Polar Explorer RPF - Prompt Post 1

[coldboys]

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: 

• 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.

Navigation
Regular 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

Comments

FILL: sweet talk, Shackleton/Hurley, explicit, 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

There is a part of Hurley that didn’t expect Shackleton to give in about the photographs. Maybe it was the way he’d talked about their weight limits, the way he’d torn that page from the Bible, the way he’d thrown his own things down on the ice. The gleam in his eye, determined not to do a single thing that wasn’t absolutely necessary for survival.

And the thing is, Hurley understands. He understands that Shackleton’s priority is the men. He understands that Shackleton would do anything, anything to make sure they all make it out of this alive. And he respects that, even—he knows it’s the thing that makes Shackleton so admirable, so…irresistible. It’s why all of these men would do anything in return for their leader.

But Shackleton doesn’t understand that Hurley has a responsibility to these men, too. He understands the value of the photographs, the film, for profit, for paying off debt. But he doesn’t understand what it means, to have these photos, to have this proof. That they were here, that they lived, even if they may yet die.

It’s Hurley pressing this, saying, “Without these we’ve done nothing,” that finally convinces Shackleton in the end. He can see the shift in his eyes, the set of his shoulders. And that’s something Hurley respects, too—the way he’ll concede when he’s realized he’s wrong. And there’s nothing as satisfying as that handshake when they reach a deal.

Going through his photo plates is surprisingly enjoyable, despite how much it pains Hurley to destroy any of them for good. Shackleton keeps his voice light and makes his choices quickly and decisively, never giving Hurley a moment to second guess them, and he makes congenial comments about each photograph, whether he keeps it or doesn’t. Oh, that’s the Skipper alright, or, I remember that day, I hadn’t realized you had your camera out. It’s the first time Shackleton has seen any of them, Hurley thinks, and it’s…nice, really, to have Shackleton’s undivided attention on his work. He feels his face warm as Shackleton puts a few of Endurance into boxes with almost reverent hands, feels his shoulders hunch a little as he hands over one or two that he’s particularly proud of, and feels his stomach stir when Shackleton nods and keeps them.

“Oh,” Shackleton says, taking a new plate from him. He blinks, and looks at it with bright eyes. “This is one of the ones you took at night, then?”

Hurley hums, pretending all of his attention isn’t on Shackleton just now, fiddling with the corner of the box in front of him.

“Well,” Shackleton says, and smiles. “It really is very good.”

Hurley clears his throat, feeling his ears go hot. “Yes, well. It came out quite nicely, I think.”

“You really are very good,” Shackleton says.

“Oh,” Hurley says, stupidly. His voice comes out a little unevenly.

Shackleton’s eyes flick to him instantly. “What, no one’s told you?”

Hurley’s shoulders hitch. They have—of course they have. But not. Not like this, somehow. It hasn’t come from…from someone like Shackleton. It hasn’t made him feel quite like this, bashful and…and shy. Hurley isn’t known for being shy.

“How long have you been taking photos, Hurley?” Shackleton asks him, turning to look at him more evenly.

“Since I was seventeen,” Hurley says, clearing his throat again.

“Who taught you?”

Hurley blinks. “I—I taught myself.”

“Really?” Shackleton looks genuinely surprised, as well as…impressed, maybe. “Extraordinary.”

Hurley’s stomach drops, and he shifts from foot to foot. “I sold them as postcards.”

Shackleton’s gaze is steady, thoughtful. “Astounding,” he says, voice low.

Hurley can feel how red his face is. He licks his wind-chapped lips and turns back to his plates.

Shackleton doesn’t take the hint. “You like to be told you’re good.”

Hurley coughs slightly. “Well, what man doesn’t?”

“Not just with photos, though,” Shackleton says. He shifts forward, voice dropping slightly. “You like to be told you’re good.”

Hurley feels like he may well burst into flames. He can’t look at Shackleton. He can feel his cock stirring, and it’s hard enough to feign composure as it is. “Yes,” he says breathlessly.

“Well.” Shackleton leans back. “Let it not be said that I’ve ever let one of my men go wanting.”

 


The details of how they actually make their way into the tent—and how Shackleton convinces everyone else to stay out of it—are fuzzy to Hurley, especially once he’s on his back atop the sleeping bags and Shackleton is pushing up the hem of his sweater and undershirts, sweeping a warm palm over shivering skin.

“Oh, god,” Hurley groans softly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Beautiful,” Shackleton says, voice low, private. Hurley bites back a pathetic sound at the comment. “Oh, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh,” Hurley breathes, arching up into his touch.

Shackleton leans over him, and Hurley feels warm lips against his quivering stomach, his sternum, his heaving chest. There’s a quick, sharp suck over his nipple, and Hurley makes a high whine of sound in response, squirming into the sensation. Shackleton leans up, though, chuckling softly, and murmurs, “Yes, just like that. Gorgeous.”

“Christ,” Hurley says weakly.

“You love to be told you’re beautiful,” Shackleton says.

It’s not a question, but Hurley says, unevenly, “Who doesn’t?”

“It does things to you, though,” Shackleton says, and catches his nipple gently between his teeth.

Hurley gasps, and says, “Yes.”

“Good,” Shackleton says, shifting to kiss the base of his throat. “Good boy.”

Hurley moans at that, unable to stop himself, and pushes up desperately as Shackleton moves to capture his mouth in a messy kiss, one hand curled around his jaw.

“So responsive,” Shackleton says as he pulls away, thumbing Hurley’s nipple where it’s hard and exposed to the cold, making him whine quietly. “Have you been touched like this before?”

And Hurley has—he’s no blushing virgin—but it’s never felt like this before. He feels as though he’s on fire, burning from the inside out. “Not like this,” he manages to say, clutching at Shackleton’s broad shoulders helplessly.

“You’re doing so well,” Shackleton tells him, and his voice is so warm, his gaze is so steady. “Do you want me to tell you you’re good?”

“Yes,” Hurley groans, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“You do many things well.” Shackleton’s thumb strokes his cheek where Hurley can feel it putting off so much heat it must be steaming, and then he leans back again, and the pressure moves from his face down to his chest, and then to the front of his trousers. “I hired you as our photographer, but that’s not the only service you provide onboard, is it?”

Hurley swallows thickly, pushing his hips up against Shackleton’s hand. He feels the flat of his palm press there where his cock is stiffening rapidly, and he pushes up against it a little desperately, sighing with relief.

“You take such beautiful photos, you capture everything just as it is, but you do so much else, don’t you,” Shackleton says, allowing Hurley to rut against his hand, thumbing his nipple again with the other. “You rigged up the lights on Endurance, and you’ve done work with the stove, too. You do such good work.”

Hurley’s stomach flips, and his cock pulses. “Oh,” he says again, his voice small.

“You do such good work,” Shackleton says again, rubbing the heel of his hand against Hurley’s cock. “You’re so good for me.”

Hurley’s hips buck against his will, and his eyes snap open against his will to see Shackleton smiling down at him, pleased, and oh how Hurley wants to please him. Oh how he wants to be good for him. “Please,” he whispers, wanting more, wanting everything.

“Yes,” Shackleton says. “I shall give you whatever you like. You’re being so good for me.”

Something hot pricks behind Hurley’s eyes, and he scrabbles at the waist of his trousers as his cock throbs. “I can be so good.”

“I know,” Shackleton says soothingly, pulling his hand away to help Hurley with his trousers. As his cock bobs free, hard and aching, Shackleton hums and says, “Beautiful, so perfect for me. So eager to please.”

“Yes,” Hurley gasps, and arches as Shackleton’s broad hand wraps around his cock, stroking him firmly, unhesitatingly.

“But I’m sure this isn’t all you can do, hm?” Shackleton says, spreading the fluid beading at the tip of his cock down over the head. “You, who has so many talents. Perhaps they extend to more private skills?”

Hurley squirms and blinks at him, unsure what he means. It’s hard enough to concentrate on anything at all, with arousal coursing through his veins, his hands gripping the reindeer bags below him tightly.

“Perhaps you take other things as well as you take praise?” Shackleton says, releasing his cock and dipping his hand lower, pressing his fingers up behind his bollocks.

“Oh,” Hurley says softly, dazedly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Yes, I—I could. I could do it well.”

“Yes,” Shackleton hums. “I thought you might.”

Quickly, his trousers are removed completely, and Hurley lets his legs spread invitingly, sweat cooling on his brow even as the chill makes his cock wilt. Shackleton has with him a small amount of seal oil, and it’s with this that he coats his fingers, looking down at Hurley’s body below him as he strokes slippery fingertips over his clenching rim. “You’re so very lovely,” he murmurs, pushing a finger into him relentlessly. Hurley bites down on a whine, arching his back. “So lovely for me. That’s it. You take it so well.”

Hurley feels positively desperate for it. “Another,” he gasps.

“So soon?” Shackleton’s eyebrows rise, and his eyes are bright. He pushes his finger in and out of him, slick and wonderful.

“Please,” Hurley says, spreading his legs wider. “Oh, I want it. I want to be good.”

“And you are,” Shackleton tells him. “You’re so good at this, darling. And you love it, don’t you?”

Hurley’s face flushes hot, and he groans as Shackleton pushes a second finger into him, fucking him open slowly.

“You excel in photography because you love it,” Shackleton says lowly, pumping two fingers into him, wonderfully thick, but too slowly to give Hurley what he needs. “And it’s the same for this, isn’t it. You love it, and you do it so well.”

“Yes,” Hurley gasps. “Yes, yes.”

“You love being touched like this.”

“Yes.”

“Everything you do, you do it for praise.”

Hurley’s eyes flutter shut again. God, how he loves it. All of it. Shackleton’s eyes on him, appreciating him, admiring him. His attention, his respect. His fingers inside him, fucking him, feeling him. His words, always just what Hurley wants to hear. He always knows just what Hurley wants to hear.

“Tell me what you want,” Shackleton says, curling his thick fingers inside Hurley, pressing into him just right. “I’ll give you anything you want if you’re good.”

“Please,” Hurley says on a sob. “Please fuck me. Tell me it’s good.”

“Yes,” Shackleton says, spreading his fingers slightly, stretching Hurley around them. “It’s going to be so good. You lovely thing.”

He nearly cries out when Shackleton withdraws his hand, but it’s only to help him turn over onto his stomach, to bring his knees up under him. And he talks to Hurley all the while—“It’s all right, can you spread your knees for me? Yes, that’s exactly right, that’s so good. You want three, don’t you. You can take three. Don’t you love how it feels, three fingers inside you?” And Hurley does, oh he does, he loves it and he can’t stop squirming, sighing, making pathetic noises for more.

“Sorry,” he says, feeling raw and vulnerable, speared on three of Shackleton’s fingers and being fucked steadily open, face pressed into reindeer hair. “Oh, sorry, I can’t— I’m being too loud—”

“Don’t you want everyone to hear?” Shackleton asks. “Don’t you want them to hear how good you are for me?”

“Yes,” Hurley says, even though he knows he won’t feel the same later. “Oh, god. Please fuck me.”

“Yes. You deserve it, don’t you? You deserve to be fucked for all the hard work you’ve done. When you’ve been so good.”

“Yes,” Hurley says desperately. “Yes, yes—”

He barely hears the rustle of clothing as Shackleton deals with his trousers. He can barely hear past the harsh panting of his own breaths, the pounding of his heart. And then he feels Shackleton’s hand on his hip, holding him steady, and then the thick, blunt pressure of his cock, sinking into him.

“Oh, god,” Hurley says, half cry, half sigh.

“That’s it,” Shackleton says, and for the first time his voice is strained. “That’s it, taking it so well.”