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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: Irrepressible Optimism, Shackleton/Worsley, E, spanking
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 03:38 am (UTC)(link)Typically, the Boss had refused Captain Thom’s offer of the mildly more spacious captain’s cabin of the whaling vessel Southern Sky, opting instead for the relative privacy of the smaller first mate’s cabin. Tom Crean and I shared the double bunks of the second and third mate’s cabin. These agreed-upon arrangements notwithstanding, I appeared to be spending the bulk of my time with Shackleton as the boat picked its way through the pack toward Elephant Island. Usually I found myself crowded into the Boss’s single-bunk cabin, the two of us tucked closely between the little duffel pack we had been gifted of whalers’ reverently donated sweaters and the built-in writing desk with its multitudinous stacks of charts and navigational instruments.
I fervently hoped that the rest of the volunteer crew of the Sky simply chalked my excessive spending of time with Shackleton up to the fact that I was the now-renowned navigator of our expedition, and as such was helping to guide the ship in its slow progress toward Elephant Island—-not the fact that each evening, and sometimes in the morning, too, and on a couple of instances during the afternoon watch, he and I and sometimes Crean as well were engaging in vigorous and enthusiastic sodomy in various configurations.
“We’ll get there, Boss,” I said in my most reassuring tones, though I too was mired in worry for the men we had left on Elephant Island. Calculating Shackleton’s moods as quickly in my mind as I had learned to calculate the position of the Caird relative to the horizon, to the stars, to the impossibly distant idea of South Georgia Island when we were adrift in the vast turbulent waters of the Atlantic, I tried another tactic: “We’ve certainly been in more desperate straits than these.”
“Our situation is not the desperate one!” Shackleton roared, turning on me. Although this was part of my plan I still experienced a moment of panic: in such a small space as this cabin, such a large man as Ernest Shackleton cut a rather intimidating figure.
“Right,” I continued, attempting an air of nonchalance, “but you must certainly admit that after a warm bath and a shave, the outlook brightens consid—-”
“You, of all people,” Shackleton interrupted, “you should know it is not my welfare for which I’m concerned!” In his vehemence Shackleton had crowded me up against the bunk, leaning intimidatingly over me so that I was quite bent backwards. This close our thighs were laid together knee to hip, the familiar comforting warmth of his body radiating through his trousers and sending an instinctual curl of arousal through me. This must have shown on my face, because the Boss abruptly stepped back and allowed me to (reluctantly) straighten. The cloud of emotion that had darkened his features passed and he gazed at me critically. “You’re riling me on purpose,” he said.
I shrugged, caught out. “It might help to let off some steam?”
His eyes tracked over my face. Our faces were still too wind- and frost-burnt to show much flush, for which I was abruptly glad, because I was quickly becoming embarrassed about the obviousness of my little scheme. Of course the Boss would see right through it. Of course he would be so sensitive to any member of his crew—-my own closeness with him notwithstanding—-as to think critically before allowing frustration to overwhelm him.
“What did you have in mind?” Shackleton asked skeptically.
I turned about, leaning over the edge of the bed so that my arse was pertly displayed for him. “You could try spanking me?”
He folded himself over me, front to my back, touching his forehead to the nape of my neck, the soft waves of his thick, curly hair tickling the exposed skin there. He slid a rough, splayed-wide palm familiarly under the hem of my sweater. His large body trembled like a shock went through it and it took me a moment to realize he was laughing.
“Skipper, you are incorrigible,” he huffed against my back.
“Is that a no?”
He laughed softly again, then pulled back enough to deliver a sharp slap to one buttock. “No.”
I let out an involuntary yelp; the slap was delicious in its abruptness and Shackleton’s amused acquiescence was its own separate, unique delight. I admit to, historically, having something of a taste for harsher treatment: the incomparable delight found in the juxtaposition of soft words and sharp, stinging slaps. The Boss of course knew of my predilection but something in his nature was usually compelled toward gentler treatment. The evening’s development was a welcome surprise.
“Not too loud now, hm, Skipper?” Shackleton murmured as he shifted behind me, petting and gentling all up and down my flanks and thighs as though I were putty and he a master craftsman. “Don’t want to wake up Tom. Or do you?” With this he gave me another quick slap.
I was able to keep almost quiet at this one, though a surprised squeak may have somehow made its way out of my throat and into the close air of the cabin. Beneath the material of my trousers I felt the tingling warmth imparted by both slaps blossoming upon my skin. I was facedown in Shackleton’s bed, in whose cozy embrace the man himself spent little enough time that I rather had to imagine his familiar comforting scent—-yet even just the knowledge that it was he, of all people, who slept here somehow increased the pleasure I felt at being pressed there.
The trousers I had been gifted by some of the whalers at Grytviken were slightly oversized, which made it that much easier for Shackleton to tug them over the curve of my arse to let the material crumple around my calves. He touched the newly bared skin as gently as he could with his callused, frostburnt hand; the sweet barely-there pressure of his touch contrasted with the rough scrape of the pads of his fingers just heightened my arousal. The first real slap sent a jolt through my whole body; I jerked forward, hands curling into fists in the soft woolen blanket, tasting its scent as I gasped. Heat bloomed beneath my skin. Before I could recover he slapped me again, on the opposite cheek this time, and surprise as much as pleasure drew another little yelp from my mouth.
“I did tell you to keep quiet,” Shackleton growled from somewhere behind and above me.
“Hurgh,” I replied eloquently.
Another slap. What had previously been tingling warmth upon the surface of the skin turned to sharp heat located somewhere deep within my muscles and bones. Another slap, and another. I noticed distantly, as though it were happening to someone else, that the part of the blanket in the vicinity of my mouth was wet with saliva. The sharp, meaty sound of each stroke seemed very far distant, overwhelmed by the deep, quick throbbing of my own blood in my ears.
I quickly lost count, drowned entirely in the sensation of each stroke which rose in succession with the others like waves building upon one another in the ocean: so that each was not a distinct experience but instead the towering end result of their combination crashed over and through me with the same inexorable consistency as the endless wash of the roughest seas we’d traversed in the Caird, until I could no longer remember existing in any state other than the one I currently endured.
The strikes ceased; all at once the elbows upon which I weakly propped myself gave out and I slumped forward against the blanket of the bunk, the ridge of its edge pressing uncomfortably into my stomach. My lips and tongue felt dry and thick, the sensitive skin there strangely cool from my open-mouthed panting. The surface of my arse burned as though recovering from frostbite.
“Let me,” the Boss gasped from behind me, clearly out of breath, “let me,” and he maneuvered my weak body so that I was further up the bed. The touch of his broad rough hands on the newly sensitive skin of my arse was enough to startle a desperate little sob from me, which he quickly quieted with an incongruously gentle brush of his lips to my tailbone. The pressure of his hands stroking over my arse, tenderly exposing my hole, was painful and delicious.
The first touch of his hot tongue to me was transcendent; even before he had really got started I was coming undone from the sweet juxtaposition of the soft slick gentleness of his mouth and the intense burning heat of my spanked-sensitive skin. He was relentless in this as all things, pressing his thick hand into the tight sweat-damp place between my legs to caress my taut bollocks and then, to my relief, the slick curve of my achingly hard cock.
I must have made some kind of sound at this because Shackleton shushed me. “Close, Skipper?” he asked wickedly, mouth moving wetly against the skin of my arse.
“Yes, Boss.”
His big hand stroked me quickly and roughly, his tongue delved deeply into me; like this I edged closer and closer to release, until the hand of his that was not engaged with my cock delivered one final stinging slap to my arse, tipping me over the edge, and I was swept away entirely.
Shackleton gentled and petted me through orgasm so that when I finally surfaced from the ripcurrent drag of pleasure I was comfortably ensconced in his embrace, held tightly against his broad chest by those capable arms. I was absently impressed that he had managed to maneuver himself into the tiny bunk alongside my uselessly limp body. That, if nothing else, surely confirmed to me that he would be able to wend this bulky ship successfully through the pack ice to rescue those we had left at Elephant Island.
This thought would amuse the Boss, I thought; I should tell him. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek as he breathed deeply and steadily. I should tell him. I hoped I would remember it when I awoke.
Re: FILL: Irrepressible Optimism, Shackleton/Worsley, E, spanking
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 07:42 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Irrepressible Optimism, Shackleton/Worsley, E, spanking
(Anonymous) 2022-10-03 12:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Irrepressible Optimism, Shackleton/Worsley, E, spanking
(Anonymous) 2023-01-05 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)