The Ceiling does not Answer

I have faced many unknowns as Captain of the Enterprise. I have seen things that are bizarre, exotic, dangerous, beautiful, deadly and benign. I have seen anomalies that most people have only heard stories about. But lately I find the most enigmatic of all the things I have seen, or all the people I have met in my many travels aboard this ship is one person…one … man.

And the vastest unknown was my own heart.

I think of him more often than ever, and from one situation or another I can categorize him as bizarre as his biology and ways are different from my own, exotic and beautiful for his appearance and the poetry in his soul, peaceful and calming to be around. Whenever I stand close to you in the turbo lift, I can smell the incense you use in your meditation; it clings to your hair and clothes smelling of an ancient world so mysterious to my mind. You are an enigma to me, my dearest friend.

He also possesses a dry and cutting wit; as to dangerous and deadly I have seen how efficient a soldier he is.

I can't count how many times Spock has risked his life for me, shielded me from danger.

It could be nothing more than the beauty and depth of Vulcan devotion to a superior but I feel…I hope that it is more.

I imagine that there is more in the glances he gives me across the bridge, when we banter back and forth. There seems to be- or maybe I fool myself- a sort of playful glimmer in his eyes almost as if he's flirting with me. He says such endearing things to me, things that go beyond what a subordinate says to his superior officer.

I wonder sometimes if he admires my body as I admire his, the graceful curve of his ear, coming to a point that more than once I have fantasized placing a kiss to, his long deft fingers, that are just as efficient as they can be sensual such as when he is at his duties or playing his lyre. When I was split into two beings by a transporter accident- maybe it was my imagination- he seemed to falter seeing me stripped to the waist.

Oh, Spock, I have dreamed of you stripped down to nothing more than I am bold enough to admit to myself.

Would it surprise you to know this?

To everyone I seem like a playboy; one woman after another, sometimes on a mission using my body as a distraction, on a few occasions as a currency to save my crew. All these trysts are hollow, meaningless filler as I imagine the one I desire most. I have even gone to men to try and simulate what it would feel like to be with you but it wasn't enough.

I am a coward Spock, but I do it only because I fear your rejection more than anything else in this universe. I can't justify it; every time I try I'm confronted with how much of a coward I am when it comes to admitting my love to you. I want to touch you. I want to touch you so badly that the longing I feel creates a resounding ache in my soul. It doesn't have to be major, just a brush on your sensitive hand.

Spock…just to touch you.

I can't only think of touching you, I also think of kissing you. I wonder too deeply what it would be like to kiss your lips, softly, until they were slightly swollen from the kisses. If I could coax you to trust me, to open yourself to me, I would enter your mouth with my tongue and taste you, carefully. I would give anything to feel you link to my mind; I can almost imagine the feel: our thoughts winding and meshing together; our souls touching…so much more intimate than sex.

I would give everything for you. I would give up my commission as a captain, my ship, my life… whatever it took to keep you. I would throw it all away, trade it for a place where you and I were free from duty and obligations… to show you the pleasure you were taught to deny and repress, to awaken that fire within you, to have it consume us both.

Spock….

Spock…how do I tell you all of this?

How do I let you know the deepest secrets of my heart?

My secret love…

My love.

My treasure.