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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: Taste And See, Aeneas Mackintosh/Reverend Spencer-Smith, “communion” in the darkroom
(Anonymous) 2023-01-25 03:19 pm (UTC)(link)I would also like to apologize to God and the ghost of Spencer-Smith for… you’ll see. All quotes from the BCP are accurate and any errors are mine. CW for priest kink.
***
The Reverend Arnold Spencer-Smith gathers his vasa sacra and makes his way to the darkroom. He wonders if some of the other men in the party might eventually take an interest in spiritual matters and attend services, but it looks like he will be celebrating alone again today. He abandoned the collar and vestments in an attempt to seem more approachable to the men, but so far his efforts seem to have been in vain. It is no matter since the mass is not for them (or for him, for that matter), but he still feels the sting of rejection.
A part of him had hoped that Mackintosh would join him, but perhaps it was for the best that he did not. This… thing is becoming a distraction, and he has no reason to believe that Mackintosh, a stunning man with a beautiful wife, would ever reciprocate his feelings. Any indications otherwise must surely be figments of his imagination. No, it is far better for the commander to stay away.
He is nearly set up for the service when he hears the creak of the darkroom door. Before him stands Aeneas Mackintosh, devastatingly handsome and resplendent in a thick cable knit sweater. Spencer-Smith shivers.
"Smithy," Mackintosh says with a wink, taking a seat directly in front of the padre. Spencer-Smith breathes deeply, trying to slow his suddenly racing heart.
He launches into the service, the words of the liturgy coming as easily as breath. He'd taken to the priesthood almost effortlessly, and the challenging and sometimes strange rituals and practices made intuitive sense to him. Although he enjoyed teaching, this is what he was put on earth to do.
It is only when he feels the heat of Mackintosh's gaze on him that he begins to falter, stumbling over phrases as familiar to him as his own name. His breathing grows ragged, and he can hear his heartbeat pounding inside his ears.
“...specially thy servant Edw- er- George our King; that un- under him we may be godly and quietly governed…”
He dares to glance up at Mackintosh, who is fidgeting in his seat. They lock eyes momentarily, the pupil of Mackintosh's good eye blown wide, and he bites his bottom lip. Spencer-Smith's stomach flutters and he is rendered speechless.
“Continue, Padre.”
He tries to continue— really, he does. It’s just that the darkroom is suddenly intolerably warm and he can feel the sweat rolling down his back and Mackintosh is so close and he’s smiling and he smells of tobacco and clean air and arousal…
He snaps out of it and skips ahead to the words of the institution, fumbling with the implements as he speaks.
“…this is my body which is given for you: do this in remembrance of me. Likewise after supper he took the cup; and, when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, drink ye all of this; for this is my blood of the New Testament, which is shed for you and for many for the remission of—no!”
His shaking hand had slipped while pouring the wine into the chalice; an honest mistake but not an acceptable one, for now there are several drips of consecrated wine on the darkroom floor.
He slowly backs away from the spill and places the implements on the table. When he turns around, Mackintosh is on his feet in front of him.
Spencer-Smith watches in stunned silence as Mackintosh drops to his knees, lowers his head to the ground, and licks the spilled wine off the weathered floorboards.
Mackintosh makes no effort to rise, instead looking up into Spencer-Smith's shocked face.
"I've seen you looking, Smithy" he says with a sly grin. "I've been looking too."
A million thoughts race through Spencer-Smith's head, but he finds himself unable to articulate any of them. He gazes at Mackintosh, dumbstruck, his mouth agape. He is absurdly handsome, especially in this position, and Spencer-Smith considers that he might be a little bit in love with him. He also considers that this might be a dream, and that he will wake up in his tiny bunk any moment now with a racing heart and soiled pajamas.
He inches closer, reaches a hand down to Mackintosh's head and runs his thick fingers through the commander's dark hair in disbelief. He feels solid, real. Mackintosh lets out a soft moan in response before grabbing Spencer-Smith's hand and inserting two of his fingers into his mouth. He sucks them vigorously, never breaking eye contact.
It is Spencer-Smith's turn to moan, his eyes wide with pleasure and his rigid member tenting his trousers. He is terrified that Mackintosh won't touch him there; he is terrified that he will.
"Aeneas…wha—?"
Mackintosh removes the fingers from his mouth and strokes the padre's cock through the fabric. "Shhhh," he responds. "You do so much, for all the men and for me. Let me take care of you."
Spencer-Smith has always been a spiritual man, but in a proper Anglican way— not prone to loud outbursts like the Evangelicals or mystical experiences like the Roman Catholics. However, when Mackintosh licks the tip of his throbbing cock, the heavens open up and he sees the face of God for the first time. Rapture, he thinks, this is the rapture of the revival and the psalmists and St. Teresa and John the Divine.
When he comes, it is with Mackintosh's hot mouth around him and his fingers in his hair again, twisting and tugging the dark, soft locks.
Mackintosh rises to his feet, grabs Spencer-Smith's shirt collar and pulls him down for a kiss. The padre tastes his own pleasure on Mackintosh's clever tongue, sharp and briny as the sea. He is more tired than he's ever been in his life, and his knees are threatening to buckle, but he would not interrupt this delicious kiss unless Christ Himself appeared and told him to stop, and even that was debatable.
He pulls Mackintosh closer and feels his hard length against his thigh. When he reaches down to stroke it, the commander slaps his hand away. "Not now," he hisses, breaking the kiss. "Next time."
Mackintosh reaches up to caress Spencer-Smith's cheek, then steps back, panting heavily.
"Next Sunday," he says, making his way toward the darkroom exit. "Wear the collar."
Spencer-Smith is unable to move for a moment, staring slack-jawed at the floor and trying to absorb everything that has happened. When he regains his senses, he grabs the chalice and drinks the abandoned consecrated wine. He does not regret anything that transpired here except the interruption of the Eucharist.
Next Sunday, he will have Morning Prayer instead of a full service. He will also have Mackintosh— of this, he is certain.
***
FUN FACT! Once the bread/wafer and wine have been consecrated, you cannot throw them away! You must dispose of extras by returning them to the earth (burying them), burning them, or consuming them. The events of this fic are TECHNICALLY liturgically correct 😌
Re: FILL: Taste And See, Aeneas Mackintosh/Reverend Spencer-Smith, “communion” in the darkroom
(Anonymous) 2023-01-26 02:21 am (UTC)(link)But damn, I loved this! Smoking hot 🔥
Re: FILL: Taste And See, Aeneas Mackintosh/Reverend Spencer-Smith, “communion” in the darkroom
(Anonymous) 2023-01-29 04:42 am (UTC)(link)