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Cold Boys Kink Meme ([personal profile] coldboys) wrote2026-09-28 01:56 pm
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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: 
  • 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: Sweet Relief, Pennell/Atch, there was only one bed (kinda), first time, E

(Anonymous) 2023-01-27 05:36 am (UTC)(link)
They were both exhausted, but there was work yet to be done: telegraphs and letters to be drafted and corrected into fair copies, logs and diaries to catch up on. Outside their room, the summer evening was warm and inviting. The call of a lark blew in on a breeze through the window, and Pennell longed to be outdoors. But they would not finish their work until after the sun had set, and then he certainly would have to sleep, for he had had little enough rest last night, and tomorrow the ship came again and he would have to take up command again.

Jane had handled it all so wonderfully: the red-faced rudeness of the reporters on the train, Kinsey’s endless questioning, the awkward failure of the news getting to Mrs. Wilson before he could deliver it personally. All this he braved without complaint, while Pennell merely hung about, feeling at once admiring and anxious.

But through the afternoon and evening Pennell had watched Jane's face grow drawn, his shoulders hunched. His hand had begun to shake, now, as he wrote.

“Why don’t you lie down for a moment,” Pennell suggested gently. “I’ll carry on here.”

For a moment he thought Jane might take against the idea, and in his obstinate way redouble his efforts and thus exhaust himself. But instead he sighed, capped his pen and retreated. The bedsprings creaked behind him as Pennell resumed working, and he figured Jane had fallen asleep.

But a little while later he looked around and found him sitting at the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

“Jane—“

“Don’t quit on my account,” said Jane hoarsely. But Pennell did so. Sentence left unfinished, he quickly came to sit beside Jane.

“Listen to the birds,” Pennell said. “It’s almost as if we were back in England, isn’t it?”

“I felt like a brute, earlier, you know, explaining it to her,” said Jane. His mind was elsewhere: in Kinsey’s cluttered office, describing the final scene to poor Mrs. Wilson. “But afterwards, I was relieved, for as you said the worst is over. Then all at once I realized, it’s not, is it. It won’t ever be over. Back in England, everywhere I go: I’ll have to go on telling it over and over. The tent, and the bodies. The dogs and the fuel. The scurvy, for God’s sake, I’ll be blamed—“ He broke off, raising his eyes to the ceiling to blink back tears.

Earlier that day in Oamaru as they had lain in the field awaiting the express, Pennell had looked over to see the morning light settling into those lines on Jane's face which had not been there the last time Pennell had seen him.

He had wanted—he had thought he might like to hold him, then, but he had refrained.

To be entirely honest, he had wanted to hold Jane from the moment he came aboard at Cape Evans. On spotting Pennell he had flashed him a smile, that smile which he had missed so dearly, and despite the awful bleakness of the loss which hung about them and all the troubles he knew where yet to come Pennell had felt in that moment utterly, blindingly happy.

Now he put an arm tentatively around Jane. “It won’t always be this hard,” he said. “It will all be behind you one day.”


“Mmm.”

“And in the meantime, I’ll be here. I promise.”

“…Then perhaps I shall manage.”

Pennell offered an encouraging look. He squeezed Jane’s shoulder and tried to think of what he might possibly say next.

But in the moment before it came to him, Jane had leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a shock. But then, addled by grief and exhaustion, Jane may well not have been in his right mind.

He only needed to be cared for, that was all. Didn't he need to be assured that someone else had things in hand? Pennell was now over two years into his first command and he knew how to bring a ship about, how to anchor and how to dredge, how to make the men beneath him know their place when they had to be reminded. Who better for the job?

All of this passed through his mind in a flash; and by the time he had made a conscious resolution to carry on, his body had already well and decided for him. He was kissing Jane back, with a fierceness that seemed to surprise them both. It felt so utterly right, to be so close: shock and reasoning fell away as he embraced Jane, bringing their bodies fully together.

Jane’s hands were on his back, gentling at his nape, fingers slipping down inside his shirt collar to scratch his back. It felt wonderful. As did the feeling of Jane pressing him back onto the bed, putting all his weight atop him. Pennell was at once covetous and fearful. He didn’t want to hurt Jane, fragile and worn as he was, but it was as if a boiler he had not realized existed had been lit and stoked inside him, and he could not stop himself from clutching at every inch of Jane, his face, his back, his arse. Oh, God, he was here and he was alive. Pennell had not let himself think for a moment of what would have happened if Jane had died—for that would lead to gratitude that he had not and that someone else had in his stead, and that was sacrilege—but he was grateful, how could he not be? Jane smelled of pipe smoke and cedar and aftershave. His teeth were delightfully sharp as they tugged hungrily at Pennell’s lips. Pennell, arching up against him, could feel the compact heat of him, his heart racing—or maybe that was Pennell’s own.

“Do you want me to—?” Pennell began, before realizing he had no idea how to end that sentence. He was utterly unenlightened. He was supposed to be the one consoling Jane, the one taking charge, but here he was now at his command.

Jane swept a hand down to find where Pennell had all too quickly hardened in his trousers. “I could use a good buggering right now,” he said. “If you wouldn’t object too strongly.”

Honest, stubborn, wonderful Jane. If this was what he needed now, Pennell would do it—he would do anything at all to stop him from drifting away, from going somewhere he could not follow.

And besides—he wanted it. So badly it hurt.

The room was warm and they were already down to their shirtsleeves. The light through the window behind Jane lit him up from behind as he clambered off of Pennell and began removing the rest of his clothes. Pennell gawked. Every inch of skin revealed was finer than the last.

“Will you need help undressing, then?” Jane remarked, which shocked Pennell out of his paralysis and had him scrambling for his fly.

He let down his suspenders to get his trousers and underwear off, but didn’t remove his shirt; he was embarrassed, of what he couldn’t quite say. Only maybe that he was not so delicately beautiful as Jane, that a certain ungainliness persisted in him on land, that he really was unworthy of anything as lovely as the man before him.

Then Jane climbed on top of him and kissed him again, deeply and with intent, and he forgot it all. He would give Jane anything he wanted: and what he wanted, it seemed, was Pennell’s cock. He had a hand around it, coated in his own hair oil, and worked its length through his fist a few times, thumbing at the slit and coaxing one whimper after another out of Pennell.

“I should have known,” he said, not bothering to explain further.

He lowered himself onto Pennell slowly and deliberately. Pennell gripped the mattress and tried not to think about who he might have done this with before—or at least promised himself he’d try, before such things ceased to matter entirely as he was overcome. A sound wrenched itself from him as he found himself—inside of Jane, held tightly there in a hot clench that was impossible to describe. If he were to try—right—it felt right.

Above him in the light, Jane swayed, mouth slightly open with his tongue swiping along his charming teeth. Brows knit together in an odd expression which Pennell worried was not pleasure. “Is it—am I—how does it feel?” he gasped.

Jane reached down and took his hand. Squeezed it once, twice; as his dark eyes bore into him with the weight of something wordless behind them.

Then he began to move, lean and well-exercised thighs propelling him up and down on Pennell’s cockstand, and Pennell must have done this in dreams—or a past life as per a certain biologist—for it was as if he knew exactly what to do, how to raise his hips in time to meet Jane coming down, so that with every thrust he felt Jane’s tight channel anew.

Rising and falling on a swell of overpowering sensation centered on his prick, he tried to keep his bearings. From his splayed position he could see Jane’s throat bob, and the sweat on his chest collecting amidst the sparse dark hair there, and the muscles flexing in his stomach. That wonderfully trim boxer’s body which had carried Jane through the worst of it, all the way back to him… But he could not quite see Jane’s face now, with his head thrown back as he delivered himself onto Pennell’s yard.

Jane’s palm, still clasped to his, was starting to grow sweaty and warm; he hauled on it, hard, and Jane slowed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” Pennell said. “Don’t. Just—please, come here. Come kiss me.”

“Oh. Alright.”

With a slick noise Jane climbed off Pennell’s cock, and came down to rest on top of him. Their noses touching, Jane stroked Pennell’s face, gentling at his ear, teasing him before at last kissing him again, urgent and rhythmic. Grinding against him, his stiff prick slipped against Pennell’s unexpectedly where they were caught between their stomachs, and made him shudder.

“I want to take you like this,” said Pennell, and Jane with one foot nudged him to spread his knees apart. When he guided Pennell back inside him again they came chest to chest. Now Pennell wished he had at least unbuttoned his shirt, but it was too late for that: they were moving again, and in any case this way was better. Pennell could hold Jane close. He could feel his breath on his cheek and hear the soft intimate sounds he was biting back as Pennell thrust up into him, again and again, with an increasing awareness of how close he was to his crisis, and how very much he did not want this to end.

He tried to slow, but Jane wouldn’t let him, digging his nails into his neck and saying in a desperate straining tone Pennell had never heard from him, “Come on. More, now. Yes, yes—“

“Whenever you need,” Pennell said, obeying, “whatever you need. Just like this. I will. I will—“

He crested, crying out, and spilled deep and long inside of Jane, which was somehow still not close enough.

Blinking back the bright blackness of his climax, he could feel what must have been Jane’s warm spend seeping into his shirtfront.

“You may want to let me go,” said Jane eventually, “so we can clean up.”

“Is that unusual?” Pennell asked. He could feel himself softening awkwardly but was reluctant to allow Jane to separate, even in the interests of hygiene. Buzzing all over, he was not really properly conscious again yet. Jane, heavy in his arms, was occluding out much thought. “The—at the same time, I mean.”

“Much of what we have undergone of late is without a great deal of precedent, Penelope dear,” sighed Jane. He went slack, tiredly starfishlike, burying his face in the crook of Pennell’s neck. Pennell could not help but giggle, squirming a bit to adjust Jane’s weight; Jane humphed a short laugh into Pennell’s skin, and then rolled off to the side, letting Pennell slip out from inside him with an accompanying outrush of spend.

After his breathing evened out, Pennell drew on his reserves of discipline to get up. Mind still mainly at Jane’s side, he floated across the room, hands and feet working in automatic concert to fetch a cloth, wet it in the basin, go about cleaning himself up before bringing it back over.

In his momentary absence, Jane had managed to drift off where he lay. When Pennell began to apply the cloth to his inner thighs and fundament he stirred, but did not wake. Pennell hesitated only a moment before conscientiously moving on to Jane’s prick, quiescent now amidst its own sticky remnants. It was a splendid little thing. Pennell could not honestly say he had considered it before; how it might look, or what he might like to do with it: but of course it was as dear to him as any part of Jane was; as all of them were. The dark mole on his clavicle—the frostbite scars on his knuckles—Pennell gently kissed each of these in turn.

When he had finished, the sheets were not quite clean to his satisfaction. They really had made a mess of it. But there was, in fact, another bed in the room—his own, or so had been intended.

Pennell got his arms under Jane and lifted him, carrying him like a bride across to the other bed; he laid him down on a clean sheet and draped the unused blanket over him.

He was moved, and deeply relieved, to see that Jane looked peaceful for perhaps the first time since they had departed the Antarctic. And there would be room for Pennell to sleep at last beside him, when the night’s work was done.

Re: FILL: Sweet Relief, Pennell/Atch, there was only one bed (kinda), first time, E

(Anonymous) 2023-01-27 04:41 pm (UTC)(link)
This was so touching – and passionate! Thank you. (Not OP)
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