was as flat in the chest as his grandmother and as much of a douchebag as his grandfather.

Funny, but uncalled for.

"Quite the unpleasant rite of passage," Chase hummed. "When I passed my first fifty years, the great grandson of a fellow monk that'd long hated me made a point of invading my home just to pants me."

"You're kidding," Jack accused. "You didn't let him live after that, did you? And on a loosely related matter, is this the only Heylin thing that doesn't happen in an increment of 1,000 years?"

Chase grinned. "No, I most certainly didn't and yes, it is."

"That's weird," Jack declared. "Still, I'm gonna be sick and vulnerable and you're gonna have to protect me and take care of me, so, I doubt you'll be in a good enough mood with me for sex."

"You'd be surprised, Jack," his everlord purred. "What else is bothering you about the future?"

"Not bothering me, per se. Just that after the Heylin rite of passage thingy is the anniversary of your last consort's death. You know, the one you essentially fired when she pushed you to marry her and then killed when she tried to drug you and use your sperm to knock herself up and 'trap' you."

Chase frowned, only mildly bothered by the mention of the woman. More than her memory, he was affected by the fact that Jack remembered her, despite being told of her more than thirty years ago. Ah, that photographic memory of his…

"Yes," he said, "I recall. She was quite beautiful; nearly as beautiful as you, but she was far too pushy. I loathe being told what to do."

"You're an overlord," his consort said by way of explanation. "Of course you hate being bossed around: you're the boss of bosses. And keep in mind that Crazy McBitchpants tried to rape you."

"Correct. If there is one thing I refuse to tolerate around me, it is rapists; filthy, disgusting criminals."

Jack smirked at that. "Too bad the bitch assumed you wouldn't kill her on the off-chance she might be carrying your kid."

Chase smirked, as well, mirroring the expression. "She severely overestimated my want of children as something other than nonexistent."

"Exactly," Jack replied. "But anyways, I figured we could maybe visit the place you tossed her remains and give her rotting corpse an update on your life through me. You know, 'Hey, I'm the guy who replaced you! Chase is doing great and I'm keeping his dick warm for you, having a great time doing it. And, oh! Did I mention we're gonna be doing a soul-binding ritual twenty times stronger than marriage vows? Yeah, too bad you're not alive for me to rub your nose in this, but whatever, I'll do it now, anyways!'"

Chase laughed. "You have learned cruelty well," he complimented. "If you'd like, I know of a Wu that could temporarily call her spirit back. Then, you truly could brag about our contentment to her face."

"That's awesome! Can you get it? 'Cause I want her to know how badly she fucked up in losing you."

"I most certainly can," Chase assured.

He then folded his arms behind his head, eyeing his lover. Truly, he was perfect: a genius, beautiful, strong and skillful in a way wonderfully different from Chase's own way…and even better, he was so devoted to the dragonlord, so in love with him to the point of madness!

Perfect, perfect, perfect…!

"Spicer," he warmly declared, "I believe I am well and truly smitten with you."

"Lucky for me, then, 'cause I'm head over heels for you." Jack stood from his project, wiping his hands clean again and meandering over to where Chase was lounging.

A smirk flitted across the man's face as his lover came and bent over him, gently pressing their lips together. They enjoyed each other for several moments, expressing their deep pleasure in their lover's continued existence with their mouths.

Eventually, Chase pulled back from the kiss, feeling warm and fuzzy and content in a way a wicked Heylin dragonlord probably shouldn't be feeling, but damn the expense.

He adored the feeling his wonderfully perfect Jack gave him and he was far too possessive to want to relinquish it, ever.

Jack, for his part, was looking at him with glazed eyes, a goofy, lovestruck smile on his face. Every inch of him spoke of the same thing Chase felt, despite the hesitance to outright put a name to it.

"God," Jack breathed, closing his eyes and touching his forehead to Chase's, "you're so perfect…"

"How funny," Chase murmured, threading his fingers in his Jack's hair. "I was thinking the same of you…"

Being Blind - (1-4/?)

tsukitenchichan — Sat, 22 May 2010 06:10:33 GMT

Title: Being Blind
Fandom: Xiaolin Showdown
Author: tsukitenchichan
Warnings/Spoilers: Jack talking to himself and a bit of angst (so far)
Pairing: Chase/Jack
Rating: PG
Genre: AU/AR, romance, fantasy, angst
Overall Summary: Jack is blind and needs for Chase to keep insulting him to keep sane.
Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown and make no money off of these writings.
Note: Decided that this will definitely end at some multiple of four. Haven't decided what multiple but it'll be a multiple. ANYWAY, decided to post links to this every four chapters. Also, for the first portion of it, the chapters aren't very close together. It makes it a bit broken but the reason is because nothing fascinating happens then.

Also, my icon is love. >:T I just... don't have a damn Chase one yet. Once I make one it's gonna be a GIF and it's gonna say stuff.

Chapter One - The Accident
He wasn't terrified, he knew that everything was spiraling down. He had no control over the event. Why hadn't he done what he wanted this time? He could have prevented it. His stomach lurched as the plane lost another piece of it, the wing tearing off causing the machine to spin.

Chapter Two - Stop and Listen
His fingers were running over the walls, trying to remember just where he was. He took a step and set down his cane before repeating the process. Sunglasses adorned his face, the black hook from his left eyes seeming to come from nowhere.

Chapter Three - The Trees and the Roses
It was an odd sensation really, the way he seemed unable to do anything but sit there and actually feel at peace. And it felt amazing that he could do it. A vine came up to stroke along his cheek and he smiled. He didn't need to wear glasses and he didn't need to wear his brace.

Chapter Four - Feeling Worthless
This was getting ridiculous. He sighed, feeling his ears twitch at the familiar stepping pattern of Alan. He sat down slowly, knowing he would have to wait for a moment or two before his butler not only got to him but finished what he was doing. His knee was throbbing, likely bruised after hitting the fourth floor banister.

Decisions, Decisions

crystallicsky — Mon, 03 May 2010 04:56:57 GMT

Title: Decisions, Decisions
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Bad language, sexual implications, homosexuality, etc.
Notes: Thanks to silvarbelle for proofreading and help.

See? I told you I'd remember to post here more frequently! XD

The strength of the Heylin side was waning and Chase Young was less than enthused.

Essentially, evil had three members, three well-established and accomplished proprietors of wickedness: Hannibal Bean, Wuya, and Chase himself. In essence and deed, they were enough to perpetuate the Heylin, keeping it alive and well to oppose the forces of good, but as of late, there had developed…an imbalance.

In true and full-fledged masters, the Xiaolin was equal to Heylin. Dojo, Fung, and Guan provided the foil to Bean, Wuya, and Chase, and if it were only the six of them, they would be evenly matched.

However, it was not just the six of them and both sides had several novices vying for master-status.

It was in these novices that the scales became unfairly tipped and at first glance, it seemed that evil should benefit from the imbalance. After all, the Xiaolin had a mere four novices to the Heylin's baker's dozen (and more).

In effect, though, this advantage was nonexistent.

Heylin had the numbers, yes, but in the face of the quality of the Xiaolin's inexperienced, it meant next to nothing. The apprentice monks were loyal and focused in a way that the would-be Heylin were not. They knew precisely what their goal was and were happy to obey their master's teachings in order to obtain it; proving an immeasurably useful tool for the side of good.

And what did evil have available to it? Chase scoffed. Greedy and ignorant scatterbrains, every last one willing to destroy each other if in their best interests rather than acknowledging the fact that they were on the same 'team' and should squabble with the monks before squabbling with themselves.

It was sad, really; monumentally disappointing that this was what Chase had to choose from.

And yet, choose he would because someone had to.

The strong need for a Heylin apprentice had occurred to the dragonlord recently. The Xiaolin were dangerously close to possessing four more masters, and with the Heylin completely stagnant in that area, evil was just as dangerously close to being overpowered.

Unacceptable.

Someone had to pass on the teachings of true evil in the interest of maintaining dominance and with Bean having never taken an apprentice after Chase and Wuya too paranoid of having her power usurped should she teach anyone any of her ways…

Well, the duty of picking out the least useless of the flock of headless chickens that wished to be Heylin and turning him or her into a master fell to Chase.

The task was not easy-going.

Initially, Chase had started out canvassing all those around him currently involved in evil doings that were not already, by his standards, a master. That large number of potential apprentices had desperately needed to be cut, and so his first decision was to establish an age-limit.

Full-grown adults were simply out of the question. For one, an adult would be grossly averse to taking orders from Chase, a very young-looking man. It would infuriate them to have to listen to an 'inferior' and likewise frustrate Chase, who would demand his every will be done unquestioningly as a superior. Then, of course, there was the fact of the matter that adults tended to be stuck in their ways and unable to truly learn anything new. It would take drastic reprogramming for a grown man to unlearn everything he knew and relearn it with Chase as his teacher.

And so, thankfully, with the age-clause in place, the list had shortened considerably, leaving only a handful of relatively young people to decide upon.

"Are you ready to begin, Master?"

Chase glanced to his right side where the ever-faithful Diol stood. The jaguar warrior turned actual jaguar had been allowed his human form to make the task of aiding his overlord easier, and he appeared quietly grateful for the opportunity.

"Yes," he eventually sighed in response, "let's get this over with."

The desk before the two men was littered with papers and photographs that would serve as résumés for the unknowing candidates. Chase's gloved hand reached out and pulled the first thing he touched closer, revealing it to be an image of a lovely girl with a star in her curly hair and seductive smile on her lips.

"Dyris," he identified. "Mermaid, true age unknown, blond hair, green eyes. What do you think?"

"You first, Master," Diol insisted.

Chase hmmed in consideration. "She could be useful," he admitted. "She seems to be quite apt at manipulation using sex appeal and she's ruthless and sinister already. Having her by my side could come in handy if I ever need an enemy seduced or perhaps if I myself wish to be seduced."

"I say no."

"No?" the dragonlord echoed. "And why not?"

"She desires to drown the Earth, Master," Diol said frankly. "Besides that, she's a high-maintenance female with her own agenda and would be unlikely to submit to your rule. May I also remind you that she's a mermaid. Nothing sexual can come of her unless she sprouts legs and even if she did, you would have to have sex with her in water, lest she become a gigantic and ugly amphibian and completely kill the mood."

Chase laughed in response. "Fair enough," he agreed. "Dyris is no great loss to me." With that, the picture was tossed aside into a nearby refuse bin and another picked up.

The face in this picture was more familiar and Chase found a grin quirking his lips at the sight of the black youth. "Jermaine Kemp," he said, briefly looking over the sheet of information he had. "Human, seventeen, born to Cici Jackson and James Kemp in New York City. Black hair, brown eyes, 6'0", 145 pounds. No known medical history, and an honor roll athlete."

"Pardon me for speaking so freely, Master," Diol butted in, "but that ship has very much sailed."

"Oh?" Chase inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

"You deceived him," the dusky-skinned man beside him reminded. "You lied to him and made him fight against his 'friends' without knowing who or what you really are. I can see why you would be excited to have him as an apprentice: he has already learned much from you and is an excellent fighter."

"But, he will not willingly betray the monks nor will he ever trust me again due to what's occurred between us," Chase finished.

Diol grinned. "Exactly."

"Yes, yes, I know," the jaguar's master sighed. "It really is a pity, though. He had the potential to be great before he threw his lot in with the Xiaolin."

Again, the picture and the information sheet were discarded, another set gathered just as quickly.

A bout of cruel laughter suddenly erupted from both Chase and Diol, and the photograph of the chubby blond girl in biker attire was tossed away without even a cursory once-over.

It was unnecessary: Chase had no want of a Bailey amongst the Heylin, no matter how different this one was from her Xiaolin brother.

Then, the laughter stopped, replaced by a sigh and an eyeroll on Chase's part as he caught sight of the next candidate: a young man in a red-and-white striped sweater, face painted black and white.

"Le Mime," he noted dully. "Must we consider him?"

"Yes, Master," Diol confirmed. "We're trying to find an apprentice for you to train; not exactly the sort of thing we should be cutting corners on."

Golden eyes rolled again. "Fine. Le Mime, true name unknown, true age unknown. Black hair, black eyes, and good sweet gods, I could care less about any of this."

"Don't dismiss him so readily," the jaguar advised. "His abilities could be quite useful to you."

"……" Chase leveled a deadpan stare at his warrior. "You don't mean to suggest I accept him, do you?"

"Goodness, no," Diol replied. "He's a freakish outcast that would likely damage your reputation beyond repair, not to mention how insanely difficult it would be to mentor him if he refuses to speak. I merely meant that you should weigh his ability to bring his miming into reality before ruling him out entirely."

Chase snorted. "Consider it weighed; very much not worth it."

The trash can beside the desk was filled just a bit higher and quite suddenly, Chase came to the realization that there were only two candidates left for him to choose from.

"Fuck."

Curious as to the source of his master's foul language, Diol peered over Chase's shoulder only for his yellow eyes to brighten in interest.

"Well," he grinned broadly, "if this doesn't look familiar."

Upon the desk, amidst various sheets of background information were two photographs: one of a tan, blond female in a black leather catsuit and one of a pale redhead with a pair of goggles perched atop his hairline.

"Too familiar for my liking," Chase sneered, turning away from what were, as far as he was concerned, both terrible options.

"Oh, come on, now, Master," Diol coaxed teasingly, "just because everything went to hell the last time you tried to make these youths your apprentice shouldn't sour you to a second attempt!"

Chase merely grunted in response, obviously quite soured.

His jaguar minion rolled his eyes and sat himself upon the edge of the desk. "Here," he flatly offered, "I'll start. Ashley Rockow, AKA, Katnappé. Eighteen, only daughter of Sara Mosi and Jonathon Rockow in Paris, France; later raised in the United States. Blond hair, blue eyes, 5'6", 135 pounds, but if asked, she'll swear she's 125."

At that, Chase snorted before allowing his warrior to continue reading.

"She's been to the hospital a few times for stitches; mostly in her younger years and mostly for cat scratches. More recently, she's been in and out of plastic surgery procedures and now has a tail and cat-ears physically attached. It seems she still draws the whiskers on, though."

Diol watched as his master's nose wrinkled at the thought of the plastic surgery, surely imagining something ugly. "It's really not that bad," he informed, rifling through several papers before plucking out and handing over a photograph. "This one's more recent than the one we've got of her at thirteen."

Chase obligingly took the picture and inspected Ashley's appearance. No, he conceded to himself, it really wasn't all that bad. The tail and ears were more negligible accessories than anything else; especially in comparison to how the rest of her had matured.

Katnappé was still thin, as he'd remembered her, but definitely more curvy than she had been as a girl. Her figure had filled itself out nicely with good sized breasts and wide hips, accentuating her waist and giving her the hourglass appearance many women starved themselves for. Her face was lovely in a delicately feminine way, and yet her eyes held an enticing mischief that contrasted it directly.

All in all, Ashley had grown up to be a buxom young lady, one whom Chase would not mind sharing a bed with.

"On the pros side," Diol smoothly continued, "she's a ruthless fighter. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it, damn the expense and people stepped on. On the cons side, however," he warned, "she's a ruthless fighter.  If you have something she wants, she won't hesitate to take it from you, so, if she becomes your apprentice, you'll have to be on your guard until you train that nonsense out of her."

Chase nodded. "Of course," he agreed. "After the last time I promised to teach her, I shall have to be more cautious."

Diol frowned as the dragonlord made to stand. "We aren't done," he reminded. "You haven't even heard about Jack, yet."

"What is there to hear?" Chase dubiously wondered.

Idly flipping through the information that'd been gathered for this particular candidate, the jaguar whistled. "You'd be surprised," he said simply.

Chase settled back into his chair. "Go on," he ordered of his minion, "surprise me."

Diol cleared his throat. "Jack Spicer, nineteen--"

And already, Chase was surprised.

"Nineteen?" he queried. "How?"

The dragonlord did not make it a point to know absolutely everything about the youth who had years ago claimed to be his number one fan, but he was quite certain of the fact that Spicer and Katnappé had been born in the same year. It did not make sense that they came into existence in the same year, both of their birthdays for this particular year already having passed, and yet Spicer was older.

"It's a funny story," Diol began. "You see, apparently, a few years back, Spicer was in possession of the Sands of Time. In the middle of a battle with the monks for it, he used it to take a year-long vacation before returning to the matter at hand. In any case, his body still aged that year, and so he is physically nineteen despite the fact that he was only born eighteen years ago."

Despite himself, Chase laughed at the idea of Jack abusing his control of time in order to take a vacation, in the midst of a fight no less. Of course, he would never admit his envy at never having thought to do as much himself. Certainly, he could use a monk-free century or so in Tahiti.

Diol chuckled with him for a moment before returning his attention to the piece of paper he held in his hands. "Son of Sylvia Vivienne and Martin Spicer, heir to the massive fortune thereof. Born in the United States and raised a little bit of everywhere. Albinistic since birth; red hair, red eyes and skin like a ghost, but I'm sure you already knew that; kinda hard to miss. Currently weighs 195 pounds and stands at 7'1"."

If Chase had been drinking something, he surely would've choked on it. Last he had seen Spicer, the little twerp had to look up an inch or so to make eye-contact and now he was nearly a foot taller? When had that happened?!

Oblivious to his master's astonishment at the fact, the jaguar continued reading. "Apparently, he was in the hospital a lot as a kid. Severe sunburns, mostly, but there's no shortage of bumps, scratches, and broken bones the likes of which not even Spicer could do himself. If I had to guess, I would say bullying was involved. It would certainly explain why he dropped out of school when he was six."

Chase blinked. "He did what?"

"Yes," Diol confirmed, "he's an elementary school dropout. Still managed to earn a few master's degrees afterwards, though. Apparently, the kid was a certified professor while his peers were struggling with sixth-grade math. He never applied for a teaching job, though, which is a damn shame. I'd have loved to see a ten-year-old berating young adults for not bringing in their homework, wouldn't you, Master?"

"It certainly would've been interesting," the warlord admitted. "Is there anything else I should know about Spicer?"

"Yes, but I can sum it up," Diol smirked, showing off his fangs. "He speaks twelve languages fluently, has learned how to cook, clean, and manage a household in his parents' absence from his life, started his own multitrillion dollar business a year ago, and has recently completed a self-defense course. He still can't attack worth a damn, but if someone attacks him, he's capable of fending them off. A friendly warning in case you choose him as your apprentice."

"Spicer's deeds as of late are impressive," Chase slowly admitted, "but why, pray tell, might I want him as my apprentice when Katnappé will surely be more than willing?"

The jaguar's grin broadened. "Because it's not just his skills that are impressive, Master," he said.

Chase was handed another photograph with the repeated explanation of, "More recent than thirteen."

And there was the incentive; the reason why he should not just rule Spicer out in favor of Ashley because she was more beautiful and better for a roll in the hay.

Because in this photo, Jack was positively gorgeous.

His body, long and lean like a model's, was hugged pleasantly by a clearly expensive black suit. Even through the picture, Chase could see that the young man's stride was a thing of power and grace; no more constant hint that he was about to trip over his own feet like in the past.

Jack had obviously been photographed by some stranger on the street because he did not look towards the lens and seemed entirely unbothered by it, instead more focused on the cellular phone in his long, white fingers that held the device to his ear. Clearly, Spicer was being bored by whomever he spoke with and his features expressed disinterest and scorn at best, but it was not the expression Chase was focused on.

It was the actual face that drew him in, for it seemed that Jack had finally grown into his features. His eyes that'd once sickeningly reminded Chase of a sweet and innocent little doe had hardened with the telltale calm of maturity, now seeming much more proportional in regards to everything else. The loss of whatever baby fat had remained with him through prepubescence had gone, revealing a straight and elegant nose as well as high cheekbones and a sharper jaw line.

His face and body thrown in with the napalm red of his hair and eyes and the pristine whiteness of his skin, Jack Spicer made for a perfectly lovely display of mortal masculinity.

Katnappé had some serious competition in the field of aesthetics.

Diol saw the look on his master's face, one he had seen several times before. It unquestionably meant, 'I am horny.'

"He had quite the crush on you when he was younger," the warrior said casually. "He'd have thrown himself to starving wolves for you, I'd bet."

Chase continued to inspect the photograph, a barely-there noise the only thing indicating that he'd even heard Diol speak.

"Ashley is beautiful, but I doubt she could ever be that…devoted. She's too concerned with herself."

The warlord was silent for a moment before putting the picture aside and standing from the desk.

"I'll be back later," Chase informed his minion as he left the study. "I must collect myself an apprentice."

Diol felt the man's presence disappearing from the palace, and with it, his ability to retain a human shape. Back in his feline form, the jaguar smiled a jagged smile and prowled off to occupy himself with other duties.

--

Within the confines of his home-office, Jack Spicer sighed at the sight of possibly the sixteenth e-mail in his inbox that day from the exact same person.

Anthony Miller, he was certain, was some spectacular brand of idiot and it'd definitely been a mistake to leave him in charge.

Jack's self-founded company, Spicer Tech was flourishing. The market for energy-efficient technology was expanding and the mechanical genius had what was essentially a monopoly on it.

Why wouldn't he? After all, he'd been building feats of engineering since before he'd hit puberty and now that he had gone public with some of his creations, the entire world knew just what a mechanical mastermind he was.

The stupider ones among the public were excited to use products that cost them less on their electricity bill and glad that environmentalists could no longer bitch at them about destroying the planet because they bought from Spicer Tech.

The smarter ones were more excited about the severe drop in pollution levels and fossil fuel usage and were glad that their everyday lives would no longer encroach upon earth's resources so much.

The even smarter ones than that were marveling at the intricacies of Jack's machines, particularly the 'robot butler' he'd recently released on the market. Really, it was just a Jackbot; the design and programming of which he had come up with when he was eleven, almost twelve; and yet, scientists were hailing it as a marvel of robotics, the pinnacle of form and function and cognizance!

Really, these people would be shitting their pants in excitement if they were to see how he had improved his own robots for personal use. Forty times more durable now that their frames were constructed of tungsten, twenty times more efficient with all the bugs worked out of their systems, and a sleek, sexy design in hematite casing with shiny, obsidian accentuation.

Of course, that was to say nothing of their increased firepower; the various arrays of lasers and guns and sharp, pointy implements they possessed with which to cause pain.

These robots were nothing like their flimsy predecessors that could literally be kicked apart by super-powered teenagers.

It was a robot such as this that silently floated up to its master, waiting to be addressed.

"Yes, JB-AlphaSix?" Jack patiently inquired, turning from his laptop.

"Paparazzi have been spotted on the front lawn, Master Spicer," the machine informed him in a monotonous baritone. "Shall normal protocol be enforced?"

"You mean shoot at them until they leave?" the young man wondered. "Yes, enforce that."

"Yes, Master Spicer," JB-AlphaSix bowed before hovering off and phasing through the nearest wall.

That, too, was a good feature, Jack thought to himself, quite glad he'd added it.

Again, he sighed as he looked back at the latest e-mail from Miller, complaining about how he needed help and couldn't handle everything by himself.

Firmly, he clicked reply and typed his response.

Anthony, he began, you are incompetent. I built Spicer Tech from the ground up and make $900,000 a year. I singlehandedly brought my company to where it is today and could do everything you're complaining about in my sleep. The only reason I even hired you as VP in the first place was so that I could take a day off and not everything would fall apart.

I see now that you are completely useless in that respect.

Don't come back to work tomorrow, Anthony. In fact, don't bother coming back at all. You are a complete and utter failure and allow me to save you a lifetime of pain and suffering by advising you stop trying now. You cannot now nor ever be trusted with anything of importance.

Because of you, I now have to sacrifice possibly the only day off I may get to have from now until doomsday just so that I can come back in and clean up your mess.

In case I haven't made myself perfectly clear, I'll be there in about an hour to fix everything you've so cluelessly fucked up and to hand you an official pink slip because you are most definitely fired.

Struggling to Determine How Something Like You Was Ever Declared a Homosapien,

Jack Spicer

With a frustrated air of finality, Jack clicked 'Send' and stood from his desk to get ready to leave and go back to work.

Intrigued, Chase watched from the shadows of the room as the beautifully mature and wonderfully competent Jack practically stalked away.

Spicer had undergone quite a radical transformation. While Katnappé was still up to the same tricks she had always been up to, Jack had grown up. How comfortable he was with violence, now, how cutting with his words!

How deliciously perfect.

An opportunity such as this was not one to be passed up.

True to form, it was a mere hour later that Jack walked into the Spicer Tech building, back straight and his head held high. Various underlings scattered at the sight of him and others practically kowtowed.

Rumors spread quickly amongst office people and they knew why their boss had come back to work on his day off.

Rapid fire, Jack took care of business. Cool, calm, and as mechanical as his beloved creations, he found Miller and gave him a verbal lashing, calling him mentally deficient in nearly a hundred ways before firing him again in person.

The Spicer Tech employees would be terrified of Spicer for weeks as they recalled the sight of the forty-five-year-old former vice president fleeing the building on the verge of tears.

Immediately afterwards, Jack went about setting everything else straight. Memos were sent, misunderstandings cleared up, and what went where was explained to various people repeatedly until they understood.

This done, Jack leaned back in the chair of his office and breathed deeply, his eyes falling shut as he briefly relaxed. He was not done, yet: now that he had given up all hope of a truly relaxing day at home, he had several people to call and inform that he would not be missing that meeting after all, but for now, he had a blissfully silent moment all to himself.

"How magnificent you have become."

Jack flinched; not wildly, not as he would have in his childhood days, but enough that the chair creaked upright and his eyes opened quickly.  His muscles were tense and one hand had slipped beneath his desk to grip the handle of the gun resting in the holster permanently bolted to the desk's underside.

Chase let the corners of his mouth curl as he stepped out of the shadows of Spicer's office.  "Good.  You took fright, but you controlled it easily enough.  Perhaps this will not be so arduous a task as I feared it might be."

Jack frowned and allowed his hand to fall from the gun. It was useless: even if he could draw it quick enough, it would do nothing against the current intruder of his inner sanctum.

"Chase," he calmly greeted. "What are you doing here?"

"Not going to offer me a seat?  How churlish."  He was goading the young man on purpose, testing him.  There was still time to turn and leave if Spicer offered proof of inadequacy.

Instead, Jack smirked at him the tiniest bit and gestured to the other side of the desk in a "take your seat" motion even as he called out, "JB-AlphaZulu, bring Master Young a comfortable chair."

A robot whirred to life from its silent hibernation in a corner.  A thickly cushioned guest chair, one of several that lined a bank of windows overlooking the western horizon, was carried over to the space Jack had gestured to.  With suitable aplomb, Chase parked his fanny in the chair and crossed one leg over the other at the knee.

"Will there be anything else, sirs?" the robot inquired.

"Refreshments?" Jack asked, lifting his eyebrows at Chase curiously.

"Tea, the best you have," Chase replied.

The robot bowed and hurried away to fulfill its task.

With the metal interloper gone, Chase met Spicer's gaze squarely.  He was silent for several moments, taking in the aura of maturity and youthful power in the newly broad-shouldered man seated across from him.

"You have changed, Spicer," he remarked.

"Yes, us mortals tend to do that," Jack quipped, idly twirling a pen around his fingers. The long digits were practically acrobatic in their movements and the black writing implement seemed to dance around those pretty, graceful fingers. "If we all stayed the same like you do, we'd have multiplied out of control and exhausted our food supply in a matter of years; gone extinct centuries ago."

"And then where would we all be?" Chase asked rhetorically.  His query was met by a sarcastic grin from Spicer and he smirked back.

"As to why I am here," he said, drawing the moment out some, "I have noticed the dreadful lack of upcoming Heylin masters in equal response to the rise of Xiaolin masters.  The pickings are slim on our side of things and two out of three of the masters are not suitable teachers.  That leaves me to take an apprentice, which I have decided to do."

"Congratulations," Jack said, "I wish you well. As you've probably seen from the fiasco that turned my wonderful day off into a day of cleaning up after an idiot, good help is monumentally hard to find."

Chase lifted an eyebrow.  "I have witnessed your carnage since you sent that first e-mail.  You are not obtuse - not anymore.  Surely you know why I'm here?"

Jack lay down the pen and folded his hands on the desk. "I have a hunch," he admitted, "but I'm hoping I'm wrong. Confirm it for me: why are you here?"

The Dragon-lord of the Heylin Side stared with displeased intent at the young man sitting across from him.  "You hope you are wrong?  Even if my answer is that I am here to acquire you as my apprentice?"

"Yes, because if I were wrong, it would save me the trouble of having to tell you no thanks."

Chase scowled, but was interrupted by the arrival of the Jackbot attendant.  He was served exceptional tea; fragrant, perfectly steeped, delicious with a slight taste of honey and jasmine.  Jack was served coffee; rich, dark roast, chickory from the smell.  The robot was thanked and dismissed, and it took itself back to its post in a corner and returned to hibernation.

After a sip of the delicious tea, Chase said coldly, "Enlighten me as to why you are telling me 'no'.  Five years ago, I'd barely have gotten the offer out of my mouth before you were doing something indecent to my leg."

"Five years ago," Jack emphasized, "I would have. Five years ago, I was also a ditzy klutz who'd be lucky to get out of bed in the morning without bruising himself. Now, I'm the CEO of a multimillion dollar corporation who could probably, after today's events, call any person I want in here and have them suck my dick while we have this meeting." He raised his mug of coffee to his lips and swallowed before settling his drink back on the desk. "Surely, a smart guy like you can acknowledge that things have changed since five years ago."

"There's no need to be vulgar," Chase said, though his throat had gone a little dry at the thought of Jack doing such a thing.  Those brilliant red eyes half-closed, keeping him in sight while Spicer luxuriated in the sensation of lips and tongue on his erection... it was a beautiful image, if not appropriate for this meeting-turned-negotiation.

"As for change, yes, I can see it has.  What I cannot see is why you would throw away this excellent opportunity."

"Because I'm not so certain that it is," Jack coolly replied. "Becoming your apprentice could potentially be the best thing that could ever happen to me…or it could turn out to be the worst mistake I ever made. You're Chase Young: your motives are an enigma and if I were to agree to your offer, whatever that entails, I would have no idea what I would be setting myself up for. Judging from past experience, I could very easily get burned on this deal and considering where I am now, practically on top of the world, it's more of a sure thing for me to stay the course."

Chase was stunned to his core, though he did not show it on his face.  Where had this well-reasoned, thoughtful, and cunning Jack Spicer come from?  True, he had not seen the boy, nor had he interacted with Spicer, in five years but this... this was almost magical.

"I do not make offers to train students lightly," the warlord said coolly.

"Oh, yes, you do," countered Jack, looking at him with unflinching bravado.  "You teased Ashley and you teased me with hints and promises of being your student when, in reality, you had no intention of training either one of us.  We were merely means to an end that led to Omi's doorstep."

Chase clenched his teeth, fighting back a frustrated growl.  Damn Spicer for bringing that up!

"I have no such agenda now," he said firmly.  "I am, truly, seeking an apprentice to impart the ways of the Heylin to."

"I'm not saying you aren't," Jack conceded, "but I wouldn't have gotten very far in the world of business if I believed absolutely everything people told me, now, would I?"

He had to laugh; a short, but honest sound.  "True enough, Spicer.  Yet, I assure you, I aim to train an apprentice to the many intricacies of being Heylin."

Jack gave him a cool smile.  "Let me guess: Ashley's the back-up if I say no?"

"You are saying 'no' now, and yet I am still here, trying to recruit you to the Heylin life you turned your back on.  How did that come about?  The last I knew, you were boasting of making an armada of Jackbots, of creating a new superweapon that would surely bring us all running to kiss your lily-white backside."

"One day, I woke up and realized that I was being hopelessly naïve. I realized that I could never compete with the monks or anyone Heylin and I realized that I couldn't because I didn't know anything about combat. I knew robots and even they were useless because there was always some martial arts move that could knock all their screw loose in one hit."

Jack paused, reaching out to take another sip of coffee. He seemed remarkably calm considering the topic was his complete and utter failure at being Heylin.

"I also realized that nobody was ever going to teach me," he smoothly continued, "because nobody cared enough to bother. Wuya, the monks, you- especially you – were perfectly content to mock my failings and dismiss me rather than give me the benefit of the doubt and actually help me. So, that day, instead of going down to my lab and building Jackbots, I started researching the family business; putting my mind to work in figuring out what works and what doesn't when running a company. Then, I made my own and I'm sure you can assume the rest: I grew up and here we are."

Chase nodded slowly.  "True enough.  I dismissed you as incompetent and destined to remain so.  For the four years in which we interacted, you did not change.  There wasn't even the slightest hint that you would do so or that you were interested in doing so.  To find you like this... it is a surprise, but a pleasant one.  However, it is this very change that makes you supremely suited to becoming my apprentice.  Katnappé has changed physically, but otherwise...?  She is doing the same thing; day-in, day-out--"

"Like you?" Jack interrupted, showing teeth in his smile.

The warlord remained silent for several moments, letting his displeasure be known in the coldness of his stare.  Eventually, he continued.

"She has not changed beyond the superficial.  You have changed through and through.  You have matured, gained wisdom.  I sense that you are now receptive to learning yet more wisdom, even from others.  That makes you the ideal candidate to become my apprentice."

"I don't doubt that I am and I'm sure you'd like me to just agree to your offer without debating the issue, but…" Jack trailed off, his point that he would not just agree abundantly clear. "I want a bullet-point summary," he said, "of what you want from me and what I'll get out of this if I agree."

Chase unlaced his legs and sat up straighter, his spine rigid with indignation.  "I beg your pardon?  You are... assigning me a task to earn your consideration?"

"You should feel lucky I'm not making you draft a contract for me to look over," Jack deadpanned. "That's my usual requirement before even considering a business agreement. I'm not so stupid as to jump headfirst into partnerships without weighing the facts, first; not anymore."

The older man sat, sipped his tea, and considered the request.  Proof, finally, that Spicer no longer acted rashly; that he thought things through.  He was worthy as a student.  If his habit of inflicting harm on his allies at the first opportunity - rather than the fourth or fifth, after lulling them into a false sense of safety - was still there, it would be easy enough to train it out of him.  To be honest, he'd feared there would be an astonishing amount of work, still, to put into making Spicer truly Heylin.  Instead, he'd discovered that Jack had reduced the expected amount of work, adjusting accordingly with each sentence uttered.

Too, the boy - no, young man - was now too seasoned a businessman to simply accept a spoken offer at face-value.  He wanted a paper trail, and rightly so.

Coming to a decision, Chase set his now-empty cup of tea on Spicer's desk even as he nodded.  "A written summary is a reasonable request.  You shall have it by the end of the day tomorrow, if having it is what will prompt you to stop refusing me."

"Possibly stop refusing you," Jack corrected. "I'm still not entirely sure I should be accepting offers from a man who liked to throw boulders at me and toss me to extinct reptilian apex predators for kicks."

"That was then, Spicer; this is now.  Will you remain stubbornly set in the past?  Or will you accept that even an immortal dragon-man such as myself can change once in a while?"

Jack grinned at the 'then and now' argument that'd been thrown back at him. "We'll see," he conceded. "I'll let you know by the end of the day tomorrow."

Chase stood, sensing the meeting was at an end.   Spicer, too, stood; a businessman well-versed in etiquette.  As the young man came around the desk to escort him for as far as Chase would go, the warlord flashed a wicked smile at Jack.

"There is one thing you should consider, Spicer," he murmured.

"Yeah?  What's that?"

Faster than mortal thought could move, Chase had Jack pulled up against him.  He locked one arm tightly around the younger man and his free hand held Jack's chin steady in a firm, but implacable grip.

"You are no longer distressingly young," the Heylin prince said softly.  "You are a man, now, which leaves our potential relationship open to... so very many possibilities."

He tilted his head just so; touched his lips to Jack's.  With a deftness that came from centuries of experience, he coaxed a response from Jack with his mouth alone.  First, an easing of the shock of being captured.  Second, awareness that this was really happening.  Third, the slight parting of Jack's lips on a soft sound of interest as the kiss deepened just enough to hint at being sexual.

When Chase let go and pulled away from the younger man, Jack was glassy-eyed and panting quickly, his hands curling and uncurling in clenching quickness.

"Think on that," Chase advised, "and how much more it could be between us."

And then, he was gone; back to his mountain palace, eager in many ways he hadn't been in a very long time.

In his absence, Jack latched onto the front of his desk to keep his traitorous legs from buckling beneath him. Once he'd caught his breath, he straightened and smoothed his hair and his clothing (whether it'd actually been out of place or if it was merely a physical gesture of composing himself, it was uncertain).

Calmly, Jack strode to the door of his office, throwing it open and catching the eye of the nearest person.

"Melissa," he said to the quiet young lady that was his secretary, "do you think you can keep things running for the rest of the day?"

"Uh, I, y-yes, Mr. Spicer," she sputtered in reply, "but I thought you were going to stay and work…?"

"I was," Jack told her, shutting the door behind him and beginning to walk towards the elevator, "but between you and me, I really need this day off."

--

Well into the next day, after a good night's sleep and a coffee-and-bacon-heavy breakfast, Jack happily returned to work.

As it turned out, Melissa had been perfectly capable of handling the simple work involved in holding down what was essentially the most idiot-proof fort in the world. In fact, the moment Jack had stepped out of the elevator and approached his office, the secretary had greeted him with a description of how incompetent Mr. Miller had been not to be able to handle such a light workload with so many processes taken care of by machines and how she completely supported him in his decision to fire the man as opposed to her usual, 'good morning, Mr. Spicer.'

This, of course, had led to Jack inquiring as to whether the young lady would like a promotion and Spicer Tech very quickly had a new VP.

Throughout the work day, however, the president of the company was constantly thinking; constantly alert.

On the one hand, there was the matter of considering the events of the day previous, taking in his childhood idol's declarations of sincerity and the promises of more that he'd hoped for since first coming into awareness of the fact that he had a sex-drive.

Then, on the other hand, there was the constant awareness, looking up from his work every few moments expecting Chase to be standing there demanding an answer from him.

Jack was confident that he could give one. Those in his line of work didn't last very long without an aptitude for short-notice decisions.

It was whether or not that answer would be right that had his mind occupied with a great deal of reminiscence and thinking; making it little wonder that the young genius got very little substantial work done.

A part of Jack was screaming at him, practically shrieking in horror that he was even considering turning down such an offer. This was a dream come true, it pointed out: the Chase Young wants you as an apprentice and good god, he kissed you! Why are you not on your knees kissing his feet and whatever else he wants you to put your mouth on?!

But, then, there was the other part that had come to be alongside his maturity, the one keeping the wildly hysteric side in check. It tactfully reminded him the many, many times Chase had taken advantage of his willingness to prostrate himself before the dragonlord and outright used him for his own benefit.

There was no anger in the recollection of these times. Rather, Jack remembered being Chase's pawn with a neutral factuality: Chase was a centuries-old beast of cold, calculating evil and Jack had been a too-trusting preteen with very little life experience that was completely smitten with him.

In retrospect, it was supremely obvious that he would have been used as little more than a means to an end.

Even so, it didn't make Jack all that eager to go trusting the Heylin warlord again, no matter how truthful his insistences of sincerity sounded. He would need a written agenda and a list of demands to consider before the possibility of agreeing to Chase's offer even made it onto his list of options.

It would be the very end of the work day when that written communiqué would come, past the point when Jack had already worked himself up into an impatient anxiety.

The calm, logical part of his brain suggested it was probably so long in coming out of Chase's desire to mess with him for daring to give him a homework assignment.

Of course, its arrival had been flairless, but somehow managed to be damnably classy. One moment, Jack's fingers were tensely tapping upon his desk, and the very next, the taps were muffled by an envelope that'd magically found its way beneath his hand.

There was no hesitation for the world's youngest and most brilliant CEO as he tore the envelope open, removing the contents and scanning it thoroughly.

As he had specified, the list was in bullet-point format, putting things in simple, straightforward terms Jack could understand.

'Expectations' was written in an elegant script at the top of the page, looking just as refined and beautiful as the man who'd written it.

First and foremost was 'obedience.' This, of course, had been a given for an apprentice of any kind and so Jack was not surprised to see it.

Obedience…likely would've been easier had this opportunity come about when he was younger and less independent. Now, as self-sufficient as he'd become, Jack knew that if he did take this offer, there would be times when his will would clash with Chase's and there would be problems because of it.

However, he also knew that he was not incapable of learning. Put in a position where submission meant eventual self-betterment, Jack was certain that he could come to accept Chase's rule completely in a matter of months, if not weeks.

Obedience, he could handle.

Next on the list was 'respect' and Jack couldn't help his chuckle at the sight of it.

Was Chase really so blind as to assume he didn't have that already? Because he certainly did.

The dragonlord could quite literally spit in Jack's face, break every bone in his body, and write him a twenty-five page letter about what a useless waste of space he considered him to be and Jack could hate him with everything he had.

The respect, though…the high regard he held the Heylin man in simply for everything he had accomplished and everything he was… Jack sincerely doubted Chase's ability to ever invalidate that.

So, respect was already taken care of.

Following that was 'trust' and Jack grimaced.

That could be a tough one. Again, this was something that would have been leagues easier when he was a boy who knew absolutely nothing but that Chase was awesome and he could always be trusted.

Jack had grown up and it had come to his attention that yes, Chase was plenty awesome, but he could most definitely not always be trusted. He was Heylin for god's sakes! He couldn't be expected to play by Xiaolin rules unless you wanted to be severely disappointed however many days, weeks, or years down the line when the warlord took advantage of your blind trust and betrayed you at his own convenience.

But…if Chase had been telling the truth…if he had been telling the truth, he legitimately wanted to take on an apprentice in order to bolster the Heylin forces. It would be counterintuitive for him to betray that apprentice at any point. Besides that, it didn't really make sense for Chase to waste his own time and effort in trying to obtain Jack as an apprentice and actually go to the trouble of complying with this request to write things down just for some elaborate, no-longer-timely prank for being such a screw-up as a kid.

Trust…it could take a little while for it to be a complete thing, and it would definitely be cautious at first, but Jack could trust Chase if he wasn't given any reasons not to.

'Dedication to improvement' was what Chase had seen fit to ask next.

At this Jack nodded. That was a perfectly understandable request for a student from a teacher, one that would not be a problem. If Jack did this, it would be out of a genuine desire to learn amongst whatever other motivations this piece of paper could give him.

Following this expectation, there was only one more thing written, and Chase was asking that Jack, 'live within my keep.'

The young man chuckled lightly. Living smack dab in the middle of (The Land of) Nowhere would certainly make the daily commute to work a bit difficult, but to be completely honest, Jack was a CEO: there was very little work for him do to that couldn't be done via phone, e-mails, and even video-conferences. It was only because Miller had failed so spectacularly at maintaining order that he had even had to come in at all yesterday.

Well…either way, he could still run his company living with Chase, and there wasn't anything he absolutely needed access to at his home that he couldn't bring to Chase's.

This was an acceptable request.

Alright. So, Chase's expectations of him so far were perfectly reasonable. As a Heylin master to a potential Heylin apprentice, everything he was asking of Jack was fairly standard.

There was the distinct possibility that this offer was authentic.

However, Jack dared not let himself get too hopeful, not before he'd looked everything over.

On the other half of the paper, there was another column, this one labeled, 'Benefits.'

'Learn to be truly evil' was the first thing Chase claimed he would get out of this deal.

Jack couldn't help the grin that quirked his lips at the phrasing of that. Chase had said he would learn to be true evil as opposed to just learning to be evil. It was clear that he acknowledged that Jack already was evil; business evil, but evil nonetheless. Chase's intention was to refine that business evil into the type of pure, Heylin evil that he was.

And to Jack, that sounded quite alright.

The next bullet point declared that Jack would, 'learn to fight,' one could only assume on the level of the Xiaolin monks minimum. Still having no aptitude for combat, the genius could not help but be a little wary of this one.

His body was regrettably…delicate. He bruised easily and near-instantly and he had always been prone to pulled muscles and dislocations. Learning martial arts from Chase Young, even at his most gentle, would surely result in plenty of bruises, sprains, and injuries before he even learned anything.

But…he would learn eventually. There would be pain and it would be difficult, but good would come from it and Jack might actually be able to compete with the now-young adults that had thoroughly trounced him as a youth.

Despite leaving his old life and vowing never to return, Jack had had many, many, many revenge fantasies he'd been dying to act out and this could certainly help with that.

Too, he knew several techniques for self-defense, now, and so while he would still definitely get hurt in learning to fight, he wasn't going in completely blind; could probably prevent the very worst of the injuries that would come.

All in all, learning how to handle himself in combat was a definite want.

Continuing to read, Jack saw that Chase next promised him an opportunity to 'learn magic,' and one eyebrow shot up in curiosity.

Magic could definitely be interesting, he decided after only a moment of thought. Even if Chase were to teach him only low-level magic, like teleportation and how to use darkness like a cloak to hide himself, that would be enough for him. Jack honestly could care less if he ever learned the serious stuff, like element manipulation, if he could goddamn teleport.

So, it was decided that magic was cool and one of several mounting good reasons for Jack to take this offer.

Had Jack been a bit younger upon reading the next item in the itinerary, he most certainly would've blushed, for Chase declared that in becoming his apprentice, he would win, 'a place by my side: in peace, in battle, and in bed.'

As it was, Jack viewed it with calm and casual judgment. He couldn't, of course, lie to himself and so knew he wanted that place being offered.

Chase Young was an amazing man in many different ways; the main reason why Jack had been so drawn to him when he was younger. He was intriguing, enigmatic, and positively gorgeous to look at.

Really, it was no wonder that Jack, then and now, considered a place beside him deeply honoring.

Well, that, and the idea of spending a night in Chase's bed excited Jack on so subconscious and conscious a level that he was struggling to keep his focus on the piece of paper rather than simply tossing it aside and doing something extremely office-inappropriate.

Thankfully, his concentration didn't have to last much longer, for Chase had stayed true to the idea of a bullet-point list and kept things simple: there was only one more bullet-point left.

According to Chase, the final benefit of becoming his apprentice was, 'eternal youth.'

For several long, long moments, Jack gaped at the piece of paper, entirely dumbfounded.

The logical part of him was trying to explain how this made perfect sense: Chase possessed eternal youth and so if he were to take on a student, that student would need to possess it, too. Besides that, his entire aim in taking an apprentice had been to add to the Heylin side's strength and it would be pointless to train someone to do that if they were just going to die and put Chase right back where he'd started, apprenticeless.

Unfortunately, this logical part was drowned out almost completely by a resurgence of the Chase-adoring part that was on the verge of shrieking wildly in shock and excitement: Chase was offering him immortality! He wanted him around forever! There was no way this could be a trick!

After a few moments of consideration, Jack realized that that was actually a valid point. In the past, Chase had thrown out offers of apprenticeship easily with little to no intention of following through on them and this could easily have been one of those times.

However, Chase did not make offers of eternal youth lightly. This was a completely serious, completely legitimate offer of apprenticeship if Chase was going so far as to present immortality.

Jack again glanced at the sheet of paper in his hand and noticed a block of text at the bottom.

Spicer, it read, since I realize that your line of work affords you some level of comfort with blatantly stated promises in writing, allow me to assure that you will not get 'burned' on this deal. I, Chase Young, hereby swear to uphold all of the above promises should you agree to become my apprentice and I shall never ask more of you than what has been outlined above. Once consented to, this agreement cannot be terminated either by myself or by you: it will be permanent and therefore it is in our best interests that you decide upon this with the utmost certainty. I await your response, Jack.

And beneath that was the warlord's signature as well as the date, thus validating the document in a way that Jack felt familiarly confident with.

Jack proceeded to spend several long moments looking the paper over and considering the offer thoroughly. He knew he had plenty of time to think it over, for he had deduced that Chase would not be coming to him in search of a reply.

Chase had done his fair share of coaxing Jack to become his apprentice: now, it was up to Jack to take the initiative if he truly wanted this.

A hand scrubbed vigorously at his face before running through his hair and Jack sighed. He had made big decisions before, but this was a doozy: Chase Young's apprentice, possibly even his lover!

Even so…he was fairly sure he had an answer.

Jack stood from his desk and folded the piece of paper, tucking it neatly into the pocket of his suit jacket. His computer was shut down and the lights were flicked off prior to exiting his office entirely, bidding Melissa a good night before heading home.

He had some preparation to do.

--

Chase watched with the hint of a smile on his face as a pair of black boots touched down onto the ledge of his mountain just as the sun was beginning to set.

"Hello, Jack," he pleasantly greeted. "How long has it been since you've used that contraption?"

Jack tossed a half-glance over his shoulder, shrugging at the slightly-awkward weight of his helipack. "Awhile," he admitted, "but it's just like riding a bike except without the bike and the ground is miles beneath you instead of just a few feet."

Chase laughed. "I'll take your word for it. You certainly look nice."

The young CEO looked absolutely dashing in a suit and tie, but his choice in casual clothing had come a long way from the past days of cheap goth fashion. Jack was currently dressed in a black leather jacket that hugged his torso in a surprisingly sexy way. A simple pair of black slacks and durable-looking boots completed the outfit and perhaps for old times' sake, the familiar red and yellow goggles had been slung around his slender neck.

"Thanks," Jack grinned. "I'd say the same of you, but you must know that already."

Chase's smile broadened. Normally in such a situation as this, he would be dreadfully impatient, side-stepping all of this banter and demanding to know what had been decided regarding his offer. Instead, he was calm and perfectly collected.

It likely had something to do with the fact that he had a pretty clear idea of Jack's decision thanks to the sleek and shiny machines hovering just behind their creator, several of them carrying bags of belongings.

"So…" he began, "is it safe to assume you've made your decision?"

"More than safe," Jack assured. "I've decided."

"Share that decision with me."

Jack frowned. "You don't already know?"

"Oh, I have a good idea," Chase corrected. "I would like to hear it from you, anyways."

"I accept," Jack said immediately. "I agree to becoming your apprentice and all that entails."

Chase smirked in response, stepping forward . "And this is not too much of a risky investment for you, Mr. Spicer?"

Jack took an identical step forward. "I trust that the payoff will be worth it in the end. I trust you."

That sentence pleased Chase immeasurably and he held out his hand for Jack to take it. Behind them, the sky grew darker as the sun began to well and truly slip beneath the horizon. "I won't disappoint you…apprentice."

Jack smirked, placing his hand in Chase's. "I'm certain you won't…master."

Daylight at last gave up its struggle and night took hold, undoubtedly a good omen for the partnership that had been forged.

No Rest for the Wicked

crystallicsky — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 18:25:39 GMT

Title: No Rest for the Wicked
Pairing: Chase Young x Jack Spicer
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters. I make no money from the writing of this fiction, nor do I attempt to.
Warnings: Bad language, sexual implications, slight gore, homosexuality, etc.
Notes: Thanks to silvarbelle for proofreading! A second set of eyes is always appreciated to catch little flubs and goofs. :)

God, I really need to remember that this community exists more. I keep forgetting about it and therefore keep forgetting to post things here. As it is, I'd love to go back and post everything I've written since the last thing I posted here and this fic, but that would take up a crapload of time and flood the friend pages of everybody who watches this comm. *sigh*

I'll remember the next time I write something. For now, here's a short piece of Chack fluff meant for your enjoyment (more on my actual LJ, if you feel like seeing the other Chack fics I've written lately/in the history of ever; it's pretty much a fiction journal, so no need to sift through any of my personal life for Chackness. ;D)

Jack sighed in irritation, glaring up at the dark ceiling as if it were the source of all his inconvenience.

No, he thought bitterly, that would be the monks. Again.

Often, the Xiaolin goody-goodies were too rough with him, battling him as if he were one of their more powerful villains instead of the (genius intellect shy of being) normal human youth he was. Master Fung had been lecturing them about it a lot, lately, too, explaining to them the need to gauge their own strength in battle more appropriately. Of course, this was told to them in metaphor-form, but the message was nonetheless the same: 'draw your sword for an enemy, not an ant.'

Either way, it amounted to the suggestion that the monks tone it down; refrain from 'drawing their swords for an ant,' AKA, pulling out all the stops just to thwart little ol' Jack when they had real enemies to use the best of their skills against.

Naturally, they hadn't listened and so here Jack was, bored out of his skull as he sat in the hospital. As it was, he stood to endure many long weeks of recovery for his three broken ribs and fractured shin, but it could have been worse: the tsunami that'd hit him with enough force to essentially snap his leg in half had at least put out the fire-tornado the two Xiaolin lovebirds had worked together on before it could do too much damage.

Really, scorched clothes and a slight haircut via singeing was a lot better than broken bones and a stay in the burn ward.

Now, normally, Jack would've been beaten up, the monks would receive a five-minute scolding for their behavior, and that would've been the end of it.

Perhaps it was because he'd been spending more time around Chase Young as the Heylin man's consort, or perhaps it was because he was sick of being a punching bag while his tormentors got off scot-free, but he didn't really feel like lying back and taking the abuse, again.

Like the evil genius he claimed to be and the callous business people that had (kind of) raised him, Jack decided a lawsuit was in order.

The Xiaolin were thoroughly shocked to be given word of their impending judicial summons in person…sort of. A video-conference through a Jackbot was close enough to it.

Jack took great pleasure in telling his enemies that he was taking out his pain and suffering on the entire temple, particularly enjoying their shock and anger at the alternative he offered to being sued: an extraneous sum of money that dirt-poor monks would be hard-pressed to afford.

Kimiko, smug in her belief that her wealthy upbringing and her businessman father afforded her knowledge Jack didn't have, had sneered. "Legal battles are expensive," she informed, "and they take forever. You'll be wasting tons of time and money on a lawsuit like this."

"And so will you," Jack responded coolly through the vid-phone. "In case you've forgotten, though, I'm rich, and I've yet to hear about a judge who'd force a bed-ridden man with several broken bones to attend every session of court. While I can afford a trial and won't have to be there for every day of it, you can't and you'll have to. As they don't say often enough," he grinned, "it'll hurt you more than it hurts me."

"Well, we'll countersue!" Raimundo brashly declared. "You were trying to steal our Shen Gong Wu! That's theft!"

"1) That Wu didn't belong to anyone," Jack pointed out, "that's why we were fighting over it. And, 2) where's your proof? I've got video to support my claims of you four beating me up viciously in front of your temple wearing the clothing that identifies you as Xiaolin monks. You're lucky you're not already in prison for 4-to-1 assault considering how blatant this evidence is. And what have you got on me other than your word?"

They said nothing in reply, only stared back at the screen.

"I thought so," Jack had said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to order myself some crappy hospital food thanks to you. Oh, and please consider my offer to settle outside of court." Then, with a mock-pleasant smile, he'd ended the video conference, leaving the monks staring at a blank screen.

It had been possibly one of the coolest things he'd ever said, in Jack's own opinion. It was evil, cruel, manipulative, and everything he'd ever wanted to be. He knew he owed at least some of it to Chase's teaching, but he also knew a lot of his intimidation tactics and scheming this time was all him.

Of course, he had very little intention of following through with his threat to sue the monks: Kimiko was right and it would be a lot of time and money wasted to actually enact a trial. In reality, Jack was probably just going to turn over his video-proof of the beating he'd been given (minus the supernatural parts) to the local authorities and the Xiaolin would suffer a major setback with their newest recruits stuck in jail for assault charges.

Unfortunately, no matter what he did, it wouldn't change the fact that he was stuck in a goddamn hospital in the middle of the night, alone.

Being of a prestigious family was enough to secure Jack a private hospital room, which he was grateful for. After all, he doubted he'd want to share a space with some gross sick person hacking all over himself like the one he could hear next door. Still, he'd been here for at least a week and nobody had visited. Without any company but nurses who treated you with passing interest at best and a doctor who'd only occasionally stop in to see whether or not you'd flat-lined on his watch, things were getting a little lonely for Jack.

It was late, it was dark, and there was nobody around.

Again, Jack glared at the ceiling, using it as his outlet for a truly killer stare. Then, realizing that glaring at plaster would get him nowhere, he sighed, immediately wincing as his lungs painfully shifted a few of his broken ribs in the process. Considering that he could actually feel it, Jack came to the conclusion that the pain meds he'd been given were starting to wear off and wondered just when the machine he was hooked up to would dispense some more into him lest he develop pneumonia.

"This sucks."

No sooner than he'd said it to the empty room, the room became a little less empty. An overwhelmingly dark presence filled the shadowy room; practically smothering it. The springs of the hospital bed creaked ever so slightly as something settled at the foot of it just beside Jack's un-casted leg. Albinistic eyesight did not afford the best night-vision, and so the young man could make out little more than a figure sitting at the end of his bed.

Of course, Jack didn't need 20/20 vision to see the familiar golden eyes glowing at him in the darkness.

"Chase," he blandly greeted. "You know visiting hours are over, right?"

There was a soft snort of derision before the bed moved again, Chase making his way up the mattress like a jungle cat stalking its prey. His weight settled at Jack's side, just below the broken ribs.

"As if I care for anyone's rules and regulations but my own," the overlord declared sarcastically. "Peasants must obey rules; royalty need not."

"Oh, so you're royalty, now?" Jack inquired.

"Yes," Chase decided. "I am."

"Well, alright, your highness," his consort said, putting unnecessary emphasis on the title, "I've got a question: where the hell have you been these past couple of days?"

"Busy," the Heylin man noncommittally answered. He was reluctant to admit that he had been busy researching and crafting a potion of accelerated healing for his injured consort all this time. Lord knows what it would do to the youth's ego.

"Busy?" Jack pressed.

"Busy," Chase insisted.

Jack had been Chase's lover long enough to know when he wasn't going to budge on something and this was apparently one of those things. "Alright," he conceded, dropping the subject, "but while you've been 'busy,' I've been lying here like a dead fish, with nobody to talk to and hopped up on meds."

"And yet you seem so lucid," Chase commented.

"My buzz is wearing off."

Chase smiled and rested his head on Jack's stomach, careful of the surely-painful area further up. "I'm sorry I couldn't see you any earlier," he said.

Whatever irritation Jack might've felt at being by himself for so long was quickly forgotten and he placed a hand on the back of Chase's skull. "Ah, don't worry about it," he half-shrugged, "it's fine. I understand. So…what's up with the visit?"

"I need a reason to visit my own injured consort in the hospital?"

"Honestly? Yes," Jack said. "You're not the type to do anything without an ulterior motive."

"……Touché." Chase settled himself closer to his consort, making best use of Jack's soft, warm stomach as a pillow. "You see, I've gotten into the habit of sleeping with you in my bed. I find myself hard-pressed to do so without you present."

"Well, I'm hardly in fucking condition, don't you think?" said consort challenged.

"Obviously not," Chase sneered, looking the young man up and down. A casted leg, bruised and broken ribs: sex right now would be foolish. "I said 'sleeping with you,'" he corrected, "not 'fucking you.'"

"So…what?" Jack wondered. "You're just gonna…sleep here?"

"That had been my intention coming here, yes."

"What if one of the night staff comes in?"

"They won't," Chase declared confidently. He had made sure of that with the low-level spell he'd cast on the door of the room.

It was an obscuring sort of magic; one that would cause people passing by to be completely uninterested in the door or what was behind it. Unlike a vanishing spell that could be broken if somebody were to actually go up to the hidden door, an obscuring spell would have any hospital staff passing right by in complete disinterest.

There would be no unwanted visitors tonight.

If there was one thing Jack trusted implicitly, it was his lover's word. "If you say so," he conceded, relaxing back against the bed. His fingers began to tangle idly in the other man's hair, rubbing and petting like he was a kitten.

Despite himself, Chase practically purred at the sensation, settling more firmly beneath the luxurious stroking. Ah, how he'd missed these sweetly saccharine displays of affection, done without any sort of prompting whatsoever!

Naturally, it was thoroughly annoying that he had missed it; missed Spicer.

The boy was supposed to have been his consort and nothing more following his maturation and subsequent change from oddly-colored, mildly interesting child to interestingly-colored, sexy young man. Of course, with Jack, things were never as they should be, and soon enough, the genius had convinced Chase to take him under his wing fully as an apprentice, to teach him everything he could about evil.

And now, it'd somehow come further and Chase was here in a filthy mortal hospital in the middle of the night, lying on a stiff and uncomfortable bed with itchy cotton sheets and for what? To have his hair stroked and to be beside his injured consort while the potion that would make him well faster was being prepared.

It was stupid. It was insane for an overlord to act this way; to lose sleep over a consort.

Yet, this was the reality of the situation and Chase Young was all out of sorts because Jack Spicer was physically unwell.

"Are you gonna be gone when I wake up?"

Chase's eyes flickered open and he stared upwards to his lover's face. Jack's eyes were closed, his face relaxed almost as in sleep. Chase knew better, of course: he could tell feigned neutrality when he saw it, especially with Jack's hand on his head. Whenever he lied or concealed something, the dragonlord had learned, Jack could give himself away with his twitchy hands, and the one threaded through his hair was spasming ever so slightly.

Jack was trying to act as if he didn't care one way or the other whether Chase stayed with him or not.

"Do you want me to be?" he asked outright, forcing Jack into a position of giving his honest opinion.

"……I…no," the youth quietly admitted. "I don't."

As Chase had suspected. Why would he have asked after his master's intentions if he hadn't been invested?

"Then, I won't," Chase decided, once more closing his eyes and resting himself upon his consort. "I'll wake you in the morning before I leave."

Jack smiled. "Thanks," he offered, truly grateful. That Chase had come to see him was heartwarming to the lonely young man. That he would stay… Now, that was touching.

There was a soft beep from the machine beside the bed before a good dosage of painkiller was injected into Jack's IV. It wasn't long before the ache he'd been feeling near his lungs ebbed and the dark room began to swim in his vision.

"There's the buzz," he murmured quietly to Chase. "I dunno what they got me on, but it's good shit. I'm gonna sleep, now, if you don't mind."

Chase smirked. "I don't mind. Good night, Jack."

"Night, Chase," the youth sighed in response, nestling into his pillow.

Chase listened as within minutes, his consort's breathing evened out into slow, deep breaths. Pneumonia would not be getting him so long as he remained medicated enough to avoid shallow breathing.

Still awake, the warlord used the silence to ponder in, thinking just how strange this situation he'd gotten himself into was.

A consort…his consort…was affecting him deeply to have caused all this. Jack had gotten himself injured, had made his overlord toil over a hot cauldron for days searching for a way to heal him quicker, and he'd convinced him to stay in a loathsome place hours longer than he'd meant to.

What was Spicer that he could do these things to Chase? When was the last time he'd cared so deeply for a consort? Had he ever cared so deeply for a consort before, for that matter?

Jack shifted slightly, regaining Chase's attention. Gloved fingers stroked delicately first over bruised white flesh and then the hard white cast on the left leg before his arm came back up to loop around slim hips.

Perhaps all this was stupid. Perhaps it was insane.

None of it changed the crystal clear fact emblazoned in Chase's mind: this was exactly where he wanted to be right now, by Jack's side, and not even the expense of sleeping on a rock-hard mattress and scratchy sheets would change his mind.

Firm in his decision, Chase damned all consequences of growing too attached to a mere consort and joined his Jack in slumber.

Picture

godofthekitty — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 21:09:50 GMT

I drew pretty naked Chack fanart.
http://valettaworshire.deviantart.com/art/Wll-you-see-160275997
DELISHUS
like cheese