Archive of Our Own

It has been nineteen months since the timeline was restored, and the dragon of water stands at his door.

It is past midnight. Chase scans the dark but sees no sign of the other dragons, not even Dojo. How interesting.

Satisfied that no trap is waiting to spring, he gives the little monk his full attention. He is looking up at Chase, expression guardedly blank.

“Omi. It has been a while.”

“It has. May I come in?”

“As you please.”

He is careful to exude calm, as he re-seals the entrance and leads Omi up the steps to his inner chambers, but inside his mind whirls. Why would Omi come to him, alone? Is he seeking aid? Though he has not associated with them in a while, he still keeps tabs on Spicer and Wuya. He is unaware of any present schemes. Though of course, there is always Hannibal…

He glances down at Omi and is surprised to see the diminutive dragon has gained a couple of inches. Not that it makes much difference; he still towers over the small monk. He sneers in amusement.

“I see puberty finally paid you a visit.”

Omi lights up at this, his face splitting into a smug grin.

“Ah, I see you have spotted my spectacular growth! It is impressive, yes? I am sure I shall soon tower over even Clay.”

“Clay. That would be the earth dragon?”

“Correct.”

Unlikely.

“And then he and Raimundo will have helmets for dinner!”

‘Eat their hats,’ his mind helpfully fills in.

His eyes rake over the excited monk. He would be lucky to reach even the fire dragon’s height.

“…That would be impressive indeed.”

Omi simply beams. He is older but still no better at spotting a taunt.

They have reached the platform that serves as his throne room. He waits for Omi to state his business, but the dragon is uncharacteristically silent. Impatient, he takes a step towards the monk, crowding his space and looming over him imposingly. Omi does not flinch.

“Well, I assume you did not come to chat. What is it I can do for you?”

Omi’s tells are more subtle now. Shoulders slightly raised, gaze close to but not quite meeting Chase’s eyes. Most would not recognise his shift in demeanour, but Chase has studied Omi for years. He is being secretive, evasive.

When the monk finally speaks, his tone is guarded.

“You have not been around much.”

Chase raises a brow.

“There is nothing to fight over.”

“There have been Shen Gong Wu-”

“Which you know I do not care for.”

Omi falls silent again, and Chase is swiftly transitioning from intrigued to irritated.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to do a welfare check.”

“Not quite.”

This time the pause is clearly to gather himself, and when he next speaks he has turned to face Chase head on.

“I was hoping to train with you.”

That does catch him off guard, but Chase has spent centuries perfecting his control. Omi will not have had time to register his surprise.

“Train? Omi, don’t tell me you’re finally taking me up on the offer of becoming my apprentice.”

“No, I am not here to find a new master.”

“Then what would be the point of training you?”

“I would like to spar.”

“Don’t you have the other dragons for that?”

“Well, yes. But…”

Omi makes a vague motion with his hands. Chase does not need words to put two and two together.

“I see. You have learnt all of their moves. You are tired of the routine of fighting the same people. In other words…”

He leans in.

“You are here because you are bored.”

Omi’s flinch is quickly stifled, but of course Chase notices.

“I would not say it like that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

Chase gets ready to shoot him down, then pauses. Through the years the small monk has begrudgingly come to earn his respect – not that he would ever divulge such information. However, it is also true that Omi is loud, obnoxious, oftentimes oblivious and – much to his chagrin – totally incorruptible. He is not someone Chase can sway to darkness. But…

That doesn’t mean having close association with him won’t open the door for other schemes.

Besides, and though he will never admit it, it would break the monotony. With no goal to strive for the days have begun to bleed together. And while Omi is many things, he is certainly not boring.

“…Very well. You may return here each new moon. Bring no Shen Gong Wu and do not tell the rest of your little entourage.”

His drawl is deliberately unenthusiastic, but he watches for Omi’s reaction like a hawk.

“So… not today?”

Nervous and hopeful – he is still an open book.

Good.

“No little monk, not today. The next new moon is in a week. I will see you then.”

“Hornet stinging ox!”

The kick lands solidly against Omi’s side, launching him out of their sparring circle and into one of the pools surrounding the perimeter. He resurfaces with a scowl, coughing up water.

Though Chase is the victor he has had to work for it, his tunic sticky with sweat. It is a testament to Omi’s ability that, despite his small stature, he is the only warrior besides Master Monk Guan who is able to face Chase at this level of combat. Though he would never admit it to the other, he has enjoyed the workout.

Chase watches with amusement as Omi pulls himself out of the water and enters into a ready stance, despite the liquid pooling at his feet. Chase cannot help but shoot him a smirk – he had been right, the little monk has certainly broken up the monotony.

“That is enough punishment for today.”

Omi opens his mouth, plainly ready to argue. Then – to Chase’s astonishment – stops, pauses, and bows.

Always so full of surprises, little dragon.

When Omi rises to look at him, his face is determined.

“Very well. But I shall defeat you next time.”

“Viper striking rat!”

The blow glances off Chase’s right shoulder, but it is enough to knock him off balance. The leg sweep Omi follows up with does not miss.

“Haha! How are you enjoying those limes!”

“I believe the phrase you are butchering is ‘like them apples.’”

“That makes no sense.”

Chase rises to his feet and dusts himself off. Just three months into their sparring and Omi has managed to knock him down.

“Very good little dragon. You are improving.”

Omi beams. “Of course! I am a fast learner.”

“So I see.”

“There is something else I have learnt.”

“Oh?”

Omi grins mischievously and raises his arms, palms facing outwards towards the surrounding pools.

“I understand why you have chosen this chamber for our sessions. Tornado Strike Water!”

Chase watches as Omi channels water from both pools. It churns around his small form angrily before thrusting forward towards Chase.

Chase sidesteps the blow easily, but one of his prowling cats is not so lucky. It yowls angrily as it is blasted out of sight.

“Oops, sorry kitty.”

“Do refrain from assaulting my pets.”

He strides across the chamber, surveying the damage. In some areas the stone has chipped and cracked, unable to withstand the force of the water. He hums thoughtfully to himself; Omi is advancing even faster than he’d expected.

“I think it is time for us to move on to the next stage.”

Omi blinks over at him in surprise.

“Next stage?”

Chase directs a sly smile at the monk.

“Return in two weeks, on the rise of the full moon. Let us see how you fare then.”

“Tornado Strike Water!”

Chase easily avoids the blast. The water volume is vastly diminished from two weeks before and the force behind it easily halved – it barely manages to impact the chamber wall. Omi’s frustration is written all over his face.

“This does not make any sense!”

Chase darts in with a strike to the abdomen that Omi is barely able to redirect. He stumbles back and sends another jet of water that Chase cuts through with ease.

“Think, Omi! What is different?”

“Nothing is different, I do not understand!”

A few more pathetic blows and Chase finally puts Omi out of his misery, landing a kick that sends him flying into the opposite wall.

“Do you know why I chose the night of the new moon for our sparring?”

Omi gets shakily to his feet. He is bruised all over – he will need to have a story ready when his fellow dragons inevitably ask questions. Still he faces Chase, eyes blazing, and slips into a ready stance.

“I do not.”

Chase circles him like a predator.

“It is when the moon’s influence is at its weakest. As the dragon of water, you should be at your strongest when the moon is hidden.”

It is entertaining, watching Omi connect the pieces. When realisation finally dawns, he drops his stance and looks back towards the pools in sudden understanding.

“Then tonight-”

Omi raises an arm, but this time he studies the water as it drifts towards him, watches how the flow is weak and choppy. When he aims a blast at the wall he is focused not on the impact but the way the fount moves.

“I see. I could not place my hand-” put my finger “-on it before. I thought I was doing something wrong. But now…”

He moves the water again, the tendril responding to his motions sluggishly.

“It feels…. reluctant, almost sleepy.”

When he looks at Chase again it is with a careful smile.

“Thank you, Chase. This has been most helpful.”

Chase inclines his head.

“You are welcome, Omi. Though I am surprised this was not included in your training. It is fundamental knowledge for a dragon of water.”

Omi waves a hand at him dismissively.

“I am sure it would have come up eventually.”

He gestures at the water and it recedes back into the pools with a muted splash. A moment later he is turning back to Chase, brimming with nervous excitement.

“May I also train with you on the full moon? I would like to improve my control.”

“… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

It is two months later and Chase has led them to one of the valleys outside his mountain stronghold. They do not typically venture outside – Chase prefers to keep their clandestine sparring sessions away from prying eyes – but tonight provides a unique opportunity. The sparse plain he has chosen sits near a riverbed, its water low and sluggish from the dry summer heat. Above them the full moon washes their battleground in shades of grey.

Omi’s skills have been improving – this will be a valuable test. 

Chase unties his sash and removes the armour and tunic from his torso, setting them aside with his gloves. Though they have not begun the evening is so warm that his muscles already gleam under a thin layer of sweat. He hears Omi cough loudly behind him.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Preparing to spar. I have no desire to drench my tunic.” He raises an eyebrow at the monk. “You are welcome to remove your robe.”

“No! That will not be necessary.”

“Suit yourself.”

Chase gives no word of warning, launching himself at the monk with a kick aimed directly at his chest.

“Bat diving moth!”

Omi is caught off guard for only a moment, managing to side step just in time to avoid the hit. He flips backwards, trying to distance himself from Chase who does not miss a beat, turning to race after him immediately.

“Mantis kick!”

Another near miss. Omi retreats towards the riverbed and finally manages to counterattack, raising his arms to draw forth his element. Twin murky streams fling themselves at Chase, whipping towards his legs.

“Monkey climbing tree!”

Chase dodges the thin ropes of water, kicking himself into the air and then swooping back down towards Omi. The monk darts back again, lashing at Chase with blades of liquid that are little more than distraction, barely managing to slow him at all. He catches up but barely manages to land a single blow before Omi is darting back again. He cannot help but snarl in frustration.

“You cannot control the water at range, you need to get in close!”

But somewhere in his mad rush to escape Omi has formulated a plan, and Chase realises too late that he has been led back to where they started, where the first jets of water Omi threw at him have turned the dirt to mud. He is unable to stop his momentum in time – he lands on the wet ground and muddy shackles immediately latch onto his ankles, anchoring him. A rope of water lashes at his face, and as he raises his arms to block he realises too late that he has left his midsection wide open.

Chase prepares himself for a strike that doesn’t come; Omi has frozen mid jab, his eyes skating away from Chase’s exposed chest. Chase doesn’t miss a beat – his arms swoop down and knock the monk into the soaked ground. Omi splutters, spitting out mud as he tries to regain his footing. Chase does not let him, looming over him furiously as he bats him easily back into the dirt.

“What was that?”

But Omi does not look at him, furious eyes fixed resolutely on the ground. Chase looks down and realises what Omi is avoiding, snapping at him in disgust.

“Are you really so flustered by a bare chest?”

Omi’s eyes skirt the area around his body before finally finding his slit eyes, glowering up at him.

“Your state of undress is inappropriate.”

Chase sneers, pressing Omi into the dirt with his heel.

“You are going to be very easy to defeat, if your opponent need only remove his shirt.”

Omi's eyes are still narrowed but he averts his gaze, considering Chase’s words.

“Do you plan to continue wasting my time or are you going to fight?”

He removes his foot, stepping aside.

“Get up.”

Omi does, leaping to his feet and falling into stance. He does not try to distance himself this time, instead raising his arms defensively, knees bending to lower his centre of gravity. Chase’s lips curl upwards; good, this is what he came for. Time to see if all the extra training has been paying off.

The battle lasts a solid hour – Chase throws blow after blow at Omi who moves only minimally from his position, saving his stamina to control a reduced volume of water. The orb Omi maintains is only about as large as his melon of a head, but it is plenty enough to form shields that parry Chase’s attacks, to create small tendrils that whip out to knock him off balance. Omi’s resolution to Chase’s partial nudity seems to be to keep his focus on Chase’s face, and Chase is impressed when Omi is able to block almost every blow despite not tracking the movement of his limbs. Perhaps Omi has been learning Chase’s tells in the same way Chase has catalogued his, picking up on minute movements that give away his next strike. The thought should concern him more than it does.

When they break both are panting hard, though Chase is mostly unscathed where Omi is already sporting a bruise to his cheek, and likely several more beneath his robes. Still, he has done well given the circumstances. Chase seats himself on a ridge of rock, pulling out their canteens. He tosses one to Omi, which the monk catches in one hand, uncapping the lid to drink it down greedily.

“Much better, little dragon.”

“Yes, but I am still all toes-” all thumbs “-In these conditions.”

“Indeed. Your offence leaves something to be desired.”

Omi flops down beside him, rubbing at his mottled cheek. Chase snickers.

“You look like a bruised grapefruit.”

Chase pats Omi’s head and the monk bats his hand away petulantly.

“Haha, like I have never heard that one before.”

“Would you prefer a different citrus?”

“Chase.”

He has found a sore spot, it seems. Chase cannot help but dig the thorn a little deeper.

“Spicer’s ruse with your robot parents only worked because you knew you could be mistaken for produce.”

Omi glares at him furiously and Chase relents with a chuckle, again resting a hand on the monks head.

“It suits you.”

Something changes in Omi’s expression then and Chase misses its meaning, distorted as it is by the heavy shadows cast by moonlight.

It disappears as quickly as it came.

“Are you ready to try again?”

“I am eighteen next week.”

Chase raises a brow. They have finished sparring and are currently sat drinking tea – a post training ritual that has become ingrained over time. Even sitting, the top of Omi’s bald head does not reach Chase’s shoulder. His growth spurt was laughably short lived – he is still the smallest dragon by far.

“I hope you aren’t expecting a gift.”

Omi waves a hand impatiently, as though shooing away his comment.

“It is strange, to think I will be an adult then. I have helped save the world so many times already.”

“Sometimes from yourself.” Chase manages to choke down.

“It is odd to think I have been a child all this time. I already feel grown.”

“With all you’ve seen and accomplished, it is not surprising that you feel that way.”

Omi peers at him over the rim of his cup.

“Do you still see me as a child?”

“I see you as a fool monk too oblivious to know his talents would be better served on the Heylin side.”

“…But not as a child.”

Chase sighs in exasperation.

“Omi, I am over fifteen hundred years old. I see you all as butterflies – alive one month then dead the next.”

“Oh.”

He pauses, and Chase assumes that is the end of it. But Omi is making a habit of surprising him.

“That sounds very lonely.”

“It-”

Is.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving now? If you aren’t back before dawn your team will have questions.”

It is over a year before Omi changes up the schedule.

It is not by much – he typically arrives for sparring after sundown, but this time he arrives before the last rays have vanished from the horizon. Chase is just preparing to eat.

“You are early.”

He scowls down at Omi, who at least has the presence of mind to look sheepish about his intrusion.

“My apologies, I did not think it would be an issue.”

“One should never assume, Omi.”

Nonetheless he pulls out a chair for the monk before seating himself at the head of the table.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“No, that is ok.” He says, eyeing the ham in front of him with distaste.

“Ah, of course. Vegetarian.” He slides a plate of dumplings across the table. “Here.”

He had expected further caution, but to his surprise Omi digs in eagerly.

“Why Omi, skipping meals at the temple to get here early? I’m flattered.”

Omi swallows around a large mouthful.

“The others have gone to an event in Tokyo – something to do with Kimiko’s family. I asked to stay behind. I assumed if I came early, we would have longer to train?”

Omi declined an evening of socialising to spar with Chase?

How interesting.

Chase lifts the cover from his bowl and waits for the steam to dissipate. The familiar aroma hits him – spices and onions, a hint of garlic. Enough to overpower the scent of the meat – dragon has an oiliness that tends to linger, if not suitably offset by other ingredients. Omi cuts the silence before he can take his first sip.

“Is that-”

“Lao Mang Lone Soup?” Chase chuckles darkly. “Fancy a taste?”

Omi gapes at him in horror, half chewed bits of dumpling falling onto the table.

“No!”

“I thought not.”

“I do not understand how you can still eat that.”

Chase sighs, feigning amusement.

“Perhaps I like the taste.”

“You should stop.”

“And give up my human form? Don’t be unreasonable.”

He does not regard Omi again until he has finished the bowl, the silence sitting heavy between them. When he does finally look up he is prepared for the anger he knows must be waiting for him.

But Omi always subverts his expectations. The disappointment on the monk’s face hitches his breath, makes something wretched coil low in his gut. No one looks at Chase this way, like he has failed. Not in fifteen hundred years, not since Dashi.

I had hoped for more from you, Chase Young.

The rage blooms hot in his chest.

“Why are you surprised? You knew of this!”

And then, when that does not dispel the churning-

“You do not get to judge me for something I did to save your hide!”

That gets a reaction.

“You remember?”

Chase snarls and gets to his feet abruptly, leaving for the sparring chamber even as he hears Omi scrabble to catch up behind him.

He had not meant to reveal that, but it is out now. Let the monk make of it what he will.

When they do finally spar it is without their usual chatter. Omi’s attacks are aggressive but clinical – uncoloured by his enthusiasm and typical flourish. Chase thinks dimly that they are somehow lesser for it.

When they finally finish Omi bows, turns, and leaves without a word.

Chase stands before his pantry, counting the cans.

It has been years since his last dragon hunt. He has not made another attempt since Dojo, and his stores are finally beginning to show the deficit.

His tally ends in a grimace. Forty two cans. Even at the absolute minimum, one bowl per lunar cycle, he has only enough stored to last three and a half years.

He could go hunting. The monks need not even know; there are plenty of the flying lizards besides Dojo. It would be easy. No one would find out, no one would try to stop him.

Or… he could stop taking it. Ration what is left, and then resign himself to remaining bound in his reptilian form.

It has always been a simple decision. And yet…

The look on Omi’s face when Chase finishes the bowl…

He slams the pantry door with finality and strides off into his chambers. It does not need restocking tonight, this choice will wait.

For now.

Chase is alone at his table – Omi will not come again.

The soup swirls in the bowl before him as though caught in a tide. The liquid is the green of old lichens, of ripe olives, of dragon scales.

“Chase.”

He knows Omi will not come, just as surely as he knows he is already here, face impossibly close on the other side of the bowl.

“Chase.”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the soup but he will not win this fight. Tiny, powerful hands cup his cheeks and draw his sight irresistibly upwards. Red robes, yellow skin, dark eyes that whisper and judge-

Why do you disappoint me Chase-

I expected better of you-

But why would you? Why WHY-

An olive tail snakes out of the soup and latches around his throat, pulling him down into the swirling liquid. He thrashes against it but the bowl has expanded and now he scrabbles to hold onto the rim while the noose tightens. He scratches at skin, then scales, then skin again as he tries to wrench it from his neck.

The rim is replaced by a hand, small but strong, and as he fights for breath Omi’s disappointed face swims in his vision.

“Omi, please. I did it for you-” his voice is a wet rasp, ice on sandpaper.

“I do not understand.”

And then the hand vanishes and he is swept under, lungs screaming as he falls further and further beneath a rippling surface the yellow of his dragon eyes, of Omi’s skin-

He darts awake. His clothes are soaked through with sweat, and his skin itches where patches of scales have burst through the flesh. He furiously wrests back control, forcefully suppressing the change.

It has been two months of this. Two months since the incident with Omi.

Two months since he last consumed the soup.

The nightmares are just one symptom of his withdrawal, but not the worst. Preventing the change is a constant struggle. He is beginning to lose their bouts more regularly, too busy fighting the transformation to focus on Omi.

He asks himself, not for the first time, just who he is doing this for. Surely not for himself – centuries spent ensuring his immortality and for what, to throw it all away? For Omi? For his judgemental companionship? His overloud, overbearing, overstepping presence?

He storms out of his chambers, makes it all the way to his pantry, throwing open the doors before he stops. All forty two cans await, half sunk in shadow. He can take one anytime; stop this foolishness before his hard won immortality is lost. He reaches out one clawed hand-

Giving up already, Chase?

-And slams the doors shut with a snarl, returning to his rooms.

He is not out of time yet – the choice will wait. Though discovery may not, his traitorous mind whispers – for surely he will not evade Omi’s scrutiny much longer. The monk will notice. Soon.

It is eighteen months into their sparring before the inevitable clash happens.

Chase had always assumed it would be due to their differing allegiances. Perhaps a fight brought about by some evil scheme, or the other dragons discovering their clandestine sparring sessions. Even (and he sneers just to think it) over a Shen Gong Wu. He expected to influence Omi slightly over time, perhaps even cause friction between him and the other Xiaolin dragons.

He never thought that Omi would come to influence him.

He never expected to stop taking the soup.

Chase grunts as his back slams into the wall of the chamber, and he recovers just barely in time to dodge the blow that comes after. Omi follows with a kick aimed at his midsection, and Chase is forced to retreat further as the monk launches into another volley. Omi chases after him with a growl.

“You are holding back!”

Another jab – Chase cannot dodge in time, and his arms do little to cushion the blow as Omi’s punch knocks him backwards.

“You don’t know what you are talking about!”

“I do know! I am doing loops-” running circles “-around you. I should not be able to best you so easily!”

The next kick sends him flying – a simple roundhouse he should have danced around with ease. Instead his back impacts the stone floor with bruising force.

He struggles even to rise – Omi is correct, he isn’t fighting properly. All his energy is being used to prevent the change.

Suddenly Omi is standing over him, his face set in a frown, mouth a thin line. He fists Chase’s tunic in his small hands and hauls him to his knees.

“Explain what is happening.”

“Clearly your training is paying off.”

“Do not LIE to me!”

Omi pulls him forwards until he is so close he can feel the monk’s breath ghosting his lips. Something like fury pools hotly in his gut, makes the blood pound in his ears. Omi’s eyes bore into his; he has rarely seen the monk so furious.

“I did not come here to fight you at anything but your best!”

It is too much – Omi stood over him, holding him up in arms that are small but unwavering, deceptively powerful. His words are the challenge that finally breaks Chase’s resolve. The beast is battering the cage, snapping the bars, clawing free-

“Oh, you want to see my best? Fine!”

And Chase finally stops fighting.

The cascade of power is overwhelming. He is upon Omi even as the last scale falls into place, slamming him to the floor with ease.

“Is this what you wanted? Are you satisfied now?!”

But the anger is gone from Omi’s face, and his expression has twisted into something far more unpleasant.

The concern in Omi’s eyes is too much to bear, makes his skin crawl. When he speaks his voice holds none of the fury from before. It is soft, careful. A tone for coaxing a frightened animal.

“Chase-”

That familiar twist in his gut-

He snarls and sends Omi out of the arena with a flick of his wrist.

“If that is all you may leave.”

He is storming away even as Omi bounces back to his feet.

“No, Chase-”

“I SAID GO!”

He marches off without a second glance.

He does not allow Omi to enter at the next turn of the moon. Nor the following one.

By the third Omi has grown impatient.

Chase feels a charge in the air and knows even before he turns who it is. Omi is only feet away, Serpents Tail clutched in one hand.

The rage is on him like a crashing wave.

“I am sure I told you NOT to bring Shen Gong Wu here.”

“You left me no choice! Unless you would prefer I break down your door.”

“I would prefer you leave me alone.”

“And I would prefer you talk to me!”

“There is nothing to say!”

He turns to leave and is suddenly skidding along the stone on his belly. When he looks back, the dragon has moved into a ready pose.

Omi had struck him in the back.

He is almost impressed.

“Striking from behind Omi? I’ll make a Heylin warrior of you yet.”

Omi scoffs, circling Chase slowly as he moves to stand.

“Do not make me laugh. Not once in all these visits have you made a serious effort to convert me.”

“Perhaps you have simply not reali-”

A blast of water knocks him forwards, back to his knees. Another strike from behind.

He snarls this time as he rights himself, eyes watching the monks every move. Omi is fighting dirty today.

“Why have you been so weak? Why did you need to transform?”

“Weak?! You speak of things you do not understand!”

“Do not think you can smother my gaze with fluff-” pull the wool over my eyes “-Chase!”

Chase launches himself at Omi, releasing blow after blow that the dragon dodges with a fluid grace. He is seething now, barely able to prevent the scales from bubbling up through his skin. Omi knocks him aside with a swift kick and another wave of water slams him into the ground.

He is far removed from his carefully crafted coolness, as close to hysterical as he has been in centuries.

“Don’t pretend you have no ulterior motive here!”

“I- I have no idea what you mean.”

But his comment has thrown off Omi’s concentration. Chase leaps forward, pulls Omi in by the front of his robe-

“Now who’s lying?”

-And throws him to the other side of the chamber. The monk is back on his feet in an instant, keeping careful watch of Chase now as the Heylin warrior steps slowly towards him.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice? Regular visits? Arriving early? Staying for tea? You think I believed that all you wanted was a sparring partner?!”

He has covered half the distance now but Omi does not back up, makes no move as Chase continues-

“If you had wanted that you would have gone to seek out Guan. I am no fool, little dragon of the water.”

He stops just a couple of feet from Omi, leering down at the diminutive monk.

“What is it you want from me?”

“I…”

Chase almost catches Omi with a sudden swipe, but the monk is still on alert, ducking the blow and launching backwards to create some distance. Omi renews his assault as Chase darts back in, knocking aside his fists with ease and sending another water spout that hurls Chase at the opposite wall.

“You are correct, Chase. I had another reason for coming here.”

Omi is on him before he can prepare himself, catching his wrists and caging him against the wall with his small frame.

“In the past, the one I undid… you were good. We were friends.”

“We are NOT friends, Omi.”

“Are we not?!”

Chase shakes him off and kicks away from the wall, knocking Omi aside. He is too exhausted from suppressing the change to gather himself, to mend his carefully controlled persona, even to parry Omi’s blows. The rawness of his unfiltered rage turns his tone savage, like the dragon he is fighting to keep down.

“Get. OUT.”

“No.”

“LEAVE!”

“NO!”

Chase again launches himself at Omi but the monk is expecting it, raises the Shen Gong Wu and passes like mist through his chest.

“Serpents Tail!”

“I told you no Wu!”

“You do not make all the rules here!”

And then Omi is once more upon him, landing a spinning kick that knocks Chase back several feet and rips the air from his lungs.

“Do not think I am deaf as a rat-” blind as a bat “-Chase!”

“You. Know. NOTHING.”

Again he is knocked down and this time Omi drops to straddle his chest, pinning his hands above his head. When he responds by finally changing into his dragon form Omi is ready for that too, replacing his hands with a torrent of water that shackles Chase’s limbs to the floor. He is exerting himself now, using enough power that the nine lights have appeared on his forehead.

“I know you gave up. You did not leave this prison for months.”

Chase surges beneath Omi, trying futilely to buck the monk off him.

“The passing of a few months is nothing when you have seen the turning of millennia!”

“Do not mistake me for a buffoon!” take me for a fool “You were as constant in my life as the tides!”

He lands a punch to Chase’s abdomen that makes him wheeze.

“The moment I fixed the timeline you vanished!”

“Why does the timing matter so much to you, little worm?”

“Because it is too convenient to be random! I know you remember!”

“Remember WHAT?!”

“Being GOOD!”

And he seethes and spits and thrashes because he hates him and hates this conversation and hates being stuck in this form and hates and hates and hates-

That he is RIGHT.

He does not recall fifteen hundred years of fighting for good – his past is now the same as it ever was, as it was always meant to be. But he remembers the final moments. Still raw is that feeling of resignation, from one selfless act of sacrifice made to save the monks he cared for. To save Omi.

Omi who had turned away, unable to face him, who had stood back and refused to look as Chase sundered himself for him.

He’d spent all the time since then pretending he hadn’t been broken down to his very foundations, fifteen hundred years of loyalty to the Heylin as good as fantasy now, smeared by that memory. He’d become expert at walking the tightrope of his mind, trying to bolster a resolve that was no longer there to be mended, pulling at frayed edges and catching only fibres that crumble beneath his fingers like all the wasted centuries.

And through it all Omi – always Omi. Omi who is oblivious and foolhardy and wonderful for it, who had torn the world apart for him and who saw worth in Chase even now, in the fractured shell that remained.

Chase goes slack in his hold and Omi finally releases him, though he backs up only as far as needed for Chase to right himself.

“I knew it. When you said you remembered taking the soup I knew that meant-”

“Stop talking.”

Chase does not bother getting to his feet. He sits hunched over, too exhausted even to get up and walk away.

“How much do you remember?”

He does not want to tell him. He does not want to speak of this.

“…Only the end.”

“That is why you have holed up in here.”

“No – I don’t know.”

But he does know, and so does Omi. It’s written all over his huge round face.

“I cannot say I am not glad you remember.”

“Of course you’re-”

He stops at a sudden weight. Omi’s hand is small and warm against the back of his palm. He had not even noticed him approach.

“But I wish it was not so hard for you.”

Chase’s throat constricts painfully and he snatches his hand away. He is not used to being this exposed, despises his own vulnerability.

“What does this mean?” He finally manages. And then, when Omi looks at him in confusion-

“Why is this so important to you?”

At this Omi’s gaze softens.

“Because you are important to me.”

He wants to snap at Omi, punish him for his compassion, for treating Chase with humanity. But the fight has been snuffed out of him. Once again, Omi is the victor.

“Leave me.”

And then, when Omi opens his mouth to argue-

“Please.”

“…May I return?”

It is phrased as a question, but Chase knows it isn’t. Omi will come to him regardless of whether he opens his door.

He chokes out an answer anyway.

“Yes.”

Their routine returns to normal.

When they begin their bouts Chase is human.

By the end he is always a dragon.

Omi does not comment on it, but Chase can see him putting the pieces together.

One day Omi arrives and Chase is already in dragon form. He does not have to wait long – he knows this has confirmed all the monk’s suspicions.

“You have stopped taking the soup.”

It isn’t a question, though the lack of reaction from Chase is answer enough. Omi sits himself beside the dragon, looking out over Chase’s domain.

It would have been almost serene, but Chase’s senses are still fine-tuned where Omi is concerned. The monk’s elation slips over him like oil on water.

“Do stop.”

“I am sure I am having no idea what you mean.”

“Omi, I can smell your smugness from here.”

“What would I have to be smug about?”

Chase fixes his gaze on Omi and growls. If anything the monk’s smile grows wider.

“I knew I was right about you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do.”

“There are simply so few dragons left to consume. Since I’ve slaughtered them all. I’m having to ration my supply.”

“Interesting. I am sure Dojo would be most surprised to hear that. The way he tells it, there are thousands. And even more recently, since they are no longer being hunted.”

“Perhaps I should get back to killing them, since there are so many. Population control.”

He pauses.

“You knew I had not been hunting dragons?”

“I did.”

“You never said anything.”

“I was hoping you would tell me yourself.”

“Hmmm.”

The silence stretches on for several minutes before he can feel a shift in Omi. He does not have to wait long for the question.

“Is it safe? Are you trying to…”

“…to?”

Omi goes quiet, but the look he directs at Chase is one of concern.

Ah.

“Nothing so maudlin as that.”

“Then why?”

Chase has no answer.

“Why would you care?”

“If something were to happen to you…”

Another pause, and this one sits heavy between them. Omi’s eyes do not leave his own – there is concern there, a hesitation as though afraid of revealing too much. Chase is still trying to figure out what that could be when something in those dark eyes shifts and Omi speaks again, voice soft.

“My life would be lesser for not having you in it.”

The admission throws Chase – he recovers quickly, but he knows Omi will have spotted his lapse.

“Such sentiment, little monk. Best ensure you don’t forget our allegiances.”

“Hmm, I wonder.”

He takes the ensuing silence as a cue to start their sparring, rising wordlessly to move further into the chamber. As they settle into their ready positions Omi pulls a face and averts his eyes.

“You should wear robes. You are very naked.”

Chase tilts his head in confusion.

“You have seen me this way many times.”

“Yes, but now it is ALL the time. It feels different.”

Chase bites back a laugh. Only Omi could be bashful of a nude dragon.

“I will consider it.”

They are enjoying their tea when Chase again becomes aware of a shift in Omi’s demeanour – his tells are even more apparent to the heightened senses of Chase’s true form.

“Something is troubling you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Omi.”

“I was just thinking.”

Chase does not press him; he knows Omi will broach the subject himself.

He does not have to wait long.

“Do you recall the time I lost my good chi?”

“Fondly.”

Omi hums, swirling the liquid in his cup. Chase thinks the memory has agitated him, but when he speaks again his tone is a practiced calm.

“There was a moment when I was fighting my team. I was SO much more powerful than them, unhindered by the burden of connection. I could have crushed them all – it would have been so easy. And yet…”

“I hesitated, when it came time to kill Raimundo. I was still evil, without my good chi – he should have died. But I stopped myself.”

Another pause as Omi catches Chase’s gaze, his dark eyes inscrutable.

“It made me realise that my actions were not solely dictated by chi. Even then, I could still make the right choice.”

He understands Omi’s meaning. Chase has not yet perfected his control in this form - there is a rasping hiss behind him where his tail angrily flicks over the stone. Omi’s gaze does not waver.

Chase forces himself to calm before considering his answer.

“Perhaps. But I imagine it was harder.”

Omi observes him a moment longer before he finally turns away, returning his attention to the steaming liquid.

“…Yes. It was.”

Omi does not speak again until many minutes later, as he is rising to leave. Chase glances up at the motion and is immediately pinned beneath the polished coal of Omi’s eyes.

“Chase. I think…”

He bites his lip – Chase watches the way the flesh twists beneath his teeth, how the pressure creates blushes of red in the pink. He is so distracted he almost misses Omi’s next words.

“It is not that you wish to die. You have simply decided to live.”

He departs swiftly, before Chase can fully absorb his meaning.

“You are slow today.”

Chase grunts as Omi lands another blow, struggling to maintain his footing.

“It is the temperature.” He huffs out. Winter has set in, and his mountain fortress is so cold he can see Omi’s exhalations cloud the air. He has taken to wearing robes after Omi’s request – plain black cloth tied with his dragon-eye sash – but they do little to prevent the permeating chill.

“But we are fighting – does the exercise not warm you?”

“Not anymore.”

Omi pauses, regarding him curiously before the pieces slot into place.

“Ah, this is a reptile thing.”

“It is.”

Chase dusts off his robes, movements more stiff than usual, his limbs sluggish to respond. He is struggling to resist the instinctual compulsion fuelled by the animal part of his brain; to hide, hole up, slumber until conditions are more favourable.

“It might be best to forgo our sparring until the seasons turn.”

“But that will be months from now!”

“I am sure your team can keep you entertained until I can function properly again.”

“But-“

Omi regards him with frustration. There is a fidgety hesitation about him, as if he wants to say more but is fighting the urge. Chase almost expects an ‘I will miss you,’ but brushes the foolish thought aside. Omi will be fine without him.

Finally Omi bows, still frowning.

“Very well. I will see you then.”

Chase has already turned to leave when he is stopped by a single spot of warmth on his arm. His eyes snap to the hand on his sleeve in surprise. Omi’s grip is so gentle it barely creases the fabric.

“Take care of yourself, Chase.”

He scampers off down the stairs before Chase can respond.

Chase manages the trek to his rooms but collapses the moment his feet make the transition from icy stone to cool tatami.

He has never felt so lethargic. It took every drop of energy to stumble here and now the well has run dry. His thoughts flow slow as treacle. He knows he is in trouble – he needs to light a fire, get to bed – but he is unable to summon the urgency required to move. His eyes roll back and he slides helplessly into dreamless slumber.

He has no grasp of time passing, but at some point he is shaken to the edge of consciousness. He is vaguely aware of muffled sound, of being rolled over, a blur of yellow that flashes through his vision as his eyes are pried open. He registers warmth briefly where hands make fleeting contact with his body before the cold seeps back in. He waits for sleep to take him again.

Before it can he becomes dimly aware of being dragged onto his futon. There is a rustle and the movement of fabric – blankets? – before something warm slots into the space beneath his snout, pressing against his chest. He thinks it must be one of his jungle cats. But that’s…

Sleep comes for him again but this time the embrace is warm, and he surrenders to it gladly.

When Chase next awakens he is clearer headed. The room is warm, though no fire has been lit, and he has regained sensation in his extremities. Confused, he stretches, and knocks aside something that had been tucked tight against him.

“AH-!”

“Omi?”

The little monk sits up, rubbing the back of his head. His cheeks are pink from the heat.

“Good morning Chase! At least, I think it is morning.”

“Why are you…”

He gestures broadly between them.

“You were cold and not very conscious. I got you onto the bed but I could not rouse you – I thought the body heat might help.”

“Why did you return?”

“I was worried about you. As I was clearly right to be!”

Chase does not argue with him. He tilts his head in rare acquiescence.

“I did not think the cold would affect me so quickly. I am still getting used to….”

He stops, but it is clear to Omi what he is referring to.

“…Where are your cats?”

Chase is taken aback.

“What?”

“Why did they not come to your aid?”

“…Omi, have you not noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

When Chase looks at him again, somewhat incredulous, Omi realises what he must mean.

“You sent them away?”

“…In a manner of speaking.”

Chase sighs, looking away from Omi.

“I released them from their servitude. Their immortal lives have come to an end.”

“So they are…”

“Dead. Yes.”

“Oh.”

And he is not sure why he feels the need to say it, but nonetheless he adds-

“It is what they wanted, I think.”

When he looks again at Omi the monk is visibly confused.

“I did not even ask you to.”

Chase rails at the implication, mental hackles raised in fury.

“I do not need your permission to-”

“Oh!”

Omi interrupts him, bending to pick up a glass sphere, the clouded surface covered in wispy red patterns that remind Chase of clouds.

“Take this.”

He holds out the object and Chase sighs in frustration.

“Omi-”

“Do not say it. I know you do not like Shen Gong Wu, but I think you can make an exception this once.”

He passes the orb to Chase and in doing so slides his palms against the back of Chase’s hands, as though afraid his waking limbs might otherwise drop it. The orb radiates a warmth that is matched only by the hot burn of Omi’s skin on his scales.

“This is the Solarstorm Globe. In battle it can be used to shoot blasts of hot and cold air. But it can also be used to heat or cool an area.”

“You’ve brought me… a radiator?”

“I-I suppose that is one way of putting it.”

“Hmmm.”

Chase regards the object warily, but he cannot deny the snug heat filling the room. He is more alert than he has felt in days.

 “You can keep the Wu. I do not think the team will miss this one much.”

“…Thank you.”

He expects Omi to beam at him as he usually does, but this smile is smaller. There is something secret and gentle in his expression, something Chase is not used to seeing on Omi. For once he is a closed book.

“You are most welcome, Chase.”

Omi rises then, straightening his robes.

“I will leave you to recover, but I will return in a few days.”

And he must still not have full control of himself, because just as Omi crosses the threshold Chase blurts out-

“I look forward to it.”

And there is Omi again. Small and furious, as he first met him, proud and obnoxious and “I will never join you, Chase Young.”

Full of energy and anger on his return from the Ying Yang world, and Chase is sure he is imagining the feeling of wrongness that this isn’t, could never be Omi-

Turned feline and Chase is smug and powerful and does not notice that small something wither in his chest-

Omi glowing in his triumph as he fixes the timeline, and Chase feels a smile creep onto his maw despite himself-

He is hopeful, a few inches taller and excited as Chase agrees to spar with him-

Battered and bruised after their fourth session, when the moon is huge and Omi is full of a beautiful fury because he does not yet know WHY-

“Do not LIE to me!” warm breath on his face and the rage coils hot in his gut but he knows even anger doesn’t burn like this. Knows the flavour of his fury-

Wet from the pools, his blows cascade water that snakes between his scales like a caress-

“Take this.” And warm, his touch is liquid fire-

Dark eyes deep as night, small hands-

“My life would be lesser for not having you in it.”

“You are important to me.”

And water shouldn’t spark this way but Omi is electricity. Shooting through his veins and charring his nerves and thrumming thrumming-

Throb-

Chase wakes with a start, feels the wet heat between his legs and does not need to look to know he is erect.

A sick realisation dawns. It is at once both obvious and impossible.

Omi has changed him, yes. Challenged him and fought him, seen the ugliness at the heart of him and returned regardless. Befriended him, tore down his walls and uncovered something else too, something dark and vile and secret.

Chase wants Omi. Wants to beat him, pin him down, tear off his stupid Xiaolin robes and taste every supple inch of flesh. Wants to claim him as a man, as a beast, bury himself again and again until the dragon is screaming, until there is nothing but Chase and Omi. Wants to take and take and take-

He heaves in a shuddering breath that hitches, wrests a sob from his throat. He’ll destroy him, take until there is nothing left.

Omi can never know.

Omi comes more often now, after bringing Chase the Wu. He makes his excuses, but Chase knows the monk is checking in on him. The Solarstorm Globe is now a constant companion, Chase carrying it from room to room to ward off the winter chill. He has even moved them to a different sparring chamber to accommodate it – a smaller room with an inner wall, a necessary shield during their more ferocious bouts.

They have decided to forgo sparring today – this is one of Omi’s more impromptu visits, and he can only spare an hour or two before his absence will be noticed by the others. Instead they are taking tea at the far edge of the chamber, facing out over Chase’s domain.

Omi is fidgety beside him. Chase sips his drink in silence while he waits for Omi to speak.

“May I ask you something?”

Chase fails to rein in the smirk that creeps across his muzzle. ‘There it is.’

“As if I could stop you.”

“You were a Xiaolin warrior once. What was your element?”

Chase raises a scaled brow in surprise.

“I thought that would be obvious.”

“Is that why…?”

Omi doesn’t finish the thought, shaking his head as though to dispel it.

“But you do not use it in battle.”

“I lost connection with my element long ago.”

“Could you regain it?”

Chase sighs, shaking his head.

“I am fine without it. Besides, I have you n-”

His jaw snaps shut with an audible click of fangs. ‘I have you’ tastes different on his tongue now, charged with other connotations. Images flicker in his mind unbidden, dangerous snapshots of yellow flesh, a large mouth open wide in moan or scream, fists clenched and back arched – hastily dispelled before he can feel himself warmed by something other than the tea or Shen Gong Wu. Omi has missed his turmoil, busying himself by pouring more tea.

“I could help you, if you wanted to.”

Chase allows himself a few seconds before answering, schooling his voice into its normal controlled calm.

“No Omi, this world does not need another dragon of the water. And certainly not one with my history.”

“I would like a second; it would add new challenges to our sparring.”

Chase chuckles and forgets himself a moment, patting Omi’s head affectionately. He snatches his hand back almost immediately, as though Omi’s touch has scorched him (and it has, he thinks as the leather of his palm crackles with warmth, as the burn of that contact streaks through him). He is so quick that even Omi notices, glancing up to shoot Chase a look of puzzled concern. And he has reason to be confused – this particular kind of physicality has always been normal between them and Omi doesn’t see the thoughts behind Chase’s imperfect mask, doesn’t know his touch now stokes the flames of a darker desire.

“…Chase? Are you okay?”

He schools himself again, sipping from his cup as though nothing has happened. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He finally manages, and is relieved to hear his usual monotone. He can almost feel Omi’s raised brow in the air between them but thankfully the monk decides not to push the issue, and Chase is almost relieved-

“I expected more pressure from you, to change sides.”

He is caught off guard again and is frankly furious with himself for it. He should know to expect the unexpected with Omi by now. He masks his surprise with a cough, recovering quickly.

“Past experience has taught me that there is not much point. I doubt even Hannibal could have swayed you.”

That silent acknowledgement – ‘As he did me.’ – lies unspoken between them. Chase continues before Omi can attempt to address that point.

“I could say the same of you. I certainly expected more pestering to turn from the Heylin.”

Omi’s expression darkens and he turns away, scowling into the swirling liquid of his tea as though it has offended him.

“That would be most unfair of me, would it not?”

“Oh?”

The surface of Omi’s tea has turned choppy like waves in a storm – he is troubled, Chase realises, his composure only skin deep. He watches as drops splash angrily against the rim, running back down to the boiling sea below. When Omi speaks he can almost hear the restrained emotion in his voice, can sense the careful bindings holding it in check.

“You gave… everything, to save us. I just-” a sharp breath, “I do not wish to punish you for your sacrifice.”

‘To save you,’ Chase’s traitorous mind supplies. He looks up from Omi’s cup to face him and snaps his head away instantly; Omi is chewing at his lip again and there is something filthy in the action, something that has the beast in him biting at its leash. He fixes his gaze instead on the sprawling fortress beneath them, on the mausoleum lifelessness of its frozen gardens and shadowed halls, and realises he cannot pinpoint the moment it changed from palace to tomb.

“You are becoming quite wise, for one so young.” He finally manages. Omi only hums in response.

Everything falls apart on a Thursday, only a month after he recognised his more… physical interest in Omi. In hindsight, Chase was foolish to believe he could keep this hidden. Omi always managed to dig out his secrets.

It is a full moon night and Chase has won their bout, however narrowly; his first triumph since winter set in. He does not normally flaunt his victories, but he is feeling smug today. He cannot stop the sneer that forms on his snout when Omi joins him for tea, openly wincing as he lowers himself.

“Sore, little dragon?”

“Not so sore as you will be next time.”

“We shall see.”

The monk has had a strange air about him all evening, but for once Chase does not call him out for being distracted. Why sully his victory?

He need not have worried – it is Omi who breaks the silence.

“Do you still see Jack Spicer and Wuya?”

Chase raises one scaled brow, caught off guard by the question.

“Why would I willingly associate with those buffoons?”

“Are you not friends?”

“Not if they were the last creatures alive.”

“I see.”

But the monk’s brow is furrowed, and it is not long before his next question.

“Do you not get lonely here?”

“How could I, with your constant pestering.”

Omi shakes his head.

“I mean the rest of the time. You do not even have the jungle cats anymore.”

“I am quite comfortable with my own company.”

But that doesn’t seem to satisfy Omi, who continues to look at Chase like he is trying to puzzle something out.

“Omi, do get to the point.”

“Do you ever…”

He cuts off, and Chase’s irritation is slowly growing.

“Do you take… partners?”

This line of questioning is becoming quite baffling.

“The offer to fight by my side has only ever been extended to you, as you already know.”

He does not mention Jermaine – they are both well aware he was only recruited in an attempt to sway Omi.

But Omi shakes his head again, frustrated.

“That is not what I meant.”

Chase is confused for a moment before the pieces finally connect. He has to bite back a laugh; the sheer absurdity –

“Omi, I am a Heylin warrior with a well-deserved reputation for violence. I do not receive suitors.”

“…Never?”

And Chase barely reins in a snarl because what is this sudden interest in his love life? And from Omi, the only person in centuries he has developed any interest in, who he is determined to keep safe from that part of himself. For him of all people to be the one sat needling him, asking about his current allegiances and past dalliances, as though he –

And something in him goes strangely hollow then because of course, that is what Omi means.

“You are interested in someone.”

“I…”

Omi falls silent, but it is clear Chase has hit the nail on the head. The confirmation leaves him oddly vacant; he is aware of the storm of anger – one he has no right to – setting his blood to boil as though it is a thing separate of him. Omi wants someone. Someone who may also want-

He should not be surprised – it was only ever a matter of time.

“Omi, I am not the person you should be seeking relationship advice from.”

“That is not what I-”

The anger finally washes over him and he snaps back at Omi, flashing his fangs.

“Is this not something better spoken of with your team?”

“They would not understand-”

“What makes you think I would?!”

Omi growls in clear frustration, rubbing at his brow.

“This is not going how I meant.”

And something dark and mean curls in Chase’s chest then because how dare Omi come to him with this, how DARE he assume Chase could be anything beyond the cruel contorted beast he’s bound himself to.

“Then please enlighten me, great Xiaolin dragon. How should this have gone?”

“Chase-”

“Should I be understanding? Should I coddle you, give you advice to better woo your target?”

“Stop it-”

“Perhaps a heart to heart? Who better to guide you than a centuries old Heylin warrior, one who kept his conquered opponents as animal slaves.”

“That is NOT-”

He slams his fists onto the stone between then, cracking the slabs.

“I am a monster, Omi! I have been one for far longer than you have been alive. None were fool enough to seek me out then and certainly none would now, looking like this-”

“…I would.”

The voice is so small he almost misses it. Omi looks up at him cautiously and there is a flutter then, tiny wing beats in his chest that he is quick to squash because there is no room for hope here. To hope would be at best wasteful and at worst ruinous. Chase Young is the demon prince, spawn of nightmares. A bestial horror now devoid of even his pretty façade.

That foolishness now quelled, he allows his fury to boil over. Clearly Omi has recognised his attraction and is offering to…what? Offering himself as a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter? To what end? Is this but one more pyre to throw himself upon, giving himself for others no matter his own suffering?

“What sordid charity is this?!”

“It is NOT-”

“I have no need for your PITY!”

“I DO NOT PITY-”

Chase looms over Omi threateningly, casting the monk in his shadow. His tail thrashes whip-crack across the stone, and he lets loose a low growl, deep and animal, that rumbles ominously in his throat. Omi does not shrink back from him; Chase knew he wouldn’t.

“I am no longer human!”

“That is not…!”

There is a resolve in the burning coals of Omi’s eyes.

“I… do not find you unattractive.”

Chase laughs; furious, incredulous.

“You would stoop to bed a beast?”

“Why would I be stooping, you are taller than me.”

The retort is ready on his tongue when he is stopped by fingers brushing his muzzle, and the fight drains from him so suddenly he is almost devoid of feeling in its wake. The touch is feather light, almost inviting him to move away. When he does not the hands grow bolder.

Omi’s eyes are wide with surprise, staring at his fingers as they trail along Chase’s jaw as though astounded by his own bravado. He swallows, and Chase can feel the wet echo of it in his own throat.

“Would it be strange if I said I was into this?”

“…Yes.”

But he does not flit back to his human form, and he does not push the monk’s hand away.

Omi is not yet done astounding him.

“I would very much like to kiss you.”

Chase should shut this down now; stop Omi before this goes too far, before it becomes dangerous. But he says nothing, simply inclines his head fractionally into Omi’s palm.

Omi takes that for the assent it is and presses his lips to Chase’s snout.

It is chaste and awkward, just a soft press. It should feel gentle.

It tears through Chase like a brand across his maw.

Chase is still working out how to react when Omi takes it a step further. He has always been a fast learner.

When Chase doesn’t push him away, his kisses grow bolder. He licks into Chase’s mouth, runs his tongue between his fangs and it takes all the control Chase has to stop himself from pressing Omi into the floor and savaging him. An alligator hiss escapes him as he surges forward, cups the back of Omi’s bald head and chases his tongue back into the monks mouth, tasting him greedily. He is uncoordinated and sloppy and desperate, and Omi takes everything he gives and still grips his jaw and pulls him in for more.

And then Omi moans. It is lewd. Shameless.

Wanton.

Chase darts backwards, throwing up as much distance between himself and Omi as possible. His back meets the wall and he props himself against it, hides behind his raised legs like a barrier.

He is suddenly glad Omi suggested the robes.

Omi does not look dejected that Chase moved away. He is still glassy-eyed, staring at where Chase had just been. His pink tongue slips out to lick at spit slick lips and Chase feels the heat pool low in his body at the sight. When Omi finally focuses on him again it is with a look of awe.

“I did not think you would let me do that.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“But you did.”

Chase looks away. When he hears Omi get up and step closer it takes all his willpower not to turn and run. He cannot prevent himself flinching when Omi crouches down and cups his bottom jaw in one hand, fingers trailing along the sensitive frill of skin there. Rage at his own cowardice twists in his guts, shame and bile, but he is unable to gather himself, his fury outweighed a hundredfold by the fear of his attraction, of what he will do.

“Chase?”

Chase is aware of someone gasping and realises with a dull dread that it is his own panicked panting. He is fighting to gather himself even as Omi’s expression morphs to one of concern.

“Did I do something wrong?”

When he finally manages a response his voice is a dry rasp.

“…No.”

“Why did you let me kiss you?”

“I-”

But he doesn’t have the words to explain. Because he wants him. Because he dreams of Omi every night and what he would feel like beneath his hands, his tongue. Because Omi has become the reason he gets up in the morning, has brought him something that feels dangerously close to happiness. Because he never would have given up his servants or his humanity, not for anything.

Because Omi makes him weak, makes him strong, makes him greedy for the parts of life he has been missing for centuries.

“I want…” Everything.

“You… want?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Says Omi, fingers catching the curve of Chase’s jaw to pull him back in.

Chase slaps his hands away angrily.

“WHY are you giving me this?!”

“What?”

“Clearly I have not kept my interest hidden well enough. But WHY would you act on this? Why give me what I want?”

“Chase, I had no idea you wanted this.”

“Then why?”

But Omi doesn’t speak. He smiles at Chase then and it is not his usual grin. This is Omi’s smile when Chase thanks him for returning, for saving his life, cheeks petal pink from the warmth and perhaps something more, something Chase would never have considered.

“You… When?”

“I am not certain. But I have wanted this for a while.”

“Do you mean to tell me you sought me out because you had a crush?”

“No… But it was not long until I realised I did.”

Chase stares at him, incredulous.

“We have been seeing each other for years.”

“I know. It has been most difficult hiding this from you. I am surprised you did not notice.”

“It never occurred to me that you could be interested.”

“Why? Because you are like this?”

Because I am me. Chase thinks. Because of what I was, what I am, what I have done. Because I have built an empire on the back of my own cruel ambition and now I am a beast outside as well as in.

“Yes.” Is all he manages to choke out. Omi sighs, reaching out slowly to cup Chase’s cheek in one palm. He is stroking the scales there when he speaks next, voice shaky with nerves.

“How long have you…?”

He cannot say with any certainty when this attraction developed, only that he acknowledged it just weeks ago. But he suspects it has been colouring the margins of their interactions for some time. It makes more sense now, why he would give up his humanity, his servants – and there had been a connection before this too, hadn’t there? From the first time they met a spark of something unknown but powerful and enticing, something to pursue, to covet, something worth winning the world for and worth the price of his soul, too, when its loss might save Omi’s life.

Omi had felt it too, he knew; had followed that pull to the past and back, to the near destruction of the world.

“…Too long.”

Something shifts in Omi’s gaze, something dark and hungry, and then he is leaning in to catch Chase’s mouth with his own again. Chase’s blood is pounding, starting in his ears and then dropping lower as Omi’s tongue parts his lips. It would be so easy to fall back into him. He wants to; his claws twitch with the desire to haul Omi in by his robe-

With tremendous effort Chase presses a palm to Omi’s chest and forces him away. Omi’s eyes are dazed and blown, irises swallowed by his pupils. Arousal thrums through Chase like a current.

“We should stop.”

“But you said-!”

“Omi, you don’t understand. I will take everything. I will keep wanting more.”

“I am okay with that.”

Omi wrests Chase’s arm away and leans back in but Chase is quicker, rolls them so Omi tumbles to the ground and swiftly pins the monk’s wrists in one scaled hand.

“OMI. You cannot TRUST me with this.”

Omi wrenches at his trapped hands, face scrunched in frustration.

“I do trust you.”

“Then you are a fool!” Chase sneers.

“The only fool here is you!”

A blast of water knocks Chase aside and Omi is upon him immediately, grabbing Chase’s hands so he cannot pin him again. Omi laces their fingers and Chase tries not to think about the way Omi’s must stretch to fit between his. He is so very, very small.

“Stop pushing me away when this is something we both want!”

“Omi, I will CRUSH you-”

“I am not so easily crushed!”

“Then I will harm you some other way!”

“You will NOT.”

“You are not listening-”

“It is you who has stuffing in their ear holes!”

Omi releases his hands only so he can grab either side of Chase’s snout and force their eyes to meet.

“Do you think I do not see what you are doing?!”

He leans in so close his face fills Chase’s view, so close Chase can taste his breath on every inhale, a late day sourness tinged floral by the tea, and the urge to dive back in and taste that flavour on his tongue again is almost overwhelming.

“You are going to tell me all about your past, about how evil you are and how old you are and how cruel you have been.”

“I HAVE been-”

“Do you think these are things I have forgotten?!”

Omi’s hands move from his face to his neck, a gentle caress that is incongruous with the sternness of his voice.

“You claim to be evil and yet in fifteen hundred years you sought to rule the world only once, and only then because you saw the potential in me.”

His hands find Chase’s chest through the part of his robe, exploring his scales with a light touch as though feeling them for the first time.

“You are cunning and powerful and full of fury, and you think this makes you undesirable. But I have always respected your power, envied your intellect and admired your passion.”

He rubs where Chase’s nipples would be and somehow the area is still sensitive, has him sucking in a sudden breath-  

“You are more dragon than man, and see yourself as lesser for it. But you are less beast now than in all the time I have known you, in fifteen hundred years.”

His hands reach Chase’s sash and slide it free of his robe, parting the black fabric and spreading warm palms across his abdomen.

“You are older, but not so wise to the world as you think. I know all these things Chase…”

Omi’s hands travel lower, and Chase feels his blood rush to follow them.

“…And I am still very, VERY attracted to you.”

Hands find the swollen parting of his scales and delve into the hidden wetness beyond. The change is sudden, unstoppable-

“Omi DON’T-!”

But it is too late. Chase’s claws scrabble at the stone wall as he drops into Omi’s questing fingers, dripping slick into his palms.

Chase is mortified. He doesn’t dare look; Omi’s reaction will ruin or undo him.

“Wow.”

The fingers retreat and he is resigned now, waiting for the rejection. Omi will keep it polite, he thinks. Will make his excuses, promise to return another day when Chase isn’t-

“Hnghh-” 

He chokes down a whimper as he is suddenly overwhelmed with sensation, and he looks down despite himself. Omi’s fingers are back, exploring the length of him, thumbing over the leaking tip. His eyes are wide, excited.

“This is… because of me?”

Chase thinks he might be losing his mind.

“Who else?!”

Omi wraps a fist around him and Chase tries not to think about how his hands are so small they do not come close to reaching all the way. Omi gives him an experimental tug that has him digging his claws into the granite.

“I like your penis.” Blurts Omi suddenly, his hand starting up a steady rhythm. Chase bites back a whine.

“Omi, please stop talking about it.”

“It is very pretty.”

“OMI.”

Omi shuts him up with a wave.

“I do not want you to feel self-conscious.”

Then, before Chase can even begin to formulate a reply, he has bent down and engulfed as much of his cock as he can in one smooth motion. Chase feels the tip hit the back of Omi’s throat and curses. He grabs Omi’s head in one hand and heaves him off, trying to collect himself and not eye the string of spit and slick connecting his dick to Omi’s mouth.

“What are you doing?!”

“Was that not okay?”

“It-”

It was the single most incredible thing he had ever experienced in all his fifteen hundred years.

Omi clearly reads something in his silence because suddenly he is radiating smugness, batting Chase’s hand away and repositioning himself. His hot breath ghosts over Chase’s erection and it throbs traitorously.

“Then I will continue.”

He takes him in slowly this time, holding him steady with one hand while the other rests on a spread thigh. Chase is similar in length to his human equipment but somewhat wider – he watches the stretch of Omi’s lips as he devours him and feels the arousal pooling hot and urgent in his gut.

He does not breathe again until Omi bottoms out. Chase watches as the slick of his natural lubrication pools around Omi’s lips, drips down his chin. He is still watching when Omi catches his eye, hollows his cheeks, and sucks.

It is too much for a moment but as Omi begins to move along his length Chase adjusts to the sensation, the overwhelming heat and pressure. He does not know where to place his hands, settles for resting one on the back of Omi’s head and uses the other to brace himself against the stone wall as Omi bobs and licks and sucks.

Chase stares down at Omi as he continues to move, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted to protect him from?’ his conscience mocks, as Omi licks a trail up his cock, ‘Where is your resolve now? Such a small and broken thing.’ And it’s right, he thinks as the hand on Omi’s head begins to urge him forwards, as he adjusts the cant of his hips to give Omi better access. He is rewarded by teeth grazing the underside of his dick and cannot stop the strangled sound that is torn from him then.

Omi has a big mouth but he cannot engulf the full length, instead wraps one hand around the base and rolls his wrist in time to the movement of his head. After a minute he spreads the flat of his tongue along Chase’s length, presses firmly up against the tip and moans, and it is suddenly too much in the best way, throws Chase unstoppably over the edge.

“OMI-”

He presses frantically against Omi’s forehead but it is too late, he has barely slipped out of Omi’s mouth before his orgasm tears through him.

When he comes back down and opens his eyes, the sight is almost enough to finish him all over again. Omi’s face is covered; pearly drops on his cheeks, his lips, his tongue-

“Don-”

But it is already too late; he watches with horrified arousal as Omi closes his mouth and swallows. Chase shudders pathetically even as Omi’s face scrunches up in distaste.

“I was wondering if it would taste different when you are not human. Unfortunately it does not.”

Omi is trying to kill him, Chase thinks.

“Dare I ask how you know that.”

“I may have tried… uh… myself?”

The vision of Omi touching himself – curious, figuring out what feels good, tasting himself-

Chase groans miserably.

“Omi, you are going to be the death of me.”

Omi only chuckles, grabbing one edge of Chase’s robe and wiping his face clean on the black fabric. Chase doesn’t have the energy or inclination to complain. He continues to watch the monk in wonder.

“Where did you even learn to do that?”

“Oh, I asked Kimiko.”

The horror clearly shows on his face, because Omi graciously clarifies.

“She was most upset, but she did lend me her laptop. The internet has lots of information on sex.”

Omi rises then, stepping forward until he is straddling Chase’s belly. He catches Chase’s lips with his own and Chase can feel the burn of his desire in the urgency with which he licks into Chase, in the way his hands pull greedily at his jaw, his spines. Chase tastes his own release on Omi’s tongue and it is enough to rekindle his interest, the first sparks of heat pooling in his gut.

When Omi’s hips start to rock against his abdomen Chase cannot stop himself from looking, severing their kiss and knocking away Omi’s hands when they try to pull him back in. Omi is still fully dressed but his loose pants do nothing to hide his arousal, the black fabric tented obscenely over his crotch. Without thinking Chase reaches out, runs one clawed thumb up the clothed length of him and Omi rocks into the contact, panting out a low groan.

“Chase.”

Chase repeats the motion, marvelling at the way Omi presses into him, the way he can feel every twitch even through the fabric. When he speaks his voice is dry, strained-

“Should I-?”

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Omi’s pants, starts to pull them down before Omi stops him, grabbing his wrists.

“Th-That is not what I had in mind. Chase-”

There is the familiar sound of rushing water and then the Solarstorm Globe drops into Omi’s open palm. He leans forwards, the line of his arousal firm against Chase’s middle as he reaches up to hiss hotly into his ear.

“-Take me to bed.”

There is no ambiguity in what Omi wants. When they arrive in his bedchamber Omi is quick to place the Shen Gong Wu to one side, strides over to Chase’s futon and flops down. Chase is still staring from the doorway when Omi unties his sash, pulls his robes from his torso and tosses them to one side along with Chase’s own discarded robe. When he looks up and sees that Chase has not followed him he beckons him over with an exasperated frown.

“Chase, get over here before I am forced to move you myself!”

That finally breaks the spell and Chase moves, albeit hesitantly, until he is stood before the monk. Omi reaches up to grab his wrists and pulls hard, dragging Chase down until he falls to his knees.

Omi strips without ceremony, rushing to be free of his clothes. His pants join the robes in short order and then he is naked beneath Chase, legs splayed obscenely.

Chase cannot help but rake his gaze over Omi, committing every delicious detail to memory. His body follows the pattern of his head – strangely hairless, save his dark eyebrows and a fine layer of peach fuzz. His belly never lost its roll of baby fat – there is a deceptive softness to it, but Chase knows the muscle behind is a solid wall. He rubs a clawed thumb over the gentle swell and has to force down the sudden urge to bite it. Omi’s cock throbs in response to his touch, precome leaving damp trails across the roll of his stomach. Chase suspects his size falls around average, but his diminished height serves him well for once – he appears much larger by comparison.

“Do you still want… is this good?”

It takes him a moment to realise that Omi is speaking about his body – Chase has never heard him be self-conscious before. He leans over the monk, licking a trail from one pebbled nipple to the curve of his collarbone, his neck, his mouth. “Perfect.” He whispers once he reaches his ear, and Omi bucks desperately beneath him as he licks the shell, nips at the lobe.

“Ffffuuuu Oh fuck.”

He stills then, unable to stop the chuckle that bursts from him.

“I’ve never heard you swear.”

“I don- Hah- s’ your fault.”

“Hmmm.”

He moves to touch Omi again before stopping suddenly, palm hovering above his abdomen. Omi’s cock bounces in anticipation but when he doesn’t make contact Omi raises himself back onto his elbows, staring up at him quizzically.

“Chase?”

He sucks in a breath and it is too sharp, hand falling back to the futon to steady him.

“Omi, we don’t have to – you don’t owe me this.”

“Chase-“

“I didn’t… if this is about the soup-”

“That’s not why-”

Chase looks away and Omi sighs, reaching up to draw him back, rubbing soothing circles against the scales of his jaw. He waits until Chase meets his gaze before speaking again.

“Would you have ever told me?”

Chase releases a shuddering breath.

“Never.”

Omi pulls him in then, hugging the wide breadth of his neck.

“Then I am glad I told you. Never would be too long to wait.”

Chase allows the embrace to continue for a minute more before pulling away, meeting Omi’s steadfast gaze with his own uncertain one.

“…At least let me be human for you.”

Chase knows it is an empty offer even as the words leave his lips – he has changed too recently, he will not be able to hold his form long, certainly not long enough to-

But Omi is already shaking his head.

“No. I am not interested under the condition that you are human.”

“…You are a very strange monk.”

Omi rolls his eyes.

“So I have been told.”

He pulls Chase back in for another kiss full of fire, rocking his hips up to graze Chase’s underbelly with his erection and Chase shudders at the pathetic whine Omi releases then, chases the sound of it back into the monks mouth hungrily. When Omi repeats the motion Chase shifts his legs, dropping his abdomen so Omi can grind up against it, rocking down into him until their bellies are sticky with precome and Omi is panting into his neck. He doesn’t stop until Omi snatches at his wrist, tugging on it insistently as he leans up to gasp into Chase’s ear.

“Chase, touch me.”

Chase doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips one hand between them until Omi’s cock is cupped against his palm, careful to keep his claws from puncturing the soft flesh. He sucks in a breath at the sudden heat of it, sticky and firm, before reaching down to roll Omi’s testicles between his fingers. When Omi opens his mouth to gasp Chase is ready, surging forwards to delve into him with his tongue as his hand moves back up to stroke along Omi’s shaft. Omi groans around the appendage, sucking at it while Chase applies more pressure, rolling his thumb across the leaking tip and that has Omi clawing at his biceps, sobbing around his tongue at the stimulation.

Omi presses hard against his snout and Chase immediately pulls back, tongue slipping out of Omi’s mouth as the little monk gasps for air. Chase is worried he has done something wrong until Omi pulls him in again, still heaving breathlessly, kissing and nipping along the line of his maw with bruising force. When he stops to speak his voice is raw and ragged and fuck, Chase is so close to dropping-

“Chase, can you- d-do you want- PLEASE, inside-”

Chase doesn’t answer him, pushing Omi further up the mattress urgently as he falls between his legs with a growl. He leans forward to run his tongue up Omi’s length, forcing Omi’s hips into the futon with both hands when the monk bucks into the stimulation. He tastes of salt and musk, heated flesh. When he licks across the leaking tip of his cock Omi whines deliciously.

Chase slides further back before stopping abruptly, so suddenly even Omi notices, raising himself onto his elbows to see where Chase is looking between his clawed fingers and Omi’s entrance as though trying to figure out a solution.

“Let me-”

Omi moves a hand between his legs but Chase pushes it aside, sliding himself further back until he can lie with his head between Omi’s spread thighs.

“I have a better idea.”

Then he pulls Omi forward roughly by the hips until his buttocks are grazing the sharp teeth of Chase’s bottom jaw, and thrusts forward with his tongue. Omi gasps loudly when he breaches the ring of muscle but Chase doesn’t stop there, pulls Omi into his mouth until Chase is as deep as he can go, until one wrong move would see Omi bitten in two.

“Cha- Oh FFffuuuu- CHAassee!”

Omi’s moans strike him like a blow, the arousal already thrumming through him taking on a new urgency. He feels himself drop even as he presses deeper into Omi, stretching him impossibly further.

He continues fucking Omi open on his tongue, working him until he can manage even the thick base of the muscle. Saliva drips freely from his jaw, and he knows he is drenching the bedding but cannot find it in himself to care while Omi is gasping and rocking back onto him, erection bouncing against the roof of his mouth, thighs clenched tight around his snout.

Eventually Omi presses his palm against the front of Chase’s mouth firmly and he pulls back, dragging his tongue slowly out of Omi’s entrance. When he sits back he sees a row of small bruises beginning to form across Omi’s buttocks, pressure from where his fangs have sat just barely shy of puncturing the flesh. Omi is gasping for breath, winded as though they have just spent the last few minutes sparring instead of-

“I think that should have been disgusting.”

Chase smirks.

“But?”

“…But it is hard to be disgusted when you are exploding my brain.”

“Blowing your mind?”

“My version is better.”

Chase leans back down to resume his preparations but Omi stops him with a heel to the snout.

“Chase, enough.”

“I need to-”

Omi grabs him by the jaw and hauls him forward until he can feel Omi’s hot breaths against his scales.

“I need your penis inside me now.”

Chase groans wretchedly, even as he feels Omi reposition himself to dig his heels into the small of Chase’s back, urging him closer until Chase’s thighs butt against Omi’s spread cheeks. His cock slides against Omi’s and the wet friction has him thrusting forward unintentionally. He takes a moment to collect himself, claws puncturing the futon with an audible pop.

“Stop me if it hurts.”

“I can take the pain-”

“OMI.”

He glares down at the monk sharply.

“This need not be painful.”

He lines himself up, the slick tip of his very, very inhuman penis pressed against Omi’s prepared anus, and stops. He is shaking with desire when he meets Omi’s eyes, desperate to take what he wants, but this is Omi’s last chance. Chase has to give it to him.

“Omi, this is the last- I won’t be able to stop.”

Omi touches his snout then, soft and warm.

“I know.”

“Omi are you certain-”

Omi looks up at him and his gaze is as serious as Chase has ever seen it.

“Chase, I almost destroyed the world for you.”

And before he can move Omi has pressed his heels into Chase’s lower back, hauled him forward and taken the first few inches in one deep thrust.

“AH-!”

Omi’s mouth had been overwhelming, but now the pressure is so strong it is almost painful, the heat close to scorching. He draws in a long shuddering breath and fights the urge to press deeper, to force Omi to take all of him.

When he gathers himself enough to look up he sees Omi’s eyes are screwed shut, his limbs stiff. His knuckles are white where they fist the blanket beneath him.

“Omi-”

“It is okay, I just-”

Omi shifts his hips experimentally and the tight slide is incredible. Chase holds back from thrusting further only with great effort.

Another minute and Omi has released some of the tension from his muscles. He rocks back and forth, just a fraction of an inch, and Chase sucks in a surprised breath.

“...It is okay, you can move.”

He does, sliding back until only the tip remains inside, curving his neck to stare at their joining, at the way Omi’s flesh is pulled tight and wet around him. His claws rip into the futon as he fights the urge to slam all the way back in, forces himself to keep a tight leash on his desire even as his hips threaten to stutter, his tenuous control a taut string ready to snap. He presses back into that suffocating heat slowly, attempting to give Omi all the time he needs to acclimate.

Omi has other ideas. While Chase tries desperately to hold himself back Omi urges him for more, clutches at Chase’s biceps to anchor himself as he pushes back, slamming his hips into Chase until he has plunged to the hilt. When Chase pulls back he does it again and then again, tearing a hoarse cry from the Heylin dragon’s throat.

Chase frantically stills Omi’s hips with an iron grip.

“Stop that!”

“Why?”

He glares down at the monk who glares right back, pulling at the hands ensnaring his hips.

“Omi, I am TRYING to take it slow.”

“I do not want slow.”

“Omi-”

“Chase.”

Omi grabs at his shoulders and pulls him in, mouth hot against his collarbone.

“Where is the mindless beast you promised me?”

“He’s trying not to rip you in two!”

Omi runs blunt nails down his back, along the frill of his spines and Chase grinds out a throaty growl that is almost a purr. Omi leans up, as close to Chase’s ear as he can manage.

“I want you to pound me so hard I cannot manage full sentences.”

Chase doesn’t recognise the sound that wrests free of him then, strangled and animal, but Omi responds eagerly with a frustrated moan that finally has Chase snapping his hips forward.

It’s intoxicating, so much better than he had imagined. Chase cannot recall if has ever had sex but certainly never like this, an inhuman beast hunched over his partner. He plows into Omi savagely, churning out sounds that are as much growl as moan, and he thinks Omi shouldn’t enjoy this but the monk is rocking back into him, clinging to his arms, his spines. And the litany of cries – yes, yes, more, yes, harder, finally – that escape Omi as Chase pistons into him are the sweetest sounds he has ever heard.

“Fffuu-AHAHHH!”

Chase stops suddenly in panic, snapping up to check over Omi frantically, expecting to see blood. But it becomes quickly apparent that Omi isn’t hurt, rocking back against him in frustration as Chase steadies his hips.

“Chase, why- don’t STOP-”

Chase swallows. He wants to hear that again.

Carefully he sits back, ignoring Omi’s whined protests as he repositions them. Slowly he presses into Omi, short shallow thrusts searching for the best angle.

Omi cries out again, and Chase knows he has it. He grabs Omi’s hip in one hand, braces himself with the other and pounds into the little monk with long, deep strokes that drag firm across Omi’s prostate with every thrust.

When Omi reaches between them to touch himself Chase bats his hand away, pinning Omi’s wrists to the futon in a scaled fist.

“Chase please-”

“You wanted this, so take it.”

Chase sets a bruising pace as he again gives in to his darker nature and takes what he wants, what Omi is giving him, laid out beneath him like an offering. He can tell Omi is right on the precipice; he’s insensible, tears running down his cheeks as he is overwhelmed by the stimulation, great wailing moans wrenched from him with every thrust. Chase drinks him in greedily.

He is about to relent and take the monk in hand when Omi finally unleashes a howl and climaxes, his release painting his yellow skin white. The sight of Omi – spent and messy beneath him, still spread and impaled on his cock – is too much for Chase. He barely manages a few more thrusts, buries himself to the hilt and spills deep inside Omi with a groan.

He does not come down for several long moments; when he does he pulls out of Omi hastily, gasping at the overstimulation. He glances down to check on the monk and that turns out to be a mistake, his breath catching as he watches his release pour from Omi’s battered entrance, thick rolling waves that seep down to further soil his ruined bedding. He heaves out a shuddering breath that is half moan, collapsing onto the futon beside Omi.

“That was-”

He cannot finish the thought but he needn’t have worried – Omi is already jumping to fill the silence.

“WOW. Chase, THAT- that was THE most-”

His hands twist frantically as though trying to grab the words from the air.

“Connected… is not wrong, but not quite… FULL. I was so FULL of you. Feeling you inside me, watching you- we MUST do this again!”

He catches Chase’s eyes then and there is an edge of concern there, as though worried he might say the wrong thing and somehow scare Chase off.

“Was it… I mean, did you enjoy it?”

“…Omi, if I hadn’t already finished twice you’d be bent in half right now.”

“I… are you sure you are too tired?”

He smirks at the monk before remembering something, raising himself on one elbow to frantically look Omi’s tiny body over.

“Did I…?”

Omi swats at him, knocking him back onto his side.

“No no, I am not injured. Though I expect I shall be very sore tomorrow.”

“…Good. Here-”

He picks up his already ruined robe and hands it over to Omi, who wipes the semen from his stomach before sandwiching the material between his legs. He rolls suddenly to face Chase, reaching up to grab at his snout and pull him in for a kiss. Chase happily complies, licking into the monk lazily as they both settle into the afterglow. When Omi pulls away he holds Chase’s face in his hands, a palm cupping each scaly cheek, staring at him with eyes full of wonder.

“I was NOT expecting this when I… I am so, SO glad I kissed you.”

Chase chuckles, reaching up to pat Omi’s bald head.

“…I suppose I can’t complain.”

Omi snorts, batting his hand away affectionately.

“I am spending the night.” He declares, moving forwards to curl into Chase, head tucked under the Heylin dragon’s snout. Chase pauses for only a moment before reaching to snag the discarded bed sheet and pulling it over them both. He will need to scrap the bedding tomorrow but since neither of them seem intent on moving any time soon it will have to suffice. He drapes one scaled arm over Omi, basking in his mammalian warmth.

“Your team will have questions.”

Omi bats at his mouth gently to shush him, curling into Chase’s chest with a yawn.

“I will think of something to tell them in the morning.”

Chase barely has time to regain his footing; the moment the session ends Omi is upon him, fisting his robes and pulling him down for a heated kiss, hands already reaching to untie Chase’s sash. They have not yet had a repeat of their first encounter despite Omi’s constant urging. Omi has already complained at him for ‘taking it slow’ (or to be more accurate, ‘decelerating their course,’ which even Chase had required a moment to translate), a suggestion with connotations far too mired in romanticism to apply to Chase. Besides, it is not as though they have done nothing.

Chase remembers their previous session; he had remained human that time and even Omi had accepted his reasoning, had seen Chase lean down between his spread thighs and agreed with an excited stutter that his dragon fangs would be impractical for oral. There had been a rush of power in that, in having Omi under his tongue, in taking him apart and drinking him down while the monk fisted Chase’s wild hair desperately. Omi had warned him about the taste and to pull back, was still warning him even as he whined at the feeling of Chase swallowing around him, eyes fixed on the bob of his throat.

Chase indulges the monk for several long moments before pulling away.

“Eager today, are we?”

“Yes. I was hoping to try something new.”

Chases raises a brow as Omi pulls out a small jar.

“Is that-?”

It clearly is. Omi is blushing but his gaze is firm with intent.

“I thought I could top today. Since I won.”

“Since you won? You make this sound so transactional.”

“I merely hoped it would make you less inclined to refuse me.”

Chase is struggling to keep the shock from his voice.

“But you are so small.”

Omi bristles at this.

“My penis is exactly average in size!”

Chase opens his mouth to argue, then stops. To anyone else this would be obvious, but of course it wouldn’t be to someone like Omi, who had spent his life subverting expectations. Particularly those centred around his diminutive stature. And this must be why Omi didn’t mention their positions during their first time, because of course he’d thought they were going to switch.

“Do you not want me to?”

“That’s not…”

Does he?

Omi is small but immensely strong; is the thought of being taken by him really so off-putting? Chase tries to picture himself, spread beneath the monk, feeling the burn of him as he presses inside. Something now familiar coils in the depths of him, hot and hungry, and he realises he finds the idea much more appealing than he’d expected. He turns his attention back to Omi who is looking up at him with a stubborn glower that Chase can see is merely a mask, doesn’t match the rest of him. The tilt of his shoulders, the way his fingers itch to fuss the hem of his robe – he is nervous, expects to be rejected.

“I would be willing to try.”

Omi stares up at him, clearly stunned, before his face breaks into a familiar wide grin.

“You will not regret this! I have-”

“Omi, if you mention any of the research you’ve done I’m going to take back my offer.”

“Eh-heh, understood.”

Chase eyes the jar of lubricant, still somewhat stunned that Omi has had the forethought to bring such a thing.

“…You knew you would win today?”

“Oh no, I brought this to our last session too.”

Chase chuckles at that.

“Of course you did.”

He drops to his knees, taking the jar from Omi and setting it onto the floor beside him before pulling the monk back in. He parts Omi’s lips with the tapered tip of his tongue and Omi draws him in hungrily, sucking around the appendage and licking past it into Chase’s mouth, rubbing at the sensitive roll of skin at Chase’s neck with one hand and drawing a low growl from the dragon in response.

When Omi presses against his chest gently he allows himself to be pushed back onto the stone, his robe falling open beneath him as Omi unties the sash and pushes it off Chase’s scaled shoulders. It does little to cushion him but Chase cannot find it in himself to care – there is something enticing about doing this here, outside the privacy and comfort of his bedchamber, something raw and need driven about being taken on their makeshift battlefield. Omi reaches down to run his fingers up Chase’s genital slit and he sucks in a sharp breath, snatching Omi’s wrist before he can drop into his waiting palm.

“Wait. I have one condition.”

Omi raises a brow at him, pulling at his ensnared hand impatiently.

“Yes yes, whatever you need.”

“Very well.”

He releases Omi’s captured wrist and immediately his scales begin to fade, slipping beneath pale skin as his dragon body shrinks down into his human form. Chase barely registers Omi’s cry of frustration as his penis emerges beneath the press of the monks hands, gasping around the burst of arousal elicited by that firm pressure. Omi doesn’t miss a beat, snatching his hands away and glaring daggers at Chase as he finishes transforming.

“Why are you changing?!”

“This is my condition. I need more practise holding this form.”

Of course the practise is not the main reason – no matter Omi’s assertions of his attraction to Chase’s dragon body, ones he has proven the truth of again and again, something in Chase can’t stop feeling that it hasn’t been fair. This encounter gives him a chance to even that score; to let Omi take him as a man, as the kind of partner he should have experienced all this with.

Naturally Omi doesn’t see things that way, frowning at Chase as he finishes transforming.

“But I have told you I find you very sexy as a dragon!”

Chase leans in, crowding Omi’s space, brushing a bare hand along Omi’s jaw. The sensation is slightly different in his human guise; warmer and somewhat static, almost charged.

“Does this form not please you?”

Already Omi’s resolve has begun to weaken. He reaches out to run his fingers through Chase’s hair even as he leans, scowling and uncertain, into his touch.

“Of course it does, but-”

“Omi.”

Omi sighs, brow stormy as he considers Chase. When he breaks he does so gently, a wave at low tide.

“Fine. But next time, you will stay a dragon for me.”

Next time?

“Very well.”

Chase reaches for the jar but Omi moves it out of reach.

“I also have something I want to try.”

Chase raises a brow but tilts his head in acknowledgement, settling back down onto his elbows as Omi’s hands press between Chase’s milky thighs to spread him. It is strange, being on the other end of this. Chase had thought his discomfort stemmed from the insecurity of being in his dragon form, but he feels more exposed now than any time previously. He regrets belittling Omi for his trust that first night, just minutes before Chase gave in anyway, took him as a dragon as Omi lay unwavering beneath him all the while.

This was Omi; he should have known that was yet another display of strength.

He watches as Omi removes his sash and robe and tosses them aside, making no move to pull down his pants. He settles himself behind Chase’s right leg, leaving the gap between his thighs open, and Chase opens his mouth to ask Omi just what he is trying to do when the monk flicks Chase’s leg over one shoulder, leans in and mouths at his inner thigh.

“Ffff-Hah.”

Chase is so engrossed with the feeling of Omi putting his big mouth to good use that he almost misses the glow. The nine lights of Omi’s forehead are bright in the dim chamber, casting them both in soft golden light. Omi’s movements against his thigh begin to slow, the monk breathing hard with exertion. When he finally stops to speak his voice is clipped and strained.

“Try to relax. This might feel… Strange.”

Chase does not have time to ask what he means; it is only another moment before something cool and wet trails down his left thigh, dripping down towards his anus. Chase starts but Omi presses the hand he is not using to steady himself against Chase’s abdomen, holding him still while a ropy tendril of water flows to the space between his buttocks.

“O-Omi-”

The tendril finds his entrance and presses forward, oozing slowly inside. There is no pain, but the sensation is bizarre, cool and strange as the water moves in and out tentatively. When Chase does not kick him away Omi allows more water to flow, exerting a gentle pressure against his walls that grows marginally with every flowing thrust, stretching him gently wider even as it works its way deeper.

Chase allows himself to fall back as the water works him open. There is still an edge to his thoughts – not quite fear, but an unpleasant vulnerability born of exposure, a wariness to accompany his trust. But as Omi continues to stretch him – slowly, as if scared of hurting him – it becomes easier to let his concerns melt away.

‘It’s just Omi,’ he reminds himself, as the water moves inside him, presses him wider. And his body is taking notice now; cock half hard against his stomach already and getting firmer with every thrust. The strangeness has passed somewhere through Omi’s prepping and now the waves of sensation that hit him are definitely tinged with pleasure.

Finally the water presses firm against Chase’s prostate and Chase cannot hold back the strangled groan as he bucks unwittingly into the stimulation, and then again and again as Omi focuses the spot with each wet thrust.

After another minute the tendril retreats back into the pool and it is odd then to feel its departure, to be so empty in the loss of it now his body is screaming for more. Omi falls forward as though exhausted, but Chase can still feel the firm line of him against his hip and knows Omi’s boundless stamina has not nearly run dry.

“Chase, are you okay?”

And Chase does not have the mind to formulate a reply, responds by reaching down to grab Omi’s shoulders and hauls the monk up his body until his mouth is full of him, tongue and teeth and the press of Omi’s clothed erection against his stomach. Omi matches his frantic pace easily, fists his hair, bucks against him and Chase is quickly overwhelmed, desperate for something he has to remind himself is not weakness-

“Omi, I need-”

He pushes and Omi understands instantly, slips back to settle himself between Chase’s legs properly this time. Chase watches hungrily as Omi finally removes the rest of his clothing and kicks it aside. His cock is damp and swollen and looms like a threat over Chase’s crotch and yes, Chase thinks as he watches Omi dip trembling fingers into the lube, as he slicks his length with a hiss that Chase drinks down greedily, he will let himself be taken again. As a man. As a dragon.

“You will stop me if it hurts.”

It isn’t a question.

Omi’s forehead glows again and there is a wet surge of water lapping at his waist followed by a sudden jerk as the liquid flows beneath him, raising his hips. His robe is swiftly soaked through where it has fallen open under him, but he cannot find it in himself to complain as he watches Omi line himself up. His right arm is wrapped around Chase’s thigh, giving it a tight squeeze as he finally, finally presses inside. Omi has worked him so well there is little to no discomfort; he keeps pushing until Chase is full, until there is no space between where Chase ends and Omi begins.

Omi sucks in a deep breath that comes out shaky “Fffffuuu Chase, you feel so…. Are you-?”

Chase nods. It is at once too much and not enough. He needs-

“Move.”

“But-”

“MOVE!”

Omi doesn’t need to be told again, pulling out halfway before rocking back in, the slap of their wet flesh echoing loud and indecent in the chamber. Chase grips the stone as he is overwhelmed by sensation, by the suffocating fullness of Omi moving inside him, over him, every point of contact solid and scalding. There is a bite of panic that claws at his chest, that he forces stuttering breaths around as his mind rails against this vulnerability, at the reality of being spread beneath Omi, being taken.

‘It’s just Omi,’ he reminds himself again, as he feels the monks panted breaths gust warm across his stomach, tickling the gooseflesh there. ‘It’s Omi,’ as he forces his pounding heart to settle, as he wrenches control back from the coward part of him, that craven shadow of Heylin ambition. He watches Omi as the fuzzed edges of his vision clear, admires the contrast of their skin, the way Omi’s tiny hands dig into the flesh of his thigh, his hip; watches the glow of his forehead chase shadows across Chase’s abdomen, through the dark trail of hair there.

When his vision clears so too does his mind, and he gasps at the flood of sensation as all his other senses come back to him, sound and smell and touch. There is the burn of being stretched, the not-quite-pain of Omi’s fingers digging into his flesh, the string of half-moan-half-gasps that fall from Omi with every thrust as though forced out of him unfinished. And then there’s the feel of Omi inside him, bizarre and terrifying and incredible all at once, unlike anything he has experienced before. Omi slams into him again and of course he had been paying attention as he prepped Chase because he hits his prostate with perfect precision, shocking a moan from Chase that is thoroughly wretched, devastated with want.

Omi’s head snaps up to look at him and Chase sees the moment he comes undone, expression contorting into something broken and raw as he rocks forwards helplessly with a sound that is more shout than moan, hands scrabbling for better purchase as his pace becomes frenzied. He batters Chase’s prostate with every vicious thrust until Chase’s every nerve is on fire, until he is rocking back into Omi desperately, heels pressing into the small of his back as he urges him deeper. Where are his reservations now, he thinks deliriously as Omi pistons into him, what was all that concern for, as he cries out shamelessly for more, pleas echoing through the empty chambers of his prison.

As he gets closer he realises his control is slipping, his body trying to revert back to its natural dragon state as waves of pleasure batter his concentration. He bites his lip hard, tries to use the pain as an anchor but cannot stop the flickering of his flesh, his nails forming claws that rip the cloth of his robes like paper.

And Omi notices it too, as the pale skin beneath his fingertips begins to ripple, fractal patterns flashing across the surface as scales threaten to bubble and burst through.

“Chase, it is ok, you can change-”

“No! I-I-”

And he can’t articulate it, can’t voice that vulnerability but of course Omi seems to understand anyway, bites back a curse and plunges into him with such force that he feels almost impaled, the bite of pain in the pleasure delicious as sin.  

Omi’s hand – and GODS even like this, even human he is still too small to enclose him, tiny and perfect – grips Chase’s shaft and Chase can tell he is so close to falling apart, his hold tight and loose and fast and slow, an erratic mess that nonetheless sends Chase careening over the edge like inevitability.

“O-Omi-!”

He comes so hard that for a few moments he is aware of nothing but the overwhelming sensation of it and the messy pressure of Omi’s grip on his cock. He feels his release paint him from stomach to chest and hears Omi cry out too, unable to hold himself back as Chase clamps down around him. There’s a pooling warmth in his abdomen and he realises he is feeling Omi’s cum as it fills him up, and if he hadn’t finished already that surely would have tipped him over the edge, his body instead rocked by another wave of aftershocks that leave him gasping from overstimulation.

He holds back only until Omi slips out and then he allows himself to transform, Omi falling against his side as his skin transitions to scales, water splashing onto the stone as Chase’s hips are released from their hold. Omi doesn’t miss a beat, reaches for Chase’s snout and pulls him into a kiss still edged with hunger.

“That was… WAS… the thethe warm- SEXY- urrrghghh!”

And perhaps he should be concerned at his degree of fluency in Omi-speak but Chase is currently too blissed out to care, lazily throwing Omi the word he is clearly struggling to wrangle.

“…Hot?”

“YES! Yes the HOTTEST, sexiest, spiciest FIERIEST-!”

Omi dives forward to capture Chase’s mouth again, peppering him with kisses before pushing himself up so he is leaning over him, filling his view.

“You must let me do that again!”

Chase chuckles, reaching up to lazily pat Omi’s bald head.

“Should I take that to mean you have a preference?”

The monk raises a brow in thought, apparently considering it.

“I like both.”

“Do you mean positions, or-”

But Omi is having none of his thinly veiled insecurity, shutting him up with a fierce kiss full of tongue and teeth. It is not until Chase is feeling thoroughly debauched that Omi finally stops, meeting his eyes with an intensity that manages to be simultaneously stern and hungry.

“Chase, both.”

Omi bursts through the wall during his evening meditation, Serpents Tail in one hand and a wild look in his eyes. Chase has not even chosen which to berate him for first, the use of the Wu or his sudden entrance, before Omi is clambering upon him, pressing Chase against the back of his chair as he claims his mouth, tosses the Wu aside to slip greedy fingers under his robe. He has not even taken the time to comment on Chase’s form – currently human, since he has been using meditation in attempts to slowly extend the duration – and that is as much of a tell as anything regarding Omi’s state of mind.

They have asked again, his team; asked where he keeps disappearing to, now he is spending half his nights in Chase’s bed, gone too often to evade their notice and too frequently for an excuse of night time training. Perhaps they have tried to follow him, as surely they must have on multiple occasions, and now Omi is either high off the adrenaline of successfully evading them or trying to put it out of his mind. He turns his head to one side, evading the needy press of Omi’s lips.

“Omi, stop.”

He pushes Omi back, the monk releasing a noise of protest at the interruption. He does not speak again until Omi has settled on his lap, meeting Chase’s cool gaze with confusion.

“This cannot continue.”

Omi’s eyes widen in panic.

“Wha- Yes it can! It is no concern, I can keep-”

“Omi, you cannot evade your team forever.”

“I will not lose you over this. Please.”

The monk fists the front of Chase’s robe in both hands as though to anchor himself there. Chase runs a hand over Omi’s bald expanse of a head, scrapes his nails across his temples. When he speaks again his tone has none of the firm edges it is usually tempered with; he is uncharacteristically gentle.

“That is not what I am suggesting.”

He waits until Omi meets his gaze, until he can see the dance of hope and dread in the depths of his eyes.

“You are not happy.”

“I AM-”

“You are managing. You are willing to make this sacrifice, one that goes against your nature, to protect me. But I know it pains you to keep this from them.”

“I…”

Omi trails off, but Chase can see the truth of it written into the lines of his face.

“I am beginning to understand that this… this association we have is not something I can control in the ways I am used to. I should not have forbidden you something that I knew you could never be expected to give up.”

He lets his hand fall to Omi’s cheek, caressing the soft flesh gently.

“You need to tell them.”

Omi looks up at him in astonishment.

“I do.”

“You realise that they will not understand?”

And he half expects Omi to deny it then, to dampen the blow. But Omi does not lie often, and certainly not on matters of importance.

“They will not.”

Chase almost turns away to laugh and brush off the sudden dread that settles in him then, but Omi steadies his face with a hand, holding his gaze firmly.

“But they trust me. And I have to hope that one day they will also trust you.”

“Are you so sure I can be trusted?”

“Yes.”

And he isn’t sure why; he knew Omi trusted him, had even heard him say so before, back on the night everything changed. But there is something in the revelation now, spilling easily from Omi’s lips like the words were always there between them; like this isn’t only the second time they have been said. Because of course Omi had, every night he had come to Chase unarmed but for his own skill, every time he deceived his friends to keep this secret. And of course that first time, spreading himself beneath the hulking beast of him, naked and virginal and still he had pulled Chase in, let himself be taken. “Of course I trust you,” Chase hears, “How could I not?”

“I– Omi.”

He doesn’t have the words and so lets his actions speak, dives back into the monk and captures his lips, licks into his mouth and he is too hard, too desperate – bruises their lips on his teeth and laps at swelling flesh already tangy with blooming iron. He cups Omi’s cheeks in both hands and presses their foreheads together, the air between them growing hot with their shared exhalations. His voice comes out shaken, rich with the emotion he normally keeps reined tightly in.

“I cannot lose you.”

He feels Omi’s breath hitch in that scant space between them, can almost hear the whirr of his thoughts as he considers his next words.

“Chase, I chose you long ago. Perhaps at the end of the world.”

And Chase isn’t sure what sound he makes then, aware only of the raw burn of it tearing through his chest as he surges desperately back into Omi, crushing their mouths together. Omi meets him with equal ferocity, one hand tangling in Chase’s hair while the other works to part their robes until there is nothing between them but the hot sear of flesh on flesh and he has moved instead to palming Chase’s nipples. He bucks into Omi with a sound not unlike a sob, already half hard and acutely aware of Omi’s interest too, the monk firm against his stomach.

Omi slips away for just a moment; when he crawls back onto Chase his clothes are gone, just bare yellow flesh. Omi parts Chase’s robe fully and slides as close as he can, until they are flush and Omi’s erect penis rubs against his own, sandwiched between their warm bodies. Chase cannot help himself; he reaches between them to grab both members in one hand, squeezing their lengths and swiping a thumb across the damp heads. Omi bucks into him with a gasp, clutching his arms like a lifeline.

He continues to slowly work them both until he feels water splash against his thigh. He does not immediately connect the dots, not until he looks for the source and spots the tendril of water snaking up between their legs, disappearing into the space beneath Omi’s body. He releases their cocks to reach around for Omi’s entrance, pressing in through the stream to find he has already worked himself wide enough for the stretch of two fingers. He groans hungrily, forcing one finger inside as Omi leans forward to kiss him, wailing brokenly into his mouth as the Heylin warrior rubs firm circles against his prostate.

Chase desperately tries to hold onto his human form as he fucks Omi with his fingers, as Omi licks and pants into his mouth, holds it until he can no longer and the scales ripple up through his skin. When his mane of hair forms stiff spines Omi’s fingers slip easily from threading the strands to rubbing at their taut leather, scraping the firm edges of his frill with blunt nails.

Omi does not warn him once he is ready, pulling off of his fingers suddenly as the water splashes down to puddle on the floor. He reaches forward to grasp Chase’s slick dragon dick in one hand, steadying himself by gripping Chase’s shoulder with the other as he gets lined up.

Before he can drop down Chase catches his hips, suspending him just above Chase’s throbbing cock.

“Wha- Chase, let me go!”

“If I let you do as you intend this will be over in seconds.”

He leans in to curl his long tongue around the shell of Omi’s ear, smirking at the shudder it elicits.

“I’ll be setting the pace – I want to take my time with this.”

Chase lowers him slowly, languishing in the tight stretch of him as Omi slides over his length. He lets him fall only halfway before pulling him back up again while Omi growls his frustration into his neck. He presses against him furiously, jostling his hips and using all the leverage he can get in attempts to alter the pace but Chase’s grip is steadfast, thwarting every attempt Omi makes. He pulls him down again until he is just slightly deeper than before, rolling his hips in slow circles as he raises Omi back up only to do it again and again. It is several long minutes before Omi is seated fully in his lap and Chase holds him there, rocking gently into Omi so they can both feel the obscene stretch of their joining. By then Omi has stopped fighting, whining into Chase’s chest as his breaths pant hot across his scales.

When he goes to raise Omi’s hips again he is stopped by a hand on his bicep, Omi’s half lidded eyes staring resolutely into his own.

“Let me.”

He releases his grip without hesitation. Omi takes a moment to steady himself, shifting his thighs for a better angle and grasping Chase’s shoulders for leverage. When he moves Chase cannot help but stare, watching hungrily as the angry red inches of his cock slowly emerge from the shadowed space between Omi’s spread thighs. The monk chews out a guttural groan and the vulgar spectacle is the most erotic thing Chase has ever seen, has to dig his claws into the seat to restrain himself as the delicious pull of Omi dragging over his cock becomes agony.

‘I could do this forever,’ he thinks, as Omi rocks back down onto him with a moan, ‘I could spend immortality like this.’ Except he has closed the doors on immortality now, as mortal as the Xiaolin dragon spread across his lap.

It is agonisingly slow and wonderful for it right up until the end, many long minutes in when Omi is aching from the subdued pace and Chase is lousy with want. Omi’s stuttering hips slow until he is seated in Chase’s lap, hilt deep, erection dripping precome onto Chase’s belly scales.

“Chase, please-“

And Chase has reached his limit too, impatient with desire. His claws reach out to clutch tight at Omi’s hips as he finally pistons up into him, ripping a cry from the monks throat and there is wonder in this too, he thinks, a savage delight in the taking. Omi falls against his chest, grips Chase’s shoulders and kisses at his scales, bites at his pectoral and oh, Chase isn’t going to last-

“Ah, Omi-”

He reaches between them, squeezing Omi in one leathery palm and the moment he does Omi comes with a shout, thick ropes of ejaculate splashing over Chase’s fingers, his stomach. Omi clamps down impossibly tighter and Chase cannot hold himself back, bucks into him twice more before emptying himself with a cry. He does not pull out right away, rocking into that slick heat until they are both overstimulated, until Omi is beating weakly at his chest and he finally slips out in a wet splash of his own cooling release.

He looks down at the punctured cushions of his seat with mild annoyance, brushing a thumb over one claw-torn edge.

“We need to figure out a way of doing this that doesn’t ruin my furniture.”

Omi chuckles into his neck, kissing lazily along his collar.

“Perhaps you need sturdier furnishings.”

“Hmmm.”

“Chase?”

Omi pushes himself back to look Chase in the eye and Chase can’t help but think how ridiculous he looks, expression serious despite the semen splashed across his belly.

“Will you come with me, when I tell them?”

Chase hums, running a hand up Omi’s side. The monk twitches under his caress, his skin warm against Chase’s palm.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you plan to do when your team attacks.”

Omi rolls his eyes and chuckles, clearly convinced that Chase is somehow overreacting.

“Oh, I am sure it will not come to that.”

It does come to that, as Chase knew it would.

They return together the next morning. Omi is abuzz with nervous energy the entire walk, though he tries to hide it, talking nonstop about the previous night, recent missions, the scenery; in short, anything that he can think of. Chase follows along in troubled silence. He cannot share in Omi’s cautious optimism – he knows this is going to go badly, perhaps catastrophically so. And even with the Solarstorm Globe nestled safely in his robe, fighting three Xiaolin dragons at the tail end of winter is something he would rather avoid.

But he had meant what he said – he is not prepared to lose Omi.

It is a good thing they are not trying to be stealthy – impossible really, given Omi’s constant chattering. It is therefore no surprise when, finally cresting the hill leading to the temple doors, they find their path already blocked by the other dragons.

“Chase Young!”

Chase barely has time to dodge the first volley of strikes – clearly they have seen him coming and decided to forgo the usual pre-battle pleasantries. He cannot say he is surprised by their ferocity, given his history with them. He sidesteps Clay’s thrown wudai weapon only to be singed by the edge of Kimiko’s, falls further back only to take a biting blast of wind to his right side. They have flanked him, swiftly separated him from Omi and forced him on the defensive as he blocks and weaves around a relentless onslaught of attacks. And he knows even like this, even in these circumstances, he could manage to secure himself a victory. Only that isn’t what he is here to do.

“OMI!”

And finally he sees him, arms waving frantically as he tries to get the attention of his team. His shouts are lost in the cacophony of the battle, too quiet over the crack of elemental blows. It is only when the small monk leaps forward to intercept a strike from Raimundo that would have torn apart Chase’s robe and likely more, scything wind screeching off Omi’s hastily thrown up ice wall, that the other dragons falter in their attack long enough to hear him.

“STOP!”

Clay and Kimiko immediately fall back, but Raimundo holds his ground. The previously calm air now whistles around them threateningly, billowing their robes.

“What are you doing Omi?!”

“He is here at my request.”

That breaks the spell on the other dragons. The three are suddenly upon them, all snapping at once.

“Omi, just what in tarnation-“

“WHY would you bring-“

“What do you MEAN-“

Omi waits patiently until the shouting dies down.

“There is something I need to tell you all.”

Omi looks back at Chase then, and Chase realises quite suddenly that he is being given an out. Omi will let him go if Chase decides to. Omi cannot choose between Chase and his team, but neither will he force this on Chase. If the battle has confirmed his worst fears, if he regrets coming, if he is rethinking their association, he will let Chase leave.

Chase almost scoffs. As if there was ever anywhere Omi could lead that he would not follow.

When he steps forward to take his place at Omi’s side Omi’s grin is so wide Chase thinks his face might actually split.

Slowly, deliberately, Omi takes Chase’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

For a long minute no one speaks – long enough that Chase begins to think Omi’s blatant display has flown over their imbecile heads – before finally Kimiko’s face pales in dawning horror.

“OHMIGOD OMI. Is THIS why you wanted to know how to-”

Omi gives her a sheepish grin, and Chase has only a moment to be impressed by the shade of green she manages before she has turned to hurl into a nearby planter. Raimundo is at her side in an instant, frantically shouting “Wanted to know what? To know WHAT Kimiko?!” Clay has gone still as a statue, staring at their joined hands as though it will make sense if he can only untangle the puzzle.

Omi, in true Omi fashion, proceeds to make everything worse.

“Your information was most helpful Kimi-”

“STOP TALKING ABOUT IT! Oh my GOD Omi-”

She lifts her head, wiping at her lips as she regains her feet unsteadily. She looks at them again, Omi still tightly gripping Chase’s dragon hand, and clearly something else clicks as she is suddenly glowering furiously at Omi-

“Is THIS why I had ‘lizard penis’ in my search history?!”

“Ah, yes. That was misleading actually, Chase is-”

“OMIIIII!”

Kimiko wails helplessly, already leaning back over the planter. By now Raimundo has connected the dots and is staring at them both in horror.

“No WAY. You and…”

Omi meets Raimundo head on, offering only a curt nod. When the wind dragon also turns to retch Chase takes the opportunity to lean down towards Omi, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

“I am surprised you didn’t ask Dojo.”

“Actually-”

“Oh, he did,” The dragon pipes up, slipping out from where he’d hidden himself beneath Clay’s hat and dropping to the ground, “I wisely ran away.”

The movement seems to wake Clay, who reaches up to scratch his head in befuddlement.

“Chase, Omi? This two-bit varmint?!”

“He is not a varmint!”

Raimundo has recovered himself by then, stepping forward to round on Omi furiously.

“Don’t you remember what he’s done?”

“Of course I-”

“How can you reconcile his past?! He’s a monster, Omi! He kept people as pets-!”

And Omi is getting angry too now, grip on Chase’s hand tightening as he snaps furiously back at Raimundo.

“I KNOW-”

“He turned you into a CAT!”

“I know what he did!”

“Then how can you BE WITH HIM?!”

“He has changed! How can we say we are good if we do not believe in redemption-”

“How could he possibly be REDEEMED?!”

Dojo slithers over to Chase while the two squabble, clearly emboldened by the presence of the Xiaolin dragons. He raises himself to sniff at the air for several long moments before dropping down, rubbing at his chin.

“That’s strange, I can’t smell the soup on you.”

“That is because I have stopped taking it.”

And somehow Kimiko manages to hear him, even over the sound of Omi and Raimundo’s furious shouting. Chase suspects she is used to tuning them both out.

“Wait, doesn’t that… don’t you need the soup to stay human?”

Even Raimundo falls silent at that. Chase regards her with a carefully crafted calm before inclining his head a fraction.

“I do.”

Clay butts in next.

“So then yer…”

“Not taking this form for the fun of it? No.”

That seems to be the last straw for Raimundo, who is by now utterly beside himself with disbelief.

“Omi are you KIDDING ME?! He’s not even HUMAN-”

And it is perhaps a small blessing then that Dojo manages to interject before Omi can snap back at Raimundo and doubtless dig the hole he has made for himself even bigger.

“Hey now, plenty of dragons have had dalliances with humans.”

Clay rubs at his forehead tiredly.

“Dojo, if’n you start talkin’ ‘bout Master Fung-”

“Surely you aren’t saying that makes it okay for Omi to-”

Dojo waves his hands in a placating gesture, looking at the others sagely.

“Hey now, I just want to be clear that the problem here is that he’s Chase Young, not that he’s a dragon.”

Raimundo is reaching shades of red that would outdo even Hannibal.

“Of COURSE the problem is it’s Chase-!“

The shouting starts back up again, and the thread of Chase’s already frayed patience finally snaps.

“Cease your bickering!”

And then, when he has their attention-

“There is an easier way to resolve this.”

Raimundo steps up to him then, ignoring Omi’s bark of protest to meet Chase’s yellow slits with a suspicious scowl. He is so close Chase can see the flecks of brown in his green eyes, can feel the warm waft of his body heat and the way the air cuts around him unnaturally, choppy with rage.

“Oh really, lizard boy? Why don’t you enlighten us?”

Chase does not rise to the bait. This is for Omi, he reminds himself, as he sets them down a path he had hoped not to tread.

“I believe you recently came into possession of the Verity Lei.”

“And how would YOU know? I thought you didn’t care for Shen Gong Wu?” snaps Kimiko, stepping out from behind Raimundo to glower at the Heylin dragon. She holds herself well given her state a minute prior, though she does lean into Raimundo’s side for support. Chase tilts his head in her direction, humming in agreement.

“I may not be interested in Wu, but I do still keep tabs on Spicer. I am aware you beat him to it.”

“And you want us to use it on you?”

“No.”

Raimundo growls, leering up at him.

“But you JUST SAI-”

He holds up a hand.

“But I see no alternative. I will do this for Omi.”

Chase cannot help but curl his lip in distaste as the Shen Gong Wu settles around the thick trunk of his neck. The thing truly is an atrocity – a ludicrous assortment of poorly forged golden flowers that reeks of Dashi’s poor taste.

“I trust you will keep the questions relevant?”

“We’ll ask you whatever we want, lizard brain.” Snaps Raimundo. He grips the Wu in one hand, glaring daggers at Chase.

“Verity Lei!”

The Wu reacts immediately, glowing bright yellow before dimming to a muted shine. The moment it is active Raimundo is crowding his space, jabbing at his chest furiously.

“Don’t think we can’t see right through you Chase! How have you manipulated Omi to join you this time, huh? Something to do with his chi again, or a Shen Gong Wu? Is Spicer involved in this?!”

Chase scoffs, smirking at the irate wind dragon.

“Spicer? I haven’t associated with that bumbling idiot in years, though I suppose he ranks above present company. With the exception of Omi, of course.”

“THAT DOES IT!”

Kimiko steps in to hold her teammate back, one tiny hand firm against Raimundo’s chest.

“Knock it off Rai!”

“ME?! He didn’t even answer my questions!”

“It seems this is proving too difficult for you. Perhaps your Master Fung was mistaken in his choice of leader?”

“Chase.”

Omi shoots him a warning look from his place at Kimiko’s side and Chase attempts to pacify him with an apology but cannot get the words passed his lips. While the Wu cannot compel an answer it will not allow him to lie. And though he isn’t strictly trying to cause problems, he certainly isn’t sorry about taking the wind dragon down a peg.

“WHY YOUYO- URGHRGHHH!”

Said wind dragon is still fuming, held back now by Clay’s hand on one shoulder as Kimiko steps in to take over the questioning. She takes a moment to consider him before speaking, brow creased in thought.

“Have you really stopped taking the soup?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s something you plan to continue?”

“Yes.”

Dojo butts in then, earning himself a scowl from the fire dragon.

“So if we were to go to your fortress right now, we wouldn’t find a secret stash hidden away somewhere?”

“I still have forty-two cans left, from my previous store.”

That earns him a raised brow.

“Wait, so you didn’t just… run out?”

“I did not.”

“Then why?”

Chase says nothing, but Omi catches his eye.

“That… that was the last time?”

“…Yes.”

This is one more revelation he hadn’t been ready for; certainly not now, under scrutiny from the rest of the Xiaolin dragons. Omi’s eyes go wide and Chase diverts his gaze, unable to handle what he might see there. He refocuses on Kimiko who is looking between them curiously, one delicate eyebrow raised. Clearly she hasn’t missed their exchange. He is relieved when she mercifully decides not to press him on it, moving on to another topic.

“Do you still fight for the Heylin?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. That… is a difficult one. He takes a moment to think it over.

“…I don’t have a definite answer for that. For now, you may consider me a neutral party.”

“FOR NOW?!”

“Rai.”

Kimiko shoots Raimundo a glare venomous enough to finally shut him up. He leans back against the temple wall, turning away with a huff of barely-suppressed rage. Satisfied that her leader isn’t going to interject further Kimiko returns her attention to Chase, brow still creased in frustration.

“What about your cat servants?”

“Gone.”

She is clearly taken aback.

“Wha- all of them?”

“Yes. I have released them from their bonds.”

“So they’re…?”

“Dead.”

Her face falls then and he has to catch himself before he tells her the same thing he told Omi. These are not his allies – he is here to provide only the necessary truths, not to sugar coat.

It is Dojo who steps in next, figuratively speaking, slithering his way onto Clay’s shoulder for a better vantage.

“So how long have you two been… y’know…?”

Chase narrows his eyes at the far smaller dragon and is rewarded with a flinch.

“You’ll need to be more specific.”

Dojo puffs himself up in an attempt to gather his lost pride.

“Okay, fine. When did you two start visiting each other?”

“Omi first came to see me about a year and a half after the timeline was fixed.”

Raimundo interjects again, sounding more shocked than annoyed.

“But that was ages ago!”

Kimiko’s eyes have gone wide.

“All those nights- Omi, you said you were out training with your element!”

“Ah, technically that was not a lie. I have been training with Chase.”

Dojo takes over again.

“And when did the… uh… canoodling…?”

He twirls one tiny wrist vaguely, and the cruel part of Chase that wants to ask him to elaborate is forced down by his more pragmatic nature. Better to rip off the band aid, in this case.

“Recently.”

Dojo opens his mouth again but Raimundo butts in before he can get a word out.

“Canoodling? Wait, does that mean you guys have had sex?”

“Raimundo!”

Chase knows he should show some tact here, but the opportunity to rile up the other Xiaolin dragons is too good to pass up.

“Several times.”

Kimiko groans, rubbing at her eyes.

“I did NOT want to know-”

“He asked.”

“You didn’t have to answer!” she hisses at him, eyes full of fire. Then she stills and something more sinister settles into her features, something dark and furious.

“Wait, have you been grooming him?!”

At this Omi turns to Kimiko, clearly confused. Then, as though speaking to a very small child-

“Kimiko, I do not have hair.”

Chase can’t help it – he barks out a laugh. Kimiko’s shock at his outburst is quickly overridden by irritation.

“Omi, that ISN’T- Chase, enough! You didn’t answer the question!”

He takes a deep breath to gather himself.

“I considered it, but there was no point. Omi cannot be swayed to evil.”

And when she opens her mouth to ask again-

“And no, not in that way either.”

Omi looks between them before something finally clicks into place.

“Oh, you are talking about our relationship.”

“Of course we are!”

“You are asking if he manipulated me.”

“YES!”

“Haha! Oh Kimiko, as if I could ever be tricked-”

Five sets of eyes focus steely glares on Omi, who rubs the back of his bald head sheepishly.

“Ok, perhaps there have been times... But that was not the case! I uh… I may have… directed the approach?”

“Lead the charge.” Chase supplies automatically. The other dragons all turn to stare at him in surprise, and he remembers just how strange it is to be so fluent in Omi-isms.

“You let… Wait, OMI seduced YOU?!”

Chase does not deign to answer that, turns away with a huff and flicks his tail angrily through the dirt. He realises too late that his silence has all but answered for him. Dojo lets out a low whistle, slithering over to pat Omi on the shoulder.

“Wow kid, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Chase snaps back to them, hissing furiously-

“Do not congratulate him!”

But his inadvertent revelation has altered something, diffused some of the tension. Kimiko snickers, patting Omi on the head.

“Yeah guys, we don’t need his melon getting any bigger than it already is.”

Kimiko meets his eyes then and he regrets that he does not see the danger coming, doesn’t shut this down before she has a chance to say the words-

“Do you love him?”

Chase rips the Wu from his neck, tossing it back at Raimundo.

“That is enough questions.”

“I wanted an answer!”

He turns to sneer at her, flashing his fangs.

“I don’t care what you wanted, I have debased myself enough for one day!”

“But-”

But clearly Raimundo has had enough of this farce. He steps up until he is within inches of Chase, Blade of the Nebula pointed at the soft flesh of his underbelly threateningly.

“I don’t buy it; he must’ve found some way to cheat. How’d you do it Chase? Got some secret Wu stashed in those robes?”

Chase glowers down at the wind dragon, fangs bared. Omi and Kimiko dash forward in an instant, Omi stepping between his partner and leader as Kimiko settles a hand on Raimundo’s wrist, edging the blade aside.

“Knock it off already Rai! He hasn’t even got the reversing mirror, how could he have lied?”

“How should I know?! None of this makes any sense!”

“Don’ it?”

Clay’s voice cuts like a knife and Chase realises that it is because he hasn’t heard it for a while, not since before they used the Wu. The earth dragon has been observing in silence, thinking things through outside the chaos of the other monks.

“I mean, those two prance round each other more’n two show ponies at a line dance.”

Raimundo gapes at him in furious disbelief.

“Clay, how can you say that?! Don’t tell me you trust him?!”

“I ain’t sayin’ I trust ‘im, Rai. I’m sayin’ I ain’t surprised.”

Raimundo continues to stare like Clay has grown a second head.

“You’ve all gone loco, this is Chase Young we’re talking about! He’s the enemy!”

Chase feels Omi’s rage even before he speaks, the surge of chi charging the air between them, tingling like static against his scales. Raimundo’s weapon hurtles to one side before the wind dragon can prepare for the strike, Omi’s kick impacting his wrist fast as a whip crack.

“Enemy?! He has done nothing in years! Not since-”

But Raimundo recovers quickly, snatching the front of Omi’s robes to haul him off the ground. Chase is held in check only by Omi’s immediate reaction, turning to shoot him a stern glare of warning – this is Omi’s battle to win, after all. Still he cannot prevent the way his pupils narrow to fine slits nor prevent the crocodile hiss rumbling in his throat. Raimundo looks over Omi’s shoulder to sneer at him knowingly.

“You see, he’s already itching to attack us! He said so himself, he still has some soup left. He can start up again whenever he wants! Can’t you see he’s trying to trick you again?”

“Trick me? I came to HIM! Everything we have done has been at my urging!”

“I’m sure that’s what he WANTS you to think-”

“What he WANTS?!”

A thick rope of water lashes at Raimundo’s fists and he drops Omi, startled. Omi is back by Chase’s side in an instant, raising a wall of liquid tendrils that curl through the air between them and the other dragons like angry snakes. His hand finds Chase’s and grips it firmly.

“Do you think he WANTED to drink the soup? He did that to save US! And then he locked himself away for so long I thought he might-”

Omi cuts off there but Chase can hear the words left unsaid. He looks down at Omi in shock, he had no idea Omi had thought he might have-

But Omi isn’t done, raising his head to glare up into Raimundo’s eyes. When he speaks again his voice has all the chill of an arctic sea, colder than the winter air whipping around them.

“Before he drank the soup Chase told us that the future can also be changed. Well, I am changing it. I will not lose him again.”

Raimundo doesn’t back down, but it is clear Omi’s words have shaken something in him. He lowers his guard fractionally, crossing his arms with a huff and levelling the two of them with a glare.

“I doubt he meant you should let yourself get tricked into bed by a giant IGUANA.”

“I already told you that it was I who-!”

“Omi.”

Clay steps in, quite literally, moving to block Omi and Raimundo from each other as he rests one massive palm on Omi’s shoulder. The tendrils of water part for him like vines, falling to the frozen ground with a loud splash.

“Look, I don’ really get what yer seein’ in ‘im, but I trust you. If’n yer sayin’ he’s changed, I’ll take yer word on it.”

Omi beams up at the giant cowboy, patting Clay’s hand with his far smaller one.

“Thank you, Clay.”

Kimiko steps up to him next, aggressively twirling a strand of hair. Her brow is still creased – it is clear she doesn’t completely share the earth dragon’s view.

“I really don’t get it Omi. Like, I’m not exactly surprised you like guys, but Chase? It’s just… you get why that’s hard to understand, right?”

“I am sorry for bouncing this your way so suddenly, Kimiko.”

She sniffles, patting his head affectionately. “It’s ‘springing this on you,’ Omi.”

She sighs, turning to take Chase in. It is not quite a glare, but the look is cold, assessing. She glances at their joined hands and Chase thinks he sees something soften in her gaze for just a moment before she turns back to Omi.

“This is a lot to take in. Maybe go spend a few days at your boyfrie-CHASE’S place, ok? We’re gonna need some time to adjust. Especially Rai.”

“I understand.”

“Then lets go get you packed, I have a bag you can use.”

Clay’s hand falls on Omi’s shoulder again as he goes to follow Kimiko, drawing his attention back to the earth dragon.

“Don’ worry pardner, I’ll work on ‘em. They’ll come ‘round.”

Omi gives Clay a firm nod before taking off to join the fire dragon, Raimundo trailing after them with a stormy glare.

Little more than a moment passes before Chase feels a large presence materialise beside him. For one so large the earth dragon has learnt to move with incredible stealth. He pins Chase with a sideways glance full of venom, tilting the brim of his hat forward in one hand – to hide his face, Chase realises, should anyone spy them from the temple windows.

“You best not be lyin’. You hurt ‘im, and best believe I’ll have yer hide. Would make a mighty fine belt.”

Chase tilts his head in acknowledgement, humming thoughtfully.

“Noted.”

“An’ best expect a visit soon. Reckon I should take a gander at them trainin’ sessions y’all are enjoyin’. I’m always down fer a tussle.”

“I’ll make sure to prepare a larger chamber.” Chase responds coolly.

The tense quiet that settles between them is suddenly disturbed by an incredulous cry from within the temple, Raimundo’s voice echoing miserably out into the grounds.

“How has OMI gotten laid before the rest of us?!”

Chase chuckles and is surprised to hear Clay’s deep rumbling laugh beside him.

“Well shoot, he ain’t wrong there. Mighty strange when I think ‘bout it.”

“I suggest not thinking about it too hard. Wouldn’t want to ruin any more planters.”

Clay hums in acknowledgement. A moment passes before he glances at Chase again, brow furrowed quizzically.

“Why did’ya fall fer Omi?”

Chase narrows his eyes at the phrasing but doesn’t correct him. It’s true after all, even if Chase wouldn’t use such… romantic terminology.

“I thought you weren’t surprised.”

“I ain’t. Don’ mean I get it.”

“Well if you ever figure it out, be sure to let me know.”

Clay turns to him with a look of mild surprise. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothin’. ’s just odd t’see the great Chase Young so flummoxed. Humanises you some.”

“A bit late for that, don’t you think?” He chuckles darkly and raises an arm between them, flexing the fingers of the distinctly reptilian hand emerging from the robe.

Clay gives him an assessing look.

“Human form gone fer good, then?”

“Not quite.”

Chase concentrates, and the limb before them shrinks and alters until a familiar human hand peeks out of the cuff. He holds it for only a moment before allowing the scales and claws to ripple back into place.

“I can manage the change for an hour or two every few days. I had been hoping to extend that through meditation, but so far…” he sighs, shaking his head. “I thought he wouldn’t, with this form… I don’t understand why it doesn’t bother him.”

On the contrary – Omi very clearly liked his dragon body. Clay sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

“Reckon that tracks, Omi ain’t exactly normal. No offense.”

“None taken. I have said much the same.”

Silence settles between them again, and this time it is Chase that breaks it, asking the question that has been nagging at him since the earth dragon first spoke up.

“Why do you believe us?”

Clay doesn’t respond for a minute – Chase can practically see the gears turn in his head as he mulls the question over. Finally he sighs, kicking at the hard ground idly with the tip of a boot.

“Shoot, that ain’t an easy thing to pin down.”

“Try.”

Clay huffs, taking off his hat to scratch at the messy blonde mop of hair beneath.

“Thing is, there’s always been sumthin’ ‘bout you two. Ain’t ever put my finger on it ‘fore now. But givin’ up yer immortality, yer servants, yer humanity? Don’ take no genius t’ understand that. Reckon Kimiko will too, when she calms down. Seein’ as you already answered her question.”

Chase considers saying that he did no such thing, but holds his tongue. Let the cowboy believe what he will.

When Omi finally emerges with bag in tow, he does so alone – clearly the fire and wind dragons have retired to ‘adjust’ to the situation. Omi seems undeterred, rushing over to meet them with his usual enthusiasm.

“I have returned! Is all well here?”

Clay smiles down at his fellow monk, tipping the brim of his hat in greeting. “All’s peachy. Chase an’ I were jus’ gettin’ better acquainted.”

Chase tilts his head in acknowledgement. Omi beams up at them both, practically vibrating with happiness.

“That is excellent news! Perhaps you could speak to Kimiko and Raimundo, Clay? They still seem most upset.”

“Like I said, I’ll work on ‘em. You two jus’ make yerselves scarce fer now. I’ll come getcha once things’ve calmed some.”

Omi nods again, dipping his head in a small bow before turning to leave. Chase follows alongside him, the steely gaze of the earth dragon boring into his back until they are finally out of sight.

They do not speak again until they are well clear of the temple, its outline looming large and ominous on the horizon.

“I was not expecting Clay to be so on our quarter.”

“In our corner.”

Chase thinks back to the earth dragon, the way he had waited to absorb all the information before stepping in, solid and immovable even in the face of his leader’s fury.

“I am not so surprised – he embodies his element well. As for air and fire, well…”

He trails off.

“They will come around.” Says Omi with determination.

“You seem so sure.”

“That is because I am.”

“Hmmm.”

“I suppose one good thing has come of all this.”

“Oh?”

Omi looks up at him, the corners of his mouth curving upwards into a sly grin.

“I am not expected back for several days. I am looking forward to all that quality time.”

Chase is too; feels a now familiar warmth begin to settle in his gut at the thought.

“Likewise.”

Omi does not break the silence again until they are almost at the fortress door, reaching out to clutch at the trailing sleeve of Chase’s robe.

“Chase. What Kimiko asked you…”

He looks at Omi and sees the war waging across his features, watches as he chokes down words that want to spill out but cannot, worried they are perhaps too much for Chase to hear.

But just because Chase did not wish to discuss this before the other dragons does not mean he is blind to what has grown between them. Chase is no fool; Omi’s actions have always been demonstrative of his feelings, and Chase is fluent in his language. Omi is fretting over a word he has been all but shouting at Chase every day for months.

He reaches out without hesitation and pulls Omi towards him, curling one arm possessively around the monk and grasping his hand with the other, threading their fingers. Omi releases a startled shout that only makes Chase chuckle, dipping his head until Omi’s warm breaths gust against his nostrils.

“I know.” He says, and when Omi nods at him with teary eyes, reaching with his free hand to rub the underside of Chase’s jaw, Chase thinks Omi must know too.

“Gong Yi Tanpai!”

Chase watches from the treeline as vast columns of dirt rise into the air, carrying Omi and Spicer into battle. He is not concerned for Omi’s chances; Spicer is hardly a threat to a warrior of Omi’s calibre.

This is his first time attending a showdown in years, the first since the restoration of the timeline. He is not surprised therefore when, with the Xiaolin dragons otherwise distracted and the Wu currently out of play, he hears the graceful footsteps of Wuya making her way over to him. He feigns disinterest as she approaches, leaning nonchalant against a tree. In reality his senses are attuned to her every move – he forces his tail to lie limp when it attempts an agitated flick.

She stops beside him, so close he can almost feel her breath. Of all his Heylin ‘allies’, only Wuya was ever so bold as to come this close to him uninvited. He shoots her a venomous glare that only serves to broaden her smirk.

“Chase Young, my my. It has been a while.”

“Not long enough.”

She chuckles then, swooping closer to lean beside him against the trunk, a hairs breadth from touching. He fights down the urge to move away – if this is a test, as things so often are with Wuya, giving ground would be a display of weakness. She continues on as if nothing has happened.

“I am pleased to see time has not dulled your wit. We have missed you at these battles – Jack still yearns for the company of his evil idol.”

Chase scoffs, voice laced with all the venom and derision such a comment warrants.

“I have had more important things to attend to than entertaining the buffoon.”

“Hmm? So, the rumours are true then? You and the cheeseball?”

Chase shoots her another glare, but even this close to the Heylin dragon Wuya is not easily intimidated; her grin only widens.

“I did not think I would see the day the mighty Chase Young took a partner. And a Xiaolin dragon at that!”

Her voice lowers then, eyes narrowing.

“Need I be concerned about a shift in the balance of power? You would be a valuable ally for good.”

Chase just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“There is no need for you to fret. I remain on the side of my own self-interests, as always.”

She falls uncharacteristically silent. When she speaks again, Chase is taken aback by the barest undercurrent of concern in her voice.

“I smell the reek of mortality on you, Chase. I know you are not taking that form for the pleasure of it.”

Her tone turns bitter then. Chase is surprised; he had thought his mortality would please her. There are no true allies on the Heylin side, after all – removing him as a competitor would surely be to her benefit.

“On the side of your own self-interests? Wooing the monk is killing you! There are other ways, other partners you could take. You could have had Jack. He would-”

“Do NOT finish that sentence.”

Her lip curls.

“Yes, well, I do see your point there.”

They fall silent for several long moments, watching the battlefield above. Omi bounds from platform to platform with all the fluidity of his element, batting Spicer’s robots aside with a dexterity and power at odds with his small frame. Chase is so absorbed watching him that he is almost startled when Wuya finally speaks up, her tone oddly wistful.

“You know, I wish I could say I was surprised, but…”

She sighs then, turning to meet his gaze fully.

“I never could understand you when it came to him. You always were soft for the pipsqueak.”

“Hmmm.”

They are interrupted by the thud of something impacting the tree above them; that ‘something’ proves to be Spicer, who wails pitifully from the canopy above. Chase looks up to see the earthen platforms re-join the floor of the clearing. Omi is grinning at him excitedly, brandishing the Shen Gong Wu in one tiny fist.

“That’s my cue.”

He steps away and is stopped by a sudden hand on his arm.

“Chase.”

He whips around with a snarl, but Wuya has released him, far enough back it almost seemed as though she couldn’t have been the one to reach for him. He catches the barest glimpse of something crossing her face before she reins it back in. She appeared older, haggard. He had seen the burden of centuries in that look, flashing snapshot fast across her countenance, and felt the dim echo of it in his own chest; it was one of the few things that truly connected them. Wuya straightens herself, regarding Chase with a carefully blank expression.

“It is never too late to take the soup, should you change your mind. If you are giving more than you are ready to lose.”

He considers his response carefully, eyeing the witch before him. The path she is on, once his, is a lonely one. The pursuit of power does not foster friendship.

“No Wuya, I am done fleeing my mortality. Perhaps one day you will understand – after all, not every warrior will be Spicer.”

Said evil genius chose that moment to fall out of the tree, landing in a heap beside Wuya with a piercing shriek. Chase does not give the buffoon time to register his presence; he turns and strides back to the Xiaolin dragons, eyes locked on Omi.

“Done already?”

Omi grins up at him, flexing his tiny arms arrogantly.

“Of course! Jack Spicer is no match for me – it was as easy as stealing treats from a bawling infant.”

“Taking candy from a baby.”

“That is what I said.”

They climb onto Dojo’s back with the other Xiaolin dragons, and as they rise into the air Chase dips a hand into the folds of his robe, grasping the Solarstorm Globe and activating it. He had learnt the hard way that no matter the ground conditions, the air was always bitingly cold at the altitude Dojo preferred to fly at.

Omi leans back to look at him, a sly glint in his eye. Chase knows that look.

“So Chase, I was thinking-”

“I hope you aren’t planning to use your victory as a bargaining chip. Defeating Spicer is hardly worth celebrating, if I agreed on those terms I’d end up spending my life on my back.”

“Then what terms DO you require?”

Chase leans close to Omi’s ear, growling lowly and reaching forward to grasp the monks hip. Omi’s breath stutters and Chase releases a pleased chuckle.

“Only that you ask – this need not be a prize you must win.”

“What are you two blabbering on about?”

Kimiko has half turned to look at them and really, they make it so easy. Surely he can’t be blamed for having a bit of fun.

“Omi is attempting to use his win to negotiate being on top tonight.”

Kimiko immediately balks, moving to cover her ears.

“I do NOT need to hear about Omi topping!”

“I do not top ALL the time.”

“OMI.”

Chase chuckles. He has a long way to go in the eyes of the other dragons but he is beginning to see their appeal, if only insofar as tormenting them has proved highly amusing. Bringing him along on a mission is a big step, even if he has made it clear he will participate only as an observer – he has no plans to deviate from his neutrality, no matter his partner’s allegiance. These days Clay is a familiar face during their sparring, and both Dojo and Kimiko can handle polite conversation with him. Dojo, in fact, often sought him out – having someone with whom he could reminisce centuries past with was apparently appealing, even if that person had once tried to make him into soup.  Raimundo remained his biggest critic, though strides had been made even there – Chase once trained with Dashi, after all, a dragon of the wind. His insight is desired, however begrudgingly.

Warmth blossoms in his chest as Omi leans backwards into him, and he feels the familiar curl of heat that follows settle low in his gut. Time and familiarity have dulled its intensity – that terrifying urgency finally tempered – and now he lets the sensation wash over him, full of a tantalising promise for later. For centuries he had never understood that pull he’d seen in others, the lengths they would go to for another. It had always seemed so foolhardy, so fleeting, so disgustingly human.

It was not until those ideas were already rubble beneath his feet that he realised the fault in them. And, loath as he was to admit it, in this one regard Wuya was correct.

He always had been soft, for Omi.