AVOID CONTACT WITH EYES. (t_lyrical) wrote in randomfandomsbc,
AVOID CONTACT WITH EYES.
t_lyrical
randomfandomsbc

Here we go: TEMERAIRE KINK MEME


Temeraire Kink Meme
Guidelines
▫ Post anonymously
▫ Make a Request; your post should contain a character/pairing/etc, and a kink!
▫ Anything and Everything is Allowed;
   femslash, slash, het, human/human, dragon/dragon, dragon/human, threesomes, nthsomes, fluff, smut, crack, friendship... anything.
▫ One request per comment!

Notes
Don’t forget to fill out requests!
           It works both ways, guys! Once you make a request, try filling in someone else’s.

▫ Multiple fills are more than welcomed.
▫ Kinks/requests do NOT have to be sexual.
           (Examples: friendship kinks, crossover kinks, AU!kinks, I’m just jacking the word kink really.)

▫ Track the requests you want to keep an eye on. ;)
▫ PIMP THIS PLZ. ♥


Plugs


*WOW, SMART.  UNDISABLING ANON-COMMENTING NOW.  Sorry, sorry!
Tags: fandom: temeraire, kink meme
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  • 33 comments
Laurence/Granby

Accidental stimulation XD

Anonymous

February 17 2009, 01:49:45 UTC 8 years ago

Chenery/Little – h/c based off these two lines from IoE:

p. 172: […] and Little was so white and stricken that Chenery took him into his tent, and piled him with rum until he slept.

p. 179: Chenery was of no use: he had spent the intervening days since the failure of their first hopes keeping himself and Captain Little half-drunk at all times […]


Because, oh god, they’re always together!
"I do not want to sleep," Little said softly as Chenery downed the glass of rum with a grimace; it was cheap stuff, bought at an extortionate price in more hopeful days, and it burned like fire. "I - God, I can't, I must -"

"Easy," Chenery said as the other man stumbled to the tent entrance, and caught him with an arm about his waist and held him there. Little struggled, swore at him and then sagged against his shoulder, shaking breath hot on his neck. "Easy." He reached out one-handed to the bottle and poured another measure, held it up to his friend's mouth. "Drink," he said softly.

"If you are trying to get me drunk," Little said with a ghastly smile, "I warn you that you may well succeed."

"Good. You cannot help her by doing harm to yourself," and oh, that was the wrong thing to say; Little drew back, bleary-eyed and very pale under the swinging lamp.

"You would not call this harm?" he said bitterly with a gesture at the bottle, his eyes overbright. "Or do you think -"

"I will not let you go out there alone," Chenery said, as steadily as he was able, and pushed him back down onto the bed; they stared at each other for a moment until Little snorted and glanced sideways.

"Wisdom befitting even the great Captain Laurence," he said, and then with a twisted smile, "no, but that was un - unfair; I would not have him know of such sufferings for the world. Damn him. Damn him and his fairytales."

There was nothing to be said to that, Chenery knew. He took up the bottle in silence and sat down beside his friend, pressing closer than he would have dreamed, in another life; and Little's fingers closed about his wrist and clutched tight, as if they might, between them, keep the shadows at bay until the distant morning.

Anonymous

February 17 2009, 03:45:06 UTC 8 years ago

Tharkay/Laurence (top/bottom), bondage

Anonymous

February 17 2009, 06:22:08 UTC 8 years ago

Ack, anon likes this and will try her best!

Laurence could not be too sure how the affair had happened without anyone knowing, but Tharkay had a knack for making use of disastrous situations and turning them into distractions. For instance—the trouble today happened when Iskierka and Temeraire had tried to land on the same spot of the dragondeck at the same time. They collided together in a tangled heap of limbs and tails, jostling both the aviators and sailors into a mild state of pandemonium. The Allegiance bobbed dangerously as the crews tried to sort the bickering dragons and simultaneously keep things out of the way.

Laurence had jumped from Temeraire’s back, landing solidly on the deck with a silent exasperated sigh. Luckily, no one appeared hurt, only shaken. Tharkay was hovering beside him, still in his harness straps which were curiously drawn taunt— Laurence blinked and glanced down at his belt, just realizing that Tharkay had somehow clipped their carabiners together. He took an experimental step away, or at least tried to, and then cleared his throat until Tharkay looked his way.

Tharkay’s mouth was drawn in an utterly indifferent line, but Laurence swore there was a certain gleam of wickedness in the other man’s eyes.

“Come,” Tharkay said, tugging on the harness-turned-leash and walking briskly with Laurence in tow.

Feeling his face heat up with the most unclean thoughts, Laurence could only stumble after as he was half-dragged below to Tharkay’s cabin, whispering and hissing wholly half-hearted protests.

*

Temeraire and Iskierka were still arguing up above them, though the ship had stopped rocking considerably. The two dragons had always been prone to squabble, though it had never escalated into a scuffle. Temeraire ought to have known better than that and Laurence worried that one day the fighting might go too far, despite the fact that the dragons were quick to forgive each other as well.

“Distracted, Laurence?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed, but to apologize for it clashed horribly with his sense of morals, “… A little. I wonder if I should be on deck instead.”

Tharkay glanced up from where he had been patiently working loose Laurence’s neckcloth with more teeth than hands, which had lead to frequent diversions across Laurence’s jaw and down to his shoulders (not that Laurence had minded in the least, even if his mind was elsewhere). Pulling away, Tharkay rolled his eyes upwards, a brief frown crossing his features before it disappeared into its customary look of nonchalance, “Captain Riley and Granby are more than able to handle the situation.”

“Yes, of course,” Laurence began, easing his back from the door he had been leaning against, “But it might be better if I—” and halted in midsentence when Tharkay gave a soft growl of impatience. Surprised, Laurence suddenly lurched forward as Tharkay pulled sharply on his harness straps—they were still attached—and muttered, “This won’t do…”

“Tharkay—“

Laurence was more or less dragged and swung into the small bed where Thakary promptly hooked Laurence’s free carabiners to the head posts, wrapping the straps in such a way as to give Laurence very little leeway to move from the cot.

“Five minutes,” Tharkay said, firmly pushing him down, “Five minutes is all I ask for.”

Ask was a brilliant euphemism, especially when Tharkay was busy tightening the leather cords around the cot, but even so, Laurence became strangely enticed by the way the other man loomed over him and how Tharkay reeled their bodies closer by way of pulling on the single strap attached to their waists.

“Well,” Laurence said wryly, though he had to admit his voice wasn’t as steady or terse as he would have liked it to be, “It seems that I am not going anywhere for the moment.”

Tharkay looked pointedly at his lower regions, and said, distractedly, “Mm, indeed.” And Laurence caught sight of a smile before Tharkay quickly leaned in, grabbing his hands and kissing him insistently.

And if there was anything Laurence had learned from their previous encounters, it wasn’t anything like kissing a woman at all—and of course, it wouldn’t be—but where Laurence had been unconsciously inclined to be gentler (even with Jane), Tharkay demanded to be met with heated force, all teeth and tongue and wild gasps for breath.

Moments later, Tharkay was pulling back, and far too soon. With a faint murmur of protest, Laurence made a move to grab for him, but his hand jerked back with a low creak of leather. Blinking, Laurence turned his head to discover that his left wrist was tied to the leg of the cot with a length of strong cord, and damned if he knew how Tharkay had done it—most likely the same way the other man had bent down to kiss Laurence savagely again, and immediately tie his right wrist to the other side of the cot with a shameful lack of difficulty.

“Wait—Tharkay. Just… what—This is rather inconvenient, you know,” Laurence said lamely, trying to ignore how wonderfully flushed Tharkay looked over him, eyes alight and mouth slightly parted.

“For you,” Tharkay replied, his airy tone only marred with a little rasp. Laurence grew uncomfortably warm at the sound and even warmer when Tharkay moved further up and over to one side to reach for that infamous tiny bottle of oil he kept underneath the bedding. The harness strap between them strained and Laurence was forced to lift his hips as far as the strap tied to the cot would allow him to go. Tharkay seemed to have forgotten the latter detail, nearly making the whole cot to turn over. For a brief second, the cot tiled on only two legs, then landed with a thump back on four. Tharkay abruptly fell against Laurence, causing muffled cries come from the both of them as their hips made contact. A maddening sense of desire overcame Laurence and he arched and rubbed in vain to the touch of Tharkay’s hardened length on his, and was at once frustrated by the cloth that separated them. Struggling to free his hands, Laurence gasped, “Tharkay-“

Though he was vaguely aware that Tharkay had no intention of untying him, the other man was just as keen to rid of their trousers, which proved difficult with the belt and carabiners. In the end, Tharkay shakily loosened the harness straps around their waists and was able to do away the very least of their breeches, not even bothering to pull them past their knees before opening the bottle of oil he had been holding on to tightly. Laurence pulled uselessly against the straps at his wrists, not liking the idea of being restrained and hot and sweaty beneath his stifling clothes, “Are you going to untie me?”

“No. At least, not now,” Tharkay answered, coating his fingers. He asked innocently, “Might I have to gag you as well?”

Laurence shut his mouth, watching with a queer mixture of arousal and dread as Tharkay’s fingers slid inside him, gently rubbing and teasing. He twisted slightly, a low groan escaping from him that suddenly turned into a sharp gasp as Tharkay brushed a certain spot that made him writhe uncontrollably. The straps bit into his wrists, and Laurence couldn’t help but give a small cry when the cords refused to give. He desperately wanted to grab at something, most of all Tharkay, but all at once, the fingers were gone and Tharkay was silencing him with his mouth.

“A gag next time, then,” he murmured when Laurence was no longer making stifled groans from his throat. Reaching for the bottle again, Tharkay applied to oil on himself, brow furrowed in concentration and lips drawn into a thin line. Laurence dimly noticed that the other man was determined not to look at him until he was through, and for some unknown reason, Laurence found himself smiling stupidly.

“And what is so amusing?” Tharkay asked lowly, finally glancing down with an intent expression.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Laurence admitted with a grin that made Tharkay pause for a split second before he grabbed the loose harness strap around Laurence’s waist and snapped the carabiners securely to the cot, jerking the strap almost too tightly with an unsteady hand. Laurence winced, unable to move beyond wriggling feebly.

Anonymous

February 17 2009, 06:51:50 UTC 8 years ago

granby/tharkay, rom-com!

Anonymous

February 18 2009, 03:51:26 UTC 8 years ago

Real world modern AU! (And maybe make Laurence in the RAF or even an airline pilot?) Could have plot or just be slice-of-life, go nuts!

Bonus points if other character cameos are included… and if human!Temeraire is his adoptive son from overseas. Slash or het is totally fine if you want to throw in some canon or non-canon pairings.
Temeraire Laurence does not remember his parents. He knows what their names were- at least, he knows what their names probably were, and he can guess what they looked like, when he looks in the mirror, but, for himself, he remembers nothing before he woke up in the rubble of what had once been his home, hot, and aching, with tear tracks smearing his cheeks, surrounded by the thick, heavy silence of the dead.

It was an earthquake, they tell him, and he reads, years later, on the internet, that it was part of an earthquake storm, that levelled his village, and three nearby, and killed more than a thousand people, his parents among them.

Will Laurence drew him from the rubble, into the bright, painful light of a new day, and carried him to the medical tent, sitting with him while the doctors poked and prodded, talking in a low voice, in a language which Temeraire didn't understand, to the people who came and went, while Temeraire clung to his shirt, and listened to the beat of his heart.

Wing-Commander William Laurence was in the last week of his posting to the Iraqi-Turkish border when the earthquake hit, and he was sent to help the relief efforts. One week later, and Temeraire never would have had him.

He doesn't even want to think about what might have happened then.

Instead, Will found him, looked after him, and, in the end, against all official protests, took him back to England, calling on every tiny bit of influence he posessed, on a brother in the foreign office, and a former commander who was aide to Air Chief Marshal Stirrup, and, eventually, on his father, Lord Allendale, one of the few remaining hereditary peers with voting priveliges in the House of Lords.

Temeraire didn't know any of this at the time, of course. He was five, terrified, unable to speak English. He learnt about it later, gleaning it from whispers between his teachers, from Lord Allendale's quiet conversations with Will, from Em, sat on her mother's back steps with a bottle of guiness from the off-licence, drunk on disobedience more than on alcohol.

At the time, all Temeraire knew was that, if Will left, he would be alone, utterly and completely.
His first memories of England are dim and misty, of rain, and soft green grass, and the smell of Will's house near the base, stale and musty. It was on a street filled will RAF personnel- Group Captain Jane Roland on one side, with her daughter Em, and Squadron Leader John Granby on the other. Temeraire met Granby on his first day back- though he wasn't Temeraire, then, he was Ali, the name they thought was his, though it seemed wrong, ill-fitting, like a pair of too-small trainers.

Granby came around with bread, and milk, and Em came around with fruit and vegetables, and cheese, and offered her services as babysitter, if they were ever needed. Granby made cheese-on-toast, and Temeraire ate four slices, and was sick in the night. Will didn't care, just mopped it up, and changed Temeraire's pajamas, and the sheets, and felt his forehead to make sure that he wasn't running a temperature, then sat by him until he fell asleep again. Temeraire woke in the grey dawn to find Will still sitting there, neck cricked, mouth half open, and he lay there, remembering it, so that even if he lost Will, he would still have that.

Three Slices from a Modern AU, 3

Anonymous

8 years ago

OP here

Anonymous

8 years ago

Re: Three Slices from a Modern AU, 1

Anonymous

8 years ago

Anonymous

February 18 2009, 21:42:29 UTC 8 years ago

Laurence/Granby

Anonymous

February 18 2009, 21:43:38 UTC 8 years ago

Emily Roland/Laurence, growing up, :)
If Laurence does not quite recognise the young woman in impeccable uniform, hair bound sleek and shining in a braid, standing at Plymouth docks awaiting the arrival of the transport from New Amsterdam, Temeraire does.

"Roland," he cries joyfully. "Laurence, look, it is Emily."

Lieutenant Emily Roland, lately of Beatrix, looks up at Temeraire and feels as though she is the one coming home. She looks across at Captain Laurence, ropy and brown as she last left him in Sydney, more grey in his hair and crows' feet beginning to show around his eyes, and remembers being eleven years old and going to sleep leaning against his shoulder on the eve of a war.

She wants to fling an arm them, as she does when she is at Dover on furlough and Jane is off duty and they take off to eat supper with Excidium on the cliffs, just the three of them. But she was not Laurence's pupil for nothing, so she lifts her chin and says, by way of greeting, "At your service, sir. Welcome back."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Laurence says, after a moment's pause. His handshake is warm and firm as ever, but the thing that left his smile after the Goliath has not returned.

She has come to escort them to military command. It is 1815 and Lien and Napoleon will wait no longer.

Emily's rise through the ranks has been steady in spite of her mother being in power. To her native talents, her long and productive sojourn in Spain, flying above Wellington's armies over the Peninsula, has lent a particular temper. The Duke's fondness of young women transmutes into a quasi-paternal concern for her; she works as a liaison between her commanders and him for a while, and learns to dance the flamenco with one of his young Spanish aides, and speak Spanish and Portuguese, and manage both her skirts and her swords with equal aplomb.

Because she has loved Laurence since she was eleven years old, she thinks she knows he will never look at her the way he once looked at Jane.

And yet. If she has changed in the years since she left him, grown tall and more curved of hip and breast, able to manage entire heavyweight crews (Commodore Villiers is a fighting-captain, but she is also Jane's head of intelligence) and not only because she was born to it, then what changes have his travels through the wild parts of the world not wrought in him? She wonders as he looks across the table, surrounded by old friends, at her snowy, perfectly creased neckcloth and the Vitoria medal on her coat, and his smile widens a fraction.

"Well done, Lieutenant," he pronounces of her career so far as they pick their way over to the clearings after dinner, Emily dutifully leading the way around the covert. "Excellent news all around."

And Emily, who has learned to take hard decisions by asking herself, when all else fails, what Captain Laurence would do, and then wondering why the answers should not have stood him in better stead, replies, as she has heard him do a thousand times, "Thank you, sir. No more than my duty."

("Roland," Beatrix says, her shrewd, eerie eyes boring into Emily, who sits by her, later that night, after Laurence has bid good night to Temeraire and Villiers is still expostulating over a map of Europe with Jane and Wellington, "You smell very nice today.")

Emily has inherited her mother's sense of humour, but in spite of her keen sense of the ridiculous, she cannot deny that she would like it very well to kiss Laurence, and slide an arm around his waist, and get him to smile against her mouth, the smile her eleven-year-old self remembers. "I do not want to go to bed with any of them," she remembers telling him when he scolded her for bathing with the boys all those years ago in Turkestan. Jane said that in the natural order of things, she would want to, some day, but Emily has never wanted to go to bed with any of the boys who now answer to her. Her heart skips a beat as she thinks of her small, tidy room in the barracks, with its scrupulously clean environs (just the way Laurence drilled them into keeping things) and taking Laurence to the narrow, austere bed by the window, the better to express the hopes of a heart that has kept time with his, and remains, steadfast and silent, as it always has.
EEE!

This is perfect. I love it!

Wellington, and Emily and Laurence, and she's fairly sure he doesn't love her that way, but loves him anyway, and the way she grew up, and grew up well.

This is wonderful.
Aww, nice! Emily is really wonderful here and I really loved Beatrix side comment too, lol.

Anonymous

February 19 2009, 02:20:15 UTC 8 years ago

Wellington/Jane - First dance/date/casual outing scenario outside of work, though both of them don't really notice. Bantering, awkwardly romantic moments, Wellington getting verbally owned would be <3.

Anonymous

February 20 2009, 00:22:29 UTC 8 years ago

James/Everyone

Because dispatch riders get around easily, and there's whoring to be had in the Corps!

Anonymous

February 22 2009, 03:38:30 UTC 8 years ago

WELL IF NO ONE ELSE IS GOING TO ASK

Temeraire/Laurence smut. Human or Dragon!AU, voyeurism, creativity whatever. Let's just get some taboo.

Anonymous

February 27 2011, 06:07:56 UTC 6 years ago

Yes.

In fact, YES. PLEASE. I would write it, except I've only read the first book and don't have a good handle on them. And, y'know, I have a zillion other things to do, which I'm ignoring while posting to a kink meme (kink meme have eaten my LIFE oh, gods).

Anonymous

February 22 2009, 21:12:04 UTC 8 years ago

Laurence/Tharkay/Granby threesome, preferable with Tharkay in the middle.

Anonymous

February 22 2009, 21:56:14 UTC 8 years ago

Granby/Riley. Angry!sex, fighting over who was the better lieutenant.



(And extra points if Laurence walks in on them.)

Anonymous

January 24 2011, 01:00:40 UTC 6 years ago

Please! Someone try this one! I can practically see it!

(Granby and Riley exchanged sly looks while Laurence tried on twenty different shades of red in the doorway before simultaneously sliding to their feet and stalking towards him.)

Well, I can see that part at least xD

Anonymous

June 29 2009, 15:54:18 UTC 8 years ago

Roland/Laurence; Uniform!Sex, Buggery, Topping from the Bottom (you really think Jane's even remotely submissive?).

Anonymous

July 7 2009, 19:50:46 UTC 8 years ago

Topping from the Bottom (you really think Jane's even remotely submissive?).

In all actuality, I think of Jane as topping from the top.

Anonymous

8 years ago