Saval's shoulder tingled with the unexpected contact, and unthinking, he raised a hand to touch the spot where Spock had brushed against him.
He wished he knew enough about the music of this era to be able to analyze Spock's song choice in more depth, understand why he chose what he did, what he was thinking when he chose it. He wanted to hear what Spock's voice sounded like when he sang. He found it more than captivating enough when the man was speaking, just giving matter-of-fact orders in his smooth, rich baritone, or leaning over to murmur something in Saval's ear. Even when Spock wasn't there, Saval could always hear his voice clear as day.
He listened with rapt attention, never taking his eyes off Spock for a second. Their eyes met once, briefly, and Saval folded his arms with something akin to nervousness of his own, a jolt of adrenaline. Spock's voice was exactly as he'd imagined, perfectly suited to the song.
He didn't let himself search for much deeper meaning in the lyrics or the melody. Still, though, even when Spock wasn't looking at him, Saval let himself wonder what it would be like if Spock were singing with him in mind.
It was not a long song, and for that Spock was grateful. He had every word, and each subtle nuance of pronunciation, memorized; he knew exactly how to hit each note or alter it if he couldn't. The only problem he encountered was the sudden realization partway through that the lyrics coming up were significant to Vulcans in a way they wouldn't be to humans, and that there was a Vulcan in the audience who would hear them and understand them as he had when he first heard it. His cheeks flushed, and his eyes once again sought out Saval, this time slightly wide. It was an accidental thing, an impulsive move that he immediately regretted if only for the fact that it made the words seem more... intentional somehow.
"In other words, take my hand. In other words, darling kiss me."
He stumbled a bit over kiss, but pressed on, forcing away his embarrassment and finishing the song with just a slightly increased tempo than he'd practiced. The room erupted into raucous (possibly intoxicated) applause and he gave a polite nod of his head before stepping back into the crowd and returning to Saval's side.
Saval's heart skipped a beat in his side when Spock met his eyes on those words, and for a moment he let himself believe that it had to be intentional, because it was the most logical explanation, and because he so badly wanted it to be.
He reminded himself of the context, of the fact that Spock had displayed no concrete romantic interest in him thus far, and the adrenaline subsided. It was only a song, most likely chosen because Spock thought it sounded pleasing, and the lyrics were written by a human with an entirely different viewpoint on hand-holding and kissing and love. But he couldn't keep from blushing pale green, and the corners of his lips quirked briefly upward.
"Well done," he said, when Spock returned. "Your performance was more than proficient, and apparently quite popular, as I had thought it would be." His tiny smile broadened.
Now, though, it was his turn, and the thought of that was enough to wipe the smile right off his face. Sure, the humans liked Spock's performance, because he was great, but what was to say they wouldn't find something ridiculous about Saval's song and laugh him off the stage? What if all the songs he'd looked up were too obscure?
He got up, with a 'wish me luck' nod to Spock, and took the microphone, searching through the database for the first song he'd really taken a liking to. He was relieved to find it there, and he met Spock's eyes just for a moment, for encouragement, before hitting the button.
"...I walked across an empty land, I knew the pathway like the back of my hand..."
It was so unexpected a thing, so surprising, that Spock couldn't take his eyes off it. It was only a minute difference in the positioning of Saval's lips, but he found it utterly fascinating to behold and wondered what he had done to inspire it. He wondered if he could do it again if he tried, given the chance to try. That idea seemed unusually appealing.
Listening to the Vulcan sing he was struck by the soft, almost gentle manner in which he delivered each lyric. It was a slow song, pleasant to listen to, with piano accompaniment, and Spock could think of no voice that would be better suited to singing it. Beside him a woman tilted her head in Saval's direction, her face serene. She was completely enthralled, and he couldn't blame her. He was completely enthralled as well.
The humans' reactions were encouraging, even if he didn't dare look at Spock. He didn't want to appear as though he were directing the song to him, deliberately singing him a romantic ballad or anything of the sort. But still, he couldn't resist one glance at him, when he calculated that it would be safe to do so without any unintended implications.
"And if you have a minute, why don't we go Talk about it somewhere only we know, This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go Somewhere only we know..."
Somehow, those lyrics hadn't resonated with him the first time the way they did now, when he was actually singing them. They felt like a fist squeezing his heart for a moment, though they were just words. He and Spock had lived through the end of everything. It had come and gone, and they were still here among the wreckage of it, both indescribably lucky to have just a few things they hadn't lost.
This was a song that required confidence and pitch-precision to sing, and he nearly lost the necessary momentum. But the long soaring high notes were much easier for a Vulcan with superhuman lung capacity to hit, and they restored some of his spirit, especially when they were met with whistles and a bit of applause from the inebriated patrons. He caught Spock's eye one last time, briefly, and didn't meet his gaze again until he'd left the stage and taken his place at Spock's side again. All things considered, he was fairly pleased with himself.
Spock forced himself not to read into the lyrics, and the odd way in which they correlated with his and Saval's friendship. They seemed profound in their simplicity, and it Spock wondered what the song was called and how he might find it without having to ask.
If Saval was pleased with his performance, the crowd was even more so. Spock leaned in when he returned to his side, his voice rising just enough to be heard over the din of applause.
"You sing beautifully."
Compliments were only given where they were due, and he felt that Saval had earned one. If anything, his words were an insulting understatement.
"Will you sing another before the evening is through?" he asked, lips lifting in a gentle smirk.
Saval had never quite understood what humans found so appealing about facial expressions, until now. Having a real, concrete sign that for once in his life, he had been able to please Spock instead of upsetting him, to deserve his respect instead of his contempt--that was nothing to be taken lightly. He was going to find himself thinking of that little hint of a smirk for days to come, processing and reprocessing it in his head. The compliment was something to be treasured in and of itself, and he bowed his head, restrainedly delighted.
"Perhaps," he said. "I would not want to demand more time in the spotlight than I should rightfully be allotted. But it seems that several people have performed more than once, so I do not think it would be unwelcome if you and I were to do so." He raises a playful eyebrow at Spock. "I will not sing another unless you agree to do the same."
He wished he knew enough about the music of this era to be able to analyze Spock's song choice in more depth, understand why he chose what he did, what he was thinking when he chose it. He wanted to hear what Spock's voice sounded like when he sang. He found it more than captivating enough when the man was speaking, just giving matter-of-fact orders in his smooth, rich baritone, or leaning over to murmur something in Saval's ear. Even when Spock wasn't there, Saval could always hear his voice clear as day.
He listened with rapt attention, never taking his eyes off Spock for a second. Their eyes met once, briefly, and Saval folded his arms with something akin to nervousness of his own, a jolt of adrenaline. Spock's voice was exactly as he'd imagined, perfectly suited to the song.
He didn't let himself search for much deeper meaning in the lyrics or the melody. Still, though, even when Spock wasn't looking at him, Saval let himself wonder what it would be like if Spock were singing with him in mind.
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"In other words, take my hand. In other words, darling kiss me."
He stumbled a bit over kiss, but pressed on, forcing away his embarrassment and finishing the song with just a slightly increased tempo than he'd practiced. The room erupted into raucous (possibly intoxicated) applause and he gave a polite nod of his head before stepping back into the crowd and returning to Saval's side.
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He reminded himself of the context, of the fact that Spock had displayed no concrete romantic interest in him thus far, and the adrenaline subsided. It was only a song, most likely chosen because Spock thought it sounded pleasing, and the lyrics were written by a human with an entirely different viewpoint on hand-holding and kissing and love. But he couldn't keep from blushing pale green, and the corners of his lips quirked briefly upward.
"Well done," he said, when Spock returned. "Your performance was more than proficient, and apparently quite popular, as I had thought it would be." His tiny smile broadened.
Now, though, it was his turn, and the thought of that was enough to wipe the smile right off his face. Sure, the humans liked Spock's performance, because he was great, but what was to say they wouldn't find something ridiculous about Saval's song and laugh him off the stage? What if all the songs he'd looked up were too obscure?
He got up, with a 'wish me luck' nod to Spock, and took the microphone, searching through the database for the first song he'd really taken a liking to. He was relieved to find it there, and he met Spock's eyes just for a moment, for encouragement, before hitting the button.
"...I walked across an empty land,
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand..."
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It was so unexpected a thing, so surprising, that Spock couldn't take his eyes off it. It was only a minute difference in the positioning of Saval's lips, but he found it utterly fascinating to behold and wondered what he had done to inspire it. He wondered if he could do it again if he tried, given the chance to try. That idea seemed unusually appealing.
Listening to the Vulcan sing he was struck by the soft, almost gentle manner in which he delivered each lyric. It was a slow song, pleasant to listen to, with piano accompaniment, and Spock could think of no voice that would be better suited to singing it. Beside him a woman tilted her head in Saval's direction, her face serene. She was completely enthralled, and he couldn't blame her. He was completely enthralled as well.
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"And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know,
This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go
Somewhere only we know..."
Somehow, those lyrics hadn't resonated with him the first time the way they did now, when he was actually singing them. They felt like a fist squeezing his heart for a moment, though they were just words. He and Spock had lived through the end of everything. It had come and gone, and they were still here among the wreckage of it, both indescribably lucky to have just a few things they hadn't lost.
This was a song that required confidence and pitch-precision to sing, and he nearly lost the necessary momentum. But the long soaring high notes were much easier for a Vulcan with superhuman lung capacity to hit, and they restored some of his spirit, especially when they were met with whistles and a bit of applause from the inebriated patrons. He caught Spock's eye one last time, briefly, and didn't meet his gaze again until he'd left the stage and taken his place at Spock's side again. All things considered, he was fairly pleased with himself.
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If Saval was pleased with his performance, the crowd was even more so. Spock leaned in when he returned to his side, his voice rising just enough to be heard over the din of applause.
"You sing beautifully."
Compliments were only given where they were due, and he felt that Saval had earned one. If anything, his words were an insulting understatement.
"Will you sing another before the evening is through?" he asked, lips lifting in a gentle smirk.
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"Perhaps," he said. "I would not want to demand more time in the spotlight than I should rightfully be allotted. But it seems that several people have performed more than once, so I do not think it would be unwelcome if you and I were to do so." He raises a playful eyebrow at Spock. "I will not sing another unless you agree to do the same."
Reply
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