![[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
Wilson/Scott/Cherry - first time threesome
(Anonymous) 2022-10-06 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)(Bonus if it's Wilson bringing together his two boys, and it's Scott and Cherry who need to be guided and such.)
Re: Wilson/Scott/Cherry - first time threesome
(Anonymous) 2022-10-23 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)Though it is April, gray ice still lines the streets of Westminster. Cherry hardly notices; nothing can dampen the prospect of sailing within a few short weeks. He has traversed the city thrice today alone, marching from meeting to meeting, not minding terribly whether he keeps his boots dry.
He works up the courage to approach Wilson after dinner at the Devonshire Club. Cherry has to wait for the usual throng of admirers to dissipate.
Wilson looks as shockingly handsome as ever, crisp and untiring. Cherry cannot dream of how he has accomplished such a feat in these final days.
"Thank you for speaking to him on my behalf. At the time, I would have taken anything."
Wilson regards him carefully. "Anything?"
"Yes." The sound of it reverent on his tongue, like communion, idolatry. He has never been good at hiding his adoration.
Wilson smiles.
Cherry slips into his new role with ease. Even so, he feels a familiar twinge of nerves when Reggie hands him the invitation to the theatre. The play is some standard romance, transpiring on an island. Both the Captain and Wilson have signed the cars, the latter with a leisurely "Yours, Bill." Cherry wants to believe that it means something.
Wilson's eyes crinkle with joy when Cherry enters their box at the Duke of York's Theatre in his best blue suit. Lassie used to pinch Cherry’s arm and call him a peacock every time he wore it to dinner.
"Am I overdressed?" Cherry asks, before he can compose himself. It's a ridiculous question.
"Hardly, seeing that Con is likely to arrive in full dress uniform. Shall we make a wager?" There's something conspiratorial to Wilson's voice, like he's drawing Cherry into the life he and the Captain share.
"A young man in a fine suit is always a pleasing sight," Wilson adds, as if as an afterthought. Cherry hopes that his face has not gone too pink. He might savor this moment for years.
The Captain does, indeed, arrive dressed to the nines. Instead of gravitating toward Wilson as expected, he seats himself on Cherry's other side. Even when looking so well there is something about his demeanor that betrays uncertainty.
Wilson leans over Cherry and plucks a stray thread off of the lapel of Scott's uniform.
"Have I missed much, gentlemen?" Scott eyes Wilson appreciatively.
Wilson toys with the thread absently, rolling it between his long fingers. Cherry cannot look anywhere else. "We were merely discussing decorum. I admit that I feel rather careless now, sitting next to the both of you."
Scott's brow furrows. "You could never be careless."
Wilson feigns abashment and reaches over Cherry once more, sliding his hand down Scott's knee in a pacifying gesture. Cherry increasingly thinks of himself as an interloper.
Mercifully, the curtains draw open.
Perhaps it is not so merciful. Cherry finds that he can think of nothing but the two men on either side of him.
Hazily, he recalls a passage from Scott's Discovery diary – which he has studied like scripture– regarding the use of three-man sleeping bags on Antarctic expeditions. He imagines himself bundled between them, too afraid to sleep.
Some small glances are exchanged over him at key moments. Cherry could not say what these moments were, increasingly anxious that he will not be able to make intelligent conversation regarding the contents of the play during the intermission. All too soon–
"Excuse me. It appears that a certain Sir Markham has materialized in the lobby."
"As he is wont to." Wilson looks displeased. "Do find your way back to us if you can, before the night ends."
As Scott stands, Cherry is quick to rise in tandem and offer his hand, his mother's voice conjured in his ear. "I really must thank you again. For your generous offer–"
Cherry quite forgets the script he's written in his head when both of Scott's hands clasp around his own. Onlookers might describe the act as fatherly. It doesn't feel that way. Cherry is perfectly rooted to the ground, held upright by the steadiness of his Captain's hands.
Scott has the good sense to conjure some perfunctory words. "Of course." He squeezes Cherry's hand once. "It shall be a pleasure to have you."
After the Captain takes his leave, Cherry turns to find Wilson looking as if he is suppressing a smile. Not in mockery. There's something warm to the look.
Later, Cherry will place blame on the quality of the wine at the Savoy. In truth, he drank just enough to sit comfortably with Wilson, here in the back corner of the restaurant where they speak unobserved for some time. They are obscured by a ridiculous marble plinth and an obtrusive pot of lilies.
He’s thankful for it as the night draws on and he finds himself leaning against Wilson intimately, relishing the closeness.
Cherry is still in the process of recounting the ordeal his sisters have faced this past week– the fierce competition to stitch him the very best sledging flag– when Wilson steers him upstairs to the suite booked on their donors' dime.
“Too extravagant for me, I fear," Wilson confides after they pass the valet, placing a bracing hand on Cherry's back. There's something quaint about the sentiment. Cherry is not used to such genuine simplicity. He finds it immensely appealing.
So appealing that it compels him to slip his arm around Wilson’s waist. It was meant to be an assertion of a sort. Instead, he feels like a young woman clinging to her beau during a stroll through Hyde Park.
Not the worst feeling in the world, he decides.
Wilson laughs, a staccato whisper of a sound in the vacuous corridor, with its cold white paneling. He brushes the side of Cherry's cheek affectionately with his nose as he searches his pockets for the keys. Cherry wishes he was brave enough to kiss him. Even on the cheek.
When they enter, Scott is already settled in the sitting room with a glass of whiskey. He has neatly folded his dress jacket on the armchair. Something about the gesture makes Cherry's heart leap, in pain or some other unknown emotion. In his plain shirt, Scott looks smaller, easier to picture as he is. A living, breathing man.
Wilson crosses the room and kisses Scott on the mouth as casually as he would his wife.
It is as if nothing is amiss. It's simple, obvious. Wilson breaks the kiss in an instant and leaves to deposit both of their jackets on the coat rack.
Cherry at least has enough sense to avert his eyes.
"Didn't keep you long then, did he?" Wilson offers cheerfully, from the entryway.
"He couldn't," says Scott. Cherry can still feel his eyes on him but doesn't dare look up. He curses his choice of suit. He's suddenly hot, under the gabardine.
"I thought it would just be Cherry and I. Not that I would have minded-"
"I am afraid–" Cherry begins, delicately, "that I have intruded upon something." He still does not look, even in the brief silence that ensues.
"Nonsense," Wilson says, in his usual bright tone. And then, lower, consoling– "Why don't you have a seat, Cherry?"
Cherry meets Wilson's eye then. He sees only that same honesty he brings to all things.
"Unless you would prefer that we call you a motor cab."
"Please don't." Cherry does his best to sound firm, rather than the schoolboy sent upstairs by his older brothers at bedtime.
"There is no need. Reggie isn't expecting me," he adds. "I'm staying in the city on my own."
Wilson appraises him. "We wouldn't want you to be without company, then. Sit."
It's sweet, but it's an order. This compels him. Cherry settles himself on the couch next to Scott. The closeness is instantly intolerable. He smells clean but for the slight bite of whiskey on his breath. It makes Cherry think of his mouth.
He squeezes his thighs together.
"Don't feel obligated to stay for too long," Scott says, unsure. "We wouldn't want to keep a young man away from the world."
Wilson sits across from them in the armchair. "Con. He's a clever boy. He knows."
"I believe that I understand," Cherry offers. "Not that I suspected anything untoward. No, forgive me–"
Wilson reaches to clasp his hand. "There is no need to ask for forgiveness."
"I want– I want to stay."
Wilson's thumb presses down against Cherry's palm in a calming circle. "Good. Tell me more. Tell me what you want."
Cherry thinks. 'I'd like to be closer to you."
"The both of us?"
"Yes."
He has never been in a position before to dictate his desires.
"What else?" Wilson again, darker, deeper.
"I'd like to be of service." He is inches away from Wilson's mouth. The same wine on both of their tongues.
"Show me."
Cherry has never unlaced anyone's boots. There has not been any need for it. He's feverish with novelty, an electric pulse of transgression, when he kneels before Scott and begins to pull his laces apart. He even relishes the grind of his knees against the floorboards.
Scott's hand steals around the back of his neck, fingers warm. Cherry is emboldened to meet his attentive eye.
"What else?" Wilson echoes.
"I believe that I would like to be kissed."
The lovely sound of Wilson's laugh, as Scott draws Cherry up and crushes his mouth against his own.
Cherry is stunned by how natural it all is, a lesson he does not need to learn. His mouth against Scott's for the first time.
Wilson, drawing close and meeting Scott's mouth for the hundredth time. Easy.
Easy, until there are some complications. When one is eager to please, there is a tendency to bite off more than one can chew.
Cherry is met with nothing but praise when Scott enters him; from Scott himself, whose nerves have not tempered despite laying bare beneath him. From Wilson, who appraises them fondly from the bottom of the bed.
Cherry plants his hands firmly on Scott's chest, testing his resolve. Scott gasps in surprise. Cherry could never read weakness in him, only truth.
This is why he loves both of them.
"He likes that, doesn't he?" Wilson says.
"I don't know if I can– I can try." Cherry rocks his hips experimentally, taking Scott in deeper by the inch. It is equal parts pleasure and discomfort. Cherry resents the shallowness, wishes he could give himself entirely.
"Try."
Easy again, once they have learned the rhythm they must keep.
"Please," Cherry gasps, flush against the mattress on his belly. "More."
Scott rolls against him once, agonizingly gentle. "I don't wish to hurt you." He manages.
"But you'd like to give the boy what he wants." Wilson has approached the bedside. Cherry cannot see, his spectacles long lost, but he can sense Wilson like a magnet. He grits his teeth against the wave of pleasure that snakes up through his abdomen, at the mere hint of his presence.
"Listen to him," Wilson says, barely above a whisper.
Scott's courage finds him. Cherry responds, arching back against the force, the pleasure of the friction nothing compared to the pleasure of command and direction.
"Good," Scott pants. "Good boy."
It's enough to make Cherry lose control of his senses, unseeing and unhearing. He is distantly aware that he is making a great amount of noise as his climax hits him without much notice. He leaks into the sheets.
He's not sure if it is Scott's hand or Wilson's raking gently through his hair as He decides it does not matter.
He understands the rest of it through inchoate shapes, barely discernible; Wilson, finally mostly unclothed, an impressionistic blot of pink around the outline of his body. He laughs as his shirt catches above his head.
A heavy exhaustion settles within Cherry, but he still tries to be good. Someone less discerning might tell him there was no need. Wilson understands implicitly that he does need this, as Cherry rubs himself against his thigh, takes his cock in his mouth. A drop of sweat lands on Cherry's cheek and all he tastes is salt. The ache in his jaw is only encouraging.
Devotion takes many shapes. The three of them are pious, in their own way.
Naturally, it ends with the two of them, Scott and Wilson entwined. Cherry cannot tell where one form begins and the other ends. He studies Wilson’s gentleness as he guides Scott's hand lower with the familiarity borne out of ten years of intimate knowledge. Wilson is quiet when he comes, as if it is incidental to the rest of it, the speaking, the kissing.
"Wouldn't want you to freeze to death," Scott mumbles as he carefully pulls Wilson back into his underclothes. Wilson's expression slips out of Cherry's field of vision as he takes Scott's face in both of his hands and disappears into the curve of his neck.
The snow has started again by the time Cherry begins to drift away against Scott's chest. It rattles noisily against the windowpane.
"It's as if it never ends," Cherry mutters indistinctly, half lulled to sleep by the sound of the bath Wilson has drawn in the adjacent room.
"Winter is always ahead, no matter what," Scott offers thoughtfully.
"Oh, not now. Not yet. Let us have this."
Scott chuckles. Cherry doesn't hear it as much as feel it through his chest. "You are right. There is ample time, before all of that."
Wilson extinguishes every light in the room before climbing into bed. Scott does not complain when Cherry readily folds into his arms in his stead. Wilson’s damp from the bath, his arms always strong.
"Leave the poor boy alone, Con. He'll need his rest."
The sound of the fearsome wind fades all too soon when he is so warm between them. The two of them continue to speak through the night, but it is of no import to him. Cherry dreams.
Re: Wilson/Scott/Cherry - first time threesome
(Anonymous) 2022-10-24 03:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wilson/Scott/Cherry - first time threesome
(Anonymous) 2022-10-24 05:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Wilson/Scott/Cherry - first time threesome
(Anonymous) 2022-10-31 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)