Chapter Text
Arthur lived with his family on the great plain for sixteen summers until he awoke one day with a fever and wetness between his legs, and then his family sent him away. Confused and frightened, he tried to immediately return to the familiar area comprised of the watering hole and small hut, but his father chased him away, shaking a spear and making loud, threatening sounds.
He doesn't understand why he was sent away really, but he knows it has something to do with the fever and the wetness.
Arthur is scared his father will track him down and murder him if he stays too close to the hut, so he walks a long time. He walks across the great plain and towards the mountains—through the woods filled with wolves and bears—until he finds a small cave by a chattering river, and there he makes his home.
There are plenty of fish in the river for Arthur to hunt and eat, and he fashions foliage and moss into a bed beside the place inside the cave where he builds his nightly fire, which provides warmth and scares away the wolves.
After he's finished setting up his home, the loneliness settles in. Arthur is one of four cubs, and he's used to the constant noise of bodies moving around, and the grunts and barks of his brothers and sister when they play in front of the hut. He misses the way his mother used to run her fingers through his hair at night when he had trouble sleeping, and how his father used to carve bits of wood into little toys for them.
Every little movement outside the cave, especially at night, frightens him and causes him to launch for the spear that leans against the rocks. He sleeps in fits and spurts for months, often jostling awake at the slightest provocation. He's miserable, but there is no alternative. This is the reality for one who is no longer a cub. One walks into the wilderness and lives alone until one finds a mate, but Arthur probably won't find anyone because there are no nearby tribes in the woods.
He will live alone until he grows old and dies of illness, or a wolf catches him.
Arthur spends most of his day crouched on a large, flat rock by the water, watching until he sees the telltale shadow of a fish swimming at the base of the riverbed. Then he chucks his spear with all his might, and if his aim is true, he runs the sharp blade of the rock straight through the fish's spine, killing it instantly.
Arthur always hunted with his father, so he usually hits the mark in the first three throws, but on this particular day, he's having miserable luck. He's thrown ten times and missed every single target. He crouches at the very edge of the rock, glowering at the water, and frowns when he sees another shadow. Arthur throws the spear, and hits the fish right through the head.
He shouts triumphantly and launches into the water. Arthur's so busy splashing around and tugging the dead fish off the spear that he doesn't notice the alpha until he's standing directly in front of Arthur on the bank.
Arthur freezes when he sees a set of legs, and then slowly looks upward. There is a bearded man staring back at him, and a rich musk radiates off his skin in thick waves that fills Arthur's nostrils. He is unquestionably an alpha. Arthur waits for him to move—to attack or retreat—but the alpha simply stands there and curiously watches him. His teeth are not bared, and his lips are quirked into a pleasant expression, like Arthur's antics are amusing him.
Arthur slowly relaxes, and then is instantly filled with curiosity. This is the first alpha he has ever encountered aside from his father and brothers. He leaves the fish and spear on the flat rock, and then scales the other side of the bank so he can see the alpha more closely.
He cautiously approaches, and the alpha's eyes shine amusedly as he watches Arthur examine him. The alpha is big—with broad shoulders and skin darkened by the sun. His hair is long and wild, like his beard, and he has scars across his arms and legs—probably from battles. There is fur around his waist, and when Arthur reaches out to curiously tug at the extra hair, it falls away, leaving the alpha nude.
Startled, and believing he somehow hurt the alpha, Arthur leaps back and makes a sound of distress. But the alpha holds up his hands to stop Arthur from running off, reaches down, and simply picks up the fur, and wraps it around his waist again. This time, when Arthur approaches again, he looks at the fur, but he doesn't touch it. The alpha apparently uses it to cover himself, but Arthur doesn't know why.
Now convinced the alpha doesn't mean to harm him, Arthur steps closer and hesitantly sniffs closer to his flesh so he can get a better whiff of his scent. The whole time, the alpha lets him, and watches passively. He likes his smell—it's woodsy, but also smells visceral, like the earth after it rains. Arthur eases back a bit and looks at his face, which is a nice face with bright eyes and full lips.
Once the inspection is complete, the alpha taps his chest and makes a noise: "Eames," he says, and Arthur looks at him inquisitively.
They're both quiet, and then the alpha drums his chest again, and makes the same noise. Arthur shifts a bit, nervous, because the alpha is watching him and clearly wants him to do something, but he can't determine what. "Eames," the alpha says after tapping his chest, and then reaches forward to touch Arthur right over his heart.
Arthur shrinks back slightly, frowning. The alpha touches his own chest and makes the noise again, and then points at Arthur.
Finally, he comprehends. He was branded with a special combination of sounds his parents strung together for the sole purpose of summoning him specifically when he was playing with his brothers and sisters. Each of them were gifted with unique sounds, but he hasn't heard the noise in so long, or spoken it aloud, that he hesitates until he can fully remember it.
"Ar…thur," he whispers, apparently too softly because the alpha leans forward and squints at him. "Arthur," he says louder and a little more confidently this time.
The alpha hums in response, the pleasant expression still on his face. "Arthur," he echoes, and Arthur shivers when he hears his name spoken in the alpha's deep voice.
When he steps forward, Arthur nearly darts away, but the alpha grabs his wrist and holds him in place as he buries his nose and mouth into his hair and breathes deeply. Arthur doesn't move because he's afraid the alpha will snap his neck if he does, but also because he doesn't really believe the alpha wants to do that. Nothing about his posture is defensive, and he seems to be enjoying their interaction. The alpha inhales his scent and then leans back so he can look at Arthur's face. "Arthur," he rumbles again, softer this time.
***
Arthur builds a fire, cooks the fish, and shares it with Eames. They sit together in the cave as they eat, and it's pleasant. It's comforting to have someone with him, even if they can't communicate beyond smiles and vague gesticulations. Eames smells good, and is nice to look at, and if a wolf comes, he's big and strong and will scare it off.
But he isn't really sure why the alpha is hanging around him so much, and he's still a little scared Eames may try to kill him and take his cave, so he's sure never to turn his back on him, even as he tidies up after they're done eating. He saves the bones and puts them in a small pile in a corner by the entrance of the cave to use later as tools and weapons.
When the sun is low in the sky, Arthur paces at the front of the cave and nervously watches Eames. The alpha is still seated by the fire, watching him with alert eyes, and he wonders why the alpha hasn't left yet, or if he intends to leave at all. Arthur makes a deep, frustrated noise in his chest and points outside.
Eames' lips quirk at the corners as he watches him, but he doesn't move, and Arthur's face burns in embarrassment. "Go," he grunts, gesturing to the outside again.
Eames doesn't move.
Now, Arthur is nervous. He wonders if he was right, and the alpha does want his cave. It's a good, safe spot nearby water and game. It makes sense that a strong alpha would try to seize the land.
Suddenly, Eames moves, grabbing from the fire a stick that still burns at the tip, and Arthur races outside, convinced the alpha is about to attack him. He runs down to the water and picks up a big rock, spins on his heels, and crouches low, panting heavily, waiting for Eames to charge outside.
He waits for a long time, but the attack never comes.
Arthur wonders if he should just leave—abandon the cave and find a new spot to live—but then the stubborn streak inside him dismisses the idea. This is his cave, and no alpha is going to push him out of his home. Carrying the rock, he storms back up to the mouth of the cave, and when he slips back inside, Eames is moving the stick against the cave wall. Bits of ash fly everywhere as he works, and Arthur stares at him in confusion for a long time before he sees the alpha is drawing something.
When he steps inside the cave, he sees the alpha has drawn three bison-looking creatures, and a man in the middle, standing atop a slain beast. When Eames sees him, he points to the little man, and then himself. Then he puffs up his chest to make himself look bigger and points at the little man again.
Arthur feels foolish once he realizes Eames doesn't want to kill him, but he's making an argument for why Arthur should allow him to stay—namely that he's a good hunter, apparently. That's probably where the scars are from.
Eames spots the rock in his hands and looks at him curiously, and so Arthur quickly sets it down, and sheepishly shuffles closer to examine the mural. Eames is a good drawer, and he wonders if the alpha will keep the image on display, or if he'll wipe it away now that he's made his point. Arthur secretly hopes he won't ruin it.
Arthur raises his brows in a disbelieving fashion when he examines the mural, and Eames grunts, insulted, when he notices Arthur thinks he's exaggerating. He taps the little man again and then his chest. "Eames hunt," he says, and then points at him. "Arthur cook," he adds.
Arthur glares at him. "Arthur hunt," he corrects, and Eames blinks before a slow, amused grin breaks out across his face.
"Arthur hunt?" he asks, his chest vibrating a little as he chuckles, but Arthur is not amused. He's a very good hunter—not for an omega, but in general. He hunted better than his alpha father and alpha brothers.
He's angry and doesn't want to be around Eames anymore, so he turns to walk away, but the alpha grabs him roughly by the arm and pulls him back. When Arthur tries to hit him, Eames grabs that wrist too and restrains him until Arthur gives up, and glares at him, breathing heavily. Eames makes a soft soothing noise with his mouth, and Arthur relaxes because it's the same noise his mother would make whenever he was hurt or upset. "Arthur hunt," he agrees, and then says, "Arthur and Eames hunt."
His brow furrows as he stares at Eames' face, but he nods slowly. "Arthur and Eames," he agrees.
***
Eames isn't very good at hunting.
He makes too much noise in the woods, and he can't move quickly because he's too big. Arthur can climb trees rapidly and scout from far above the woodland floor, but Eames breaks the branches, and has to wait for him down below.
Luckily, he does have brute strength to his advantage, so once Arthur spears a young buck through the neck, Eames can drape the dead animal over his shoulders, and carry it back to the cave.
It's a good kill—one that will allow them to eat for a week, so they're in a good mood even though Arthur is beginning to think the alpha exaggerated his hunting prowess. At least he has a set of strong hands to help him skin the animal, gut it, and slice up the meat.
Arthur cooks the strips over a fire, and they eat until their bellies are full. He's feeling fat and happy when they clean up afterwards, and he puts together a swathe of soft moss for Eames to sleep on. The alpha grunts in thanks and lays down, and Arthur does the same on the other side of the fire. It's good to have another pair of eyes and ears in the cave, and he feels safer than he has in a long time, which is probably why he drops off to sleep almost immediately.
He awakes sometime later when the alpha presses against his back and cups his hand between Arthur's legs. Arthur is confused when he awakes at first, but then he feels the unmistakable sensation of the alpha groping his cock, and he cries out in alarm, thrashing against him until Eames lets go. Then he rolls over and slaps the alpha hard across the face, knocking him backwards.
Arthur scrambles to his feet and runs for the spear that he keeps leaning against the cave wall. When it's in his hands, he thrusts it in Eames' direction and makes loud, threatening noises until the alpha climbs to his feet and backs up defensively. Eames raises his hands, palms outward, in a sign of surrender, but Arthur doesn't care. He's not going to let an alpha he barely knows touch him so familiarly.
Eames backs up until he's standing outside and then Arthur gestures aggressively towards the horizon. "Go!" he shouts, not caring if he attracts the attention of the night's hunters. He actually hopes he does and a bear comes and eats Eames.
The alpha stares at him with wide eyes and then looks into the pitch-black darkness. Sending Eames into the night is a virtual death sentence, but Arthur is furious. "Go!" he shouts again, and then stalks back inside.
He hopes Eames follows him, just to give him a reason to bury the spear in the alpha's belly.
But Eames doesn't walk back inside, and Arthur spends the rest of the night staring at the cave ceiling, the spear splayed out beside him within arm's reach.
***
Arthur is in a terrible mood the next morning, partly from lack of sleep, but also because he's furious at Eames. That's the last time he invites someone into his cave, and he scolds himself for being so stupid as he walks over to the wall and rubs away the alpha's artwork.
He then walks outside and discovers Eames sitting on the river's bank. Arthur freezes in the cave's entrance, and when Eames notices him, he scrambles to his feet and holds out his hands in a gentling fashion—probably assuming Arthur is about to run away or attack him. Arthur glares at him, and then notices a pile of fish laid out on the flat rock.
Slowly, he approaches the alpha's haul, and he gapes in open wonder at the food. It's probably more food than he can eat in a single day, and it's foolish to kill in such a large quantity when most of the meat will spoil in the hot summer sun, but still…it's an impressive display of fishing ability. Maybe Eames isn't such a terrible hunter, after all.
But then Arthur remembers he's angry, and he glares at Eames when they're standing face-to-face. Eames makes a soft distressed noise, and bends down, and when he straightens up again, his hands are full of the really plush moss Arthur loves to make his bedding out of. He doesn't have much of it because it grows at the very tops of trees, and it's difficult to scale that high to get the stuff. Arthur can't imagine how hard it must have been for big, muscular Eames to climb to such precarious heights to secure the moss.
And he's got a lot of it resting at his feet. Arthur stares at the mound, and when he looks back to Eames, he's annoyed to find a smug gleam in the alpha's eyes. He takes a bunch of the moss, and one of the fish, and then he walks back towards the cave without saying anything to Eames.
He places the moss on his pre-existing bedding, and then sets about grilling the fish for his breakfast.
Eames cautiously follows him up to the cave and peeks in, watching as he starts a fire. Arthur doesn't say anything when the alpha shuffles back inside and stands awkwardly at the lip of the cave. He ignores Eames while he guts the fish and balances it over a couple sticks to cook it above the flames.
It's only when he hears a noise behind him that Arthur wheels around and sees Eames drawing on the wall again, this time with a clump of clay from the cave's floor. The stuff is all over the place—red, and heavy, and Eames uses it to make marks that Arthur is eventually able to discern are the river outside, and the trees, and the sun and moon in the sky.
Then Eames draws something that doesn't make sense: a little person in the sky, between the sun and the moon.
When Eames sees him staring curiously, he points at the pretend man. "Arthur," the alpha says, and he frowns in response. That doesn't make sense. He doesn't live in the sky with the sun and moon. He lives on the ground in a cave.
Eames grunts, frustrated, when he sees Arthur doesn't understand. "Arthur," he insists again, and points at the man floating between sun and moon.
The omega flushes when he finally comprehends.
Eames is comparing to him to the sun and moon in terms of importance, and he quickly looks away because, while it's a silly thing to declare, it still makes him feel a little lightheaded. Maybe the alpha wasn't simply attacking him. Maybe he intends to make Arthur his mate. "No," he says simply, and takes his food off the fire to eat.
"Yes," Eames insists quietly behind him, the declaration making Arthur's ears burn.
He scowls at the fire as he eats, and when he's done, Arthur turns around, and Eames is still standing there foolishly, gripping the bit of clay. He looks so dejected that Arthur maybe doesn't like his drawing that the omega feels a little guilty. He picks up a bit of the fish and holds it out towards Eames.
The alpha's face brightens and he walks forth, accepting the bit of food. He sits by Arthur and eats the fish, which is actually a peace offering, and they both know it.
***
Eames spends the next few weeks in the cave with him, but there is never a repeat performance of the first night's assault. Now, the alpha very deliberately gives Arthur a wide berth of space when they sleep, so there's no confusion that Eames may be up to funny business.
Additionally, Eames works his fingers to the bone trying to impress Arthur. His hunting suddenly becomes better than adequate, and eventually they stop hunting entirely because they've actually got too much meat hanging on lines outside—a so-called problem Arthur has never experienced before. Eames also has an impressive knowledge of the forrest, and ways to keep predators at bay. He finds a plant deep in the heart of the woods and grinds it up into a fine powder that he then scatters around their drying meat. He explains in monosyllabic words that this is to keep wolves and bears away.
And it works. No creatures touch their food.
Eames paints wonderful murals on the walls of the cave in different colors of ash and clay, and he draws Arthur as a fierce warrior standing atop a fantastically huge pile of bison.
Arthur laughs when he sees the image, and Eames smiles brightly.
He looks closely at the painting. Arthur has seen his reflection briefly in the water many times, but no one has ever drawn his likeness. Eames paints him with wild, billowing curls, and wide, dark eyes. It's an affectionate depiction—maybe even romantic, but Arthur hurries outside and pretends to tend to the drying meat so he doesn't think about it too deeply.
***
Just when Arthur has decided to officially forgive him, Eames gets terribly sick.
It starts one morning when Arthur rises with the sun, but Eames is still curled up on his side. Arthur lets him sleep, and walks around to check on the meat and tidy up a bit before he squats by Eames and shakes him gently.
At first, Arthur thinks he's just being lazy and slow to wake, but then he feels the back of Eames' head, and it's soaked with sweat and burning hot. He's feverous even though he's taken off his fur second-skin thing, and he's currently sleeping nude. Arthur frowns and peers closer at his face. "Eames?" he murmurs, touching his brow. Again, he's hot to the touch.
Arthur is scared. He had a little sister who died of fever one winter, but he remembers everything his mother did for her before the terrible night she stopped breathing. Arthur grabs the Eames' fur second-skin and tears off a strip, then he runs down to the river and soaks it in the cold water. Arthur races back to the cave and kneels by Eames, placing the cold fabric to his brow.
In his stupor, Eames moans and rolls onto his back, which is when Arthur sees the alpha's erection pressing against his stomach. He immediately looks away, even though Eames is probably too out of it to even notice if he did have a look. Still, Arthur doesn't think this is necessarily unusual. Sometimes, he awakes with a hard cock too, even when he's not feeling well.
Arthur finds a small cup he carved out of wood and takes it to the stream to fill it with water. He remembers his mother saying it's important for a sick person to drink a lot of water because they sweat so much. Arthur takes the full cup to Eames and helps the alpha sit up a bit so he can drink. Most of it runs down Eames' chest, but a little manages to make it past his lips.
When he jostles the alpha around, his scent floods Arthur's nostrils and makes him feel…strange. Sort of lightheaded, but also something else. Arthur ignores the sensation, and picks up the empty cup. He walks back down to the river, and when he squats down to fill the cup with water, he realizes the wetness is back—running down the backs of his legs and dripping onto the grassy bank in rivulets.
He makes an annoyed, disgusted noise, and quickly dips into the water to rid his body of the moisture. Arthur is feeling a little warm too, and he dips into the cool stream, hoping that will stave off any fever. He doesn't want to be wet around Eames because he remembers how his alpha father reacted when he woke up one morning in a pool of liquid. Eames will be angry and chase him away, if he doesn't die from fever first, that is.
Arthur climbs out of the water, and up the bank, and nearly stumbles backwards into the river when he discovers Eames standing there. The alpha is nude, swaying slightly on his feet, his body shining beneath a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes are glazed, and though he's looking straight at Arthur, the omega doesn't know if he actually sees him.
"Eames?" he asks cautiously, and the alpha inhales sharply, grunting and squinting in his direction.
Another wave of Eames' scent washes over him, but it's much thicker this time, and Arthur has to bite back a gasp when the heady pheromones flood his nose. He feels hot again, and knows instinctively it's not from the sun, and when his thighs tremble a little, Arthur feels the wetness again, but it's worse this time, and within a matter of seconds it coats his legs and the crevice at his rear.
Eames' nostrils flare, and for the first time, Arthur comprehends the alpha smells him also. His heart races in his chest, and suddenly his throat is very dry. The empty cup is at his feet, and he wants to reach down, grab it, and fill it with water to drink, but he can't move.
Eames is staring at him, and he's looking back, and he can't move.
Finally, Arthur forces his feet forward, and tries to walk past Eames, but the alpha grabs him, and throws him across the large flat rock. Eames' strength is tremendous, much more so now than before, and Arthur hits the hard surface so hard he's momentarily stunned, and the collision knocks the air from his lungs. He growls angrily, but doesn't have time to roll over before the alpha is upon him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and forcing his face against the rock's smooth surface.
"Eames!" Arthur shouts, kicking out and struggling any way he can, trying to escape.
He's horrified to discover his cock is hard against the rock. That happens sometimes in the heat of battle, but this time, combined with the wetness, Arthur knows something is different. But he still doesn't understand what's happening.
Eames grabs his arm and yanks it painfully behind his back. Arthur cries out, and immediately stops struggling because he knows if he does so, his arm will snap. The alpha reaches between his thighs and gropes the wet area beneath his ass, and Arthur whimpers.
He squirms, unable to help himself when Eames' fingers dip between the cheeks and touch his hole. "No," he whispers hoarsely, and Eames makes a soft, soothing noise in response.
The omega's will to fight comes surging back when Eames presses the fat head of his cock to Arthur's hole, and he fully understands what the alpha aims to do with him. He cries out in alarm, but the alpha grabs his hair and forces his face back against the rock as he shoves his hips forward and claims him. A broken howl escapes Arthur's throat as the alpha begins to rut him roughly, one hand gripping the base of his neck, the other keeping his arm pinned behind his back.
Arthur can't move. He's totally helpless beneath Eames, and worse, he's so wet that the alpha's cock makes lewd noises as it violates him. Arthur sobs as he rocks forward under the pressure of Eames' thrusts, and his cock leaks across the stone.
Eames shifts positions a bit, pushes forward, and down, and another sound leaves Arthur, but this times it's a throaty moan. Another tremor tears through him, and an additional wave of wetness pours out of him. He chokes back another sob, and squirms beneath Eames, who growls in response to the sensation.
Arthur is humiliated. He is defeated.
And yet.
Eames rolls his hips carefully, grinding against a spot deep inside his body, and Arthur's lips fall open when he moans loudly. He tries to arch his back and offer his ass to the alpha so Eames can hit that same spot again, which he does, and Arthur quakes in appreciation. He's soaked—wetter than he's ever been, and the alpha has reached peak frenzy behind him.
Now certain Arthur won't fight him, Eames releases his neck and wrist, and instead grips his hips so he can pound into the omega. Arthur's voice goes a little hysterical when it leaves him in a single, sustained keen that wavers each time Eames' hips slap against his ass. He gropes blindly at the stone for purchase, but it's too large for him to grip the edge, and so he's dragged back and forth by the alpha—pushed and pulled at will as Eames fucks him.
Arthur is crying still, but now from frustration because he wants to spill his seed so badly. He can't get his hand between his hips and the stone without crushing his fingers, though, so he bucks and grinds until he comes without touching himself.
Eames shouts when his inner muscles clamp down on his cock, and he grabs a fistful of Arthur's hair, pulling back his head so the omega is forced to arch his back as far as it will go. Then Eames continues to fuck him, like he's riding one of the wild horses from the great plain. "Good," he grunts, pleased when Arthur passively obeys, tilting his head back, his lips agape as he gasps and moans.
The praise surges through him, a warm, pleasant buzz that makes Arthur feel lightheaded. His alpha thinks he's good. His alpha.
Eames thrusts deeply into him, and then goes still, which confuses Arthur until he feels the alpha's cock growing inside him. Arthur's eyes widen and he whimpers, struggling again, but Eames grabs him firmly and keeps him pinned to the rock. "No," the alpha growls against his ear, using his superior weight to eliminate the possibility of escape.
Arthur wonders if he's going to die—if the alpha's cock will keep growing until he splits open. "Eames," he whimpers, afraid, and the alpha kisses and nuzzles the side of his cheek comfortingly.
It's enough to quiet Arthur.
Just when Arthur decides he's going to perish here on this rock, trapped beneath an alpha, Eames spills his seed inside him. The alpha grunts loudly, pumping his hips forth minutely as if trying to empty his sac as deeply as possible.
Arthur's face burns in a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. Part of his conscious mind is painfully aware he's being debased and marked by the alpha, but the subconscious part of his brain feels prideful and comforted.
Eames mouths at his ear and cheek until Arthur turns towards him and they press their lips together, breathing each other's air. "Good," Eames murmurs again, and Arthur makes a soft, pleased noise. Suddenly, he hears the alpha purring—his barrel chest vibrating slightly from the noise, and Arthur quietly listens, transfixed on the sound.
When the alpha is soft again, he pulls out, and slowly climbs down the bank before helping Arthur down, as well. Arthur laughs when Eames picks him up, and he wraps his legs around the alpha's waist as he wades into the middle of the river.
Arthur wraps his arms around Eames' shoulders, and they kiss slowly, which is nice and different than the frantic rutting before. Eames's hands move from the base of his spine, to his rear, and Arthur winces a little.
Eames pulls away and frowns at his face. "Hurt?" he asks, and now that the frenzy of his heat has temporarily subsided, Arthur sees the alpha looks concerned—maybe even a little frightened at the prospect he might have hurt the omega.
He smiles and shakes his head. "No," he whispers.
But he does have small injuries. His face is bruised, for example, from banging against the rock, and so the alpha tenderly kisses the marks. Eames mouths water droplets from his clavicle, and his neck, and murmurs just beneath his ear: "Eames stay?"
Arthur trembles a little because the water is cold, and because he doesn't know why he feels so strongly about a bossy alpha who just invaded his life, is a somewhat terrible hunter, and who paints beautiful things.
"Eames stay," he replies, quiet and content.