She was a rare thing, had she but realized it: the concertgoer who can immerse herself in the music to such an extent that the world itself dissolves and drifts away. So many music fans can enjoy a performance, but don't flow with and become the music; somehow remaining outside themselves even as they profess to enjoy what they're hearing.
Not so she. Waves of sound washed over her, supporting her, steadying her. Bass throbbed through her bones. Synths bubbled and wailed in clarion call. The drums pounded a tribal rhythm, the guitars sizzled electric licks along her nerves. The singer's voice, warm and inviting, pushed steadily against the edges of her brainspace. She stood in place, slowly revolving, borne along on a cascade of notes, body flickering in the rainbows from the klieg lights.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. "My god," came a voice, soft, male. "I've never seen anyone so...involved with the music. Can I dance with you?"
She nodded slowly, eyes shut hard. Hands went to her waist, guiding her, holding her firmly. Sharp tang of sweat as he pressed close. Heat baked along her body from where he melded against her. Liquid fire at her center as the music swirled, dissolved, recoalesced into another song. She threw her head back and sighed softly.
He pressed her close, and they moved together. He pressed her close, and they rode along the waves of sound. Suddenly she wanted more, wanted him to feel what she felt. She opened her eyes, opened her mouth, opened herself to him. Her hips thrust against him and she raised a leg and hooked it over his ass. Her arms tightened. Her gaze locked with his. Alarmed, he tried to pull back, but she held him tightly, her eyes blazing, the slow pulse of her hips in time with the music. His mouth opened -- to say something, he didn't know what -- and she captured it with a kiss.
She tasted like electricity, like flame and wind, like clouds. A nova burst behind his forehead and abruptly his perception raced away in every direction. He felt himself shooting deliriously outwards, expanding, the music flooding his senses. The rhythm changed, shifted; low and insistent now, sinister but sacred, profane and ecstatic. Glittering notes swept past, visible now to him, a field of stars spangled in every direction. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. His hips thudded against hers and there was no way she could avoid feeling his excitement. He'd thought she was something, but this....nothing like this. His brain whirled. His ears roared, overwhelmed by the flood, the cascades.
She reached down between them, hitched her skirt up, grasped his cock -- what the hell? His jeans were open and he was bare to her touch. Raising her leg a bit more, she shifted closer and suddenly they were sleekly, deeply coupled. She moaned and began that thudding again, hips rocking against him. The vocalist wailed, promising perdition and brimstone. The bass vibrated up and down their forms. He grabbed frantically at her back, murmuring agonized endearments into her mouth. Bodies pressed close on all sides, the music enfolding, dark and secret and promising.
A flaring, a joining, a breaking, and he stiffened, she with him, as his essence roared out of him, invading her, flooding her. She sighed and bowed her head, dropping off of him and away from him. He hastily tucked himself back in and stood panting, shocked, as she was whirled away by the crowd. In another moment she was lost to view, lost to herself, lost to the music again. The audience sighed in approval, the music rose, and she was borne away once more on waves of melody.
Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. If you want to know who else is playing this week, go visit her!