Topsy Turvy
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: Slight language, slight sexual implications, homosexuality, etc.
--
"Why won't you hear me out?"
"For the usual reasons: I'm not interested."
"Why not?"
"I'm just not, it's as simple as that."
"But why?"
"You're much too persistent, for one."
"I'm persistent because I want you."
"That much is obvious. I wonder what it was that tipped me off: the stalking or the borderline molestation?"
"Is it wrong to love you?"
"You can't love me; you've only known me for three years, at best."
"You can't believe that. Love doesn't have time restrictions: it can take years to happen, or it can strike in a second."
"As you've said a million times over."
"Why don't you want me?"
"I just don't."
"I'll do anything you want me to do."
"I'm sure you would."
"I can give you anything you want me to give."
"I'm sure you can."
"I could make you happy."
"That, I still have reservations about."
"You're unendingly stubborn, Spicer." Chase sighed and turned away from the younger man. "But, I will win you, yet." In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving the genius alone within the relative darkness of his lab.
Jack sighed, as well, and turned back to the robot he'd been working on before Chase's appearance and quietly began to ponder his situation.
The dragonlord had been infatuated with him from the beginning and had begun not-so-subtly courting him; showing an affinity for the goth's genius and unique coloring and wishing to take him on as a consort.
The heir to the Spicer-fortune had not been taken in by it: even before he'd entered the Xiaolin-Heylin conflict, he had been made accustomed to false promises and stabs in the back; all from greedy people with no real care for him and simply a desire to use his body or his money.
It was something of a blessing that he was a genius, even from a young age. Had he been of average intelligence, he'd have had his identity stolen by age six and his virginity taken by ten, courtesy of silver-tongued scam-artists.
Consequently, he had soundly rejected the man's offers.
This, of course, was not taken well by the everlord, who was supremely unused to rejection. Who had last rejected Chase Young, after all?
The rejection, then, did not deter him in the least but rather fueled his attempts to make Jack his own. He intruded upon the goth, made attempts to seduce him, and occasionally followed him around in his daily life.
It had been mildly irritating, but Jack didn't completely hate him, and had so tolerated it, even occasionally engaging the warlord in conversation. Chase had only been more taken with the young man, then, finding him to be more than simply an ideal candidate for sex.
The claims of love had more recently begun to surface: the warlord demanded that Jack come to him and be more than his consort; instead be his lover and partner for as long as he should live.
Jack had refused on the grounds that he didn't want to.
This, of course, was total bullshit, the genius thought. He liked Chase: the man was smart, powerful, and amazingly beautiful, and his attentions were obviously genuine. They were a good match and together, they could easily have the entire world on its knees in a matter of days, sucking their respective dicks.
Reconnecting a few wires within the shell of a Jackbot, the young tech-wizard recalled the advice his mother had given him when he'd come out to her a few years back.
"It's good to make men wait a little," she'd said. "It keeps them interested."
Well, Jack thought to himself, at last having repaired the damaged robot and turning it on, he'd probably made Chase wait long enough.
"How may I serve you, Master Jack?" the robot droned mechanically as it shot up from the work table, clawed arm raised in salute.
"Mmm, go set out some nice clothes for tomorrow," the youth ordered. "Something sexy without being slutty."
The automaton, now fully-equipped with a once-more working arm and a newly-installed fashion microchip, dipped in a bow with a, "Yes, Master," before zooming out of the room.
Jack stretched his arms above his head and bit back a yawn. Mere moments later saw him putting his tools away and straightening up his lab before flicking off the lights and heading up to bed.
After all, he had a big day tomorrow, and he had to look his best…
--
A/N: Random role-reversal idea; thanks for reading, and I hope you like it.