The BLTS Archive - Secrets of the Heart by Midnight Topaz (ravaged_rhapsody@yahoo.com) --- Published: 11-06-06 - Updated: 11-06-06 A/N: Wow. This type of writing is completely new to me. Not the slash (I've done that before), but... well, you'll see. I would really love feedback on this one, because I'm not too sure how well I actually wrote Kirk and Spock- they might seem a bit OOC, at times. And this is from Kirk's third person POV, so you have to pay attention- I don't use his name when describing actions, I only use 'he', 'his', or 'him'. Even though this starts out angsty, it has a happy ending, I promise. Oh, and the quote in italics is from Saint Jerome. The standard disclaimer yet again- this is slash, a male/male romance pairing. If this offends you, don't read the fic. Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, Paramount, or any other entity/company involved therein. --- The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart. --- A lone figure, clad in gold, stood before the vast expanse of stars, gazing into the void as if finding answers somewhere among the luminescent pinpricks of light. He lost himself in the beauty of the endless black of space, feeling his jangled nerves settle and his tumultuous emotions come under tight rein once more. It had been close. . . too close. He had almost revealed everything this night, had almost confessed his deepest secret to the one person who could not be allowed to know the truth. And so he left hurriedly, abandoning the unfinished chess game, as well as his friend, to come here. To find the peace that was always so slow in coming. To attempt to remind himself once more that he did not love his first officer and had never loved him. Though his rational mind asserted that fact, the realist within him understood the futility of that statement. Here, in this place, with only the stars to witness his vulnerability, he could admit the truth he would not allow himself to feel any other time. He lived for the stolen brushes of skin on skin that no one else was permitted. He lived for the warm brown eyes that spoke volumes, expressing hidden depths that were yet to be fully revealed. He lived for the soft, velvety baritone, speaking his given name with shy affection. He lived for the touch of that gentle, soothing mind filtering through his consciousness, gifting him with glimpses of a soul so rarely seen by others. And he lived for him. To be around him, just to be in his presence. He lived for that. . . Yet he longed for more. He longed to feel the tall, lithe musculature pressed against him, their bodies molded and intertwined together, existing not as two separate entities but as one unified entity. He longed to have the alien mind weaved into his in deep communion, so inexorably tight that nothing could possibly hope to separate them. He longed to be able to tell and show his friend how his love for him burned through his mind, his heart, his very soul. But he would do nothing. . . because reminders of the past still haunted him, recollections of women he had loved and lost; women he had hurt, in some way or another. No matter how hard he tried to change his actions the next time around with the next woman, the relationship still failed. Because of this, he kept his distance. It was better to leave forbidden feelings forever unspoken than to lead his friend down a path filled with pain. It was far, far better to suffer alone than to cause hurt to the one person he loved more than life itself. So he locked his secret away in the deepest, darkest corners of his heart, fervently wishing for it to remain tucked away forever. A low, familiar voice drew him out of his musings and into harsh reality. "Jim." Turning toward his friend, he gave a slight smile, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "What brings you here?" "You left my quarters with uncharacteristic haste. I wondered if something was wrong." You have no idea. . . he thought, willing away the flush he was sure was creeping onto his face. "No. Nothing's wrong." The dark eyes opposite him, filled with concern, scanned his face briefly and finally came to rest on his eyes. "You may be able to bluff past others, but not past me. If I can. . . " After a brief hesitation, the last words came with a definite resolve. "Let me help." Blurting out the words before he could stop them, he whispered desperately, "You can't help me, not unless you can perform miracles." The tall form stepped closer- too close. The thought flitted through his jumbled and confused mind. The only thing he was conscious of was the heat radiating off the powerful physique mere centimeters from him and the subtle curves of the thin, angular face tilted slightly towards him. After a long, searching glance, during which he felt like his innermost soul was being read, long, warm fingers traced the outline of his jaw. The world as he knew it spun dizzily around him with only the face before him in sharp focus. "Unlike Mr. Scott, I am not a miracle worker." The bemused reply was laced with affection. "However, this particular miracle is not beyond my reach." He did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He turned away. "No. I. . . I can't." He sensed rather than saw the eyebrow elevate. "Did I misunderstand the depth of your feelings for me?" "No," he said softly. Any louder and he wouldn't be able to keep the quaver in his voice under control. Giving a nervous half-laugh, he went on, "You don't know how much I want this. . . how much I want you. But I don't want to hurt you. I'd rather. . . I'd rather always wonder what might have been, than to know that-" He broke off his sentence and shook his head in despair. "I just. . . I can't." If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear the smile. "Your restraint is most admirable, if unnecessary. You will not hurt me. I know this to be so." Whirling back around, his hazel eyes were a blaze of determination and anguish. "Spock, how do you know? I've never had a successful relationship. Not once. They all ended badly, and I don't want to add you to that list! I won't." The expression grew more solemn, the earnest more evident. "I would be hurt more if we never attempted to express our. . . love." Surprised and taken aback at the shameless admission, he allowed himself to be pulled into the arms of his first officer. The dark eyes met his with sincere and heartfelt emotions clearly inscribed within the unfathomable depths. "I am willing to act upon these emotions I feel for you. I see my sentiments reflected in your eyes, Jim. I am ready to risk everything, no matter the consequences. Are you?" A choice. This was his out, the one way to back out gracefully and retreat while he still could. He had no doubt that if he refused and denied his feelings now, his friend would drop the subject and never mention this incident again. He weighed the double-edged sword of acceptance. There was no telling how long a relationship could be kept under wraps, especially if it went as far as a bonding. If word got out, there could be possible disfavor from Starfleet Command and difficult questions asked. There were also the possible negative repercussions from Sarek and T'Pau, as well as from all of Vulcan. Then there was his personal track record of failed relationships. Yet. . . there would be belonging. He would never be alone, not as long as they both drew breath. There would be no more hiding, no more secrets. No more disguising feelings that had been buried for so long. There would be love, a purer, stronger love than any other he had ever known. He peered intently into the brown eyes and saw all the unguarded emotions- desire, longing, need, love. . . And the choice was no choice at all. He leaned into the embrace, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath caught in his throat as the alien lips met his. When had he last felt like this? He couldn't remember, nor did he try. All the events in his life, everything he was and everything he worked for seemed to lead up to this point. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. His very existence narrowed down to the tantalizing taste of heat and desert and cinnamon; the subtle flicks and explorations of delicate tongues; the deep, low moans in the base of both throats; soft fingers engraving paths of flame across sensitive skin; a gentle melding that surrounded and diffused two compatible souls with love and devotion unending. . . Reluctantly they pulled apart, after a million sunrises and sunsets, after a thousand eternities. With a voice hoarse from arousal, the Vulcan managed to say, "It would be. . . best if we continued this in our quarters, t'hy'la." Deeply moved and touched by the use of the intensely personal term of endearment as well as the promise of the relationship to come, he took the warm hand in his own and stroked the palm gently, smiling tenderly at his soon-to-be lover. In a voice just as husky, he responded softly, "Our quarters, then, my love." --- The End