![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
NavigationRegular view: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html
Regular view, last page: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?page=999#comments
Flat view, first comment: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?style=site&view=flat#comments
Flat view, most recent: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?style=site&view=flat&page=999#comments
Top Level view, first page: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?style=site&view=top-only#comments
Top Level view, last page: https://coldboys.dreamwidth.org/925.html?style=site&view=top-only&page=999#comments
Terra Nova hut, sex pollen
(Anonymous) 2022-11-11 03:20 am (UTC)(link)Fill: Clissold's Curry Disaster!, Multiple Pairings, E, sex pollen 1/3
(Anonymous) 2023-01-03 05:12 am (UTC)(link)The Owner & Dr. Wilson
Scott feels it first.
“Spicier than usual,” he notes after the first bite of Clissold’s curry. The others nod in agreement, but it is only Scott’s face that turns increasingly red with each bite.
“Are you quite alright, Con?” Bill asks. His brow is furrowed with concern. Scott’s forehead breaks out in a cold sweat.
“Excuse me,” Scott says in lieu of answering, and excuses himself from the table.
It isn’t the usual stomach pain he feels after eating something that disagrees with his sensitive digestion—it’s lower, hotter, and, to his horror, feels an awful lot like arousal. Scott unties his boots and toes them off, then removes his woolen jumper. It’s become unbearably hot under his skin. He lays down on his bed, listening to the clinking of cutlery and the chatter of his men. He focuses on the sound rather than his pain. When Wilson crosses the threshold into their sequestered quarters asking after his health, the pain suddenly changes into overwhelming desire.
“Bill,” he says, reaching for him, and Wilson comes into his arms, kissing him soundly and crawling into his bunk beside him.
“You’re burning up, Con,” Wilson says. His hand brushes over Scott’s forehead before cupping his cheek and drawing him in for another kiss.
“Do you feel the heat?” he asks when Wilson pulls away. Wilson nods and pulls back to strip off his jumper. “What should we do, Bill?”
Wilson’s lips find his neck and he bites down. Scott’s hips buck up, his desperately hard cock seeking the friction of Wilson’s thigh between his legs.
“Sometimes we do best to remember that, in certain respects, we are no better than animals,” Wilson says.
“You speak as though you intend to mate with me, Bill,” Scott says it with a wry smile, but his cock twitches at the thought of Wilson pushing him down and mounting him like a dog in heat.
Wilson’s pupils dilate and his breaths come rough and ragged. “You can’t argue with nature.”
Their hands meet on Scott’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons before tearing it over his head. His undershirt and trousers are flung to the floor, where Wilson’s clothes quickly join them in an unkempt pile on the ground.
And then they are pressed together, Wilson sitting upright against the wall, cold wood against the flushed skin of his back, and Scott has rubbed his cock with lanolin and is sinking down on him until he is sitting in his lap with Wilson’s cock buried all the way inside him. He pauses there, adjusting to the stretch, the fullness, the tears in his eyes that begin to fall too early.
“It feels right,” Scott says. Wilson’s hand brushes away the tears that fall down his cheeks, his nose. “Right that you and I should be together, here. I was so worried you wouldn’t come with me.”
Wilson kisses him, soft and sweet. “I will always come with you.”
Scott smiles through his tears as they both begin to move, a perfect complement to each other. The blood pounding in his ears drowns out the clatter of the hut until it’s just them, breathing the same air and sharing the same heat. There is, at one point, a startled sound behind them, but neither of them notices, lost as they are in each other’s eyes.
When Wilson climaxes he pull out to spurt hot and heavy over Scott’s belly, and when Scott follows with a few quick tugs to his cock, he brands Wilson’s stomach the same way. They sit together, panting into each other’s mouths as their lust burns down to embers, casting a soporific fog over their minds, and together they burrow into the bedding and sleep, entwined as closely in each other’s arms as they are in each other’s lives.
Silas & Deb
“What do you suppose they’re doing in there?”
Griff Taylor looks over his shoulder at the partitioning wall that separates the Owner’s bunk from the officers’ common area. A loud, rhythmic thumping against the storage boxes echoes through the hut. He looks back at Silas.
“Discussing grouse disease.” Silas laughs, then abruptly turns bright pink.
“Oi, the curry too spicy for your American palate?” Birdie laughs.
“I’m Canadian, you tiny bast—“ Silas chokes on his words, mouth filling with saliva. It’s suddenly very, very hot in the hut and his dick is suddenly very, very hard. He means to excuse himself and retreat to his bunk or, if privacy allows, the latrine for a quick tug, but instead his body moves on its own, and Silas is, for some reason, climbing up onto the table like a wine-drunk aunt. And then he’s crawling across it until he’s close enough to grab Deb by the collar of his jumper, and now he’s kissing Deb like they’re alone and not in front of the entire expedition (save The Owner and Dr. Bill who are obviously fucking in Scott’s bunk).
Deb kisses him back before he remembers he’s at the table with the rest of the expedition. “Silas! What’s gotten into you, man?” Quietly, he adds, “I thought the time behind the stables was for science. And the time in the observation hut. And on the glacier.”
“To hell with science,” Silas growls—growls! “Fuck me right now.” He swings his long legs around so he’s sitting on the table with Deb between his legs and he kisses him again, and Deb feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped through the ground and then he feels it too—the sudden, all-consuming knowledge that if he doesn’t sink his cock into Silas Wright as soon as possible, he’s going to die. Deb’s position allows him to stand up, push Silas on his back and crawl on top of him. Silas is taller but Deb is wider, and Silas’s gangly limbs are easy enough to pin down as Deb ruts on top of him, frantically pushing his many articles of clothing out of the way so he can get his hands on Silas’s skin.
“Good God! Are they going to do it right on the table!?” he hears Griff exclaim. Deb can’t answer, not when his mouth is being put to much better use sucking on one of Silas’s nipples.
“I’m going to the magnetic hut before they sodomize each other over dessert,” Simpson says. There is the sound of chairs scraping against the floor of the hut. Someone steps over them, having climbed up on the table to reach the other side faster.
“I’m going to find Bill,” Cherry says, and then he too is gone from the table.
Not that either Silas or Deb are in a state to notice: they’re half-naked, rolling over half-finished bowls of curry in their attempts to strip each other of their remaining clothes.
“a=(v-u)t,” Silas swears.
“You’re unbelievable. I should fuck that dirty mouth of yours, Wright.” Deb has wrestled Silas onto his front and he kneels over his back, caging him in.
“Why fuck my mouth when I have a sweet little hole that’s been waiting for you all bloody day?” Silas turns over a hand to reveal a tin of medical ointment, liberated from one of the doctors’ bags. He smiles over his shoulder at Deb. “A gentleman is always prepared.”
Deb slaps him across the arse. “You’re a scoundrel, is what you are.”
“F^→=F^→ 1+F^→ 2!”
“That’s right,” Deb says as he pushes two fingers into Silas’s entrance. He adds another, his partner’s body relaxed and opening so sweetly beneath him. He doesn’t waste any time more than necessary: Deb slicks his cock and pushes in. Silas takes him with a moan. He braces himself on his elbows, knocking a pile of bowls off the table with a clatter and letting Deb slide that much further inside him.
“Fuck me like you mean it,” Silas says over his shoulder, and Deb accepts the challenge. The sweet, giggling exploration of their last (multiple) encounters is gone, replaced by a desperate, violent need. Deb’s fingers dig into the flesh of Silas’s hips as he slams his cock inside him. There’s an energy running through him, red-hot and electric, and he rides each pulsing current to completion.
“Jesus motherfucking F_d=1/2 pu^2 c_d A!”
He can feel Silas’s muscles spasm against him, sees him convulse with pleasure as he comes. It feels so tight and hot around his cock that Deb can’t bring himself to care when he comes inside, spurting with such volume and velocity that his come oozes out around his cock, still buried to the hilt in Silas’s stretched, pink hole. He expects a characteristic quip, but Silas is quiet.
“Alright?” Deb asks tentatively.
“Hrrng,” Silas responds. Deb nods, considering that to be a good sign, and slowly pulls his cock out of Silas’s still body. A blurt of come follows, and Silas groans.
“Right. I’ll clean you up.” Deb looks around the table for a napkin. Finding none, he takes an unused teaspoon and attempts to scoop the remaining semen out of Silas’s arse.
Of course, this is when Silas regains the ability to speak. “Are you fucking me with a spoon?”
“No!”
“You are!”
“I’m not! You said ‘hrrng’, which I interpreted to mean ‘My beloved Frank Debenham, please empty my anus of your semen’.”
“And you use a spoon?”
“There are no napkins!”
“Use the bloody tablecloth!”
“It seemed impolite!”
“Impolite! You know what’s impolite?” Silas drops to his knees and rolls off the table. “Sleeping in your bunk and dripping your filthy emissions all over your blankets, that’s what.” With this, he ducks behind the only curtain in the Antarctic, climbs up to Deb’s bunk, crawls under his blankets, and promptly falls asleep. With a sign, Deb drops the dirty spoon onto a pile of broken dishes and follows Silas to his bunk.
Re: Fill: Clissold's Curry Disaster!, Multiple Pairings, E, sex pollen 1/3
(Anonymous) 2023-01-05 09:11 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Clissold's Curry Disaster!, Multiple Pairings, E, sex pollen 1/3
(Anonymous) 2023-12-27 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)Fill: Clissold's Curry Disaster!, Multiple Pairings, E, sex pollen 2/3
(Anonymous) 2023-01-11 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)Oates, Meares, & Atkinson
There’s funny business going on with the curry. It’s made the men act like raving sodomites and unfortunately, Oates isn’t faring much better. It’s not the sodomy that bothers him—he’s an army man, for Christ’s sake—it’s the raving. Oates is quite simply going to find a partner, excuse himself and said partner to the stables, and take care of business. Simple as that. None of this loud kissing nonsense coming from the Owner’s bunk or the awkward flirtations of the science lads going at it on the table. Oates peers between Debenham’s spread knees and catches Atkinson’s eye. He looks over Wright’s flailing arm to find Meares’s eyes on him.
Titus’s gaze flicks between Atkinson and Meares, sizing them up. Meares has a great knowledge of the world: surely he would have some anecdote that will either cure them (unlikely) or prove that he is an experienced master of the sexual arts (more likely). Atkinson, meanwhile, is more likely to be the kind of sexual partner Oates appreciates best: a quiet, physical man who doesn’t need to listen to himself talk to get off. His knowledge of the body would undoubtedly prove to be a great asset. Oates considers his options. Atch? Or Meares?
The answer comes to him suddenly. With a single-minded determination, he leaps up on the table, steps over the half-naked, writhing entity that is Silas&Deb, and grabs both Atkinson and Meares by an arm. He pulls them backwards off their seats and both of them scramble to find their feet.
“Stables. Now,” he says.
The ponies shuffle and huff at their entry, but quickly go back to nosing at their hay when they realize that Oates is going to feed them. He pulls his companions over near the stove.
“Well,” he says, “which one of you would like to fuck me?”
“Titus,” Atch starts.
“I can see your erection from here,” he interrupts. “Both of you. Now, someone put me on all fours and ride me like a prize stallion until I’m done with you.”
“Will you be making horse allusions all night?” Atkinson asks.
“If someone doesn’t take action, I may have to.”
Meares puffs thoughtfully on his pipe. “I did see something in Hong Kong, once. I suppose it would be easier to demonstrate.”
And so it went that Oates was leaned back against the stable wall while Atkinson and Meares knelt in front of him, their lips meeting around the shaft of Oates’s cock.
“Do you like that, Titus?” Meares asks, before Atkinson pulls his mouth back onto Oates’s cock by a forceful hand on the back of his head.
“He likes it,” Atkinson answers for him. It’s a fine thing, Oates thinks, to have a friend who knows your every thought. They could never speak, he and Atch, and still know everything about the other. Like now, when Atch slides his mouth lower, mouthing at the base of Oates’s cock and licking over his balls while Meares sucks the head into his mouth.
“Say, Meares,” Atkinson asks, right when Oates is on the precipice of climax. “How would you arrange three men if, for example, Titus were to penetrate me, and you were to penetrate Titus?”
Without his pipe in hand, Meares sucks Oates’s cock while he thinks. He pulls off with a delighted look. “I participated in something similar in Greece, once! Here, you lay on your back like so with your hips up, Titus will kneel over you, and then I can mount Titus once he’s inside you!”
“What do you say, old boy?” Atch asks. “Have you ever been the horse and the rider?”
Cherry & Birdie
The scientists have abandoned them.
Well, not all of them. Silas and Deb are still here, evidenced by the cup of lukewarm tea that Deb’s foot sends flying within a foot of Cherry’s right ear. Even if not for the flying dishware, it is hard to look away from their amorously entwined bodies.
Cherry is still sitting completely still, eyes wide behind his glasses. He watches helplessly as Titus leaps up on the table and drags their last doctor away.
“I’m going to find Bill,” he says. He returns only a moment later, a blush staining his cheeks.
Birdie nudges him with a shoulder. “Is Bill—“
“Busy,” Cherry says. “Very, very busy.”
“I see.”
They’re the last two at the table. Deb has Silas on his hands and knees on top of the table. Cherry doesn’t want to know what he’s using for lubrication as he pushes inside. Silas throws his head back and unleashes a torrent of swear words, many of which Cherry has never heard before and some of which sound eerily similar to mathematical equations. Based on the context and the incredible volume of the slaps Deb is laying on his arse, they must be truly filthy.
“Cherry,” Birdie says quietly, “would you be terribly opposed if I kissed you right now?”
Cherry tears his eyes away from the spectacle on the table. Birdie is looking at him with wide eyes and a hopeful smile, and Cherry finds that he is absolutely not opposed at all. In fact, he has the sudden feeling that if he doesn’t kiss Birdie immediately, he will perish in the most terrible way.
So he kisses Birdie, and even though Birdie’s nose is very nearly poking him in the eye, it is a terribly satisfying experience.
“Why haven’t we done this before?”
“I didn’t want to scare you away,” Birdie shrugs, and it’s such a sweet, unassuming gesture that Cherry has to kiss him again, and again, and again.
“Shall we—“
“Would you let me—“
They speak at the same time and both look away, laughing nervously.
“My bunk is just over here,” Cherry says.
“I know. I sleep above you.”
“Ah, yes,” Cherry says. “I forgot.”
“It’s no bother, Cherry,” Birdie says. He stands and offers a hand to Cherry. Deb is fucking Silas in earnest now, rattling the table.
“Do you want to do that with me?” Cherry asks, nodding towards the enthusiastic sodomy atop the dinner table.
Birdie watches for a moment, then looks back to Cherry. “I want you to show me what you want.” He licks his lips. “And how you want it.”
Cherry grabs his arm and drags him to his bunk in the empty tenements.
Re: Fill: Clissold's Curry Disaster!, Multiple Pairings, E, sex pollen 2/3
(Anonymous) 2023-01-11 11:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Clissold's Curry Disaster!, Multiple Pairings, E, sex pollen 2/3
(Anonymous) 2023-01-11 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)“I know. I sleep above you.”
“Ah, yes,” Cherry says. “I forgot.”
“It’s no bother, Cherry,” Birdie says.
Just flailing like a muppet over here, I love themmmm