Lá 'le Pádraig (St. Patrick's Day)
By: CrystallicSky
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown OR Static Shock, nor do I make any profits from the writing of this. Warnings: Not much other than homosexuality; pretty tame, fluffy fic.
The ears of a moderately-concerned dragonlord perked immediately when the front door finally opened and closed at a quarter to the three in the morning, thereby indicating said dragonlord's lover's return.
An extremely late Jack Spicer was suddenly faced with an extremely irate Chase Young.
"Spicer," the man spoke in his most authoritative bark, "where have you been?!"
"I's out," the youth replied. "I said I'd be out, didn't I?"
"You did," Chase conceded, his tone deceptively calm. "You informed me that you would be out until ten o'clock at the very latest. You are aware it is decidedly past that deadline, aren't you?"
"What is it," Jack challenged, "like, eleven?"
"Try 2:47 AM, Spicer," the warlord growled. "What could have possibly held you up so long, hm?"
"I's havin' fun!" Jack protested. "It's Saint Paddy's Day, an' Frankie an' his boyfriend wanted ta' take me out; they invited you, too, y'know!"
"Oh, yes," Chase rolled his eyes, "because I heartily desire to associate with your ox of a brother and his limp-wristed comedian of a bed-toy anymore than absolutely necessary."
"Shut up," the youth demanded, "at least they're fun ta' hang out with! Y're jus' an' old fuddy-duddy, Chase!"
Abruptly noticing the slur in his lovers voice (embarrassingly late, but nonetheless), the warlord declared, "You're drunk!"
"Yeah, I'm a little drunk," Jack admitted, "its Saint Patricks' Day, an' I actually am part-Irish: s'a given, but that's not the point! You never do anything with me, Chase! I hate that! What, you don't wanna be seen in public with me 'cause you're ashamed of me?"
Wanting to balk at the accusation, the warlord instead reminded himself that the gothic youth was intoxicated and pulled him close, leading him to their bedroom at a slow, steady pace. "I am not ashamed of you, Spicer," he stated firmly on the way there. "In fact, I feel quite the opposite. I do not do these things with you because you tend to make a fool of yourself, and that would almost certainly annoy me, an impression of us I do not want conveyed in public."
"Whassat mean?" Jack wondered.
"It means," Chase explained, "that I do not want anyone to see us and think you obnoxious and me ashamed of you. I want to present us more favorably than that. I want to take you to all sorts of fancy, otherworldly gatherings and balls and show you off like the beautiful, cultured, and frighteningly intelligent creature you are; make other magical monstrosities like myself stare at you in lust and wonder, 'Who is that sexy little human?' and I shall answer, 'That human? That human is Jack Spicer, my mate and consort, and you can't have him'."
The goth flushed, mildly sobered by the honor he felt at his lover's confession. "Wow," he murmured, dumbstruck.
"Yes, Spicer," Chase purred to him, leading the youth at last into their bedroom, "that is how I want to be seen in public with you: as a near-omnipotent, dragon-warrior and his porcelain-skinned, garnet-eyed consort, not 'that bored guy and the drunk idiot he's with'."
"Aw," Jack moaned in teasing despair, "but those hoity-toity parties are no fun…"
The warlord scoffed and began undressing his lover in preparing him for bed. "Alright," he conceded, "I shall make a deal with you: you shall be my pretty doll for me to flaunt before my peers, and every once in a blue moon, I shall debase myself and allow you to drag me off to get drunk with Francis and Richard."
Jack made a joyful 'mwee' noise and offered no protest as he was placed in bed and cuddled by his beloved almost immediately. "Thanks," he cooed happily. "Chase?"
"Yes, Spicer?" the man wondered, pulling the blanket more completely over them both.
The redhead looked up, a playful smile on his face. "Kiss me, I'm a fourth Irish?"
Chase snorted in amusement, but bent his neck a bit to kiss the youth snuggled against his chest. Upon pulling away, he ordered, "Now go to bed, you sycophantic screwball, you."
Jack giggled in mildly-drunken enjoyment of the order but did as he was told and was, unsurprisingly, asleep within seconds.
The warlord sighed, running his fingers through napalm-orange hair. "The things I do for you, Spicer," he muttered.
There was nonetheless a smile on his face.
A/N: And so comes about the obligatory Holiday-Chack fic, and no, I could not resist tying in Static Shock! XD In any case, here's some St. Paddy's Day Chack fluff for you guys to enjoy, so I hope you do! :D