Long story short, this is set in some point in the future when Jack is older and works on machinery/technology for Chase. Being older, he's less annoying, more intuitive, and much more tolerable, so I imagine Chase doesn't mind reciprocating feelings now that Jack isn't some irritating little shit. It's up on ao3, too, if anyone likes that site better!
He watches, in some silent awe, the flakes of white that fall solemnly to their undoing. Watches dozens upon dozens of them disappear into the thick black that Jack wants to run his fingers through, just to find out if the locks of hair are as soft as they look. But he refrains out of the fear that Chase will snap those vicious teeth at his hands. Not that he would mind all that much, really, becoming subject to those molars.
Jack buries his hands deeper into pockets, burying with them the urge to reach out and feel. Chase's nostrils flare with a light inhale, pristine brows furrowing for only seconds before they relax.
"You're bleeding," he mumbles matter-of-factly, eyes drawn to the concealed wound where the scent wafts from.
Brief confusion flickers over Jack's features. Mostly because he's been standing there like a fool, entirely caught up in the ancient beauty that is Chase Young, but realization sparks in red irises seconds later.
"Oh, uh. Yeah. I always get a few cuts when I work on the machines."
Jack removes the hand from his pocket following suit, but only to give himself an excuse to break eye contact, because Chase is intimidating and Jack is unwilling to let his confidence be shaken at the moment. He runs the pad of his opposite thumb over the blood welling at wounds that are still open, evidently, smearing red over pallid skin and watching it dry in place.
Of course he's bleeding. He's been self-forcibly cooped up in the same area for hours upon hours, working on the same contraptions until they purred smoothly beneath his touch, until he became exhausted and clumsy and, well, accidents happen.
A new pair of hands, clad in sleek leather, join to cradle the much smaller hand in them, turning it here and there in their grip as if to look at the cuts from every angle. Chase retracts his arms to pull the gloves off, folding them up and stuffing them into the front pocket of his own coat, before he takes Jack's hand in his once again.
Momentarily, Jack can feel shocks zipping up his spine when the bare skin of Chase's touch greets his, and he has to take a minute to control his breathing before it gives away just how nervous he is. To no avail.
"Relax, Spicer, I won't bite."
There's this light air that surrounds the elder's tone, one which rarely anyone ever has the pleasure of hearing, and Jack takes that to heart. A smile spreads lips up to accentuate the pink blush that blossoms at the apples of cheeks, lifts the corners of eyes up with it; but he ducks his head back down in some futile attempt to shroud it, because he definitely doesn't want Chase thinking he's still some avid fan with a hopeless crush.
"So," Jack begins after clearing his throat, "why did you ask to meet here? If you needed me to fix something else, all you had to do was call me. It's cold, and I." A single pause, pregnant and stagnant in the brisk air. "I know you don't do too well in the cold."
Chase laughs then, a low chime that could part oceans, calm the angriest flames. He is, Jack thinks to himself, absolutely marvelous in everything that he does. Even something as brief as laughter.
"Worrying over me, are we? You're still soft, Jack."
Oh, the way Chase says his name. It's enough to have him completely, unutterably smitten all over again.
Chase reaches into his coat then, to pull out a neatly folded manilla envelope from an interior pocket, and holds it out to Jack.
"For the work you've done this past week."
Jack is hesitant to take it. Why should he? He's already told Chase he was glad to do that work for free not just because he likes him so much, but because he's all set as far as money goes.
"You really don't-"
But Chase cuts him off when he reaches down, carefully tucks the envelope into Jack's hand, and when his gaze lifts to peer at the redhead from beneath those long lashes, Jack swears he's crumbling apart.
Absently, Jack's fingers curl around the envelope, but he isn't paying much attention to it. Red hues meet dark greens in a longing stare, pale lips parted to push forth the slow breaths that condense into long clouds. The temptation to lean in and taste has never quite been so potent, but he'll refrain from that too.
"Also…" It's Chase's turn to pause now, lips pursed slightly, "You left something. A gift, I think it was meant to be. A coat."
Ah. Jack's cheeks are boiling now, and the heat of the blush spreads down to his neck, up to the very tips of ears. He did, in fact, leave a gift for Chase, holiday season and all, but he didn't exactly want it to be known who the gift was from. Confidentiality is becoming an important thing for Jack, and apparently he still sucks at it.
"How do you know who it was from?"
The hint of admiration in Chase's eyes is nearly indecipherable to the human eye, but Jack catches it anyway. Spending so much time around an immortal, inhuman being has its perks, like learning to pick up on little details in expression and tone of voice, and holding your breath for an unreasonable amount of time when you're hiding from a worked-up, decades-old dragon.
"It smelled like you," Chase murmurs in reply.
Next time he'll rub it on a tree or something, to ensure Chase can't pick up on his scent, impossible as that may sound.
"I saw it on sale and thought it'd be a nice gesture. Christmas is tomorrow, anyway." Not entirely a lie. The coat was on sale, but even with holiday discounts it still stood at a whopping three hundred dollars.
Any other words of defense he has die on his tongue when Chase reaches back into his coat, pulling forth from it something smaller this time. A ring, silver, and in its center a tooth. One that looks far too.. reptilian. Like Chase reached into his own mouth and yanked at a molar until gums gave way.
Jack is completely still, breath bated, watching as Chase slides the jewelry onto his ring finger.
"Is that your… your tooth?"
"I imagine you spent a bit on that gift, it isn't made of cheap material. You gave something to keep me warm, and I'm giving something to keep you safe. Not many will chance bothering you when they see you're wearing something of mine."
So it is his tooth.
Despite his greatest efforts to move on and grow up, Jack is far past infatuated for the dozenth time in his life. So much so that his stomach is knotting up much the way it used to every time he even heard the man's name, heart flipping behind its cage a million and one times in the span of a minute.
"Thank you," Jack stumbles out, sparing the ring only a seconds-long glance before his eyes are on Chase again, and he leans in without thinking out the consequences, to press a chaste kiss to Chase's lips.
The world could come apart around them, and all Jack would pay attention to is the subtle pressure of opposite lips molding to his, catering to the kiss, prolonging it.
The ground could split, the gentle fall of snow could turn to the harsh beating of hail, and even then Jack would only be able to feel the way Chase cradles his face in his hands, gentle, like he's the most delicate, intricate piece of machinery.
"Merry Christmas, Jack," says Chase as the kiss is broken, mouths only centimeters apart, tips of noses brushing.
Jack takes the chance to savor the moment while it's ripe, taking one, two, three kisses, each slow and unhurried, covering Chase's hands with his own to keep them still. Keep them warm.
"Merry Christmas, Chase."