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The Terror - Prompt Post 1
This is for prompts for all things AMC's The Terror (2018). Go nuts!
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
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Hickey/Crozier, CNC knifeplay
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Gen, Edward Little, having a nice day
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Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon
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Any m/m - scurvy dick comes inconveniently back to life
(Anonymous) 2022-10-04 02:57 pm (UTC)(link)I’m open to any ship but here are some that came to mind with this scenario: Hickey/Tozer, Hickey/Irving, any two out of the three lieutenants, Irving/Tozer, Goodsir/Tozer, Hickey/Crozier (Crozier was only holding onto him for security reasons, of course), Fitzier, Fitzjames/Dundy, Hickey/Hodgson, Goodsir/Hickey…
Re: Any m/m - scurvy dick comes inconveniently back to life
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Any m/m - scurvy dick comes inconveniently back to life
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Any m/m - scurvy dick comes inconveniently back to life
(Anonymous) 2022-10-21 09:51 am (UTC)(link)FILL: Generous Men, (Hodgson/Little + bonus Irv), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)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.
FILL: Generous Men, (TerrorOT3 + bonus Hickey/Hodge), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)Or — no, perhaps that was Edward’s hand, caressing his cockstand through his pants. Yes, that was it, indeed.
George gasped, and arched with the movement of his hand. Even in all his wanting, he did not anticipate touch feeling so good — but oh, it was magnificent, a balm to a fever he did not even know was blazing. Edward felt him out for a moment, palming the weight and length of him through the fabric. When George unwillingly bucked into his hand, he chuckled, and made a low soothing hum.
“At peace, George. Patience.”
“Oh, I can't!” George gasped, feeling wild… but when he tried to surge forward again, strong arms were suddenly around his chest, holding him against a warm, hard chest.
George whined; John held tighter. He caught him around the elbows and pinned his arms to his side, gentle yet forceful all at once… and George’s mind was alight with color, with urgency and want and raw pleasure, as Edward began to unbutton his trousers.
“Yes…” he moaned. “Yes, please...”
His back arched against John’s chest. The other man lay against him like stone, unmoving, perhaps not daring to breathe. His heart beat steadily, but his muscles were paralyzed.
“I… cannot,” John uttered after a long moment.
Edward looked up, meeting his eyes. He did not look judgmental — nor surprised. He only nodded, mouth gentle, eyes soft. “Very well,” he replied. “Just hold him, then.”
That much, John could do with ease.
George found himself writhing, thoroughly out of his head, as Edward’s gentle ministrations built his cockstand to a fever pitch, like stoking a stubborn fire to blazing. He gasped and squirmed, but John’s grip held firm; the man’s heavy breaths pressed to the crown of his head, his frantic heartbeat against his back, and it was all George could do not to expire from the mere feeling of him. Meanwhile, Edward was being so attentive down below, taking care of George like some precious thing. He stroked, and he soothed, and when he cupped the stones at the base of George’s cock, George’s brain nearly exploded.
Restrained from moving his body, all he could do was move his mouth. He found himself spewing a steady stream of nonsense, breathless and urgent in the silence. “Oh, please… oh, you are so good, you are both so very… oh! Hmm. I won’t last, I'm close, oh… I’m sorry, I cannot, I cannot…”
“George,” John said, before leaning down and kissing him hard on the mouth.
Which stopped George’s babbling, at least.
Edward had him at a fever pitch; John's tongue against his lips sent him boiling. With a few quick strokes, George tumbled over the edge. He fell in an explosion of fireworks, vision bursting with color and whiting out all at once. Perhaps it was the illness within him, or the rarity of the moment — but it was more intense than he could ever remember coming, before or after.
A grand finale, he thought to himself, as he came slowly back to his senses.
He was still braced in John’s arms… but gently now, as though he’d fallen into a swoon. He was still trembling. John was running his fingers over the thin hair at the crown of George’s head, while Edward was wiping the translucent spend from his hand, soiling one of their few blankets in the process. George tried to protest this, but all he managed was a weak little noise.
“There, there,” Edward soothed, returning quickly to his side. “You did very well, George. Just rest now.”
Their hands stroked languidly along his body, his shoulders, his face. Still humming from the aftereffects of the climax, he allowed his head to loll back against John’s chest. It was an effort to keep his eyes open; more to force sluggish words from his mouth, but this was important.
“I meant it… so wonderful. The both of you are…”
He trailed off with a vague sigh, words giving up on him entirely. There was so much more he meant to say. I’ve wanted this for so long, longer than I could admit. I care for you both so dearly. I could not bear to see you hurt. I want to live. I want us all to live. I want to go home with you both, and kiss you when we’re safe again, and maybe it will be different. Maybe we can be happy.
But George’s life has been marked by things he never did, and words he never said. This was no different. Once again, the moment slipped by, and he faded away.
“Edward,” he heard from a distance, in John’s tremulous whisper. “Have we sinned? Have we done something… unforgivable?”
Edward’s voice, in contrast, was low and soft like molasses, almost resigned. “I think we’ve moved beyond sin here, John. God will forgive us anything now… so long as it’s done out of love.”
Love, George thought, love, love… and the ecstasy carried him down into sleep.
It was almost perfect.
As close as he ever came, anyway.
It’s all over, now.
He sits alone in the cold, exposed to the wind and undying daylight; the sores on his face sting, but George hardly feels it anymore. The mutineers’ camp is a ramshackle construct, more of an idea than a realization. There are a few spare tents, the boats they must haul, and the dining area — this space is given the most attention, out of the whole. George sleeps in a tent with Des Voeux; officer’s country, Mister Hickey refers to it with venom, and he’s quite sure he’s been placed there on purpose. Des Vouex is a lax jailer, though. There’s nowhere for George to run, and they both know he will not try anything brave.
He’s a free man, really. The idea leaves him delirious — though that might just be the scurvy, or the lead. Free, at the end of all things… free from everything but the weight of his own sins. Edward was wrong. There are still crimes men can commit, in the world’s dying light, which will bar him from heaven. Murder. Cannibalism. Cowardice. Idiocy is lowest on the list… but lust doesn’t even rank at all.
George sits alone in the camp’s silence, staring out at the endless, empty horizon. He turns the memory over and over in his head, trying to savor every facet, every remembered detail. It is sweet and rich, like the tang of copper on his tongue. John, he thinks… and with this night in mind, the gruesome memory of his fate can almost be drowned away. Edward, he mourns… and he can almost forget the look of betrayal in his eyes, when he saw George standing on the ridge.
Love. It does not seem like a real word anymore. Not for him, anyway.
Yet he still remembers, he still relishes it… and, to George’s own horror, as the phantom caresses run along his skin, he feels a stir down below.
Not now. God have mercy, not here, not now…
“My, my, Lieutenant. What have we been hiding?”
By the time Hickey stumbles upon him, George is at three-quarters mast. His breaths come hard and slow; he does not look down, or up. If he does not acknowledge it, then perhaps… but if Hickey’s sniveling voice could not get rid of the problem, George supposes nothing will.
He tenses as the man crouches down beside him. Hickey’s hand is a heavy weight on his knee, his breath heavy with a metallic stench.
“That’s Billy doing his good work within you, I expect.” He rubs a hand up and down George’s leg, as though soothing him. George’s cock twitches; he cannot help the way it swells. Hickey notices, of course, and chuckles, as though he’s just solved a riddle. “Here, now,” he croons. “Mustn’t leave a man to suffer alone.” A pause, as his head tilts, and his eyes sharpen. “Will you let me?”
George’s throat tightens. He would weep, if his broken body were able to make the tears. Yet even as he feels himself decaying alive, even as Hickey’s touch curdled his shrunken stomach… his cock is earnest and urgent, twitching towards the pressure of Hickey’s hand.
But Hickey pauses — so close, too close — halfway up George’s thigh, gazing at him serenely. “I won’t touch you if you do not want me to, Lieutenant. I’m not that sort of man.”
No, indeed. George knows precisely the sort of man Hickey is.
But… he wants. And he needs. And, God help him, he cannot say no.
“Right, Lieutenant.” Hickey’s smile unfurls, as George nods, shaky and ashamed. “You are a smart man. Just relax, hmm?” His hand moves up the length of George’s thigh, and finally — George gasps. “I’ll take you from here.”
Biting back a moan, George settles down, and squeezes his eyes shut. He will not think about it. He will not make this another memory.
At least, if he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend he is somewhere else… in another time, a kinder one. One that was, once, filled with love.
Re: FILL: Generous Men, (TerrorOT3 + bonus Hickey/Hodge), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-17 11:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Generous Men, (TerrorOT3 + bonus Hickey/Hodge), M, sad handjobs in the scurvy shack [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2022-10-18 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)FILL #2: A Question Of Relative Volume - Collins/Goodsir, rated E, almost/sort of public sex
(Anonymous) 2022-10-21 10:24 am (UTC)(link)A Question Of Relative Volume - Collins/Goodsir, rated E, almost/sort of public sex
It had started off as only a practicality.
The company of Hudson Bay trappers they’d met had gladly shared such resources as they could spare. A little fresh seal meat, some tart apple cider; it had gone a little way towards restoring the beaten-down bodies of the Terrors and Erebites, and done a great deal more to lift their spirits.
In return for Captain Crozier’s pledge that they would be appropriately compensated by the British consulate in Canada, their new friends had led them south along the trail of caches which supplied the Company during their summer hunting. There was blessedly unspoilt food, and basic medical supplies.
The only thing the Company hadn’t had spares of was tents and bedding, but that was alright. Harry shared a rather mildewed old tent from Erebus’s stores with Henry Collins, Captain Fitzjames, and Dundy. Despite the constant daylight, the lifting of his recent stress and the warmth of his companions meant Harry was able to sleep better in the stuffy tent than he had in months.
There was warmth in abundance at nights at least, for in order to conserve body heat they slept two to a sleeping bag. Fitzjames and Dundy shared one, and Harry found himself tucked up with Collins’s broad form in another.
“It’s a question of relative volumes, you see,” Dundy had proclaimed. “James and I together are about the same size as the two of you taken together. So this is our best configuration of four men to two sacks.”
Harry had his own opinions on Dundy’s motivations. But he didn’t complain, for Collins would have been his own first choice of bedmate. He had grown very fond of Collins over the last year as a friendship had developed between them. After all that had happened, they both struggled with despair and anxiety at times - but Harry found it eased him, a little, to have Collins to talk it through. He hoped that in his own small way, he was able to comfort Collins as well.
And if Harry had occasionally entertained notions about going a little further than friendship with Mr Collins, well that was nobody’s business but his own. He might have pulled himself off, once upon a time, to thoughts of a man such as Collins, big and broad enough to throw Harry around like a doll. A firm, muscled chest and a soft, rounded belly, perfect for Harry to rest his head on. Such lovely kind eyes.
It was a moot point now, for Harry’s cock had not come to a stand since before they’d left the ships. He couldn’t honestly say he missed it overmuch; there had been so many unpleasant tasks and experiences to occupy his thoughts that he hadn’t been in the mood for that kind of comfort for a long time.
All of which was to say: it was a surprise to Harry when he woke early one morning so stiff that it was almost painful.
He hadn’t realised where he was at first, drifting up from a pleasant dream to find himself snuggled against a warm body, legs tangled together and his head nestled on a shoulder. He gave a small, satisfied sigh, rolling his hips forward and feeling a firm thigh against his groin.
Collins gave a quiet rumble, low in his throat, and his arms around Harry squeezed him deliciously tight for a moment.
Collins! Harry opened his eyes with a jolt. He was in the sleeping bag with Collins, the other man’s face only an inch away from his own in the tent which offered very little shade from the Arctic sun. And he was so, so hard. Oh, god.
Just behind Harry came a mumble which might have been “full and by”. Harry froze, heart hammering in his chest - before remembering that of course that was Fitzjames, two feet away on Harry’s other side and with a terrible habit of talking in his sleep. Carefully, holding his breath, he raised his head very slowly and craned his neck round to look behind him.
Fitzjames was lying on his side facing him, his face creased in a slight frown but obviously fast asleep. Behind him was Dundy, with a protective arm slung over his captain - Harry couldn’t see his face, but he could hear him snoring softly. Harry let out a long, slow exhale, relaxing minutely.
That just left the problem of extricating himself from Collins’s embrace, undeniably pleasant though it was. One of his legs was clasped between Collins’s plump thighs. Harry’s prick twitched. He bit his lip.
He tried to shift his weight to the side, straining the muscles in his abdomen and back in his effort to move without using his limbs. To his horror, Collins rolled over with Harry still held firmly in his arms, making a pleased little huff as though he were having a good dream.
Harry’s cock was now trapped between their bodies, pressing importunately against Collins’s belly. He could feel a bit of fluid leaking from the tip; he let out a mortified little whimper.
There followed a couple of minutes in which Harry tried to think distracting thoughts. But it was no use: it had been so long since anyone had touched him intimately, even though he knew Collins hadn’t intended it. And he had so long desired the other man; his treacherous body refused to be put off now that such an opportunity had presented itself.
He made another attempt at wriggling out of the embrace - he would have to get up, say he was going to the latrine trench if any of them woke. But Collins was so much stronger than him, and his arms were heavy.
Then the unthinkable happened - Collins stirred, stretched against him - Harry was unable to prevent himself from rolling his hips again - and opened his eyes. His expression was drowsy and pleased - oh, he was lovely.
For a moment Collins looked happy to find Harry in his arms like this, a small, sweet smile breaking across his face. “Hullo,” he murmured, and then, his expression changing to shock - “oh.”
Harry felt a mortified flush heat his face. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll just -“ he tried to untangle his legs at last, fumbling for the opening of the sleeping bag.
Collins propped himself up on an elbow to peer over Harry, then put a finger to his lips with a smile. Following his gaze, Harry looked over his shoulder: Dundy and Fitzjames hadn’t stirred.
“Don’t be sorry,” Collins whispered, putting his lips right next to Harry’s ear. Harry shivered. “‘S perfectly natural.”
Harry’s heart was in his mouth. Collins’s expression was arresting - he did not look offended, not at all. On the contrary, he looked heated, like he wanted - was it desire? Harry hardly dared to hope. “You - you don’t mind?” he whispered tentatively.
Collins shook his head. “I’d never mind. Not if it was you.” His face was terribly earnest.
Harry swallowed. His throat was suddenly very dry. “I - I wouldn’t mind either. If it were you, I mean.”
“Oh,” Collins breathed. “Oh, Harry.” He pulled Harry back into an embrace; buried his nose in Harry’s wild hair. His arms rubbed lightly up and down Harry’s back; Harry allowed himself to reach up to feel Collins’s wide shoulders under his palms. His prick throbbed, but he restrained himself from rutting against Collins like an animal.
Perhaps he had heard the thought, for Collins reached a large, warm hand down and placed it on Harry’s thigh. He looked a question at Harry, eyebrows raised.
Harry thought he might be dreaming still. But he nodded, heart in his throat. Collins slid his hand up Harry’s thigh, towards his twitching cock -
“That’s terribly bad for the hydraulic mechanism,” said Fitzjames, and Harry almost leapt out of his skin - he and Collins stared at each other in horror, eyes wide.
Harry twisted around again to look - but Fitzjames was still out, his face slack and untroubled in sleep. A wave of relief washed over him, and he rolled onto his back, turning his face to look at Collins. Collins was grinning broadly, and Harry was obliged to bring a fist up to his own mouth to stifle the urge to laugh.
Collins smacked him lightly on the arm. “Shh!” he whispered, and that made it even harder not to laugh. Harry rolled back over to bury his face in Collins’s neck and held his breath against the giggles that threatened to burst out of him.
Collins’s body shook against him with his own suppressed mirth, and it was some minutes before Harry calmed down enough to trust himself. At length he pulled back a little, though, and looked up into Collins’s face - the other man was looking back at him oh so fondly, as though he were something to be treasured.
Carefully, moving slowly lest he make any noise, Harry craned his neck up to press a gentle kiss to Collins’s lips. Collins smiled back at him, bringing up a large hand to cup the side of Harry’s face.
“Do you still want…?” Collins breathed.
Oh, Harry did, almost desperately so. There was a wet patch now, on the inside of his smalls where his prick had been leaking enthusiastically since he’d first awoken.
He held up a finger to indicate Collins should wait a moment, and wriggled around so his back was pressed against Collins’s front. Then, having satisfied himself that Fitzjames and Dundy were still asleep, he reached behind him and brought Collins’s hand around, finally to his stiff cock.
He had thought to guide Collins’s hand, but Collins palmed his cock through his smalls so confidently and expertly that it seemed no assistance would be needed. He brought his hand up to cover his own mouth instead. He must not make a sound, he told himself sternly.
Collins stroked him slowly but firmly, and it was heavenly. He’d been denied this for so long, he wouldn’t last - but perhaps that was for the best, given the circumstances. He rocked his hips to meet Collins’s rhythm, thrilling at just how big Collins was - his broad palm almost the whole length of Harry’s cock, his arm heavy where it rested against Harry’s waist.
Harry pressed back against Collins’s belly - not as plump as it had been when first they’d met, but soft and yielding through the cotton of his nightshirt all the same. His mouth watered. Next time, next time, he’d have Collins in privacy, somewhere, where he could look and kiss and perhaps even bite.
And further down - a hard line which could only be Collins’s own yard nudged the back of Harry’s thighs. Harry held back a whimper with great effort, biting down on the flesh of his palm to distract himself. It was a joke among the crew that Collins was unusually well-endowed - god, Harry couldn’t wait to find out for himself.
He was sweating now in the close confines of the bag, but that hardly mattered. He rolled his hips back and forth to meet Collins’s rhythm as he tugged at his prick, the two of them falling into synchrony as hot pleasure surged within him.
“Bad dog, Neptune,” Fitzjames mumbled; good God did that man never shut up! Harry ignored him; he would have ignored a whole pack of bears if they’d crashed into the tent at that moment.
Collins gave his prick a hard squeeze and Harry held his breath and sank his teeth into his palm and spent himself in a hard release. Hot, wet jism flooded his drawers - he had completely forgotten that this would present a problem - but he didn’t care in the moment, didn’t care as Collins stroked and petted his throbbing cock as it spurted and dribbled.
Harry hid his face in his elbow as Collins did not immediately leave off his ministrations, but instead gently pressed Harry’s softening prick against his belly. He jerked as another wet shock of pleasure jolted through him - he was so overstimulated that he was unable to stop a noise escaping his throat: of joy or of protest he didn’t know.
Dundy’s snoring - a steady background hum which had been carrying on all this time - suddenly ceased, and Harry and Collins both froze in place. Harry watched with bated breath as Dundy withdrew his arm and rolled over onto his back - and resumed his snoring.
Harry lay still for a few moments, feeling slow and stupid from his orgasm. Then he recalled himself to Collins, his bulk warm beside him. He shifted to face him.
“You?” Harry whispered. He slid a hand in between their bodies, feeling for - good lord, the thing was just as massive as the men joked about. Harry let out a sigh of admiration.
Collins’s eyes had drifted closed, but they snapped open as Harry trailed tentative fingers over his cock. He glanced over Harry’s shoulder at their sleeping officers, looking worried.
“Not now,” he whispered back, shaking his head. “It’s too much.”
Harry withdrew his hand at once, though he was disappointed. Perhaps this showed on his face, for Collins pulled him over to rest against his chest in the position Harry had first woken in. “But later, yeah?” he whispered in Harry’s ear. “I do want it. I want you.”
Harry snuggled down closer, insinuating his leg between both of Collins’s and brushing very lightly against that magnificent prick, just because he could. He was covered in his own spunk, cooling now and unpleasantly sticky. He was happier than he had been in years.
Re: FILL #2: A Question Of Relative Volume - Collins/Goodsir, rated E, almost/sort of public sex
(Anonymous) 2022-10-21 01:32 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL #2: A Question Of Relative Volume - Collins/Goodsir, rated E, almost/sort of public sex
(Anonymous) 2022-10-21 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL #2: A Question Of Relative Volume - Collins/Goodsir, rated E, almost/sort of public sex
(Anonymous) 2022-12-13 04:07 pm (UTC)(link)