Caveman, Jim's Dream

Author: Fyrbyrd

Pairing: Jim/Blair

Rated NC-17.

Warnings of m/m sex.

Note: Apologies for my disgusting spelling last time I was racing the phone line which was dropping out with my net problems.

Caveman, Jim's Dream
By Fyrbyrd

"You're a behavioral throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man!" said Blair

"Are you out of your mind! You dragged me all the way over here to tell me I'm some sort of caveman?"

Jim relived the conversation he'd had with Blair as he lay in his bed that night, and it slipped right into his dreams.

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The Shaman had not returned to the caves when the hunters returned from their fruitless day. A few fish from the river, but no game. Had he not drawn a catch for them today? The watcher headed up to the sacred caves, only he was permitted there. Yet even as he headed up he knew there was something wrong. He couldn't hear anything as he appraoched and that was not usual. He stopped, he could smell something. And with that smell, he understood. He moved quickly into the Shaman's cave. There was no light, the torch dead, but he didn't need one as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The Shaman had gotten as far as preparing his paints, but he had not drawn any pictures for the hunters. He had been disturbed before then.

The watcher pulled the spear from the Shaman's body. He would take it into the light to see if there were any tribal markings on it. He lay it on the Shaman's body as he reached down to drag him out of the cave. The body must be dealt with before his spirit could be appeased.

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The tribe were angry at the murder of their Shaman. A new tribe was moving in on their territory and had struck at their heart first. None was more angry than their watcher. He had been the Shaman's companion, guarding the older man, providing for him, so he could provide for the tribe. No one knew what else the Shaman provided for the watcher, that he helped in ways that they could not understand. That was why the watcher was angry, at the killers and himself. He had let his Shaman down and he had lost the only one who could help him when the spells hit. But he fought them off, he had to find those responsible for his friend's death. He watched as they buried the Shaman's body under rocks, then headed off on his own. He knew the tribe would wait for his return.

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Two days away from the caves he found the rival tribe camped by a river. They had a successful hunt in more ways than one.

The watcher saw people from yet another tribe huddled together in the center of the camp. Most were female, some young males that could be used or trained into the new tribe, but there was one older male with them, and he had two feathers in his hair indicating that he was a Shaman in training. And judging by the welts on his back, he had been forced to ply his trade by his captors. The watcher noted everything before heading back to his tribe. They would have their revenge.

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The watcher felt remarkably calm as he led the warriors to the campsite. He had been very quick returning and it was still dark when they got there. As he had thought, the tribe had sated themselves on the game and nealy all of them were engaged in sating themselves on their prisoners. The females and the boys were all fair game.

The watcher saw the Shaman had been tied between two stripped trees, naked. He had been smeared with excrement and as one male came up to him and did as others already had, urinated on him. This made the watcher angrier. Shaman were special, to be honored, not humiliated! He kept his eyes on the Shaman as the warriors prepared their attack.

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They moved in quietly with the stealth of the hunters they were. The watcher let himself get as close to the young Shaman as he could. Then suddenly they were attacking. Spearing the rutting enemy, killing them as quickly as they could. Those not covered by a warrior did not get far before they met the same fate. Any wounded were dispatched as well.

The prisoners gathered together. Their tribe was gone, the leader indicated that they could come with them or take their chances on their own. Nearly all joined them.

The watcher released the Shaman from his bonds. The young man collapsed immediately. The watcher quickly knelt down to help him. The moment they touched... The Shaman lifted his eyes to the watcher, met his, drank deep and nodded. The watcher smiled, a rarity for him, and helped the Shaman to the river, There he gently washed the filth from the Shaman's body, found a hide to cover his nakedness. Then joined the others for the trip home.

The leader nodded at the sight of the watcher with the young Shaman. They had truly been rewarded for this encounter.

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At the caves the newcomers stood within a circle of the tribe. Thought not prisoners, they still needed to be claimed so as to remain. The females were welcome additions as workers and mates. The warriors claimed most of them. The boys were claimed to be trained, though some might be used as bed warmers too. It was not uncommon.

But the Shaman stood to be claimed by the tracker. That was until one of the warriors also tried to stake a claim on him. The tracker growled angrily and grabbed a spear to make a challenge. The interloper took another spear to accept. Everyone moved back to give them space. The Shaman watched a little fearfully. He knew who he belonged to.

The tracker and the warrior circled each other, they seemed evenly matched. But the tracker had his secret weapon, after a quick look to the Shaman, he opened his senses, listened and looked for the right opportunity and then stabbed at his opponent, getting him in the shoulder, while dodging his attack. The warrior fell with the pain, by rights the tracker could kill him, but he didn't. He pulled back to the Shaman, laid a hand on his shoulder claiming him.

All watched as the young Shaman went about gathering things, before he attended the wounded man with the approval of the tracker.

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Later the tracker led the Shaman to the part of the caves he claimed as home. There he watched delightedly as the younger man discovered the old Shaman's herbs and medicines. Behind him the tracker removed his hide covering. The Shaman turned around to see the tracker naked and excited. Almost shyly he turned and stripped off his robe. He moved towards the bedding and lay down. The tracker followed and lay down beside him, touching him reverently. But the excitement of the fight had not worn off. And the young Shaman was beautiful, and they had connected the moment they touched. And he wanted to touch and keep on touching him forever. But right now the primitive urge was upon him and he could not deny it.

Finding a pot the old Shaman had made he knocked the lid off and covered his fingers, then moved them to the young man's backside, quickly finding his center. Circling, circling, trying to keep his patience as he began to push in one finger. The younger man responded with a moan, his hands clutching the soft hides he lay upon. The tracker worked quickly, one, two, three fingers, he was aching. Unable to hold off any longer he lifted up and positioned himself between the younger man's legs, guiding himself he began to push inside the Shaman. The younger man moaned and cried out, there was a little pain that the tracker could not prevent. The need was urgent and half way in, he thrust the rest of the way, balls deep. It took everything he had to rest a moment, let the younger man adjust to his bulk. But the need to mate was too strong to hold back. He began to move, thrusting easily into the tight channel.

Pleased that the younger man pushed back at him, feeding his need. He lowered his head and nipped at the younger man's neck. The Shaman was very vocal as the tracker pounded at him faster, harder. Grunting with each thrust, he pulled back his body to grip the younger man's hips, driving into him so hard his balls slapped at the Shaman's bottom.

Grunt slap, grunt slap, grunt slap, arrrgh. Then he hit the Shaman's sweet spot and he cried out, they cried out with the almost electric surge between them. He found it again, they screamed. And again and again. Then the tight channel squeezed in on the tracker as the younger man came almost silently. He pumped a few more times in the clenching heat before he too came, filling the Shaman with his seed. He collapsed on top of the panting body, matching him labored breath for labored breath. Sweat drenched them both. Finally he rolled off and gathered the younger man in his arms as they both slid to their sides, promptly falling asleep.

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The tracker had taken his young mate again when they awoke, mating on hands and knees, squeezing the other's cock as he moved. The young Shaman had been careful to collect his semen in a bowl. The tracker had seen the old Shaman do the same and take it to his cave to use on his work.

Both wrapped themselves in their furs and left the caves. The tracker laden with a few things he needed. Outside the hunters gathered. The tracker signalled to them and they hurried off. While he led the young Shaman to the sacred caves.

The young man was impressed with the cave and quickly settled. The tracker touched him intimately to reaffirm his love of his mate, then he hurried off to join the hunt, confident that there would be a good hunt that day.

The Shaman mixed his paints, adding his semen to the mix when he drew a certain hunter. Everything he drew would come to be. After painting, he heated the cave, stripped his furs and sat to meditate. He was sore from the sex, but that only made him feel good. Now he had to prepare to fulfill the bond he had made.

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The tracker left the other hunters to take their successful day's kill back to the tribe. He returned to the sacred cave. It was his duty to protect the Shaman, to provide escort for him, but this evening he knew they would be remaining at the cave.

He entered to find the place lit with tallow candles and pleasantly warm. In an area before the paint cave, fur rugs lined the floor in the crevice beside three low fires. He looked up to see his young man coming from the paint cave, naked and glistening and erect. It took his breath away. Quickly he pulled the robes from his body and tossed them aside. The Shaman approved, their mouths connected before the younger man rubbed oil onto the tracker's body. Pulling him down to his knees, the Shaman painted symbols onto the tracker's body and then on his own. Together they touched fingers to the other's forehead, lips, ears, eyes, nose, hands, head and groin. Then they lay down side by side but in opposite directions to each other. Face to groin, cocks erect and leaking, their mouths took each other in. Soon they had grabbed each other's hips as they fucked each other's mouths, throats swallowing, mouths sucking until they came. After a short time the tracker turned to lay beside the Shaman, touching his face gently, knowing that his soul belonged to the smaller man as much as he owned the other's. It was as it was meant to be.

Dipping his hand into the bowl of warmed oil. He moved his hand back to the younger man's groin. It did not take him long to coax it back into life. It was time to seal the bond. He took the younger man's hand immersed it in the oil, then rolled onto his stomach spreading his legs apart. The Shaman circled his mate's center before pushing inside stretching him. The more fingers he pushed inside, the higher the tracker raised his rear to enjoy it more. He steadied his lover as he raised himself up and moved between the parted legs, then quickly he plunged inside the tracker in one stroke. The tracker cried out in pleasure as his young lover moved into a steady rhythm.

The tracker loved the feel of his young Shaman thrusting inside him. He moaned and clutched at the furs as the Shaman sped up before coming inside him with three hard jabs before collapsing on top of the tracker. They both panted with the exertion, but it wasn't over yet. Urging the younger man off his back, the tracker turned over, his cock still erect and ready, pulsing with his need. He was going to move further, but the Shaman stopped him, rising on his knees to straddle the older man's stomach. He moved slowly backwards onto his lover’s stiff member, impaling himself, surprising his older lover with the knowledge that he had prepared himself earlier.

The Shaman rode the tracker hard, his long curly hair flying free and wild as he rubbed his hands over his lover's smooth chest, tracing the patterns he had made there earlier. Binding them together, perhaps for all eternity...

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Jim sighed happily as he surfaced from his dream. He felt the wetness between his legs knowing that he had come, just as he had in the dream. He sighed again, he'd known the kid one day and this was the effect he had one him. Erotic dreams. He sighed again, he hadn't had them in a long time. And never of those with another man in multiple positions, taking as well as giving. Oh man. He just hoped the young anthroplogist didn't realise that he had the hots for him. Or worse yet, get scared off if he did find out.

He'd truly love to play caveman with him one day, and not in his dreams.

The end of Jim's First Dream...