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Polar Explorer RPF - Prompt Post 1
This is for prompts for all things general Polar Explorer RPF.
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!
Under this umbrella you can prompt:
Prompts in line with adaptations of Heroic Age stories can also fit here, for example if you want to specifically prompt Hugh Grant!Cherry from The Last Place On Earth getting wrecked (which someone really should).
No blorbo too obscure for this post! EXCEPT: NO PEARY ALLOWED. God I hate that guy.
Rules:
Regular view: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html
Regular view, last page: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?page=999#comments
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!
Under this umbrella you can prompt:
- Historical versions of Franklin Expedition(-adjacent) guys (Rossier, Gore/McClure, etc)
- Madhouse at the End of the Earth/Belgica Expedition
- Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration - Shackleton, Scott, Amundsen, Mawson
- Andrée Expedition
- Karluk Expedition
- etc
Prompts in line with adaptations of Heroic Age stories can also fit here, for example if you want to specifically prompt Hugh Grant!Cherry from The Last Place On Earth getting wrecked (which someone really should).
No blorbo too obscure for this post! EXCEPT: NO PEARY ALLOWED. God I hate that guy.
Rules:
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.
Mertz/Ninnis, sex crying
Solo gen can be prompted as well alongside (a) character name and description
e.g.
Gen, Emil Racovitza, discovering a crazy new fish
4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]
e.g.
Fill: The Very Next Day, Cherry/Birdie, E, cw self-harm
5. One prompt per comment please.
6. Multiple fills for each prompt are welcome!
7. You don't have to be anon for your prompts or your fills but we do encourage it because of the vibe. You're also welcome to deanon your stuff by posting on AO3/Tumblr as you please!
8. Feedback on prompts and fills is AWESOME; please take longer conversations to the discussion post.
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FILL: Who Shaves the Barber?, Cook/Amundsen, E
(Anonymous) 2022-10-31 07:17 am (UTC)(link)With the disappearance of the sun came a mysterious ailment from which most everyone was by that point suffering. Cook was one of the only men on the ship whose days were full and hectic. It had its benefits–mentally, he remained more stable than most of them–but physically, it took its toll.
Amundsen noticed at once. The doctor, who had fast become Amundsen’s closest friend in the expedition, was tense, unkempt and underslept. He had extended his excellent care to everyone onboard, save for himself.
Amundsen slipped inside of Cook’s cabin when it became empty of patients at last. The doctor didn’t notice him at first, his head in his hands while he massaged his temples. Amundsen cleared his throat to alert him to his presence without startling him.
Cook sighed, but did not lift his head from his hands. “Long day,” he supplemented, and Amundsen huffed a cheerless not-quite laugh in acknowledgement.
After only another short moment, Cook roused himself from his very brief repose, lifting his face from his hands. “Are you still feeling well?” he asked, and Amundsen sensed earnest worry in his voice.
“Quite well, my friend,” Amundsen was quick to reassure him. He had not come to worry Cook any more, or to be another body to tend to–quite the opposite, in fact. Amundsen found a box to sit on, pulled it up, settled down facing his friend. He held out his hand, palm-up, and somehow Cook knew to place his own hand, palm-down, on top of it. Amundsen rubbed his thumb across the back of Cook’s hand, applied gentle pressure to the meat of his palm, finding the muscles tense even there. Cook was strung fast as new stays, tight as violin strings–plucking the tendons in his hands may give forth a clear, ringing note, Amundsen thought to himself.
“I fear you are neglecting yourself,” Amundsen stated plainly. It was a fair observation, and he had evidence to back it up.
Cook scoffed, staring absently at his own hand, dwarfed somewhat by Amundsen’s. “I’ve never had so much business. If only I could charge down here, eh?” he joked. Amundsen’s amusement whenever Cook joked was silent–barely manifested itself as a smile, much less a laugh, but radiated warmly and perceptibly from him all the same. Cook could tell he won’t get Amundsen off his back with a few half-hearted attempts at humor, however, and tempered himself. “I’m alright, Roald. It’s good. It keeps me busy. God knows that’s one of our worst enemies now–inactivity.”
“I mean to take care of you,” Amundsen said conclusively. “This will keep me busy.”
He left little room for Cook to protest. So Cook resigned himself, not all too unwillingly, and stood when Amundsen stood. Their hands remained clasped together as Amundsen led Cook to the bathing room, where he’d already drawn a tub of water. Amundsen released Cook’s hand then, and made a move to begin undressing him.
Cook stopped Amundsen’s hand where it grasped the hem of his shirt. “I think I can do this next part of this myself, don’t you?” he asked, containing his surprise at Amundsen’s forwardness. Amundsen’s expression was dire, and Cook realized that he was very much subject to his decisions, now–what Amundsen said would go. Even so, Amundsen relented, his arms dropping to his sides, but his gaze remained pointedly fixed on Cook as he undressed. Cook did not lock eyes with him, but resolutely continued undressing–there was little room for modesty or bashfulness, on a ship so tightly packed.
Cook eased himself into the tub, allowing himself to close his eyes and release the slightest bit of tension that kept his muscles wound up tight like rope around a capstan. When was the last time he’d had a proper night’s sleep, in lieu of slipping briefly into unconsciousness for a scant few minutes intermittently these past few weeks? As darkness gained, the confused half-night that swallowed up more and more hours of each day reflected his own state of mind–he spent his days in a civil twilight of consciousness.
Cook was drifting when he felt fingers sink into his hair, and he could hardly be held accountable for the throaty moan that left him. He felt the weight of water in his hair as Amundsen scooped handfuls in his cupped hands and showered them gently down onto him. Amundsen nimbly teased tangles out of his locks, which were beginning to grow out long, a visual record of how long they’d been trapped in the ice. The feeling was euphoric, all the more so because of how little he’d anticipated such gentle attentiveness from Amundsen.
After several minutes, the fingers in his hair were drawn away, and began trailing down his chest. Amundsen’s touch was not light, he pressed his palms into Cook’s skin, made his presence known and impossible to ignore. There was no hesitation in the way he ran his hands back up, cupping Cook’s jaw before doubling back to stroke down his chest again, dipping just below the water where Cook’s ribs ended. Cook opened his eyes then, fixed them on his friend’s face. Amundsen looked just as focused and intent as he did while surveying the pack, while scaling the face of a sheer ridge. Cook once again arrested the progress of Amundsen’s hand by taking it in his own. He didn’t ask aloud, but Amundsen understood his silent inquiry nevertheless.
“Let me,” Amundsen murmured, and then his face broke into one of those elusive smiles. “You don’t really believe that drivel about causing impotence, do you?”
Cooks groaned and let his head fall back–he throbbed between his legs at the confirmation of Amundsen’s intentions, and couldn’t believably refuse the proposition any more than he could hide his growing arousal in response to Amundsen’s touch.
“Just keep quiet,” Cook said by way of permission, as if Amundsen was the one who needed to be reminded, and he heard a low chuckle in response. Amundsen’s fingers wrapped around his cock, then, and Cook gave an involuntary start forward, the water sloshing about him.
Amundsen bent over Cook as he pulled him off, his face tucked into the crook of Cook’s neck. His breath was hot against Cook’s skin, open-mouthed, panting breaths attesting to the fact that Cook was not alone in drawing pleasure from the act. Still, the motion of Amundsen’s hand was fast, practiced and unrelenting–focused solely on the end goal of bringing Cook to his peak, which at this rate wouldn’t take long.
“Slow down, Roald, shit,” Cook hissed through gritted teeth, and Amundsen stopped at once, recoiling his hand from Cook’s erection, all his stolid surety gone in a moment. That was far from Cook’s intention, so he gave a little upward cant of his hips, urging Amundsen back. “Now, I didn’t say stop,” he said, bringing his hand to grasp the back of Amundsen’s neck and hold him in place while he tilted his face closer, their noses bumping lightly. “Just take your time, yeah? Make it last, sweetheart.” Cook tilted his head, pressed his lips to Amundsen’s, and could tell from the sharp intake of breath through his nose that it had come unexpectedly. Even so, Amundsen reciprocated almost immediately, pressing forward and opening his mouth to him. He groped at Cook’s length below the water again, squeezed, and took to stroking at a pace more languid and refined, but no less confident.
They kissed heatedly while Cook fucked Amundsen’s fist, quiet groans muffled in each others’ mouths, and drowned out all the same by the sounds of the men who had not retired for the night still socializing in the wardroom.
Cook’s mouth dropped open with a strangled sound as he came. Amundsen stroked him through it, and seemed reluctant to pull away–he pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Cook’s mouth before drawing back, his hands at last leaving Cook’s body.
Cook slumped bonelessly in the tub, a smug smile stretched across his face and a low laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Oh, darlin’,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I could go for a smoke, couldn’t you?”
Amundsen ignored him. “You need sleep,” he insisted, back on track: from one accomplished task to the next.
“‘Course I do,” Cook agreed, hoisting himself upright in the tub. “You know just what I need, don’t you?” He didn’t mean at all to sound sardonic, and although the language barrier between them was as thin as paper, to ensure he communicated his earnestness, he held out a hand to Amundsen, knocking their fingers together lightly. “Thank you, Roald.”
Amundsen accepted the thanks with a gentle squeeze to Cook’s hand and another one of his coveted smiles, which, when simply seeing wouldn’t suffice, Cook leaned over to taste.
“Come spend the night with me, hm?” Cook murmured. Amundsen nodded his agreement.
A short while later found the two curled together on Cook’s bed—a tight fit, given especially Amundsen’s grand stature, but with Amundsen half atop Cook, they managed a comfortable position. Cook’s fingers ran through Amundsen’s hair. “You know, for the sake of the crew,” Cook mused aloud, “I hope you’ve been extending these favors to everyone.”
Amundsen grumbled, well on his way to falling asleep.
“For my own sake,” Cook continued, “I hope the hell not.”
Re: FILL: Who Shaves the Barber?, Cook/Amundsen, E
(Anonymous) 2022-11-01 01:52 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Who Shaves the Barber?, Cook/Amundsen, E
(Anonymous) 2022-11-05 02:36 pm (UTC)(link)AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I'm losing my mind this was delicious
Re: FILL: Who Shaves the Barber?, Cook/Amundsen, E
(Anonymous) 2022-11-09 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)Amundsen ignored him. “You need sleep,” he insisted, back on track: from one accomplished task to the next.
This is so perfectly both of them, I love it!