A/N: Howdy there. Right now, technically, I should be working on Recipe For Success. And I am, I swear. But two questions insinuated themselves into my mind the other day. What if Jack had taken a different path to evil, one that didn't involve shen-gong-wu? And what if Chase needed more than soup to keep his dragon happy? Then their first meeting might have gone a little like this. . .

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Chase stood impassive in the face of motion, utterly still as the world around him flickered and danced. Bodies moved helplessly, caught up in waves of music, but he remained unshaken by the sound and fury.

He was here for prey.

The club was crowded, dim and pulsing, but around Chase there was a bubble of space that shifted but seldom shrank. Even the bravest pleasure-seekers gave him a wide berth, instinctively recognizing the darkness he embodied.

He preferred it that way; he didn't care to be bothered by whatever flotsam emerged from the tossing sea of humanity. Instead he waited, watching, savoring the hunger that twisted within him. His need for nourishment was growing, and there was only one thing that kept his inner dragon satisfied.

Somewhere in the writhing crowd of bodies was his next meal. When the night drew to its close, he would cull his choice from the herd. Too drunk to resist, either on alcohol or Chase's beauty, the human would follow him into the waiting darkness.

Sometimes he ate them then and there, if that night's club was conveniently isolated. More often he took them to his lair, whisking them there with a touch of Heylin magic before shifting into his draconic form. Once in a rare while, he would choose to slake his lust with them before feeding. Those victims were the luckiest; they knew the joy his human form could give, and as a courtesy he let them fall asleep before he killed them.

He surveyed the throng of humans, noting with disdain every ungainly dancer and heavily made-up face. He would find no lovers here. Such a lack of grace and beauty in the world! A thousand years ago, he could walk through the land picking worthy youths like fruit. Now he waited half the night to find something worthy of his consumption.

The glisten of unnaturally pale skin caught his attention. A lily-white boy who hardly looked old enough to be there was dancing through the crowd in a deliberate line, heading straight for Chase. Hair the bright red of a sunset swished as his body swayed to the pounding music.

And so it begins. There were always one or two who approached him, desire making them disregard their instincts, and they always annoyed him. Vapid women and men seeking dark thrills threw themselves at him, trying and failing to be subtle as they danced coyly around the subject of sex. Their inept flirtation bored him to no end, and this boy was no doubt more of the same.

Then he looked up, and Chase's irritation vanished.

His eyes were a deep, piercing ruby, the color of blood fresh from the vein. A line of black kohl was drawn beneath each eye, the left one hooked like a fang in the middle. The contrast of snow-white skin, black makeup, and blood-red eyes was startling.

Chase felt a flicker of desire stir within him, but he pushed it aside. The boy was hardly more than a mouthful. He would barely compensate for the energy expanded in transporting him back to the lair, and do absolutely nothing to satiate Chase's hunger.

The boy emerged from the crowd and walked confidently towards him, skin stained by the glow of flashing lights. He smiled alluringly as he drew closer, halting once he was in speaking distance.

"So . . . come here often?"

If Chase had been anyone else, he would have snorted. That was the best the little red-head could come up with? He decided not to dignify the question with a reply, and hoped the child would take the hint.

Instead of leaving, however, the boy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms casually.

"Strong and silent, huh? I like that. I'm Jack, by the way."

He wasn't foolish enough to hold out his hand, and Chase was obscurely pleased.

Although he gave no outward sign, Jack seemed to notice his approval. "I don't suppose you're looking for a boy-toy?" he asked cheekily, leaning just a little closer, though he was careful not to invade Chase's personal space.

Chase turned the full force of his gaze on Jack and spoke for the first time.

"You couldn't handle me."

Jack began to protest, but Chase cut him off.

"Besides, I don't deal with whores."

Jack wasn't fazed by the slur to his reputation. He'd had worse words -and occasionally punches- thrown at him by men who didn't appreciate his flirtation and women defending their turf. But this man wasn't as disinterested as he pretended to be; Jack had seen the way those bronze eyes caressed his body as he danced across the club.

'I'm just a slut, actually. This is pleasure, not business . . . or at least, it could be pleasure."

The beautiful man ignored him, silent once more. Undeterred, Jack tried again.

"I don't suppose you'd honor me with a dance?"

"How wise of you. I won't."

Although his face remained as stony as ever, Jack could have sworn he saw amusement in the stranger's eyes. Encouraged, he decided to try something slightly bolder.

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I dance by myself then." Without waiting for an answer, he straightened up and cocked an ear, listening to the music for the first time since starting the conversation. He grinned as he recognized the song.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He let the bass move him, rolling through his pliant body like a wave. He knew the man was watching him but he refused to look, carefully turning his gaze anywhere and everywhere but that handsome face.

You stand there, with your long black hair,

Looking so sweet with your savoir faire

Jack moved like music made flesh, slim hips undulating, lithe body twisting in the pulsing air.

You're looking kind of anxious with your back up against the wall

Don't this kind of music make you want to move at all?

He swayed in blatant invitation, promising sex and passion with every fluctuation of his body. Multi-colored lights flashed over his skin, painting him gold, blue, and blood-red in rapid succession. The chorus of the song began and he finally looked at the stranger, eyes full of intensity and lust.

Don't you walk away from me

Cuz I've got to get you next me

Dance next to me, dance next to me

Oh please oh please oh can't you see,

That I got to get you baby

To lose yourself with me

Chase felt a new kind of hunger growing as he watched Jack dance. The boy moved like sin personified, and it was testing his control. He wanted that lissome body beneath him, wanted to make those startling eyes close in ecstasy. He refused to give in, however. He had already decided not to take the boy, and he intended to stick to his decision, if only as a matter of principle. Then Jack looked at him, amorous crimson eyes meeting Chase's as he danced shamelessly, and Chase knew he was lost.

Making a sudden decision, he flooded Jack's mind with Heylin magic, temporarily drowning his consciousness.

For a giddy moment, as the stranger moved toward him with arms outstretched, Jack thought he had won. Then the sudden sensation of wooziness crashed down on him like an avalanche, and the dark, flashing world of the club was washed away by utter blackness.

He fell forward, unconscious, into those waiting arms.