Title: Colliding Dreams
Author: Reyn
Rating: R for Arrr! Pirate sex, ahoy!
Disclaimer: I blame Jack.
Warnings: Yaoi (8059 – Yamamoto/Gokudera FTW!), AU (pirates!), OOC (I’m sorry! I hastened to the smut to avoid it best I could!), story fallacies (such as pirates usually attack ships on the return journey, or all ships are female. Er…SEXY NO JUTSU!), and this is a ONESHOT!
Author’s Note: So much to say, too lazy to say it. In my opinion, ALL 8059 lovers should join the 8059challenge LJ community. Inspiration is a great thing…

Upon titling this story, I decided Howie Day's Collide makes the perfect theme song for this story. The fact that it was 1am when this happened is my excuse.

Colliding Dreams

Gokudera cursed every god he could think of – both maritime and land-based – as he forced back angry tears.

His task had been simple: To accompany the merchant ship Lambo V on its journey to the Americas in order to escort home a suitable bride for the Vongola family boss. But before he had even been out at sea for ten days, the ship was attacked. Anything and everything that was worth even the slightest bit of value was taken before the ship was sent down in a fiery burst of flames.

Gokudera found himself wishing he had worked harder more to postpone his voyage so that he could have sailed on Reborn instead. Lambo V and her sister ships had a history of failed journeys.

From his kneeled position, Gokudera leaned forward until his forehead touched the deck. He had tried his damnedest to defend the ship to the death, but despite his engaging battle cry, the pirates had captured him very much alive.

“Captain on deck!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see feet scrambling about, the ruthless crew hurrying to finish up whatever they were doing so that they could be at attention by the time the captain made his way to their end of the ship.

Gokudera lifted his head a bit to glare out at all of them through darkened bangs. His hair was damp with sweat and blood that was dripping into his eyes, making it difficult to make out any specific details in the scene before him.

The feet were quick to line up around him, all facing the same direction he was. Several seconds later, the cacophony of sound and general mayhem died an abrupt death, leaving an anticipatory hush behind.

Straining his ears, Gokudera could make out two sets of boots slowly making their way closer to him – effectively blocking out the sounds of the wind, waves, and occasional creaking of the ship. The footfalls stopped just short of his line of vision and the captive fought the urge to struggle against his bonds to get a better look at just who the captain of these cursed pirates was.

The battle had come so suddenly that he never got the chance to get a good look at the Jolly Roger, something he was berating himself for now. If he had known ahead of time just which band of pirates he was fighting, perhaps he would have been able to adjust his style accordingly and would have stood a better chance.

The silence around him continued, and Gokudera could just imagine the captain looking around, surveying the ship and his men for any serious damage.

He hoped they were all seriously damaged. Then they could all drop dead and their corpses could rot with the flies and rats this vessel surely harbored.

The tension in the air suddenly shot up a few notches, causing Gokudera to nearly jump out of his skin when a loud cry pierced through the air.

“VOOOIIII!!”

Answering cheers sounded from all corners of the ship.

“What remains of the merchant vessel?” the same voice loudly asked.

“Nothing, sir!” one man shouted.

“And the food and cargo?”

“Plentiful, sir!” another responded. “The cargo consisted of items meant to impress; all of which should go for a high price.”

Gokudera mentally snorted. These pirates were not only ruthless, but idiots as well. Half the cargo was marked with the Vongola family crest. No market within the East India Trading Company’s route would dare purchase the items, knowing full well the repercussions that would rain upon them as soon as the family began tracking the missing goods.

“Excellent.” The greedy smile could be heard in the captain’s voice. “And what of the crew?”

“All sleeping with the fishes, sir!”

There was a pause and the two pairs of slow-walking boots moved to stand before Gokudera.

“Eh? ‘All sleeping with the fishes,’ you say? Then how do you explain this?” A sword Gokudera hadn’t been aware of tapped his shoulder.

“He’s a strong fighter, sir. He took out seven of the crew and injured eight others before we were able to subdue him.”

The pair of feet not attached to the sword crouched down in front of him and a fist from behind grabbed a handful of Gokudera’s hair, forcing his head back in presentation to the pirate captain and first mate.

Teeth bared, Gokudera winced, only to have his eyes widen in shock as he got a good look at the man before him “Yama…?”

The first mate chuckled. “Hey Gokudera! I thought it was you.”

Gokudera paled and his jaw fell open in confusion. The one before him was older and had a distinct scar on his chin; but it was the same facial structure, the same smile, the same smoldering eyes. “But you…”

“You know this man, Yamamoto?” the captain questioned, drawing Gokudera’s attention.

Long white hair. Tall black boots. Black coat. And that sword. There was no way Gokudera could fail to recognize him. It was the pirate captain Squalo.

After staring blankly at him for about five seconds, something clicked and everything suddenly made sense.

Fighting back a wave of nausea as a fury unlike anything he had ever known swept over him, Gokudera struggled against the ropes holding him. “You traitorous son of a bitch!” he shouted at the one crouched before him. “I’ll kill you!”

Yamamoto leaned back, a sad look entering his eyes as he scratched the back of his head. “Take him down to the brig. He’ll be under my care, so no harm is to come to him, understand?”

As he was hauled to his feet by his hair, Gokudera flailed about, lashing his legs out; proud when he felt the side of his boot hit the solid jaw line of his one-time comrade. The action earned him a backhand across the face by whomever was dragging him off, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel it beneath the rage currently consuming him.

Yamamoto once worked alongside him for the Vongola family. Gokudera hadn’t really liked him in the beginning, but he had proved himself worthy and loyal, and as time wore on, what was originally grudging acceptance grew to become respect and close friendship.

Gokudera had even mourned for Yamamoto after his ‘death’ three years ago.

What an idiot he had been.

In hindsight, he should have seen the clues.

Squalo and his band of pirates had been raiding the seas for the past five years. From his first attack alone, merchants and wealthy families knew he was something to be feared.

At first, only news on the devastation and destruction of his raids reached their ears. Bodies left mortally wounded and clinging to the wreckage would be found by passing ships, only to die shortly after being rescued and brought to consciousness long enough to gasp out the horrors they saw as they relived their last moments.

Sifting through the true and the exaggerated tales, anyone of intelligence was able to figure out that while the pirate crew seemed to consist of ordinary enough of men, it was the captain who was truly to be feared.

Hair as white and pure as the Pope’s robes and dressed all in black, he was an angel of death. His cruel and sadistic streak led many to believe him to be Lucifer in disguise. Yet as the stories continued, if one were to truly listen to the tales and omit the unnecessary gory details, the picture painted of Squalo’s swordsmanship was one to be awed.

As time went on, Yamamoto, a young apprentice swordsman himself, grew more and more interested, even taking time out of his day to travel to the harbor in search of any new stories whenever shipments from across the Atlantic were due.

Back then, Gokudera had cursed himself for turning such a blind eye. But now, his curses were sounded to a different tune.

Gokudera had woken up in Yamamoto’s room one morning, having gone there to wait for his return after one of their many arguments had gotten foolishly out of hand. The generally easy-going swordsman had seemed tense in the previous weeks and had even gone as far as to storm out on his friend, rather than the other way around. Gokudera had been shocked and realized that maybe an apology was due.

And so he had gone to his friend’s room, convinced that his friend was level-headed enough to return before it got too late, only to fall asleep as the hours wore on. When he woke up, he instantly noticed that half of his friend’s belongings were gone and a note had been left on the pillow beside his head.

‘I’m going after Squalo’ was all that it said.

Gokudera could still clearly remember the way his stomach violently dropped – a feeling that constantly led him to being sick for weeks after the funeral – before he ran straight to the harbor in hopes of stopping the ship in time.

He had been too late.

The family sent out several ships immediately after in hopes of finding him in time, but all they came across was the burning remains of Lambo II with of sliced up body parts and fish-eaten faces decorating the surrounding waters.

The boss never bothered to find someone to replace Yamamoto, and no one ever pushed him to do so. Gokudera picked up the slack, working twice as hard to fill the void left behind, no longer able to fall asleep until he was completely exhausted due to the insomnia and ‘what if’s that had never stopped haunting him.

At least this way his dreams were few and far between.

The door to the brig creaked open and Gokudera’s head turned sharply, only to have his eyes narrow at the one who entered. Instantly, a string of fluent curses began flowing from his lips as he struggled in his chains; his murderous intent clearly felt from the other side of the bars.

In the past, Gokudera’s creatively grotesque insults always made Yamamoto laugh, and even now, he couldn’t fight back the smile that came to his face. It was only the seriousness and hatred in which they were said that kept him from being able to really chuckle.

“I see you haven’t changed much,” Yamamoto greeted lightly, unlocking the cell’s door so that he could enter with what few medical supplies the ship carried to clean up his once upon a time friend.

“Don’t touch me!” The shackles clinked loudly as their prisoner shuffled as far over to the corner as they would allow. “Don’t you fucking come near me.”

Yamamoto paused, surprised at the vehemence in Gokudera’s voice.

Slowly, he set his items down on the ground. “You know, you used to yearn for my touch,” he stated conversationally, leaning back against the bars behind him and finding amusement in the way Gokudera stiffened. “I know I’m nowhere near as smart as you, but that was one of the few things I came to notice. No matter how mad you were at anyone, myself included, you would always calm down when I touched you; a hand on the shoulder, a brush of our knuckles if we were walking together. And then there was-”

“Congratulations, you’re delusional,” Gokudera cut him off. “Why don’t you go reward yourself with a biscuit if you’re feeling so special?”

Yamamoto’s eyes narrowed in a challenging smile. He straightened to take a few steps forward, but the shuffling of Gokudera’s feet forced him to realize the man wasn’t completely bound and he decided it best to stay out of harm’s way. His jaw still ached from earlier. “I would only feel special if my delusions still stood true today.”

“I’ll give you three guesses, you backstabbing asshole,” Gokudera growled out, ignoring the warmth on his cheeks and the way his heart seemed to speed up. “The second I get home, I’m shitting on your grave.”

“You all gave me a grave?” The bemusement in his voice stung at Gokudera’s reopened emotional wounds.

“Of course we did, you idiot. I – we all were sure you were dead. The boss even made sure you got a proper funeral and period of mourning.”

Yamamoto grew somber as the fight seemed to leave Gokudera with his words. Silently, he bent down to pick up the pail and rag, setting it beside his friend on the bench as he kneeled to start cleaning his wounds.

For a long time, Gokudera remained quiet, lifelessly letting the other wipe the blood away from his arms and face, twitching angrily when Yamamoto tried to clean his hair as well (“I’m not a fucking girl, you moron!”). As what was left of his shirt was cut away so that his chest could be cleaned and examined, he finally asked the question that had been resting heavily on his mind for years.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The slight hitch in Yamamoto’s movements made it obvious that he knew exactly what Gokudera was talking about, giving him some hope that perhaps a bit of regret was there in the friend he once knew.

“Because if I did, then I wouldn’t have had the strength to leave,” Yamamoto admitted, dipping the dirty rag into red-clouded water.

Gokudera snorted. “What? You wanted to become a pirate that badly?”

“It wasn’t like that-”

“Let me guess, you were able to gain passage on the ship by offering them protection on the sea. Since they knew of your skills, they gladly took you on, only to be betrayed the second Squalo’s ship was in sight so that you could gain a solid position on his crew, close enough to him so that he wouldn’t mind teaching you his style of fighting.”

Yamamoto winced at how accurately Gokudera was able to place the story with less than an hour of pondering it over. “If I convinced the captain to free you, would you tell the boss?” he asked, forcing himself to meet his friend’s fierce gaze.

After a moment, Gokudera turned his head. “No,” he admitted. “No one deserves to live with that kind of knowledge when they’ve grieved for you for so long.”

For the first time since he had started selfishly chasing his own dreams, Yamamoto felt regret. Not the small twinge he usually felt when he thought of everyone back home and what they were doing now, but the true regret that made him wish he had never left in the first place. That he was still at home in Italy, standing by the boss as they met with other families, accompanying one of the girls as they insisted on going shopping for more clothes, playing cards and drinking with the other guardians, walking alongside Gokudera just close enough so that their hands would occasionally brush…

Tossing the rag aside, Yamamoto reached up and brushed Gokudera’s bangs away from his face, cupping his cheek as he rose up on his knees a bit so that they were at eye level with one another. “I’m sorry.”

And he meant it.

A burning sensation hit the back of Gokudera’s eyes and throat, and he instantly gritted his teeth against it with years of practiced ease. He wouldn’t cry for this bastard. Not anymore.

“I hate you,” he said instead, moving his head away from the touch.

“I know.” Yamamoto’s other hand rose to cup the other cheek.

“I’m going to kill you the second I’m out of these chains.”

“If that’s what it will take to make your pain go away.” The swordsman drew his head nearer.

Yamamoto had been right about the touch. Anger still seethed in Gokudera’s gut, even as he allowed himself to be pulled forward for their mouths to meet. Anger that slowly turned into a confusion of feelings – sadness, rage, betrayal, happiness, lust, pain – before fading into the background as those lips were massaged against his. Gokudera didn’t want to melt into a pile of nothing at this one touch he had never even bothered to dream he would receive.

He wanted to stay furious and kick Yamamoto in the balls. Hard. So that he would walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

But despite such thoughts, his body continued to respond in favor of the one he had always wanted. The kiss quickly grew in passion and tongues collided, leaving Gokudera to decide to yell and be angry later. Now was the time to simply enjoy the fact that the one person he would have done anything for at one point was back from the dead.

He groaned, unable to deny the fire spreading in his veins as Yamamoto leaned forward, forcing him back against the wall, hands leaving his face to grab his hips instead, dragging them forward to the edge of the bench so that groin could properly meet groin. Even though he was a bit shocked at how fast this was all moving, Gokudera had no intention of complaining as his hands flew down to struggle with Yamamoto’s belt, deciding that there were too many cloth obstacles between them for him to really enjoy just how good the hardness of the swordsman’s dick was.

Yamamoto had always been a fast learner, and in no time at all he had both his and Gokudera’s pants out of the way, with his hand firmly wrapped around the other’s cock, pumping it to full hardness and beyond.

Gokudera knew this wasn’t going to last long, seeing as how enthusiastically Yamamoto was thrusting his hips forward into his fist, bringing back the odd memory of the time the swordsman had complimented Gokudera on his fingers after watching him play a slow tune on the piano.

There was also the fact that Gokudera hadn’t actually touched himself for the sake of pleasure these past few years. He preferred the object of his fantasies to be alive, thank you.

“Gokudera.” His name came out hot and heavy, the tone made deeper and desperate due to the heavy lust that filled the air between them and Gokudera felt his balls tighten.

“S-shut up,” he cursed, his own hand moving at a faster pace to distract Yamamoto from saying anything more.

“Gokudera…” This time it was breathier, panted right into his ear where lips teased the skin before a tongue slipped out for a taste, pressing inside to where the nerves were more sensitive.

“No-!” Despite his vocal reluctance, Gokudera couldn’t stop from tilting his head, giving that mouth more access.

The hand gripping his penis began to squeeze at an erratic pace as it pumped and Gokudera lost the battle, clenching his jaw as his orgasm hit him, his seed shooting up between them.

The sudden, violent twitching of Yamamoto’s cock in his own fist told him that the other was quick to follow, and soon enough he could feel the milky strands splattering and dribbling down his fingers.

Both men slowed in their movements as aftershocks wracked their bodies, and almost immediately Gokudera was overcome with the feeling of ‘holy fucking God, what heinous sin have I just committed?!’

Yamamoto must have sensed his panic and mental withdrawal because he suddenly looked up, concern etched on his features. “What is it?”

Gokudera blinked and could tell the look on his face made Yamamoto realize he had just asked a very stupid question.

Awkward silence reigned between them for a moment before Yamamoto had the bright idea of using the rag to clean the two of them off, giving him an excuse to remain quiet that much longer. But Gokudera was having none of it. He was back to being pissed and he wanted answers.

“Did you ever plan on coming back?”

Yamamoto sat back, dropping the rag so he could re-buckle his pants. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I thought about it a few times – going back just so I could see how everyone was doing-”

“I meant to stay.” The clarification was spoken softly, but still rang loud enough to bring back that awkward silence.

“Gokudera, when you…live with this particular lifestyle, you-”

“A pirate’s lifestyle.”

Yamamoto tried again more bluntly this time. “Why you live life as a pirate, you’re pretty much living for the moment, not really able to plan ahead for anything other than your basic survival. Nothing’s guaranteed, even your safety on the ship itself. It’s a big gamble, having dreams beyond-”

“A simple ‘no’ would be fine.”

“Look, all I’m trying to say is that I didn’t really plan past finding the captain and training under him.”

Gokudera glared, nudging Yamamoto away when he tried to tuck him back in so he could fix his pants as well. “Obviously.”

Clearly able to see that Gokudera was going to be stubborn to the point of unreasonable about this, Yamamoto stood and gathered the bucket and rag, leaving the bandages behind. “If I had woken you, would you have stopped me from chasing my dream?”

Gokudera’s lips tightened and he looked away. It was an unfair question, simply because he didn’t know the answer. Dreams were something meant to be pursued by men. It was one of his few firm beliefs. But would he have stood by it at the time?

As his silence stretched on, Yamamoto sighed and turned to leave, locking the cell behind him, only to pause at the foot of the stairs as a compromise was offered.

“Would your captain be interested in becoming a privateer?”

Looking back over his shoulder, Yamamoto grinned. “I’m sure I could talk him into it.”

Unable to help himself, Gokudera smiled as well. Perhaps Yamamoto being a pirate wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

--

A privateer is basically a pirate that is commissioned to target certain enemies at the gain of both the pirate and the commissioner. In many cases, privateers were also granted some level of immunity from the long arm of the law. If you need an example, think of Sir Francis Drake.