![[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
Stenhouse/Worsley/Jean, threesome
(Anonymous) 2023-01-18 03:07 am (UTC)(link)FILL: triple threat, Jean Worsley/Frank Worsley/Joseph Stenhouse, E [1/3]
(Anonymous) 2023-04-21 01:47 pm (UTC)(link)“If you say so,” Jean had said affably, more than familiar with the way things sometimes went and unbothered by it. “Give him my love and tell him not to dawdle. Here.” She had crossed over to Stenhouse and kissed each of his cheeks in turn before drawing back, beaming. “One for Wuzz, and one for you. I’ll see you both tonight.”
Stenhouse had returned to the harbour with a spring in his step and given Worsley his kiss on the cheek with exaggerated formality. “Calling card from a Miss Cumming, Captain Worsley.”
“So thoughtful.” Worsley had grinned happily, and Stenhouse had thought no more of it.
The next time it happened after another long and questionably successful journey, Worsley had given him a kiss to return to Jean, a little smack on the nose. “Precisely like that,” he’d said. “And you can tell her she’s a sweetheart too good for a washed-up old sailor like me, shamefully neglecting his wife for his ship.”
“I’ll tell her that much for free. Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around, give you an extra set of hands?”
Worsley’d waved him off. “No, no need. I’ve slept more recently than you, go get yourself some shut-eye.”
“I’ll be coming back here for that anyways.”
Worsley blinked. “Absolutely not, you’ll be staying with us.” And when Stenhouse had protested weakly, citing marital privacy, he had only insisted. “We’ve never had any compunction about plaguing you and Gladys, please, Stennie. There’s a whole room waiting just for you at the hotel, go get yourself a bath and a snooze.”
They had been firm friends since they’d met and it was true that Frank and Jean, in their Bohemian state of roaming, were frequent and often extended visitors at the Stenhouses’ abode. But this constituted a sea change in their friendship that Stenhouse took shamefully long to recognise. It was embarrassing for a mariner to be caught out by a changing tide but that was what happened, and he didn’t notice it until he was very nearly beached.
The first sign that he missed, or perhaps wilfully ignored, was the kiss that Jean gave him to deliver to her husband when he met up with Worsley in Liverpool after the former had returned from their nightmare in Reykjavik. All previous missives had been sweet, teasing little things. A peck on the cheek, on the nose. Worsley liked to kiss Stenhouse’s hand in return. It made Stenhouse feel a bit fluttery inside: but the Worsleys were a handsome couple, and it would have taken a stronger man than he to be fully immune to being coddled and kissed by beautiful people of whom he was so fond.
But then there was Liverpool. Perhaps it was only because Worsley had been away for a while longer than usual, but Jean had given Stenhouse a more forceful token of affection to accompany the letter she had written, and now Stenhouse was stood in front of the intended recipient, somewhat uncertain how to begin.
Worsley was holding his letter and looking at him expectantly. “No kiss for me today? Should I be expecting this envelope to contain divorce papers?”
“There’s a kiss.”
“So? Are you trying to make me beg for it?”
Stenhouse strived bravely to ignore that. “It’s rather involved.”
“You’re killing me, here.”
“Well, I’ll just say that – I would assume she misses you. And she was quite firm on the details.”
Worsley’s eyes twinkled. In his case, it wasn’t only a turn of phrase, either. He actually twinkled, like a candle on a Christmas tree or a star on a cold night. “When Jeanie gives instructions, I find it’s best to follow them to the letter. Go on, then.”
Stenhouse sighed but obediently approached and, taking Worsley’s face between his hands, kissed him on the lips, deep, long, and rather passionate if he did say so himself. Jean had been very clear on that point. “No dry old lady kisses,” she had commanded. “You go in there and give Wuzz the hottest kiss of his life. Here, like this. Give him this one.”
She had proceeded to demonstrate with aplomb. Stenhouse had practically stumbled out of the house in a daze.
“Well!” said Worsley breathlessly when he finally pulled back. “Gosh.”
“Only passing it along,” said Stenhouse, feeling bashful and resorting to terseness. “So there you go. Don’t ask me to repeat the message, I don’t think my lungs can take it.”
“Jean usually gives me a slap on the bum after a kiss like that,” said Worsley helpfully.
In fact she had given Stenhouse a little smack on his way out the door. “Ah yes. I rather thought that had been just for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure she meant for you to enjoy it as well.” Worsley nudged his way in a little closer. Stenhouse had dropped his hands but they came back up again automatically to gather Worsley in as he pressed against Stenhouse’s chest, grinning up at him. “You are our favourite messenger, you know.”
“I should hope so.”
“Mhm. Come here. I’ll send my reply directly.”
Stenhouse wasn’t about to protest. Later he tried not to interrogate the event too much, even if Worsley had nipped his bottom lip after pulling back from the kiss he’d given him and Stenhouse had worried his tongue over it for an hour afterwards. But life went on. He sailed with Worsley to Portsmouth for refitting, and then saw him off to Canada. He didn’t mind playing postman from time to time. It wasn’t exactly a chore.
Then he accompanied Jean to Kiel, where she was to hop on Worsley’s ship. Worsley was broke, as usual, and Jean was cheerfully expecting to be berthing onboard directly. So they were both surprised when they were told upon arriving at the harbour that an address had been left behind for them.
It wasn’t the Ritz, but it wasn’t the cheapest hotel in town either. They practically crept into the lobby with a hesitance that nearly made Stenhouse laugh: he probably should see to making some real money soon, or Worsley should. From the sceptical look on Jean’s face when the neatly uniformed concierge directed them in accented English to the fourth floor, he wasn’t the only one unused to the swank.
When they arrived at the given room and Worsley flung open the door, it became apparent that they were in for an evening of the finer things. Stenhouse got a bear hug and Jean a kiss, and Worsley ushered them in to a beautiful, sun-drenched room with a balcony overlooking the water. A bottle of champagne stood sweating on the sideboard, which Worsley waggled triumphantly at them.
“Got an advance for my book!” He crowed. “So I thought to myself, I’d best celebrate in style with my best pal and my beautiful wife!”
“Oh, Wuzz, you shouldn’t have,” Jean scolded, but she was smiling and petting his arm lovingly. “You are spoiling us. And you’ve got us lovely glasses, too.”
“I asked for them at the front desk,” Worsley said, beaming at her eagerly. Sometimes Worsley reminded Stenhouse of nothing so much as a large, joyful dog looking for approval and praise from everyone about him, from Jean most of all. “Went down with my best German, dry glazer, bitta, all very impressive.”
“My clever, worldly husband,” said Jean, and only sounded as if she was teasing him a little bit.
Stenhouse, who remembered very well the man from whom Worsley had gotten his shreds of German and could still picture his despair at ever correcting the ear-splitting accent, hid a smile behind his hand.
Worsley poured them each a glass, bubbles fizzing and foam wobbling precariously over the flutes as he topped them all off. “Here you are – toasts! But quickly, I’m parched.” He raised his glass. “To fair winds across the Atlantic.”
“To your new book,” Stenhouse offered, lifting his own.
“And to Stenhouse for being a good chum and coming to see us off,” Jean completed. Glasses were clinked and they all drank. It was decent champagne.
“It really was good of you to come all this way with me.” Jean put her slim hand on Stenhouse’s arm and smiled at him sweetly. “Travelling by myself is never as fun.”
“Oh dear,” said Worsley. “Was she talking your ear off the entire journey?”
“He has been very long-suffering.” Jean’s smile curved up into a grin. “But he puts up with all my teasing beautifully.”
“Has she been torturing you?”
“A bit,” said Stenhouse, mildly.
“I can’t help it. Look at yourself, Stennie. All eight feet tall and built of red brick with that sweet face, I simply must tease you.”
Worsley reached over and grabbed at one of Stenhouse’s arms, squeezing appreciatively. “She has a point, you know. I see you and I either want to take a bite out of you or badger you until you take a bite out of me.”
“It’s not polite to goad your friends. Surely you were raised better than that.”
“Oh no, I was raised precisely as poorly as that.”
Finding himself suddenly sandwiched with a Worsley hanging off of each arm, Stenhouse took a fortifying sip of champagne.
FILL: triple threat, Jean Worsley/Frank Worsley/Joseph Stenhouse, E [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2023-04-21 01:50 pm (UTC)(link)“Oh! I have missed you,” she said with lazy affection. “Come here, darling. Give me a kiss.”
Worsley trotted over eagerly. Half-dressed with his hair all in disarray he looked even more boyish than usual, and the wide, devoted smile on his face only added to the effect. Maybe happiness really did keep you young. Or maybe it was just Worsley. Probably just Worsley.
It was a fairly chaste kiss, all things considered, and Stenhouse had certainly seen Worsley very much in flagrante before, but the moment was still coloured by a particular marital intimacy and Stenhouse turned away to give them a bit of privacy. He busied himself with refilling their glasses with the last of the bottle. Really, he thought to himself, amused. Champagne. Worsley had barely had enough money to feed himself last week and here he was, buying champagne with the first bit of cash that came his way.
The two of them were watching expectantly when he looked back to pass around the refills.
“There we go!” Worsley handed one to Jean. “And now a toast to us being all together again, and to a business venture that hopefully won’t be an utter loss this time.”
“I’ll certainly drink to that,” said Jean, and did so. “Now kiss me again.”
The kiss that followed was decidedly more heated than the previous one had been. Stenhouse wondered if he ought to start making his exit. He’d seen that look on Worsley’s face before, and Jean was regarding him as though she was about to take a bite. They hadn’t seen each other in some time, after all.
He stood. “I think I’ll take in some of the town. If you’d like to meet for dinner…?”
Both of their heads snapped about. “For dinner?” said Jean, “Oh, don’t run off, Stennie.”
“No, no – I’ll let you two catch up. Sanctity of the marriage suite, and all.”
“Sanctity isn’t quite the right word,” said Worsley, dryly. “I’m sorry, we’ve been neglecting you.”
“We certainly have been! Worsley, I think it’s high time you did some work around here,” Jean declared, forcibly. “And the poor man’s earned it. Give this to Commander Stenhouse for me, if you would.” And she kissed him again. On the mouth, short and sweet.
Worsley sketched a mock salute. “Yes m’am,” he said, and adopted a neat, rather posh accent to say, “neither rain nor fog nor dark of night shall stop me in my mission to deliver this, one kiss to Commander Joseph Stenhouse, R.N.-”
“Alright, alright,” Stenhouse was laughing, but he sat back down. “You’re delaying the mail with your nonsense.”
“So eager to get a kiss from me?”
“Excuse you, I believe the kiss is coming from a Miss Jean Cumming. You’re simply the layabout messenger boy.”
“That’s Mrs. Jean Worsley, you insult the good woman!” He climbed into Stenhouse’s lap, straddling him on the chair before grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth with clear agenda. Worsley never did anything by half-measures and this was no different. The word ravished came to mind quite suddenly, along with a series of rather flowery adjectives.
“I seem to remember the message being shorter when it was given,” Stenhouse managed to say when he was finally released, blinking and feeling thrown off balance.
“Oh, yes,” said Worsley with a grin, “but I added a postscript just from me, you see.”
“Tampering with the mail. You’ll be fined.”
“Worth the risk, though.” Worsley shifted in his lap, getting comfortable.
Stenhouse was half-hard in his trousers. Not unpleasantly, but certainly unmistakeably. He had known for some time that he desired Worsley. Sometimes idly, sometimes far more ravenously, and Worsley was always so expressive and open-handed that Stenhouse had never questioned that desire beyond the fact that he had a handsome friend who liked a bit of a cuddle and had never been reserved when it came to lavishing affection upon those around him. Worsley was an outrageous flirt and that was that. He supposed that this kissing game was some sort of long, drawn-out form of foreplay, but nothing had ever been clarified between them and ever-present doubt was always lurking.
He cleared his throat uncertainly. “Wuzzles…”
“If you’re about to say something silly, don’t bother,” said Worsley, picking up on his tone immediately. “It’s a kiss from the both of us. You don’t have to second-guess it.”
“I suppose not.”
Worsley kissed him again, more softly this time. “And that’s just from me.”
Stenhouse cast a nervous glance in Jean’s direction, but she was just watching them warmly. “Wuzz,” she said, “would you like…?”
“I defer to you, my dear.”
“I rather would. We did say.” Jean tipped her head to one side. Worsley smirked back at her and Stenhouse had the distinct sensation of silent communication whizzing back and forth around him. He adjusted his hands about Worsley’s waist and waited patiently.
“Stennie,” said Jean, softly, sweetly, and Stenhouse was immediately suspicious. “We have something to ask you, dear Stennie. You can say no,” she added. “But we’d like to thank you for being our faithful postman all this time.”
“It’s hardly been a chore,” said Stenhouse, cautiously. “And I’m sure Wuzzles has had a few complaints about the state of the deliveries.”
Jean waved a hand dismissively. “Certainly not. He likes getting his mail via you. Don’t you, Wuzz?”
“Quite,” said Worsley lazily, and leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Stenhouse’s cheek. That lit some little wick in Stenhouse’s chest, or perhaps only fanned back a flame that had always been burning. Worsley was his closest friend, yes, and while objectively it was foolish to think that any man who happily engaged in this sort of little game of passing kisses about might not be truly very fond of all the other players, it was still nice to hear.
“And for my part,” Jean continued, “I do like taking it to the post office.”
The metaphor had, Stenhouse thought, become somewhat convoluted. But there was no mistaking the heat in Jean’s voice, nor the look in her eye.
“You’re more than only a dear friend,” she was saying. “And you’ve done more than could ever be asked for us – it’s always a drag to be apart for so long, but you make it bearable, you know. More than bearable. You make it fun, Stennie.”
This was high praise indeed. Fun – a silly thing, small and childish to some, but to Worsley and Jean it was one of the core tenets of their marriage. Stenhouse knew this. He’d once had a very earnest, very inebriated conversation with Worsley on the topic, mostly Worsley excoriating on the theme of husbands and wives who had nothing to say to each other and trying to explain his personal theory of happiness, none of which Stenhouse could now remember save for Worsley leaping up and shouting “it’s the fun of it! If you aren’t having a rollicking good time, you might as well give it all up and chuck yourself into the sea!” before falling over his own feet and rolling some ways down the grassy slope on which they had been sitting, passing a bottle back and forth.
Stenhouse shifted. “You know you don’t owe me anything.”
“No, but we’d like to take you to bed,” said Jean, matter of factly, dropping all the veils at once and setting Stenhouse’s head spinning. “Properly, I mean. The three of us all together, to see how it goes.”
“And don’t think this is just some spur of the moment idea, us gone giddy on bubbles,” Worsley interjected. He cupped Stenhouse’s jaw affectionately. “It’s something we’ve been thinking about for a while.”
At the moment Stenhouse couldn’t say anything at all: his mouth had gone dry and he found abruptly that the only words he recalled were four letter ones.
“Um-”
“If you don’t want us, we’ll say no more about it,” said Jean sincerely. “And you can go or stay as you like. The last thing we’d want is to unsettle you. Really.”
“But let us take care of you. What d’you say?”
“And I can’t pretend that I don’t dearly want to see what Wuzz looks like with your cock up him.”
That broke the spell somewhat. Stenhouse snorted a laugh even as all the blood in his body not currently heating his face to a flaming glow was abruptly diverted southwards.
In his lap, Worsley wriggled in a way that didn’t help matters. “I’m amenable.”
“I only-” Stenhouse stopped. Attempted to gather his thoughts. Gladys wouldn’t mind; she was well aware of his thoughts in this direction. Had a few of her own, as a matter of fact. So there really was only one question. “Why?” Eloquent.
“We love you. And want more of you.” Jean shrugged. “Must it be more complicated than that? We’re all friends, and know each other so well. And you’re terribly difficult not to love, you know.”
Stenhouse could feel the protest rising up on the tip of his tongue but Jean clucked her own at him. “No arguing! Would you like to try it, yes or no.”
He cleared his throat. Licked his dry lips. “Yes.”
“Then may we?”
Jean was a beautiful woman, strong features and brilliant eyes and a mischievous smile forever tucked at the corner of her mouth. She and Worsley were a delightfully matched pair, Stenhouse had always thought so. Hard to love one and not the other. Hard to want one and not the other.
“Just don’t make me regret agreeing to it. I’ve a delicate heart, you know.” Half a joke, half sincerity so heavy it crushed his lungs together, wrenched at him like roots of a tree growing twisted through a stone wall.
“Oh, Stennie.” Jean swept over to him and took his hand, interlocking their fingers. “We would never be careless with you.”
So here was the changing tide: and Stenhouse had somehow nearly missed it. When had Jean started looking at him like that? Jean was always affectionate, but this was something more meaningful in her eyes now.
He felt nearly shy, taking his shirt off. Heaven knew why, it wasn’t as if Worsley hadn’t already seen him without it. Even Jean had seen him in his underthings before, when they had all been crammed into a tiny sloop chartered for a weekend on the Scottish coast.
Now Worsley ran a hand over his chest appreciatively. “Look at you. Stennie, you do realise you’ve been driving Jeanie and I to distraction? You have to give us credit for restraint. A big, broad, handsome fellow like yourself. Go on.” He gave Stenhouse a little push towards the bed. Worsley stripped off his own shirt and then trousers and followed him, kissing him down until Stenhouse found himself up against the headboard, Worsley slipping between his legs to gently tug at his underclothes.
Jean had no compunctions about undressing, and took off everything right away. Slim and petite she was, and she fit neatly against him next to Worsley who made no attempt at getting out of the way. “Oh good, I was hoping he was big all over. Wuzzles, you didn’t mention that he was hung like a horse.”
Stenhouse flushed so violently that his hearing went a bit buzzy for a moment.
“I assumed that much was obvious,” said Worsley, and wrapped a hand around Stenhouse’s prick. “Of course, my experience is exclusively from an admiring distance. Through no fault of my own!”
“My mother always warned me away from men like you,” Stenhouse managed, and was rewarded with a wide grin.
“Well, the time to follow her advice is long past,” Worsley said, and took Stenhouse into his mouth.
He was good – of course he was. Stenhouse was more than familiar with Worsley’s proclivities, though never had he been on the receiving end of them, and he knew that Worsley had long experience. He knew precisely what he was doing, swirling his tongue over the head of Stenhouse’s cock and fondling his bollocks with a feather-light touch.
Jean ran delicate hands over the jut of his hips. “Wuzz, you don’t mind if I abandon you to your own devices, do you?”
Worsley hummed agreeably, and Jean practically slithered up Stenhouse’s stomach to pepper him with kisses. “I’d rather like to get your mouth on me, if you want,” she said slyly. “May I?”
Stenhouse was hardly going to say no. He shifted, nudging Worsley off him for a moment so that he could lie back. They all wobbled about on the squashy mattress for a moment before finding stable ground, giggling and fumbling together as Jean straddled his chest.
From this angle beneath her, Stenhouse could see the peaks of dark nipples high on the swell of Jean’s breasts, could see how she was already glistening between her legs, could see her grin down at him. It was a rather excellent view and he took a moment to admire it, running his hands up her smooth thighs and giving her bum a cheeky pinch. Jean yelped and giggled.
“Are you molesting my wife?” Worsley mumbled from between Stenhouse’s legs.
“Not enough, he isn’t,” said Jean, and pressed forward.
Stenhouse licked into her, at first hesitantly and then more assertively, deciding that no one liked a job half-done. He was already between Jean’s thighs with her husband’s mouth on his cock, there was no sense in being shy now.
As if reading his thoughts, Worsley lapped at him almost coyly before swallowing him nearly to the hilt and Stenhouse gave a startled moan, bucking his hips and making Worsley pull back and splutter. He very nearly apologised but Worsley was immediately back around him, pressing closer, and Stenhouse’s mind went pleasantly fuzzy to feel the tight heat of his throat closing around the head of his cock. He opened his mouth wider, tracing the edge of Jean’s entrance before reaching her plump little clit and flicking it with his tongue.
Jean murmured appreciatively and then more intensely as he increased his efforts. She was panting and twisting on his tongue before too long. “Stennie, Stennie might I-”
“Anything you like,” Stenhouse said hazily, not quite knowing what she was asking for but fairly certain that she could have done anything to him and he would have thanked her. “What is it? But – ah, Christ – Jeanie, anything you want.”
“You are a good boy,” Jean said, fondly and authoritatively in a way that made Stenhouse shiver all over, and bore down with far greater intent than before.
She was overwhelming in all the best ways. The thick smell of her, damp curls between her legs, drenching his tongue. Stenhouse scrabbled about blindly, eyes closed, seeing nothing, hearing only the encouraging, pleased little sounds Jean was making, until Worsley reached up and took his hand, tangled their fingers together.
“He’s good, Wuzz,” Jean panted, rolling her hips and forcing Stenhouse to shift beneath her, trying to breathe in when all he could taste and take was her, pressing against his mouth and nose and muffling all other senses. “He’s very good. I won’t be long for this world – oh that’s nice-”
“Suppose I ought to pick up the slack.” Slack wasn’t the word Stenhouse would have used. Worsley’s fingers circled teasingly around the base of his cock. “Getting close, Stennie? You’re certainly looking appreciative from this position.” He pet two fingers lightly over his entrance and Stenhouse couldn’t help but breathe in sharply – and then spluttered for air against Jean’s drenching, suffocating heat.
“Oo, think he liked that,” Jean said, her tones breathless, wicked and delighted. “Do it again.”
Re: FILL: triple threat, Jean Worsley/Frank Worsley/Joseph Stenhouse, E [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2023-04-21 01:52 pm (UTC)(link)“Stennie, Stennie – oh, please, I will, I’m right there, just a bit more,” Jean emcouraged, “Oh.” Another flood on the flat of his tongue as she came again in quick succession.
When she raised herself up there were slick, shimmering strands trailing from her soaking cunt to Stenhouse’s lips. He sucked in a few lungfuls of air and Jean giggled and squirmed as his breath tickled her. Her arms trembled against the headboard before she let herself drop beside him, plopping down onto the cushions.
“You gorgeous man,” she said and dragged Stenhouse over to kiss him indulgently, licking herself from his lips and tongue. “You’re too good to me, too good by half. Come. Your turn.”
Stenhouse wanted to protest that he was very much having his turn: Worsley had been dislodged by Jean wrestling him about but was watching them with a tenderness that made Stenhouse’s heartbeat trot along rather more quickly and which promised a continuation of his previous engagement, but Jean was already beckoning to him.
“Wuzz – Wuzz, come here,” Her eyes were dark and predatory as she reached out for her husband, and he went to her as if helpless to refuse. Perhaps he was. She kissed him aggressively, hitching him up onto her. “Stennie. There’s Vaseline. In my carpet bag.”
It was easily found tucked between two pairs of stockings. Stenhouse tossed it to her, amused. “You were anticipating this? Have I been ambushed?”
“Perhaps a little bit,” said Jean with a devilish grin. “You can never be too prepared.”
“Just one of your many charming qualities,” Worsley said, sucking kisses against her neck and then moaning prettily as three slender fingers began working efficiently to open him up.
“Stennie,” said Jean again, and she didn’t need to say more – Stenhouse had always been good at inferring instructions. Particularly ones he wanted to obey. He draped himself over Worsley’s back, kissing the dip between his shoulder blades before taking his cock in hand and giving it a few gentle pulls. “Alright, Wuzz?”
“More than,” Worsley panted, rutting his hips between their industrious efforts. “I won’t last long, though, I can tell you that much.”
Worsley’s trim waist fit in his hands as though sculpted for them. Stenhouse would never consider him a small man; not tall, certainly, but he was sturdily built and muscular. But he felt small beneath him in a way that he couldn’t deny was most appealing. They both groaned in unison when he finally pushed inside and began to move.
Wriggling to sit up against the headboard, Jean’s dark eyes roamed appreciatively over Worsley on his hands and knees. “Look at you,” she said. “Our handsome fella. Doesn’t he look fine like this, Stennie? He’s always gorgeous when he’s getting fucked.” Even crude language sounded sweet in Jean’s musical, alto tones. “He likes it a little rougher. Go on, you won’t hurt him. And he might like it if you did.”
Worsley keened at that, his spine curving. “Christ.” He looked unimaginable, a rich flush running over his freckled shoulders and up the column of his neck, his thick cock hanging heavy between his thighs, rocking back against every thrust. “Please, Stennie, ah – fuck-” He scrabbled at the bedsheets, looking for purchase until he found Jean and hauled her in close.
“How’s he feel?” she asked in a murmur, petting his dishevelled hair.
“Good,” Worsley laughed breathlessly. “God, good. Fantastic, Stennie, I should have been after you years ago. Keeping this from me, oh.” Stenhouse’s hips had leapt, the sound of desperation in Worsley’s words heating him inside and out. “Yes-”
“You look lovely,” Jean said, pushing her fingers in and tugging on Worsley’s hair harder now. “All spread out for him, you’ve always been a bit of a glutton for a good prick.” Her tone was almost conversational, belied only by the flush high on her cheeks and the fact that she had slipped a hand between her legs to toy with herself. “A man’s man.” She laughed. “That’s what you are, aren’t you, darling?”
“And your man,” panted Worsley agreeably, before burying his face against her stomach and groaning.
“That’s right.” She looked up to smile secretly at Stenhouse. “I should have brought– I’ve got a little something back home. Perhaps next time you can watch me have him. Or I can have you, would you like that, Stennie?”
Her meaning took a minute to sink in but when it did it made Stenhouse quiver from head to toe, rolling his hips harder and making Worsley keen beneath him. “Yes,” he said dazedly, pinned between Jean’s words and Worsley’s taut heat, “I think I would.”
Jean’s eyes sparkled. “Good.”
He felt swept by the image of Jean pushing him down into the mattress – or perhaps it was even just the promise of a next time that lit him up so. Jean had said as much but he’d still felt apprehensive that this might be just a tiny scrap of something snatched almost accidentally. He could feel the heat building between his legs, at the base of his spine. “Wuzz,” he said, low, bending forward to kiss the back of Worsley’s neck and nip at his shoulder, “Wuzz. I’m nearly there, what can I- ?”
“In me, please,” Worsley begged, though he hardly needed to. “I want it, want you, please-” He rocked his hips back, hard, and Stenhouse’s breath hitched as the feeling of it all overtook him. He finished with a few final staccato movements, spilling hot inside of Worsley, who followed immediately after, gasping as his climax overtook him.
Jean eased Worsley through it, running her hands through his hair and murmuring sweet little things. Afterwards, Worsley took a bit of cajoling to shift and let her help him clean up. He had plonked face-first into the pillows the moment she’d stood from the bed and didn’t seem inclined to move.
“I’ve just been thoroughly rogered, Jeanie, give me a minute-”
“Don’t whinge.” She held him briefly open to admire the result and Stenhouse’s spent cock twitched pathetically at the sight of Worsley’s wet, abused hole, the slick of spend dripping down his quivering thighs. “If only you could see yourself, Wuzz.”
Worsley groaned into the pillow. “I can imagine. I feel full to the brim.”
“You look it.” Jean stroked along his spine. “But let’s get you tidied up. It always seems more appealing in the moment than it does in ten minutes.”
Stenhouse was terribly grateful that Jean never gave him the chance to start fretting about whether he ought to leave: she simply took Stenhouse by the arm and dragged him to the bed, emphatic as the tide. Worsley was already half-snoozing, a beatific expression of contentment on his face, spreadeagled across the entire mattress.
“Budge over, Wuzz. Let us in.”
“No. I’ve decided it’s my bed.”
“Brute. Stennie, give him a whack.”
“As the lady wishes.” Stenhouse made a show of rolling up his sleeves.
“Alright, alright!” Worsley squirmed into a more sensible proportion of the bed, and held out his arms. “But as recompense for giving up my space, I demand to be cuddled.”
Jean dove forward obligingly and Stenhouse followed her, pulling the duvet over the three of them. Worsley grinned at him over the top of Jean’s head and Stenhouse winked back. “Not bad, eh?”
“You won’t be hearing a complaint from me.”
Jean sighed in contentment. “All I need now is another drink and I’ll be happy as a pig in mud.”
“Well,” said Worsley, sounding slightly abashed, “I might actually have purchased two bottles of champagne. There’s another one on ice in the tub.”
“You!” Jean smacked his shoulder. “This is the reason why we keep having to impose on Commander Stenhouse and his lovely wife. Spending all your cash on drinks!”
“Oh, don’t try to tell me that you don’t like imposing on Commander Stenhouse.”
Jean turned in his arms to grin up at Stenhouse. “It’s only that I fear he’ll tire of us.”
“Never,” said Stenhouse firmly, and, caught up in the wave of comfortable affection, kissed her. “Consider this an open invitation to impose on Gladys and myself as much as you like.”
“Hm, I would rather like to impose on Gladys, I must say-”
“Jeanie.” It was Worsley’s turn for mock offence.
“What?”
Their low, fond babble wove about the bed like a cocoon. Stenhouse felt blissfully happy snuggled against them, as though floating somewhere vaguely above his body. The sun had long since dropped from its zenith and the light was going slightly golden around the edges. The end of the day promised to be just as pleasant as the beginning.
Re: FILL: triple threat, Jean Worsley/Frank Worsley/Joseph Stenhouse, E [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2023-04-22 01:12 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: triple threat, Jean Worsley/Frank Worsley/Joseph Stenhouse, E [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2023-12-21 04:04 pm (UTC)(link)