Perfect

By: CrystallicSky

Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.

Warnings: Bad language, sexual implications, homosexuality, etc.

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"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…"

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A/N: Just a little fluffy idea I cooked up awhile ago and finally managed to get typed up. :)

Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you liked the fic! :D