Secrecy

By: CrystallicSky

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Xiaolin Showdown; I wish I owned it, but wishing I owned it and actually owning it are two very different things.

Warning(s):Creepy-stalker-Chase and slight gore (and I mean slight).

It was not a secret that Jack Spicer was head-over-heels for Chase Young.

It was so flamingly obvious that even a blind, deaf, quad amputee with brain-damage in a coma would know he had a crush on the man.

It was even more obvious that the crush was not reciprocated.

"Spicer, I quickly tire of your presence," the warlord snarled at the cloying youth before him, "leave, or I cannot guarantee your departure without injury."

"Aw, but Chase," the goth whined, "I never get to see you anymore...! I wanna hang out with you for more than five minutes, you know?"

"Leave." The tone was firm, demanding obedience.

However, firm tones had very little rate of success on the persistent boy whose skull was clearly too thick to process the fact that Chase did not want him around.

"C'mon, Chase, just talk to me for, like, ten more minutes, and then I'll go, okay?"

The man simply frowned and snapped his fingers.

Two large jungle cats pounced on the albino immediately, to which Jack shrieked his feminine shriek and struggled fiercely to escape the barrage of muscle, claws, and teeth.

He managed to get away (only because the felines had not been commanded to kill him and let the boy out of their clutches) with a but few scratches and bite-marks on his upper arms and shoulders, most of which were relatively shallow and would not scar.

The only real damage that'd been done was the loss of his trench coat, now mostly shredded and a bit bloodstained in a pile of black at the two cats' paws.

Heart still thumping loudly in his chest at how close he'd come to being mauled, Jack gasped out, "O-okay, okay, I-I'll go..." He inched forward ever so slightly towards his fallen article of clothing, obviously hoping to collect it, only to yelp and move away again as the fierce predators growled at him, herding him back.

Breathing hard and shaking lightly, the goth hesitantly raised a hand in an 'excuse me' gesture, red eyes on the beasts' master. "U-um...c-could I just get-"

"No!" Chase roared at him, demanding, "Leave, Spicer!"

Jack didn't need to be told twice and dashed for the door, soon off on his way back home.

The warlord, however, once the door slammed shut behind his unwanted guest, stood from his throne, walking over to the duo of cats that stood on either side of the jacket the boy had left behind.

A gloved hand plucked the trench coat from the floor.

Chase immediately held what was practically a scrap of cloth to his chest, pressing what'd been the exaggerated collar to his nose and inhaling deeply, taking in the scent of sweat, hot metal, machine oil, vanilla, and now trace amounts of blood.

The scent screamed of Spicer.

He sighed, enjoying the pleasant aroma before noticing his warriors staring at him with wide eyes.

"Don't you have elsewhere to be?!" he demanded roughly, pleased to see the two cats scamper off in different directions, obeying him instantly.

The man spared a brief glance to the remnants of the coat still in his arms and decided this was one for the collection, the assorted archive of things he squirreled away that had once belonged to Jack Spicer (of which he boasted a malfunctioning helipack that'd been thrown out and a boot lost in escaping from a Showdown, in addition to many, many others he'd retrieved himself and that the goth had simply labeled as 'missing').

It was not a secret that Jack Spicer was head-over-heels for Chase Young.

The fact that the warlord felt very much the same, however, was.

A/N: Written because I felt like it and was bored like crazy, and to quote RebelSorceress, "Boredom breeds Chack." XD