Work Text:
i'm that lad that you lure in, supernatural
you’re tall, dark and handsome, really paranormal
'cause you know what i really need, beijing to shanghai
you got that bloody lips down your mask, you make me hard to leave
a glistening ball was held tonight in qingdao’s finest.
every attendee had their faces covered by masks, not willing to reveal what they had shrouded in mystique.
the gents were on one side of the glittering ballroom, while the debutantes were frolicking with one another under the chandeliers hanging above its adorned right wing.
wearing a flaxen black suit, a man was conversing with his peer when he caught a glimpse of another man brushing over his shoulder. he glanced back — a riveting youth cloaked in navy tuxedo and mask.
been around the ball, don’t need your masking
but your eyes don't need explaining
all i really need to understand is
when you talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
he noticed that man’s lips, red as a rose.
he stood still in his place as the other looked back at his direction, much to his annoyance.
but with their masks on, they were as sure as the night. all the two could tell about each other were their evident lips and apparent jawlines.
nonetheless, he quickly registered the emergent crimson mixing with the brown in the man’s eyes as he gazed at him. “a vampire,” he muttered to himself, with cheeks turning crimson. “i… i… must be imagining things.”
he then turned away from the man, awkwardly sidestepping on the floor in the hopes for his blush to disappear. all in silence, and not even his friends would know about it. all in the hopes…
to collide with the same gentleman he had seen in the most unfashionable way. “excuse me! don’t you realise you are in my way?!” he immediately argued.
“apologies on my part, my bad,” the man answered, with his topaz eyes glinting at his like fire.
“scram, can you please make way?!” he replied back.
you know the words to my song, 我很喜欢你
our conversations ain't nil
and you know why so
you know what i really want, wuhan to xi’an
i got bloody kisses on my mask, i think i need a new one
“understandable, alright”, the otherworldly man smiled before excusing himself.
to his relief, the man went away, but not before spotting specks of blood on his blue mask.
and with the man gone, the former now made his way to the arrays of buffet trays, where his friends were also queueing up in a line.
“man, where have you been?” one of them asked him. he merely shrugged it off and stayed silent until it was his turn to serve himself his choice of morsels—malatang soup filled with cheesy rice cakes.
been around the ball, don’t need your masking
but your eyes don't need explaining
all i really need to understand is
when you talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
when — everyone in the ball fell into a hush.
the man put his bowl on the table, flinting his eyes at a young woman with the microphone.
"ladies and gentlemen, apologies for the interruption. in about five minutes, we will be playing a game called 'hunt the mask'. let me explain the rules for…”
alas, the man was not amused from the way he pursed his lips. he looked at the hostess’ zest with dead eyes. with his fists curled in, he was sure this was between pride and shame.
“everyone will be assigned their own number. those of you who take off the mask of your targets can enact your punishment, and the punishment’s up to you,” the hostess continued, her voice making him smile.
“however, if you somehow take off the mask of someone who’s not your target, you will be the one punished by them. you’ve got two hours…”
the man’s smile faltered at those words as his face hardened to a resolve to hunt his target.
‘529’ was the number given for him to hold.
(一) met a lad in guangzhou
(二) you were all on me, oh
(三) we could dance a tango
(四) oh, yeah (guess who)
“tch.” the man sneered to himself. “this must be hell easy,” he thought, even after knowing that there were no further clues to it. he huffed, certain that it must be that textbook prodigy of glory.
leaving his dish behind, he soon went to prowl through the ballroom and its corridors for his assigned target. with his mask on, he made his move.
he dismissed any possibilities of his target wearing the usual black tuxedos, thinking he had finally found them…
and taking it off, the same bloodied navy mask—
baby, your eyes glow a golden speck
my fair lad, you can give my lips a peck
tonight’s masquerade, arms on deck (deck)
chest to chest, tongue on neck (neck)
supernatural rendezvous
every bite i take, do you like it too?
hug or kiss, which one does suit you?
your scent’s so alluring, i’m drawn to you
anyway, every day i'm trying get to it
make you mine in my mind, you’re "my fair lad"
anyway, every day i'm trying get to it
make you mine in my mind, you’re "my fair lad"
the same topaz eyes, now with crimson mixing in.
never mind of his uncanny appearance, the man interrogated the unmasked, “you over here! are you number 529?!”
the unmasked calmly replied with his lips in his signature smile, “sorry, you got the wrong person—” soon and immediately, the man in black hardened his face.
“this cannot be true! you must be number 529, not any other numbers!” the man exclaimed in a tirade. “i know that you are trying to talk pretty to me while playing it dirty in this—!”
the man in navy tuxedo cleared his throat, “i am actually not that number.” he gave the madman his masquerade ticket, as it was printed on the ticket. “now you see me, i have to punish you…”
“fine, you are right! just bring on with the punishments, shall we?! i ain’t scared of you!” the man in flaxen suit put on his brave face.
then the unmasked gently tugged the man’s wrist and brought it to his lips, with fangs being revealed.
“may i have the honour to kiss your wrist?”
been around the ball, don’t need your masking
but your eyes don't need explaining
all i really need to understand is
when you talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
talk pretty to me
“what in the preposterous is this punishment?!” the man thought to himself, thinking about his pride on the precipice… but soon, his desire to be touched superseded his prejudice of vampires, as cheesy as it seemed.
the man in navy gently lifted his mask, revealing what he had been suspecting of the man in golden-black for long. the latter looked back at him.
"my slave," the navy then whispered to him sensuously, “i, your master, would like to kiss your neck.”
with this precipitating predicament in place, neither would refuse.