Living History

By: CrystallicSky

Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters/plotlines.

Warnings: Sexual implication of the homosexual kind, mild language.

"Mr. Spicer," Laurel Merriweather read off her roster, "yours is the last presentation. Would you care to proceed, or did you forgo it again in favor of 'plotting evil' as usual?"

Jack scowled at the bitch-teacher from his seat. "As a matter of fact, Miss Merriweather," he stressed the 'Miss' as if to scathingly remind her that she was still unmarried at age 53, "I did do your stupid project; its about time you assigned something I could actually get into."

The grey-haired woman scowled right back, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses and huffing, "Well, then, Mr. Spicer, by all means: stand and deliver."

The goth did so, only taking his written report with him so that he wouldn't have to return to his seat to hand it in, unlike his classmates who had needed theirs to check information they hadn't memorized; he knew his subject better than just about anything.

Once at the head of the class, Jack arrogantly cleared his throat to silence the menial chatter of the room and began, "For my Living History project, I chose Chase Young."

Several snickers and groans arose around the classroom, and Miss Merriweather watched as one of her other students jeered, "Not this guy again! I don't know if anyone told you, Jack, but the 'Living History' part means they have to be alive…and real!"

The class laughed at this, and the teen frowned darkly. "He is alive," he snarled, "and he is real."

"Mr. Spicer," the teacher glared at him, "please continue on with your presentation."

"Fine," he huffed, happy to move on, "Chase Young was born in ancient China approximately 1,500 years ago; I would be more exact, but he said he can't remember specifically, and that amount might be off by a couple years or so."

The goth propped his report up against the chalkboard in order to free his hands, which he often liked to have free to convey points and emotions with his gestures.

"He was raised as an only child in a family with both a mother and father until about age twelve when he was sent to train at the Xiaolin temple, and that's where the fun stuff started."

With a crooked grin, something decidedly evil, Jack explained, "You see, he played the good-guy role for a couple of years, but it wasn't doing it for him. That warm and fuzzy feeling all of his friends got from helping others wasn't enough to justify all of his training and hard work, and when he was given a chance to have what he really wanted, recognition and real power, he took it."

More students began scoffing and laughing under their breath as the goth carried on, obviously believing all of this, "An entity name Hannibal Roy Bean (who, as you'd figure, is a bean, and if you ask me, some kind of pedophile) appeared to him, offering him the fame and the supremacy he'd wanted in exchange for his soul, and he agreed. In the bargain, he gained eternal life and youth, in addition to a pretty sweet dragon form that could and would bite your head off if you looked at him funny."

The biography section of the report had finished, and so Jack moved on to the personal information section without skipping a beat. "So anyways, he's evil, first off (I figured that'd be a given, but there's some dim bulbs in here, so I mention it anyways), very possessive, and he has a definite like of seeing things in pain. He keeps a lot of cats around the house (mostly tigers, he likes them best), and he has a love of finery, which becomes immediately apparent about half a step into his palace. As far as his love-life goes, he's had a bunch of lovers in the past, but is currently banging me (and if I have a say in it, that won't end anytime soon)."

The laughing was louder now, some of it more in disgust, and Miss Merriweather was grimacing at the thought of Jack Spicer having sex with this imaginary friend of his.

"He's mostly dormant these days in the way of evil, not because he's tired of it or losing his edge or anything; he just figures humans are doing most of the stuff that'll lead to their ruin on their own. Nowadays, he participates in the occasional Shen Gong Wu hunt (and those, in case you're not aware, are magical objects created centuries ago by Xiaolin monks) and every so often, he rigs political functions. He's partially responsible for getting Bush into the White House, because he knew the guy would make for an interesting presidency, especially when he got reelected without Chase's help, but he's decided to stay out of this election because while McCain would be the more hilarious candidate, Sarah Palin is just a bit too much crazy to potentially have a seat of power for his tastes, and I agree totally: that woman makes me nervous."

And with that, the presentation was over, and the class broke out into hysterical laughter.

"Mr. Spicer," reprimanded Miss Merriweather, "how dare you try to pass that fantastical garbage off as fact?! When you come into this classroom, I expect your assignments to be researched not made up on the spot, you delinquent! You wonder why you're failing my class, in addition to all of your other classes? It is because you are an imbecile who would rather fabricate information the lunch period before an assignment is due instead of trying to actually make something out of yourself!"

"I assure you, ma'am, he's fabricated nothing."

The chilly statement immediately forced all noise to stop and the whole class, minus Jack, stared in shock at the armored figure standing still as a statue beside the teenager in black.

The man that now stood at the head of the classroom was gorgeous, beautiful in a way that the majority of these young people, and even Miss Merriweather, had not seen before. They were taken in by his exquisiteness because they had never once experienced its equal: the females were instantly smitten with the sight of him, and several of the males were stunned to realize the decidedly homosexual direction their thoughts were heading.

The class couldn't help but feel they were in the presence of a god, for there seemed to be no other explanation for his powerful aura and his sway over them as mere mortals.

This god was cold, however, to their worshipping eyes, all but indifferent as he instead gave his attention to the least worthy among them.

"Hey, Chase," Jack smiled, "come to help me with my project?"

"I was merely here to observe," the warlord stated, glaring coldly at all the other beings in the room, "but when you were openly ridiculed for your presentation, which you executed very well, I believed it would be best to step in."

"Aww," the goth cooed, clinging womanishly to the man's arm, "you're so awesome!"

This was not acknowledged, and Laurel Merriweather was fixed with a hard, golden-eyed stare. "Miss Merriweather, was it?" She nodded, awestruck. "Well, then, I am Chase Young, and I would like to inform you that my beloved worked very hard on this assignment of yours and interviewed me for a solid hour to get information-"

"If you would've cooperated in the first place, it wouldn't have taken that long," Jack interjected.

"Regardless," Chase deftly ignored him, "he went above and beyond, which you'd have seen if you had bothered to glance at his report." He plucked the binder from the chalkboard, flipping through it a bit to show off the extensive pages of information, interrupted only by 8x10 glossies of himself in various positions, most of them action-shots taken during his morning training (which had resulted in the goth becoming rather turned on by the sight of Chase half-naked and glistening, and nothing afterwards had gotten done, but the class didn't necessarily need to know that part of it).

"So, Miss Merriweather," the warlord frowned at her, "I must insist that you give Spicer an A for this project, as he greatly deserves it. If you do not," his golden eyes were practically burning with threat, "well, I can assure you, it will not be pleasant. Are we clear?"

Struck entirely dumb, the grey-haired female nodded, mouth agape as her bony fingers automatically marked the letter grade in her book next to the name, 'Spicer, Jack'.

Chase seemed suddenly distracted then, staring at the hard, sparsely-decorated wood of the teacher's desk. He turned to the young man clinging to him and began, "Have you ever considered-"

"Doing it on that thing?" Jack asked. "Hell yeah. Its, like, the perfect desk for fucking, isn't it? You have no idea how many times I phased out during boring crap about World War 2 and started daydreaming about how convenient that desk would be if you bent me over it."

"Hmm," the warlord considered, "perhaps another time, preferably without the hag present. For now, I doubt you would protest a half-day?"

Overly dramatic, the goth touched the back of his hand to his forehead as he hung limply onto his lover. "Take me away from this awful place!"

Chase laughed and did just that, fully-intending on using the dinner table at home as a temporary replacement for the desk that was unusable at the moment.

The whole class gaped openly at the spot the two men had disappeared from as the realization slowly crept into their skulls that the entire report they'd scoffed at had been entirely true all along.

A/N: Written during the beginning of the creative slump I'm kind of in now.

You know, its odd: when other people get into creative slumps, they can't write anything at all, and yet I've written both this and Back in Business which, to my knowledge, have both turned out at least half-way decent. Huh. -.-

ANYWAY, I hope you liked the story! :D