After Story

Soooo, I just found this amazing thing called Space Pirate: Harlock and of course, I had to ship Yama and Harlock desperately hard. This is the result: something that's basically porn with plot. Don't hate me, but I just. Have. To. Write. It! I absolutely love the idea of Harlock and the cross between like Star Trek and freaking Pirates of the Caribbean. It's like a dream come true for me! *watches compulsively in every spare moment*

Anywho, please leave a review so that I can hear your take on my attempt at making this work. This will most likely be a one shot, maybe a two chapter thing at most. (I seriously need to come up with something that will be more than seven or so chapters!) And it's rated mature for a reason. Don't like a little male on male action, please kindly leave now because this will be hella offensive for you.

Without further ado, enjoy!

Oh, yeah, disclaimer. Nothing belongs to me except the fangirling that I get over these two, and even then, I'm not sure that that belongs to me either… maybe my crazy twin.

00800

Chapter One: Kiss

Three or so Months after the End of the Movie

"Fall back!" The shout was hoarse but recognizable in and amongst the sound of explosives and gunfire that was overshadowed by the loud, resounding boom of the cannons on the outside of the ship that fired repeatedly. Yama glanced up momentarily, searching for the location of that voice. He was still used to having both of his eyes fully functional, and the limited range of vision he got in his right eye unnerved him still, sometimes.

After much neck craning, he found Harlock standing atop a chair, rapier drawn and poised to shoot lasers at whoever dares to get within five feet of him. He looks nearly mad with bloodlust, lips curled back away from his teeth and half of his face—his entire upper body, to be precise—splattered with blood. His hair is thrown back from his face, displaying the full savagery that had been inflicted upon his right eye a century ago. He looked like some sort of god sent from the heavens to exact justice on unsuspecting humans, and Yama swallowed back a strange emotion he couldn't quite place past his own bloodlust.

"Retreat to the Arcadia," Harlock continued, leaping nimbly from his vantage point and swinging his sword in a wide arc. In his other hand, he cradled a gun and he fired it into the oncoming troops that rushed them. "That's an order!"

They hadn't realized the sheer number of soldiers of the Gaia Coalition had been aboard when they had attacked the Queen Anne, and they were paying the price dearly. Yama had a deep stab wound that hindered his ability to lift his left leg completely, and he had to resort to dragging it behind him as he hurried over to where Kei was shooting a bunch of soldiers. At least it had missed his femoral artery; he'd be dead now if that was the case, but it was damn close enough for him to feel a little bit of that mortality soldiers tended to gain on the battlefield.

Kei glanced at him briefly, and the two fell into a kind of formation that provided each other protection and managed to work well enough together to not get in each other's way. When they weren't fighting, Kei and Yama were still far from friends, but it was moments like this that drew them close enough to work like a well-oiled machine.

Yulian launched himself from a platform about fifteen feet above the two, shouting something incomprehensible in complete and utter glee as he trigger happily shot down a great majority of the soldiers that stood in the way of the four soldiers getting to the door in which they had entered from their ship. Kei let out a shout and motioned for Yama to follow her. He complied after gunning down yet another enemy and dodging a few bullets. As he turned to go, a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he instantly lifted his gun to face this new threat that was clad in the white of guards, but it wasn't quite fast enough. He heard the gun fire separately from any other shot that resounded in the creaking and groaning ship as it threatened to buckle under the harsh ministrations the Arcadia was handing it every few heartbeats in the form of cannon fire, and the felt the sting of the bullet enter his arm and bury deep within his flesh.

Yama couldn't even help the sound of pain that was dragged roughly from his throat, grating all the way up until it resolved itself into a scream of pain that he bit down on halfway through. To do that took every bit of self-control Yama possessed, for the pain made him feel as if he could scream for days. The ship shifted suddenly, going sideways, and Yama grasped outwards for something, anything—his forearm was grasped by a cool, hard something that was too soft to be anything but flesh.

Gasping, Yama caught the gleam of leather and a cross-and-skull insignia etched onto a belt buckle, and then he was hitting Harlock's chest. Time slowed to a comically slow pace as Yama drew in a sharp breath and caught scent of Harlock; spicy and wild mixed with the tang of blood. Something completely forbidden—appealing. The pain ripped through his arm once more and he was distracted by that momentarily as his head came to a standstill over Harlock's heart. He heard the hammering of it just before his vision flickered and faded, leaving him feeling as if he were falling.

The next time he opened his eyes the ceiling was moving above him. Yama couldn't place the gentle rocking motion that accompanied the celling for a few moments because it had been so long since he had felt it. Carried. He was being carried. Nostalgia numbed the pain in his shoulder for a few heartbeats before he was shifted. It jarred his arm, and he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wildly searching for whoever was carrying him.

Scarred face, eye patch, half splattered with blood. That smell. Something must have been wrong with him, because something that mingled with the pain when Harlock jostled him next felt nearly like a zing of pleasure that went straight to his nether regions. He let out a pained noise that wasn't entirely Harlock's fault, and the man glanced down at him, his one golden eye glimmering in the darkness like a live coal. "Weak," he scoffed, one side of his lip curling up in distaste. "You'll need a higher pain tolerance than this if you're going to survive for long on my ship, let alone become next captain."

Yama bit back his response, simply shifted his head so that he couldn't feel Harlock's heart beating against his cheek. Whatever this pain had brought on, he couldn't let it get out of hand or else he would have to think very creatively and quickly to explain his arousal. "You could put me down and I could walk," he said, but it came out as more of a garbled mess than anything else. Somehow Harlock understood and his smirk widened.

"With that wound you got yourself in the leg? I'm honestly surprised you lasted as long as you did. Dumbass. If that had hit your femoral, you'd be dead." The scorn wasn't as apparent in the last sentence. It didn't contain anything as amiable as worry, but it was much more neutral than the previous sentence had been.

Yama resisted the urge once more to snipe back at Harlock. It wouldn't do him a bit of good. Harlock always won arguments, anyways. He glanced around, trying to determine what part of the ship they were in. Nothing around them looked familiar, and Yama glanced back up at Harlock once more. His face was an impenetrable mask as per usual. He turned away, not before noticing a scar on Harlock's chin that he had failed to notice. It captivated him for several moments, realizing that Harlock had been close to getting his throat cut—and had managed to survive.

Yama quickly resumed looking at the ceiling and trying to ignore the feel of Harlock's arms around him. His left hand supported his shoulders, fingers wrapped loosely around the area above his wound in his arm, and the other folded his legs into a manageable length. His fingers were too close to the hem of his shirt for Yama's liking. They could easily slip beneath the fabric, and in the strange state he was in, Yama didn't know how his body would react to that.

"Where are we going?"

"It wouldn't have killed you to stay passed out a bit longer," Harlock said, and it was just this side of irritated. Not quite enough for him to actually raise his voice or change his inflection too much, but the words had enough of a bite that it stung. Yama took the not-so-subtle hint and shut up.

A few minutes later, he was set roughly down on his feet. Sure enough, his leg buckled underneath his weight the moment he tried to stand, and Yama resigned himself to leaning heavily against the pirate captain as he opened an unfamiliar door. They shuffled awkwardly into the room and Harlock set Yama down on a flat surface that looked to be some sort of coffee table.

"Stay there," he instructed, unfastening his customary cloak and draping it over a nearby chair. Without the high collar and loose fabric gathered all around him Yama could see the outline of his collarbones and the definition of his chest and wide shoulders in the much tighter shirt underneath.

Yama closed his eyes and turned away from the sight, unsure of what to make of the strange hollowness in his stomach that erupted from that simple sight. Blood loss. That's what it was. Blood loss was making him act differently than he would if he was normal.

The sound of metal clanking onto a wooden surface had his eyes flying open again, and this time, he noticed the bed that was tucked away in the corner of this sizeable room and the desk that looked out into space. Was this Harlock's personal room? Why hadn't he simply taken Yama to the infirmary? His wounds needed tending, and he would need something for the pain soon. He was starting to feel sick. When Yama glanced over again, he saw Harlock laying his forearm braces on the desk and rolling up his sleeves. The eerie, near absence of light cast his face in deeper shadows then Yama was used to seeing; his face was utterly unreadable. "Take your shirt and pants off, will you?" Harlock asked gruffly. "I will fetch water and cloth, and we can get that stitched up."

Take your shirt and pants off. It was said in a very different tone in Yama's mind, and he couldn't help the shudder that went down his spine. Snap the fuck out of it, he growled at himself, quite tempted to slap himself across the face. Anything to get him to stop thinking like a juvenile teenager driven by hormones. "I'm not sure if I can lift my arm enough to undo the fastenings, Captain," he said softly, so softly that he half hoped that Harlock hadn't heard and he could live with this small embarrassment by himself. By the way the pirate captain stiffened, he had indeed heard and was in no way happy about this new development.

He stood with his back to Yama for several seconds, and Yama was beginning to wonder if he was planning to help him or not. Just as he opened his mouth to say something he would most likely regret, Harlock turned around. The grimace on his face was undeniable. "Very well," Harlock groused. In one swift and graceful movement, he was in front of Yama, propped up on one knee. Before Yama had time to process that much, his fingers were already at Yama's neck, moving swiftly enough that the first clasp was undone by the time Yama had the presence of mind to react. Yama refrained from flinching back, just barely. His muscles tensed in preparation, but he forced himself to remain in place. He had asked for this, had he not?

He could feel heat radiating off of Harlock at their close proximity, could feel the hot breath brushing alongside his cheek and stirring errant hairs that had escaped from behind his ear. Yama kept his gaze firmly on the window. If he looked at Harlock, got caught in that single eye that somehow conveyed enough emotion for two, he couldn't be held liable for what actions he took in his pain-drunken state.

The give of the fabric was finally enough that Harlock could slide the material off of his shoulders. The leather creaked and groaned at the foreign movement, and Harlock's bare fingers slid along the skin of his shoulders, and there was nothing Yama could do to stop the shiver that went through him. He was sure Harlock felt it; sure he would say something along the lines of, 'Too sensitive to be a pirate.'

He didn't say a thing; skipped over the wound in Yama's shoulder and slid the leather all the way off of his torso. Yama lifted his arms out of the fabric and finally got the nerve to look at Harlock. He was looking down at Yama's arm, watching the blood drip down the muscle, sliding in alongside the defined part and onto his lap. "The bullet went through," he eventually said, gaze still focused on the wound. "Which makes it less painful for you in the long run." His eye flicked up, crashing with Yama's gaze for a millisecond before he stood up. "I trust that you can handle your pants." Was that a glimmer of amusement in Harlock's voice?

Pants? Yama frowned in confusion and then remembered that he had been stabbed in his thigh. The pain had numbed from that wound long ago. He nodded, though Harlock was already disappearing through a door that Yama had overlooked on his first scan of the room. Yama stood unsteadily, feeling the cool air chill his skin. He didn't like being so exposed in such an unfamiliar place, and taking his pants off would require him to become even more vulnerable and exposed. The thought was enough to send yet another shiver down his spine. Why didn't Harlock simply send him to the infirmary with the rest of the wounded crewmates?

A fine question indeed, Yama thought to himself, unbuckling his belt and easing his pants down over his thighs slowly as to not jostle the wound in either his shoulder or leg. He kicked his boots off as he sat back down, shucking his pants off somewhere over beside his shirt. He felt exposed and cold in only his briefs and hoped that Harlock would hurry back so that they could get this over as quickly as possible.

Not thirty seconds after the thought, said pirate captain appeared once more, clutching bandages, whiskey, a needle, thread and scissors. "You could take me to the infirmary and let them deal with this," Yama said as Harlock kneeled once more in front of him, spreading the assortment of items out beside him.

Harlock shook his head once as he uncapped the drink and took a swig. He offered it to Yama a moment later. "Drink. It will help the pain." Yama wrapped his fingers around the bottle of the neck and set his teeth as the liquid burned its way all the way down into his stomach. He took a second, longer drink and then handed the bottle back to Harlock, wiping one hand across his mouth. Harlock took one more drink as well before splashing a good deal of the bottle onto a bandage he had folded up while Yama had drank.

Yama gritted his teeth as Harlock gently swiped the cloth alongside the wound, not quite touching it. The alcohol seeped into the hole in his arm and it burned as if the bullet was once again ripping through his flesh.

Yama hissed out a breath and fisted his free hand against the table, scrabbling for purchase on something, anything to help steady him into staying still enough for Harlock to clean his wound. There was nothing except—his fingers crawled up Harlock's arm, gripping at the fabric he had so meticulously rolled up only minutes ago and yanking at it. Harlock didn't do anything to him for it, surprisingly, simply endured the rough treatment of his shirt without even glancing over to make sure that Yama wasn't tearing the fabric.

After the initial burn of the alcohol, the rest wasn't as bad. The wound gradually numbed into a pounding mess of raw nerves that hardly reacted to the burn of the alcohol, and Yama let go of Harlock's shirt, grunting out a quick apology. Harlock didn't acknowledge it, simply threaded the needle and began sewing Yama's arm up.

It was dead silent the entire time past the slow, even breaths of Harlock and the harsher, quicker ones of Yama. Yama refused to let out a single sound of pain past his initial hiss, clenching his jaw and digging his fingers into his own thigh, fisting the thin fabric of his briefs to resist reaching out to Harlock again.

The soft brush of hair against his arm surprised Yama amongst all of the pain. Who had known that Harlock's hair was so soft? It felt like feathers against his shoulder, slipping over his collarbone and teasing the sensitive hollow just beneath. He glanced down to see Harlock snapping the thread with his teeth and felt his heart skip a beat. The hair slid along his skin once more as he drew back. "Lie down," Harlock said curtly after a moment. "I don't want to do your leg sitting up." He shifted back to allow Yama to lie down. Yama tested his arm as he swung his legs up onto the table with some difficulty. The thread pulled, but not painfully so. At least it kept his skin together.

"Why won't you take me to the infirmary?" Yama asked in an attempt to distract himself from the fact that Harlock was now leaning over his thigh and that temptingly soft hair was only inches away from tickling his hip, and it would spill across his stomach if Harlock rested his lips against Yama's hip.

"Doc's already booked up with everyone else. I can't have my future captain bleeding out on the floor of the infirmary, now can I?" Harlock grunted, spilling more whiskey onto a clean strip of bandage. The man was efficient, if nothing else, folding bandages while he instructed Yama to do something else. Oh, but he is so much more than just efficient, the voice in the back of Yama's mind whispered to him. He clamped a firm muffler down on it and ignored what it had just told him. He needed to get a handle on this… whatever it was that he was feeling and dispose of it. He couldn't work with Harlock if he constantly was thinking about the consistency of his hair as it spilled against his naked hip.

"I wouldn't have bled out," Yama said, a beat too late for it to go well with the flow of normal conversation. Damn his mind for going off to places it shouldn't. He had never even thought about a man before in the sense he was currently thinking about Harlock. Nami, remember Nami. That was becoming harder and harder to do, however, the longer he remained barely dressed

Harlock's eye slid up to his, and the brow raised eloquently. It was doing strange things to his body, seeing Harlock's face so close to him and so far down at the same time. "Unlike me, you aren't immortal. It would have been quite possible. While this cut hasn't nicked your femoral, it got close enough for it to bleed quite a bit."

Yama shrugged and winced as his arm twanged, and then considered his response. He could "Thank you for being willing to—

"I'm not doing this for you," Harlock interrupted, choosing that moment to effectively cut off any further speech by pressing the alcohol-soaked bandage to Yama's thigh. Past the sudden burn, Yama couldn't help but feel the hard press of Harlock's fingers nearly against his skin. Bandages were thin enough for him to trick himself into thinking that it was simply Harlock's skin against his. "I'm doing it for the good of the Arcadia and her crew. You are crucial to my command now, and I cannot have you out of sorts for any kind of thing; even something as trivial as a stab and bullet wound." He moved the cloth, cleaning the rest of the tacky, half-dried blood away from the wound and Yama could breathe again.

"I understand, Captain," he said softly a moment later. "Still, thank you."

He glanced down the length of his body once more—after throwing his head back to attempt to escape the agony—to gauge Harlock's reaction. Harlock nods his head once more, a quick jerk that swipes the ends of that hair against Yama's thigh, dipping into the space between, and Yama had to bite back the gasp that would have sounded the furthest from pain as a gasp can get hard enough to draw blood along his lip. It dripped down his chin. It was worth the price of Harlock staying bent over Yama's leg, however.

This stitching didn't seem as bad. He wasn't delirious with pain anymore; the alcohol has gone straight to his mind and clouded his pain receptors as much as a few swigs was able to accomplish, and now he could only feel the press of Harlock's fingers against his thigh, too close to his cock for him to really be able to think straight. If only he would move over and up just a few inches, his fingers would be resting on the length of him, and damn, if Yama didn't want that in this moment that seemed so disjointed from everything else.

Fuck rationality. Fuck his attempt to keep whatever this was at bay. It wasn't working, and he sure as hell wasn't leaving here without popping an awkward boner that would be incredibly hard to explain. As Harlock bent over once more to snap the thread, his hair spilled across Yama's lap and he felt the hot breath of air, so close to his cock that this time the sound escaped without Yama trying to contain it. He clamped his teeth down on the sound, but it had already met the air and Harlock's ears.

The Captain raised his head ever so slightly, that damnably beautiful hair obscuring his face quite efficiently and he simply hung there for a moment, breath caressing Yama's leg and other parts that were stirring to life despite his attempts to keep his reaction under his control. "Did I hurt you, Yama?" Harlock asked, his voice low, soft and dangerous.

Yama drew in a sharp breath at the tone, and finally Harlock's head shifted, displaying his single, glimmering eye. It burned with something undiscernible, something that Yama's body instantly reacted to. He felt as if he were on fire, and for a moment he wondered if he was hallucinating. "N-no," he stuttered out, hoping that Harlock wouldn't look down, because he would surely see Yama's length pressed against the thin fabric of his briefs. "You didn't hurt me," he added a moment later. Might as well go the entire way if he was jumping into this chasm.

He expected Harlock to stand and distance himself, for that glimmer to die back into a nothingness and for himself to be ordered away, somewhere else, far away from Harlock. He braced himself to move, but didn't quite yet because if he tried to, Harlock would get a face-full of half-hard, cloth covered cock.

What he didn't expect was for Harlock to drag his hair along his thigh once again. He shivered and couldn't help the way his body jerked upwards, as if he could get more of that sensation simply by pressing upwards. Harlock's lips twitched, and before Yama could fully comprehend what that almost-smile meant, Harlock had dragged his hair all the way up his side, strands sliding over his uninjured arm like silk and then their breaths were mingling.

"You're bleeding," Harlock murmured. It wasn't his usual gruff tone, and it wasn't the shout of command that Yama heard much too often. It was soft, almost intimate in nature, and it sent a shiver up and down Yama's spine like an electrical current that couldn't decide which outlet to go to. Yama opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a single syllable out, Harlock tilted his head slightly to the side, exposing his scarred cheek and the gleam of the leather eye patch and then his lips were against Yama's.

No, not his lips. His tongue had snaked out and dipped into the blood that had pooled around Yama's chin. Harlock lapped at his lips like a cat, sending little electric shocks that went straight to Yama's groin with each stroke of his tongue. "Did you get that when I was leaned over you?" Harlock asked, and something about having his voice oh-so-close to Yama's ear felt forbidden and utterly thrilling.

"You-your hair," Yama said, not really understanding what he was saying himself. "It's so soft." A blathering idiot, that's what he was. Harlock pulled back, the most peculiar expression on his face as he glanced at Yama, his one eye nearly brimming with amusement. Then, the left side of his lip quirked up and he dipped back down again, sliding his lips alongside Yama's and tantalizing him for several moments before they slanted across his.

Yama stopped breathing for several good, long seconds as his heart also stuttered and stopped. It picked back up double time, pounding violently against his rib cage, and Yama felt his lungs expand and he was moving his lips against Harlock's.

It was divine, something that shouldn't be allowed to feel so absolutely and resolutely right. Harlock's lips were surprisingly soft, nipping gently at Yama's as if he was the one awaiting rejection. Yama couldn't help the soft sound that slipped out from between his lips as he raised his head, mashing their lips almost painfully together. Harlock tasted of whiskey and blood and danger and it was the most addictive taste all mingled together in the heady rush. Something about the entire thing felt forbidden; dark and heady, like the first time Yama had drank alcohol; before it was allowed for him to do so. That greatly paled in comparison—however—to this tornado filled with conflicting emotions.

Now it was Harlock's turn to let out a sound that sounded akin to a growl and was laced with desire so potent that it practically sang in the air like a second voice. Harlock drew back ever-so-slightly, their lips breaking apart in the cruelest way possible and Yama gasped at the loss.

He didn't have time to complain. Harlock had drawn back and launched himself into the air, twisting as if he could defy the very laws of physics and then his feet were on either side of Yama's, slamming into the hard wood with an amount of grace that Yama had only seen once: when Harlock had rescued him from falling into the geyser. He knew that it was constantly present; in the way Harlock walked and his quick reflexes to anything, but it was a breathtaking display that Yama hardly had time to appreciate before Harlock was sliding to his knees and pressing himself fully against Yama.

It was then that Yama could feel that the pirate captain was equally as hard as he was, and he hissed out a breath of pleasure pain as their hips came into contact and the wound on his thigh was jarred.

Harlock captured Yama's lips once more, before he could even ride the pain out, grunting something unintelligible before yanking Yama's head up so that he could access his lips better. Yama's hands reached up and buried themselves in Harlock's hair before he could stop them, and he shuddered against Harlock's body, rubbing his erection against Harlock's and eliciting another animalistic sound from the pirate captain. The fact that he was allowed to touch, to run his fingers through Harlock's hair was an almost orgasmic experience in and of itself.

He pulled his fingers through Harlock's hair, struggling past the tangles that wrapped around them and then slid his fingers in the space that Harlock was keeping between their chests. Clad in only his shirt, and without the layers of cloak and jacket, it was easy to feel the heavy shifting muscles that made up Harlock's formidable form, and it was just as easy to feel the way his body reacted to Yama's fingers. How long had it been since Harlock had gotten laid?

There was a moment, a lull in which Harlock drew back, arching his neck back and allowed Yama to slip a hand inside his shirt. Harlock's heart pounded against his hand as if it were trying to escape the cage of his ribs. Yama took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something. Harlock, however, had other ideas.

Harlock ground his hips into Yama's causing sparks of utter bliss to explode in front of his eyes. He hissed out a string of curses, thrusting back up, partially to get more friction, and partially to avoid being crushed into the table. Harlock's power was undeniable; he was much stronger than Yama would ever be, and it showed.

"Gods above," Harlock breathed, as if that was the only comprehensible thing that came to mind when he opened his mouth. "Yama." He looked down, hair framing his single eye and Yama felt a zing of fire go through him at the sound of his name and the way Harlock's eye was shining, no, burning. It was burning with desire that was interlaced and completely muddled with lust, the two turning the usually dulled color a bright, new color that was nearly hypnotizing.

"Harlock," Yama murmured back before he could even comprehend that he had always called him 'Captain.' It felt like falling into a void, one that was crested in pleasure and danger.

(AN: Random POV shift, sorry I was getting so tired of writing Yama. I wanna write about what happens in Harlock's dirty, dirty mind in the middle of this, and it just seemed like the right time.)

Harlock froze as well, his hips lifting above Yama's at the crest of one of the many thrusts that he was administering to Yama's. The out of place word reminded him exactly who he was grinding against, and that he had probably just torn all of the hard work he had spent the last few minutes executing.

And of how young Yama was, a mere fifth of his own ancient age. How unexperienced and naïve he was of the universe. He'd probably never even been with a man before. Cursing inwardly, Harlock debated pulling back. Yama was still underneath him, breathing ragged and sharp as if he had just run across the ship from bow to stern and back again. His hair was a mess around his face, and the dull, not-quite-light caught the ugly scarring on his cheek and half filmed-over right eye. Lips half-parted, bruised and torn in places that they hadn't been torn before he had laid his lips upon Yama's. Had Harlock truly kissed the man that forcefully? His good eye was gleaming, golden-green and oddly otherworldly. They beckoned him to return, to keep kissing until it turned into something else, begged him to relieve him of the same pleasure-pain that was pounding through his entire body, concentrated like a fire in his groin. He could feel his cock straining against his pants, begging to get free and bury itself balls-deep into Yama.

Fuck it, he thought and swooped back down and capturing Yama's lips once more. The younger man groaned in appreciation, hips bucking up once more to meet Harlock's. "Fuck," Harlock grunted out as he felt Yama's almost painfully hard prick pressing flush against his thigh. It was unbelievably hot, both physically and sexually and Harlock realized that the strange, animalistic sounds were issuing from his own throat and not Yama's.

Yama was the one who was making the most unbelievably dirty gasps as he turned his head to the side. Harlock realized that he was nearing completion and moved his lips down the unscarred skin of Yama's neck. He was glad that there wasn't the hindrance of fabric as he nipped along Yama's collarbone, feeling the way the younger man shuddered against him, alternately drawing back and pushing himself flush against Harlock's chest.

His hips began to stutter and move erratically, and Harlock felt his own pleasure reach a point of almost painful perfection. He pulled himself back, not wanting to create such a sticky mess in his favorite pair of pants. Yama made a sound of exquisite torture that did things to Harlock's mind that made him second-guess his decision to pull back at the last moment. It's his name, however, that made Harlock regret his obsession with cleanliness. "Harlock." It was a benediction, beyond that, as if Yama was worshiping the very skin that Harlock wore, the very essence of his being.

His hands reach up as he says this, almost touching Harlock's face, but not quite. Fingers ghosted along his cheeks, down his chin, and the look on his face was almost too priceless to name. Harlock shuddered, the desire nearly taking him over as he lowered his face towards Yama's hands, wanting to feel the flesh against flesh. For some strange reason, this was the most intimate moment of the entire ordeal, ever since he had begun licking at the blood that dripped down Yama's face. Something that Harlock thought was broken inside of him; something that had been broken long ago suddenly snapped awake, and he felt as if his heart had just exploded with the sheer emotion that had trickled in from the cracked armor he kept firmly around his heart and his ability to feel.

Harlock was scared. A hundred years had given him ample time to have his heart broken time and time again. He had eventually stopped caring, and he couldn't start, not now. Yama was mortal, just like everyone else and he would eventually fade and die.

He drew back abruptly and hoisted himself off of the table. He couldn't allow this to happen. He turned away from Yama before the younger man could witness the look of sheer pain on his face. He knew nothing of this kind of pain.

"C-captain?" Yama asked, confusion clouding the left-over desire in his voice.

"Leave," Harlock said, forcing his voice into nothingness. A deep, unreachable chasm. "Now."

There was silence, and Harlock felt a flare of irritation at Yama's insubordinate—but then he was his equal, was he not?—but a moment later, he heard the slide of flesh against the table. There was the creak of leather and the rustle of fabric and then Yama left.

Harlock held back the tears until the door closed softly behind him. It would have been easier if he had slammed it, had screamed at him, but Yama wasn't that type of man. He held his heart close to him much like Harlock did. He would stay silent even if the pain killed him inside, tortured him to the point of insanity, and turned him into something dead and hollow. Like Harlock.

Harlock's knees gave out from underneath him suddenly. His gaze was on the stars as they passed by them, planets blurring before his eye and spinning with the warmth on his cheek. Every ounce of lust was gone, blasted away by the stark reality of Harlock's inability to love, inability to consider someone normally.

Was he doomed to remain half a man for the entirety of his life? The thought made other things that Harlock had thought were long dead stir. For the first time since he had been cursed with this damn ship, Harlock felt a spark of fear shoot through him like an electrical bolt.

00800

Well, I'm not really sure what I think of this. It's kinda short but I just feel like this is the best place to end it. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. This is, indeed, going to be more than a one-shot.

Anywho! Thank you for reading and I'm looking forward to your reviews. Lots of love! XOXO