Can I Borrow a Cup of...?


Chase Young gave a horrid, annoyed-sounding growl as he was purposefully roused out of a peaceful slumber by one of his feline servants.

What do you want, Diol, and why in all the Hells can it not wait until morning?” he snarled groggily.

“You’ve got a visitor, master,” the jaguar informed the overlord with a very (no pun intended) catty grin. “I told him to wait at the door for you.”

The man growled again, at nothing and no one in particular. “Who in the devil is it at this hour?”

“Jack Spicer,” Diol dutifully informed. “He wishes to speak with you personally. It’s urgent.”

Chase moaned in annoyance, draping an arm over his eyes. “Gods,” he grumbled, “what does the little fool want this time? One of my Wu? My opinion on a mechanical toy of his? Or does he simply want to blather on about nothing I have any remote interest in for several hours of my life that I’ll never get back?”

“I think it would be best to hear it directly from him, master,” the cat informed. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

The warlord sighed and finally sat up in bed as his dark-furred servant stalked out of his bedroom.

He would dearly love to just ignore the boy at his door and simply go back to sleep, but he knew Spicer all too well: if nothing else, he was persistent. If he believed he must speak with Chase over something urgent, he would, even if that meant forcefully breaking into the man’s citadel and using any method necessary to make Chase speak with him.

That in mind, he stood and groggily ambled over to his closet, literally too tired to dress himself with magic and having to do it the old-fashioned way.

Goddamn you, Spicer, he thought to himself, you’d best be after something good for once.

For too long, the genius had come to the warlord with asinine pleas towards things Chase could really care less about: Shen Gong Wu, machines, apprenticeship, nothing Chase cared for.

Going on three years now, the overlord had been praying to no avail for that lovely little goth boy to come to his door begging for something Chase did want to give him: a cock in his ass. He knew for a fact Jack wanted it, too, but for some unfathomable reason, the youth continually refused to ask for it, pretended as if the reason he stalked the man and praised him endlessly was because he idolized him, not because he found him drop-dead gorgeous and would very much like to fuck him.

Foolish Spicer…

Nonetheless, the genius was at his door, waiting to speak to him about something and he would not leave until he was spoken to, so Chase finished dressing himself by tying his trademark sash about his waist and calmly walked out of his bedroom, heading for the front door to greet his guest properly.

Mere moments later, he was there, but when opened the door, he was greeted with a Jack Spicer he had never seen before and consequently could not help himself from staring, mouth agape.

The youth that stood on his doorstep looked as if he could barely stand, unsteady on his feet and leaning against the face of the rock that made up the everlord’s porch in order to keep his balance. Red hair was let down and ungelled, ruffled and messy in a careless manner and red eyes were made redder by their bloodshot quality and the glazed-over irises. Furthermore, the goth was largely unclothed and unprotected from the cool wind of the night, only wearing a pair of dark jeans and his usual boots and thereby leaving a slim, hairless chest in plain view of Chase’s golden eyes.

“…Spicer?” he inquired, sounding curious. “What are you doing here so la-…” The warlord paused as a nighttime breeze caused the youth’s scent to blow in his direction. “Are you drunk?” he demanded.

“No!” Jack immediately protested. “I only had, like, two or three…like, ten beers! I’m fine.”

Chase sighed in exasperation. Of course Spicer would be here for such a reason: he’d gotten piss-drunk and now needed a place to stay for the night. His gloved hand reached out and grasped one bare, white shoulder (and gods the teenager’s warmth felt good, even through the glove…!), tugging towards the door in trying to get the youth to come inside.

The warlord was surprised when the goth immediately jerked away from his touch. “Noooo,” he slurringly refused, “I dun’wanna…I…I gotta ask you somethin’…”

“Oh?” the man inquired. “What is it you want?”

Clearly expecting some silly, intoxicated question such as, ‘where do bears lay their eggs?’ or ‘how come pigs don’t fly?’ Chase was once more surprised when a pale, white hand held up a measuring cup, the sort one would use when measuring out ingredients for cooking. “I’s wonderin’,” Jack drunkenly informed, “f’I could borrow a cup of sex.”

Golden eyes shot wide. “What?” he demanded.

Ruby irises looked up at him with the kind of honesty that could only come from being drunk off one’s ass and Jack spoke, “I…I fuckin’ love you, Chase…s’rsly…I thought it was…just a stupid crush or somethin’ for awhile…thought it’d go ‘way…It didn’t, though.” His arm lowered back to his side and the measuring cup fell out of his lax grip to the stone ground with a hollow clink. “You’re so fuckin’ awesome,” the goth praised, “and you’re hot sex on toast. That, too. And…and…I jus’ wanted you ta’ know that, and I figured since I’m drunk enough to not care if you totally reject me and crush my dreams, I should tell you now.”

Chase was unsure as to what he should be saying at the moment. Part of him wanted to scream aloud in frustration that all it’d taken to get Spicer to say that was ten beers and that he could’ve easily poured that amount of alcohol into the teen years ago.

The rest of him, a much larger majority, wanted nothing more than to tackle the teen to the rock floor and literally rip off his remaining clothing, rutting the both of them into an unconscious puddle of sexual contentment right there.

The warlord did neither.

Calmly and very seriously, Chase stared directly at the particularly drunk Jack. “Spicer,” he began, “your situation explained, I believe I have more than a cup of sex somewhere in my bedroom. If you’d like to come inside…?”

A dazzling, elated grin spread across the albino’s features and he practically launched himself at the man, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around an armored torso as the youth nuzzled affectionately at a strong column of throat. “Ohmigawd,” the teen squealed happily, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Chase chuckled wickedly as he turned and walked back into his citadel, Spicer clinging to him for dear life.

FINALLY! screamed every inch of his being in dark, delighted glee as he carried the boy off to his bedroom, fully intent on reducing the both of them to that unconscious puddle of sexual bliss he’d considered earlier in no time flat.

Diol grinned to himself from the shadows as the two passed him in the hallway and padded back off to bed, content in the knowledge that his master would be getting laid on a regular basis from this point on.

After all, it was a bad thing for everybody to have Chase Young, a man who could easily demolish a mountain with a roundhouse kick, walking around as if he had a steel rod up his backside.

Having done the whole world a favor by setting the man up, the jaguar returned to his bed, fully satisfied with himself and his universally-good deed.


~~~~~~~~ Back to Xiaolin Showdown ~~~~~~~~


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