The Terror - Prompt Post 1

[coldboys]

This is for prompts for all things AMC's The Terror (2018). Go nuts! 

Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds. 

If you've filled (or started filling) a prompt, please make sure to link it in the comments of the Fills Post. And if you would like to cross-post your fills on AO3, here is the collection!

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1. Be fucking nice. YKINMATO/KINKTOMATO at all times.

 

2. This meme is CNTW (Choose Not To Warn) but warnings are highly encouraged.

 

3. Prompts should use this format in the subject line: [SHIP], [DESCRIPTION]

e.g.

Hickey/Crozier, CNC knifeplay

 

Solo gen can be prompted as well alongside (a) character name and description

e.g.

Gen, Edward Little, having a nice day

 

4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]

e.g.

Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon

 

5. One prompt per comment please. 

 

6. Multiple fills for each prompt are welcome! 

 

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Comments

FILL: Generous Men, (Hodgson/Little + bonus Irv), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [1/2]

[(Anonymous)]

It was almost a relief when the urges went away. For George, they faded very early, long before they ever left the ships. Along with the cloud of malaise trapping him in a perpetual fog, the ache in his muscles, and the queer weakness which seemed to penetrate to his very bones… George found, as winter gave to spring, he could no longer stir down below. Not that there was much cause for it, in so many long years at sea… but his little friend had always been active, demanding attention, with or without a fine lady to arouse it. George knew his own needs, and had become used to tending them — thrice a week, sometimes, if he was particularly bored or restless.

Yet overnight, great Orpheus descended below, and sent George’s most sensitive member into deep, unyielding dream. At first, he could not come to cockstand, no matter how he tried. It wasn’t long before he ceased to feel anything at all.

It… made him sad. In a distant way, as all melancholy seemed to be, these days. His member felt like a relic, almost, of a different time, a different world. One lost to them now. It only seemed fair — just like George’s beloved clavier sitting in the parlor at home — that he should lose the use of this favored instrument, too.

“Do you,” he dared to venture once — but when he could not find the words, and his attempts at miming the problem were met with a blank stare, he flushed bright red, and clapped poor Irving on the shoulder instead. “Never mind. Of course you do not, my dear friend! You are a man of God, after all. Above such petty concerns. Forgive me… yes, please forgive me.”

The illness made him slow, and stupid too. He did not know what he should say, and what he should not. George didn’t want to embarrass his fellow lieutenants by speaking of unseemly things… so, like the loose teeth in his gums and the scar opening up on his knee, he simply never spoke of it.

Amidst the turmoil of abandoning ship, it was easy to forget… until the frigid night on the shoal at Victory Point, which aroused the issue quite poignantly.

Alone in the tent with his fellow lieutenants, the three men huddled close for warmth. Edward was pressed up against George’s back, one arm looped around George’s chest, while the other reached for John. He still felt strong, well-muscled despite the years of deprivation… and steady, always steady, hugging them close as if he could keep them safe through willpower alone. George was painfully aware of him… just as he was of John, curled in on himself with his knees to his chest, trembling in George’s grip even as he hugged him tight. He felt so slender nowadays. His cheeks had lost their comely baby fat; the brightness was fading from his eyes; yet somehow it suited him, made him look that much finer. John Irving was a regular martyr, indeed; suffering made him glorious.

They were all exhausted enough to drop. They all smelled rancid; none of them had full stomachs, or suitable furs against the harsh cold night. All they had was the warmth of their bodies… and it was seductive, in its own way.

It must have been the warmth, George supposed. Or perhaps it was the sheer elation of human contact, after so long isolated from the world.

Whatever the cause, as George lay sandwiched between his two closest companions, something he’d long since forgotten steadily rose to attention.

Demanded it, really.

With a shallow inhale of breath, George squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to will the damn thing away. No luck; what little heat remained in his body was pooling in his groin, and with each rasp of his bedfellows’ breaths, it only grew stronger. John shifted in his sleep, inadvertently grinding back against George’s body, and George almost moaned.

God help him, why now?

He made an attempt to squirm away — to flip onto his back, at least, so it wouldn’t be so damn noticeable. But Edward’s arm tightened around him, a wordless admonition… and damned if his tight grip didn’t go straight to George’s cock.

“Please,” he uttered softly, “not right now.”

His cock twitched, and hummed with need; the tent in his pants was blatant now, pressing into the small of John’s back. John apparently didn’t mind the pressure. He squirmed again, and George’s breath caught.

“Please,” he moaned aloud.

And that was his undoing; behind him, Edward shifted. George felt the exact moment he rose to wakefulness; and in a moment, he was rubbing his palm against George’s chest, in small, soothing circles.

“Shh, George,” he whispered, breath hot against George’s neck. “It’s only a dream.”

If only it were. George’s cock throbbed again, and John gave a drowsy murmur. George quite wanted to die.

“It really isn’t,” he whispered back — then double-thought. Edward wouldn’t judge him, surely. (John would, but John was thoroughly virginal, he couldn’t help it.) Yet once again, this was not a polite topic, and he would no doubt mortify his fellows by bringing it up.

No. As a gentleman, he should take a moment for himself and… deal with the issue privately.

“I’m sorry, Edward,” he whispered, squirming. “But I really must — you see, I have to — nature is calling. Most urgently. If I could just get up, oh, quite sorry for kneeing you there —“

Yet even as he was apologizing for his clumsiness, he somehow managed to kick John in the gut. The poor man sprang awake all at once, wheezing. Edward removed himself out of range with a look of drowsy bewilderment. George, mortified, gave up the ghost entirely, and flopped back down onto the ground. The tent in his pants was impossible to ignore.

The moment Edward noticed, his brows shot up. God bless him, he looked impressed. “Nature calling, indeed.”

“Yes.” George grit his teeth, and crossed his legs. “At a most inconvenient time.”

“George,” John ejaculated, in a tone of overwrought, but no doubt sincere betrayal. He was still nursing his bruised belly. “What in heaven’s name has possessed you?”

“Something, definitely.” Edward remarked, tilting his head.

George dearly wished he’d stop staring at it. “I’m sorry, John, are you quite alright? No, don’t look up, that’s not nec—“

John raised his head, and took three seconds to appraise the situation, before bursting into crimson flame.

“Oh. That explains it,” he said very faintly.

“Not really,” replied George. “I was certain the old boy had… retired from service.”

Yet it seemed his little friend still had one great expedition left in him; too bad he had to choose the worst possible time. George hunched in on himself, crossing his arms at his knees, and tried not to look as damned awkward as he felt.

From the expressions on his colleagues’ faces, he was failing. “It’s really not —“ Edward began, before clearing his throat, helpless. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, George.”

“I’m not,” George said too quickly.

John didn’t say a word; he was still staring at the tent in George’s pants, his cheeks crimson, his eyes sleep-glassy. He looked almost mesmerized… and there was something so far away about him, yet so handsome, that George’s predicament somehow grew even worse.

“Oh, John, please,” he half-whimpered; and John shuddered, blinking like he’d doused him with cold water.

“You — what? You want — what?”

“Stop staring,” George insisted, wondering why John looked so rattled.

“Oh.” If possible, John’s cheeks grew even more vibrant. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s only…” Edward cleared his throat, and glanced down at his own pants. “We’d all thought the same, I suppose. It’s a surprise, is all, George.”

“I assure you, no one is more surprised than me.”

When George looked up, he swore John had somehow gotten closer. He was staring again; his mouth was half-open, handsome lips looking very inviting, and now was not the time, George.

“It has been a long time,” Edward muses. His voice sounded closer, too. “A very long time.”

“Are you…” John cut himself off, licking his lips, and blinking hard, as though trying to shake off a dream. “Are you in much pain, George?”

Pain? The word rang clearly in his head. Pain was a familiar ghost by now, haunting their every waking hour in a dozen different ways. Compared to the twinges in his joints and the ever-present ache in his head… this was nothing.

“No pain,” George said softly, unable to look away from John’s sweet face. “Discomfort, it all. It will not go away.”

“No,” John agreed softly. “Not a thing like that… which has fought so hard. Appealed to God for its very existence.”

Good Lord, George prayed, please don’t let him start preaching over my cockstand.

John’s face was veiled in shadow. He did not look fully awake… or if he was, not fully aware of the world around him, too stuck in his own head. His hand twitched, then lowered to his side again. He blinked, dazed, and his parted lips fluttered.

“I grieved mine once it was gone,” he admitted softly. “I know it is a sin to desire so, but… I felt as though I’d lost my chances before they’d even come.” A shaky chuckle escapes his throat. “And I was relieved to finally be free of them. At least… I thought. I hoped. But the desires… they don’t go away, do they? Just the ability…”

He sounded so sorry that George could not help a burst of compassion. “You are very able, John, I’m sure,” he said softly, laying a hand over John’s own. John blinked, then shivered, inching even closer.

George’s cock throbbed again. He could not help jumping, his hips craving friction they could not receive. A slight gasp escaped him… and at that moment, Edward’s hand settled on his shoulder.

“You’re most capable of us all at the moment,” he murmured, dark eyes searing George’s own. “And you are uncomfortable. We cannot allow that, George.”

“I — I’m sorry,” he said faintly, feeling himself flush again. “I can take care of it… give me only a moment, I…”

“Alone?” Edward pursed his lips, like he’d just tasted something bitter. “That seems unfair, George.”

Oh, George realized from a distance, as his suspicions clicked into place. Oh, devil me, this is really happening.