take the breath from my lungs and fill them with music
Fandom: Infinite
Prompt: Infinite 100fic Challenge prompt 099. of stage lights
Focus: Sunggyu-centric
Rating: pg13
Sunggyu hears the roar of the crowd before he goes on stage; he hears the screams and yells and the familiar anticipatory tingling starts in his belly as he strides out, almost blasted backwards by the increase in volume as he takes his place behind the microphone.
The stage is dark, and the instrumental starts, the crowd quietening just enough for it to become audible, and Sunggyu curls a hand around the microphone, allowing the other to relax over the top of the stand. He takes a deep breath and starts singing, and the sudden increase in screams sends a rush of exhilaration through him.
He can't see their faces, can't make out any features, the lights all focused on him, blinding him to the crowd, but their faces aren't important. There is a sea of fans out there, a screaming mass waving glowsticks and signboards and he's the only one on stage, he knows that they are all utterly focused on him, and he looks up from under hooded eyelids, because he is determined to give them a performance they won't forget.
At least, that's what he says. And he supposes it is true- he doesn't want them to forget, he wants them to remember him. But that's secondary, he's more interested in the now, in the relationship between him and the crowd right in that moment.
The spotlights are all on him, strong beams of light heating up his skin and making the t-shirt he's wearing feel like too much, and he's looking out into infinite blackness, a spot of colour every here and there, a roaring blackness that puts him on top of the world, and as soon as he's finished and gets backstage it'll descend into frantic chaos but he's not thinking about that, not thinking about anything but the rush he's feeling right then, because he's going to savour every last second of this.
It never gets old, the electricity zinging through his skin when he's the only one on stage, singing with all his heart, doing what he does best, and this, this is why he chose this career path, this is why he sticks with it- the live performances, the concerts, and when he's standing on the stage and his voice is the only one echoing through the stadium and inciting the fans into a furore- nothing else matters.
He allows a hand to trail down the mic stand, hears the screams in response. Allows his head to loll back, allows his eyes to glance to the side, leans in towards the microphone to sing again, pushing every fibre of him that wants to moan into the note.
His hand is open on the mic stand, itching to grasp something, and the heat in the pit of his belly is almost as burning as the high wattage of the lights. He sings a bit louder, the instruments rising behind him in a crescendo, his eyes falling closed as he curls into the microphone, pouring his very being into the song, the fans' excitement feeding him, running through him endlessly, making him feel alive.
He recreates himself every time he does this, projects a persona, but it's all him, all him just bigger, just music, just the rush of blood in his ears mixing with the music and the screams and his voice and he thinks it's the best sound in the world.
They're screaming for him.
He takes a deep breath, the microphone catching it, breathing in the energy from the crowd, the energy from the large stage, the bright lights, the larger than life speakers blasting his voice, and he curls his tongue around the delicious taste of it all, weaving it into the next line as his hands grip tighter on the microphone, driving it in that it's real, and his eyes flutter shut and he loses himself in the music, in the song, in the crowd.
He feels as if he could fly. In that moment he feels invincible, no need to think of anything, just to feel, to sing, to not lose himself completely in the fog swirling in his brain, the vibrations thrumming through his entire being.
He finishes and allows himself to just expand and take in everything, the last notes dying out and the renewed screams of the crowd as he takes a step back from the microphone, two, the lights dimming and leaving him in darkness and he takes a second to gather himself, to ground himself, to bring himself back, before he moves off stage.
He's breathing heavily and his eyes are dark and twinkling when he gets backstage, his skin humming with the electric buzz of the performance, his tongue running over his lips unconsciously.
He gives his all into the rest of the concert, laughs with the members afterwards, but when he's alone in his shower later that night, it's that energy he calls up, that wall of sound, that intoxicating feeling that sets every nerve in his body alight, makes his breath catch in his throat, heats him up and turns him out.
That's all the high he needs.
Prompt: Infinite 100fic Challenge prompt 099. of stage lights
Focus: Sunggyu-centric
Rating: pg13
Sunggyu hears the roar of the crowd before he goes on stage; he hears the screams and yells and the familiar anticipatory tingling starts in his belly as he strides out, almost blasted backwards by the increase in volume as he takes his place behind the microphone.
The stage is dark, and the instrumental starts, the crowd quietening just enough for it to become audible, and Sunggyu curls a hand around the microphone, allowing the other to relax over the top of the stand. He takes a deep breath and starts singing, and the sudden increase in screams sends a rush of exhilaration through him.
He can't see their faces, can't make out any features, the lights all focused on him, blinding him to the crowd, but their faces aren't important. There is a sea of fans out there, a screaming mass waving glowsticks and signboards and he's the only one on stage, he knows that they are all utterly focused on him, and he looks up from under hooded eyelids, because he is determined to give them a performance they won't forget.
At least, that's what he says. And he supposes it is true- he doesn't want them to forget, he wants them to remember him. But that's secondary, he's more interested in the now, in the relationship between him and the crowd right in that moment.
The spotlights are all on him, strong beams of light heating up his skin and making the t-shirt he's wearing feel like too much, and he's looking out into infinite blackness, a spot of colour every here and there, a roaring blackness that puts him on top of the world, and as soon as he's finished and gets backstage it'll descend into frantic chaos but he's not thinking about that, not thinking about anything but the rush he's feeling right then, because he's going to savour every last second of this.
It never gets old, the electricity zinging through his skin when he's the only one on stage, singing with all his heart, doing what he does best, and this, this is why he chose this career path, this is why he sticks with it- the live performances, the concerts, and when he's standing on the stage and his voice is the only one echoing through the stadium and inciting the fans into a furore- nothing else matters.
He allows a hand to trail down the mic stand, hears the screams in response. Allows his head to loll back, allows his eyes to glance to the side, leans in towards the microphone to sing again, pushing every fibre of him that wants to moan into the note.
His hand is open on the mic stand, itching to grasp something, and the heat in the pit of his belly is almost as burning as the high wattage of the lights. He sings a bit louder, the instruments rising behind him in a crescendo, his eyes falling closed as he curls into the microphone, pouring his very being into the song, the fans' excitement feeding him, running through him endlessly, making him feel alive.
He recreates himself every time he does this, projects a persona, but it's all him, all him just bigger, just music, just the rush of blood in his ears mixing with the music and the screams and his voice and he thinks it's the best sound in the world.
They're screaming for him.
He takes a deep breath, the microphone catching it, breathing in the energy from the crowd, the energy from the large stage, the bright lights, the larger than life speakers blasting his voice, and he curls his tongue around the delicious taste of it all, weaving it into the next line as his hands grip tighter on the microphone, driving it in that it's real, and his eyes flutter shut and he loses himself in the music, in the song, in the crowd.
He feels as if he could fly. In that moment he feels invincible, no need to think of anything, just to feel, to sing, to not lose himself completely in the fog swirling in his brain, the vibrations thrumming through his entire being.
He finishes and allows himself to just expand and take in everything, the last notes dying out and the renewed screams of the crowd as he takes a step back from the microphone, two, the lights dimming and leaving him in darkness and he takes a second to gather himself, to ground himself, to bring himself back, before he moves off stage.
He's breathing heavily and his eyes are dark and twinkling when he gets backstage, his skin humming with the electric buzz of the performance, his tongue running over his lips unconsciously.
He gives his all into the rest of the concert, laughs with the members afterwards, but when he's alone in his shower later that night, it's that energy he calls up, that wall of sound, that intoxicating feeling that sets every nerve in his body alight, makes his breath catch in his throat, heats him up and turns him out.
That's all the high he needs.