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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: "Where No One Would Believe that Someone Could F..." Cook/Amundsen, E, Part 9/? slice of life

(Anonymous) 2023-01-27 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)

Arrgh the character count strikes again, so I'm going to have to split this up in weird places. Ty for your patience

Cw: Brief mention of animal death (reference to hunting/trapping)

Here's the bivouac that I imagined Roald stayed in: https://goo.gl/maps/Bf8zR5uhKiESQXzW8

Look at that view! And it's really a mile high!

As much as he’d always considered himself to be a Brooklyn boy (at least once he’d left his home in upstate New York for college, but we don’t talk about that), Fred Cook had to admit that the #cabincore life suited him very well.

Of course it helped tremendously that he was sharing this particular cabin with the sexy, handsome, competent, and intelligent Roald Amundsen. But even accounting for that, he found he enjoyed the routine of life in their little off-the-grid abode far more than he was expecting to. In the beginning, it just seemed like the most ideal place for him to lay low (despite the potential awkwardness of crashing with his ex, awkwardness that had been quickly extinguished) until the FBI decided they had better things to do than pursue him, or until another tech world unicorn exploded and distracted from the debacle that had been North Pole. Now that Fred had been here for a few weeks, though, he found himself genuinely sinking into the little world that he and Roald were building for themselves.

Even in winter, with limited daylight, there were always chores to do. Every morning, after they’d disentangled themselves on the sleeping platform and maybe had a good-morning fuck, he and Roald would dress and have breakfast. Fred took it upon himself to keep the fire in the wood stove going and bring in logs from outside, as well as haul in water from the well. Roald kept an eye on the cabin and outer buildings for maintenance issues and periodically chopped down a nearby tree to make sure that their woodpile, ample as it was, stayed full. They cooked together and did laundry in a tub with water boiled on the stove, and worked together to shovel any heavy accumulated snow in the clearing around the cabin so that their way out to the surrounding forest was never blocked. Roald kept traps in a circuit several miles around the cabin, and every few days he would tramp out to check them to see if he’d snared a rabbit or fox, rifle slung across his back in case he encountered a larger animal. Fred usually accompanied him on these treks and on longer walks through the woods, enjoying Roald’s company and the quiet beauty of the boreal landscape. The more time he spent side-by-side with Roald, maintaining their livelihood in this isolated place, the more he slid back into some of the old habits he’d picked up while filming the show for National Geographic. He was nowhere near Roald’s confident abilities to live off of the land, but Fred found that he was enjoying having chances to tinker with things and make suggestions. He and Roald talked about how they might install a second cistern for rainwater and whether they could figure out a way to pipe the water directly into the cabin. Roald told him about his half-formed plans to eventually raise rabbits and chickens, and they discussed where to install a coop and a hutch and how they could keep the animals warm during the winter. They made plans for the wood-fired hot tub, but those plans hadn’t gotten very far because just thinking about it made Fred horny and he usually pulled Roald into his arms before the conversation could really progress.

In the evenings after dinner they’d play cards or sit in front of the fire, fixing gear and mending clothes while sipping hot chocolate. Or, best of all, they’d read aloud to each other from the expedition histories in Roald’s small library, and engage in passionate debates about which past explorers had been the most competent, the most successful, or the most fuckable. Fred loved chatting away with Roald, but he was finding too that Roald’s comfort with long silences now made Fred warm inside instead of kindling the flames of insecurity. It was all so cozy and domestic and Fred, who used to crave the limelight like a drug, could die a little from how perfect it was.

And of course, they used the sauna almost every day. They didn’t always fuck in it either - although they did most of the time - but even just relaxing in the hot, dry air or in the steam side-by-side with his favorite gold-toothed survivalist was wonderful. Sometimes they would just sit together in companionable silence, arms around each other until they became too sticky and overheated and Roald would lead Fred outside to stand at the entrance to the sauna, letting the chill Arctic air cool them down. (After the incident Fred liked to refer to as “snowbankgate,” he had expressly forbidden Roald from yanking him to the ground like that again, but he had promised his favorite Norwegian that eventually he would work his way up to jumping in the snow on his own. Roald had just chuckled at that and flashed his damn tooth.) Other times, they reminisced about about their time together filming and all of the places they’d been, and the motley crew that had made up the production team.

“Did you keep up with Raco over the last few years?,” Roald asked him idly one late afternoon. They were basking in the heat of the sauna as the sun crept below the horizon outside of the window. Fred had just had a very enjoyable time whacking Roald with one of the birch twig bundles across his incredible ass and the strong muscles of his back, before soothing the sting with kisses and praise and finishing Roald off with his hands. Now they were stretched out on one of the benches, leaning back against the wall of the sauna, Roald curled up to sit with his back to Fred’s chest.

“Oh yeah, I did. Didn’t see a whole lot of him after he went back to Bucharest, but every once in a while he’d have a conference in New York and we’d get dinner.” Fred felt his face crack into a smile at the mere mention of Dr. Emil Racoviță’s name. “He hasn’t changed much.”

Emil - Raco - was officially listed on the credits as the “scientific consultant” for My Life as an Explorer with Roald Amundsen. He popped on for a few minutes at the beginning of each episode to talk with Roald for the viewers’ benefit about the nearby flora and fauna in that episode’s location, and he was responsible for securing any necessary permits from the local government if they were shooting in an ecologically-sensitive area. He was also a passionate spelunker, and he and Roald had initially bonded by discussing techniques for cave navigation. But first and foremost he was a gigantic troublemaker, perv, and shitposter. He was always playing pranks on fellow crew members, or challenging Lecointe to naked wrestling matches during group dinners, or calling emergency production team meetings that turned out to be excuses to point out some gigantic pile of animal dung he’d found. And he delighted some of the team and horrified others with his frequent cartooning, including sketches of the crews’ butts. Roald and Fred were in the “delighted” category; those in the “horrified” category were usually those individuals like their chief cinematographer Danco who had totally flat asses, bless them.

“Do you remember…” Roald began, and then started chuckling.

“Of course I do,” Fred replied, before Roald could even finish the sentence. He snickered. “Who could forget an evening like that?”

While filming on Moloka’i Fred and Roald, feeling particularly mischievous, had hatched a plan to get Raco and his sexy mustache into their tent for the night. This was after Roald and Fred’s relationship had already become an open secret amongst the crew, and the two of them were shacking up together, in a manner of speaking (sometimes in an actual shack, depending on where they were filming that particular week). The plan had relied on luring Raco over to their tent after dinner one night with the promise of some very good European liqueurs and a request that Raco sketch Fred as a gift for Roald. Roald and Fred failed to specify that Fred intended to pose naked and would already be sans clothes when Raco arrived. However, the scientist - as they suspected he would - took it very much in stride.

Fred found that both he and Roald were now gasping laughing at the memory. “That was quite a night,” Fred said, wiping at his eyes. “I never knew amaro could be such an effective tool for seduction, but I’ve never been able to see it on a cocktail menu since without thinking about that.” He brushed away another laughter-induced tear. “How about you, Roald?”

“Mmm, I had a sense.”

“You what?” said Fred, still laughing and trying to get a hold of himself.

“I…had some experience with…drinking amaro with someone I was trying to get into bed with.”

“Oh really?” replied Fred, cocking an eyebrow. “I just meant that as a rhetorical question.” He tried to adjust his position on the bench to see Roald’s face.

Roald hurriedly took a swig from their shared water bottle. “It was when I was very young, it was a long time ago,” he said quickly, looking down at his legs.

“Oh, you don’t get off that easily,” Fred said. He tucked a finger under Roald’s chin, gently turning his head so they were halfway facing each other. He waggled his eyebrows. “Now you have to tell me.”

Roald frowned. “It was a very long time ago,” he repeated. “I was barely an adult.” He shifted his body so that he peeled away from Fred’s chest, to sit upright on the bench. Fred adjusted his legs so they were now sitting side by side, legs hanging off of the bench. He missed the solid weight of Roald’s body but he wasn’t going to let the man get away without telling him the story behind that tantalizing suggestion. He ran a finger slowly up and down Roald’s bare arm. “Roald, baby, you can’t just drop a hint like that and not tell me the full thing. C’mon.”

Roald shivered under his touch. He really was delightfully, surprisingly, sensitive, which never ceased to thrill Fred. But then Roald shifted as if genuinely uncomfortable. Fred considered this.

“Unless…it’s a bad memory? Then you absolutely don’t have to…”

“No, no,” Roald replied, shaking his head. “It’s fine. There’s just not much to tell.” He sighed a little. “This was ages ago. I was young, barely into my twenties. I was just traveling around Europe, here and there, and I thought I would try some winter climbing in Trentino, South Tyrol, thereabouts. I met…” He paused, then quickly continued. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone on the route, but I came upon an older man, and we climbed together for a while. We spent the night in a bivouac together. I happened to have a flask with me, and we shared it, and then we…” He cut off. “Well, that’s all there was to it.”

Fred was not going to be dissuaded. “Oh come on,” he said, leaning to the side and wrapping both arms around Roald’s waist. “Give me more details. Was he hot? Was he overcome with lust when he saw such a handsome, strong young climber?” He gave Roald’s middle a squeeze. “It must have been very cold up there. Did you huddle for warmth? Did you share a sleeping bag?” Fred knew that in the Alps, a bivouac usually meant not an uncovered emergency camp in the snow, but a small unheated hut where climbers could lay out their sleeping bags on bunks and spend the night (because for the true alpinist, the idea that you might get yourself so fucked in the mountains that you needed to dig a burrow in the snow for the night was absurd). “I can just picture it. You spread the bags out and…”

“It was cold. We shared a bunk.”

“But first you shared some liquor.” Fred’s eyes danced.

Roald huffed. “Yes, yes. I’d stayed in a hostel down the mountain the night before, and someone was passing around a bottle of amaro, so I filled up my flask. I would have preferred brandy, but…”

“Oh whatever. I want to know about this guy you slept with! You said he was older. Was he a silver fox?” Fred inhaled suddenly. “Did he take your v-card?”

“My what?”

“Was he your first?”

“Oh no,” Roald said, “but almost.” A teeny smile finally graced his lips. “I was very inexperienced in that way. I had no idea what I was doing when it came to… But this man was a very experienced climber, and when we were on the mountain together, he kept complimenting my climbing, saying I had very good technique for someone so young. When we got to the hut he complimented how light my kit was, saying I’d packed so well. It was all very flattering. And the hut was so small, there was no privacy, so we were going to sleep very close to each other regardless. We opened our food, and then I asked if he wanted to share the flask. He just kept complimenting my climbing, saying I must have trained very intensely.” In the light from the stove, Fred could see Roald blush at the memory. “I was young, and I was flattered, and I had some alcohol in me, and I suppose it made me bold. I told him that I was going to get ready for sleep, and I started taking my layers off. I told him that if he wanted to see the results of all of that training, he could come closer.”

Fred was about to explode from giddiness. “Roald!” He gave the Norwegian another squeeze. “Roald! You minx, you!,” he teased. In his mind’s eye, Fred could see a young Roald, tall and lean and muscular with a serious, unlined face, sitting on a bunk in a tiny hut high in the mountains, pulling a wool thermal layer slowly over his head under the hungry gaze of some anonymous veteran climber. Fred nuzzled his cheek against Roald’s shoulder. “You always did lap up praise, even though you’d never admit it.” He beamed up at Roald. “For the record, I love everything about this story.”

Roald nodded. “Yes, I might not have tried it otherwise, but I thought he’d be receptive. His praise did mean a lot to me.”

“Coming from an experienced climber?”

“Mmm.”

“And did you pick up anything from watching him climb?,” Fred asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, I know he was older, but how did you know that he was so good, when you were so young yourself?”

“Oh,” Roald said, reaching for the water bottle. His gaze was far-off, lost in the memory. “You could just see it in the way he moved.” He paused, and softly added, “And because I recognized him.” He took a quick swig of water as if that would be an effective way to redirect the conversation.

“You what?” Fred shot up.

“I recognized him when we met. That’s why his praise meant so much. Because I knew who he was.”

“And who was he?” Fred replied incredulously. “And don’t you dare try to dodge this question!”

Roald looked intently down at the water bottle, as if it was one of Raco’s isopods and he was studying it through a microscope. “It was Reinhold Messner.”

“WHAT,” Fred exclaimed, so loud that Roald jumped back a little on the bench. “You seduced Reinhold Messner? You shared a sleeping bag in the Alps with Reinhold freaking Messner? You joined the mile high club with - “

Roald put up a hand to cut him off. “Yes, yes, just as you said. But it was decades ago.”

Fred had to shake himself to set his jaw back in place. “Roald! Roald! I can’t believe you kept this story from me all these years! Reinhold Messner! The greatest mountaineer alive.” Fred swiped a hand across his face. “And what a babe, jeez. I mean, I definitely have a type, but I don’t know who wouldn’t want to sleep with that guy.”

Roald gave him a look then, not exactly sheepish - Roald Amundsen never looked sheepish - but a tiny bit unsure. “You’re…you really mean that?”

“Roald, how did you think I’d react, other than with complete and total awe?”

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