The thought that Chenyu may not recognize him hadn’t begun to cross Sebastian’s mind, his head far too filled with romantic notions of star-crossed lovers to realize that beneath his mask he might have been any other man intent upon wooing the other. For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind and near more importantly, his heart.
While the mask afforded the Spanish Prince an otherwise unobtainable level of anonymity, the irony of the situation was not lost upon him. Though it was the world he wished to disguise himself from, the fact remained that the crowd contained one individual whom he did not. Furthermore, the extent of the heartbreak he would certainly feel should that same individual not recognize him beneath his covering dawned upon him, nearly stopping him from continuing his approach. There existed no doubt in Sebastian’s mind that he’d managed to locate his lover, beneath the ornate and gorgeous glimmering mask covering his features. The question was, would his lover be as sure?
The irony was only furthered by the thought that with the addition of his mask, much of his usual charm and allure was muted. Therefore, Chenyu would be forced to recognize the Spaniard by the sheer raw personality and emotion he’d shared thus far, in his most naked of moments, and not in reference to his lack of clothing in those times.
Once he was upon the other, Sebastian’s already solidified opinion that he’d located Chenyu transformed into pure knowledge, his lover’s intoxicating scent filling his senses, the soft and supple appearance of his skin recognizable immediately. It was the same scent he’d breathed in so deeply on so many occasions, willing himself to commit it to memory, for the times which he predicted might come- times in which he found himself alone once more, his Prince just out of reach, and potentially in the arms of another. It was a time Sebastian simultaneously feared and yet found himself preparing for, certain that he might eventually lose his shine in the eyes of the other, as he had so many times before.
When Chenyu raised his hand, fingertips dancing across the cloth of the Spaniard’s collar, Sebastian’s nerves were set alight, his senses heightening as his heartbeat increased tenfold. Breath caught in his throat as he leaned further forward, the freedom granted by the masks gripping him once more. “I am pleased to hear you think such gorgeous thoughts, ciervo, they do comfort me so. Beneath such a gorgeous mask lies a man who shines so stunningly bright, the moon itself is envious.” Sebastian’s eyes locked upon the other man’s, searching for the unspoken words he was certain lay there. Uncaring, he raised his hands slowly, settling his palms in a soft yet firm grip on each side of Chenyu’s face as his gaze remained fixed upon those beautiful and honest eyes. “I have searched for you, mi precioso, I had begun to fear you might not come. I’d very nearly given up my search here, in favor of seeking your presence within your quarters. Perhaps you shall think me naive, perhaps even foolish. But you are, with certainty, the only man I have dreamed of dancing with this evening.”
Though subtle, Chenyu reckoned he could just about make out Sebastian’s pulse jumping in his throat, and something soft and raw trembled within him as the Spaniard leant in even closer. His question was answered, and relief made any tension in his spine and shoulders relax. Sebastian had meant for it to be him. Sebastian had been looking for him. Beyond the rush of blood in his ears, the sounds of the ball became increasingly clear to him - the ring of crystal glasses, the vibrato of stringed instruments, the murmur of conversation. The two of them may be masked, but they were public, seen, watched. People were watching, people could see them, and could see how they made each other feel.
It felt almost indecent, to be so close, to receive such compliments with so many around. Chenyu’s fingers slipped on the fine lace of Sebastian’s collar to grip his shoulder as he listened, close enough to feel Sebastian’s breath on his skin, to feel his heat even in the warm, stuffy ballroom. He did not know what ciervo meant, but if it was anything as complimentary as the rest of his lover’s words, Chenyu was almost glad he did not understand it. As it was, the only thing he shone with at the moment was a blush, heating his face with a mixture of pride, excitement, and bashfulness. He wanted to squirm - either away or closer he was unsure - a feeling which only heightened as he was all but pinned under Sebastian’s gaze, and then, heavens, his hands.
There was no way Sebastian could not feel the heat of Chenyu’s cheeks under his palms, no way he was not blazing so brightly that it beamed through his mask. Once more the Spanish prince made Chenyu feel pursued, wanted, seduced. Giddily, he could not keep the grin from his face, until his cheeks pressed against Sebastian’s thumbs, bunched and aching.
Taking his hand from Sebastian’s shoulder, Chenyu instead slipped his fingers under the froth of lace at Sebastian’s cuffs and gently gripped the prince’s wrists. His intent was not to push away, but simply to rub his trim fingernails against the delicate skin where tendon showed through flesh. He tried to shake his head, held as it was between Sebastian’s hands, to say no, not foolish, not naive, not at all, and then dropped his gaze with an embarrassingly high-pitched chuckle.
”I,” when he spoke, Chenyu was surprised to find his voice quavering. He cleared his throat, squeezed Sebastian’s wrists gently in his hands, and tried again. “I cannot dance,” he said, voice pitched deeper than usual in an attempt to make up for its disconcerting shake. He felt, as he so often did in Sebastian’s presence, a little self conscious at his lack of experience. “I don’t know how,” he elaborated, knowing, or feeling he knew, that the other would leap at the chance to teach him.
