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Prompting Post VI

Please see the most recent MOD NOTE and ADDENDUM

(updated 5 July)

Welcome everybody. How you got here I have no idea but thank you for coming and welcome again, nonetheless . As you may have gathered this is a Fic Prompting Meme dedicated solely to the hilarious and oh-so-addictive BBC Radio 4 sitcom - Cabin Pressure. I'm aiming for this to be pretty anything goes - but in order for everything to run smoothly, there are a few guidelines. Don't worry - they're not too restrictive.

FILLING GUIDELINES

Please nest your fills.

This can be done by either posting each part as a reply to that part's immediate predecessor, OR by replying each time to Part I OR - well you get the idea :D

It makes it simpler for Enigel and myself to link fills in a clean and clear manner. Following these guildelines will be very much appreciated guys :D

REPROMPTING

Reprompting is allowed but please include the URL of the original prompt when you do so. It will make it infinitely more easy to Archive which would make both Enigel and I very happy :)

As for everything else

Be respectful to one another. Disagreements are fine, but not everything disagreeable is trolling. If you suspect someone of trolling, just ignore it. If you cannot respond to a comment without attacking or trolling someone else, keep it to yourself.

No bashing prompts. It might not be your cup of tea - but obviously someone wants it enough to go to the effort of requesting it. So just scroll past it.

Prompt away as much as you like guys - seriously, go wild - but please try to fill as well.

NEW - If your fill includes a major element that veers from the original prompt (crossovers, established universes, kinks, et cetera), please take a few moments to check with the OP that such additions are welcome. This has caused problems in the past and it only takes a few moments of your time.
Please no RPF. I'm not trying to oppress you RPF writers and enthusiasts, I would just really like to avoid any legal problems.

When you post a fill (or post a new part of a WIP) please go over to the Filled Prompts Post (if it is complete) or the WIP Post (if there are still more parts to come) and, following each post's guideline's, post a link to this fill or new part.

REALLY IMPORTANT ADDENDUM

According to numerous Child Safety laws it is illegal to provide pornographic material to minors. Seeing that the majority of the stuff we have here is rather adult in nature, this Meme is consequently an 18+ zone. Failing to comply to this rule could result in the Meme getting shut down. So if you're here and you're under 18 please back button now.

+ Please do not post anything regarding minors in a sexual situation. It really doesn't matter how tasteful or crass it is, there are laws that classify that sort of thing as child pornography and as such, I'm afraid we're going to have to go with the attitude that safe is better than sorry.

It really is VERY important that these rules are upheld as the consequences are severe.

Other than that - go crazy guys. Any problems please just message me and I'll try my best to work it out.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Prompt Index

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cabin_pressure @ LJ | Cabin Pressure @ AO3 | IRC Chat @ irc.ecnet.org #FittonATC

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Warning for some NC-17 Sexytimes, and a safeword being ignored)

It was certainly fortunate that Douglas wasn’t at all embarrassed or upset by his likeness to the hapless Secretary of State for Social Affairs & Citizenship, since it appeared glaringly obvious over the next few weeks that Mannion had a flair for winding up in publically humiliating situations that cast even Martin’s into the shade – catapaulting the MP into the news again and again. And, the more people saw of Mannion on the television, the more they noticed the resemblence to Douglas. He and Carolyn laughed about it. At one point, Hercules made an aborted attempt to mock Douglas over it, which was short lived once Douglas made it quite clear that the likeness didn’t bother him one iota.

Martin never brought it up. But then, Martin was likely even less interested in politics than Douglas was. Or so Douglas thought, until the day of the Arthur Shappey Litmus Test.

Douglas had found long ago that his three MJN colleagues made a good “sliding scale” indicator of how glaringly obvious something was. Carolyn had the perception and wit to pick up on things very swiftly. Martin made a good “control” – if he spotted something, then the chances were that the average chap on the street would too. If Arthur made a note of it, then it was absolutely as plain as the nose on your face. So Douglas abandoned all hope of not spending the next few years being asked by strangers if they’d seen him on the news or something when Arthur came bursting into the flight deck with the teas one morning wearing an expression that could only possibly go with a small cartoon lightbulb shining away above his head.

‘The chap on the slide!’ Arthur beamed.

‘Beg pardon?’

‘That’s who it is you look like. That MP who had his photo taken going down a slide the other day.’

‘Arthur,’ said Martin, ‘I don’t think…’

‘Oh, what’s his name?’ Arthur asked. ‘Hummitty Hoo. Secretary of something.’

‘Peter Mannion,’ replied Douglas with a resigned sigh. ‘Yes, I had noticed.’

‘No you don’t!’

Douglas and Arthur blinked in unison at Martin’s needlessly horrified outburst. Martin stared back at them both, floundering, before attempting a scoff.

‘He doesn’t look a bit like him, Arthur. Don’t be silly.’

‘But he does!’

‘Loathed as I am to admit it, Martin, I really do. Sound like him, too.’

‘So what is he – a long lost twin or something?’ Arthur asked cheerfully.

‘Oh, God.’ Martin was suddenly very pale.

‘Certainly not,’ Douglas told the Steward. ‘He has none of the Richardson flair.’ Wanting to bring Martin in on the joshing, he nudged the Captain’s ankle with his foot. ‘Probably more Crieff in him than Richardson, what would you say, Martin?’

‘Could we drop this, please?’

Douglas withdrew his foot and frowned. Martin looked as if he was about to throw up.

‘He does get himself into some real scrapes, Skip,’ Arthur added, oblivious to Martin’s reaction. ‘Hey, maybe this is like Doctor Who! Because he’s a bit like if you and Douglas could have a baby together in some weird SciFi way or get cloned together or something and then the baby was thrown back in time so he’s about 60 and then that would be him.’

‘Sorry, no. You’re talking utter rubbish.’ Martin got to his feet, suddenly. ‘Excuse me. I. Er. I’m going out. I need some air.’

‘Martin,’ said Douglas, gently, ‘it may have escaped your attention, but we’re currently at 15,000 feet over the North Sea where there is, admittedly, an abundance of air out, although none of it terribly good for you.’

‘Out of the flight deck. It’s too stuffy in here. I. I just need to sit out in the cabin for a bit.’

‘You don’t look very well, Skip.’ Arthur’s face flashed concern. ‘Oh, no! One of our pilots is sick! This is just like that how that film starts. The one with the aeroplane. What’s it called?’

‘Airplane.’ Martin squeezed at his eyes. ‘And I’m fine. Really. I just need air. I’ve… I’ve got a headache.’

‘Another headache?’ noted Douglas. ‘You might want to see somebody about those if they persist.’

Martin gave Douglas an odd look for a second, before leaving the flight deck.

Douglas frowned at the door as it closed. ‘I should talk to him.’

‘I think flying the plane’s a bit more important for you to do right now, Douglas, what with Skip feeling poorly and all. Unless you wanted to talk to him over the cabin address system, but I think he went out there mainly because the talking was making him feel bad.’

Douglas sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’s all right. That’s what Stewards do – make sure people in the cabin are all right, and it’s not like I’ve got any passengers to do that for. He can be my passenger! Captain Passenger.’

‘Best to keep the chatter to a minimum, though.’

‘Can do!’

‘And best not to mention Mannion to him any more,’ added Douglas. ‘You know – the slidey MP. He seems to really upset Martin. I wonder why.’

‘Oh, politicians always upset people,’ replied Arthur. ‘It’s just what they do. I remember my dad used to shout at Neil Kinnock when he was on the telly – I kept telling him he couldn’t hear him, but he still shouted.’

‘Hmm,’ said Douglas, non-commitally. This was a mystery. He wasn’t fond of mysteries concerning his lovers – particularly since the Tai Chi Teacher incident.

He was going to get to the bottom of this.

-x-

“Headaches” notwithstanding, Martin did indeed seem keen on carrying on with their clandestine meet-ups. He avoided Douglas for a few days after both the incident in Alaska and the one over Arthur mentioning Mannion, but on both occasions was at Douglas’ bedroom door within the week, full of nervous energy and a frantic need to be touched, and kissed, and enthusiastically fucked. Douglas obliged. The matter of Martin’s reluctance to bring their changed relationship out of secrecy was rather a sticking point, but in the early weeks Douglas hoped that, given time and a little gentle persuasion, they’d be able to move things forward.

Two months passed, and Martin doggedly refused to even waiver. Douglas decided that it was time to try a different approach. He found himself able, during a return flight, to talk Martin into going to his house for the night. A night together on their home turf, rather than in an anonymous hotel room. It was a tiny, baby step, and even that had taken a considerable amount of bribery, but it was a step in the direction Douglas wanted, at least.

Martin was on his doorstep at 10pm, anxiously looking around to check he hadn’t been spotted. By 10.10, they were both stark naked and Douglas was finishing off the last tie to leave Martin spreadeagle and helpless on Douglas’ bed – a limb tied to each bedpost.

‘How’s that?’ Douglas sat back, enjoying the delightfully pinking skin splayed out under his own handiwork. ‘Or, when you expressed an interest in being tied up, were you hoping more for me to have you detained in a long, boring business meeting?’

‘This is fine.’ Martin tested the ties on his wrists a little. ‘Good. Good. Yes, this is good.’

‘Told you I’d make it worth your while.’ Douglas ran a light touch up Martin’s thigh and hip, over ribcage and nipple to neck, and watched the goosebumps flare. ‘And now, I’ve got you right where I want you.’ He watched as Martin closed his eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip. ‘For as long as I want. I might untie you at midnight. Until then, you’re all mine.’

He bent down and planted a soft kiss on the inside of one of Martin’s opened thighs, smirking to himself at the wriggle and moan that it elicited.

‘Do you know what I want to do with you, Martin?’

‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘I want to have a chat.’

Martin snapped his head up as far as it could go. ‘What?’

‘I’ve got you for two hours, you’ve given me a list of the things you don’t want to do – having a chat wasn’t on there.’

‘A chat,’ repeated Martin. ‘A chat. Er… a sexy chat?’

‘A personal one, certainly. See, I enjoy knee-tremblers up against the wall, or bent over the bed, or… maybe not in the shower quite so much when one’s partner has quite the knack for falling over on slippy surfaces as you do…’

Martin winced at the memory. ‘Agreed.’

‘I enjoy those things as much as the next man,’ continued Douglas. ‘But I also enjoy dates. Talking – getting to know somebody.’

‘But you already know me.’

‘Not intimately. Not the way I like to know my sexual partners. And, since you steadfastly refuse to let me take you out on a date, don’t want to have this sort of talk while we’re flying and never stick around for pillow talk, I thought I’d bring the date to you. I even got in a nice bottle of Merlot if you’re more comfortable doing this over drinks – although, in your current state you’re probably best using a straw.’

‘And that’s your idea of a sexual adventure, is it? Stripping me off, tying me down and then wasting two hours asking me cheesy questions like what my favourite colour is, or what sort of biscuit I’d be?’

‘Well, no, because firstly, we’ve had both of those conversations on flights – blue, and a Jammie Dodger, see, I remembered – secondly, if that’s your idea of what to talk about on a date, then you really do need to brush up on your skills in that area, and thirdly, I was planning on having an awful lot of terribly enjoyable sex with you as well. Just see this as a part of the foreplay. I always do. If it helps, I have ice, lubricant and a couple of interesting looking sex toys on hand. One of the perks of having your date in the bedroom.’ He slid a finger up martin’s thigh again, running it over the cleft of his arse and up his perineum. ‘Can’t do this in Nando’s.’

Martin huffed, pushing his head back into the pillow at the sensation. ‘Why don’t you do some more things to me that you wouldn’t do at Nando’s, and we’ll talk.’

Activities thoroughly unacceptable at a Peri-Peri chicken restaurant chain, which Douglas decided were suitable for commencing his “date” with Martin included tonguing his balls, teasing the underside of his cock with his mouth and sliding a lubricated finger inside his arse while kissing and licking his nipples into aroused, pink little peaks. He waited until Martin was duly blissed-out before starting with the questions he’d been itching to have an honest answer to for weeks.

‘So, what’s the story with you and men? You never gave any real indication that they were your cup of tea before our first little altercation in Athens.’

‘I’m… not sure that’s any of your business.’

‘Martin. You’re tied, naked to my bed and I’m about to do terrible, terrible things to you. I’d say that your sex life is rather my business by now.’

‘Not my history, no.’

‘I’m just curious! I’d like to know whether the man I’m sleeping with is closeted gay, or Bi, or pansexual, or just unwilling to categorise himself. I want to know what kind of man you like – what kind of sex you like.’ He kept the addition that he wanted to know what made Martin so anxious about people knowing he was sleeping with Douglas that he’d rather go through this rigmarole of keeping things under wraps for months on end to himself. Not that it mattered, because Martin was still clearly in no mood to start talking.

‘Fine,’ said Douglas. ‘I’ll start. I’ve found myself generally preferring the female form as a rule, but I do make some very special exceptions. Without wanting to pigeonhole you into a “type” too much, the men do tend to be smaller, slighter… a certain daintiness to them.’

‘I can honestly say,’ replied Martin, quietly, ‘that I have never been described as “dainty” before.’

‘Well, yes. As I say, I didn’t want to typecast you too much.’ Douglas treated Martin’s chest to another couple of quick licks and nibbles before going on. ‘There have been three men, before you. There was Jeremy, and then two Tims. As two completely separate relationships, by the way – I wasn’t at some sort of All Tim Orgy.’

‘Although it does sound as if you have a thing for Tims.’

‘I did. And now I have a thing for Martin. There’d been something bubbling under for a while before Athens. When we had that blazing row I knew I was either going to end up kissing you or killing you.’

‘And have you made up your mind, yet?’

Douglas nuzzled at his neck, casting his mind back to the argument they’d had on the flight back over the correct way to pronounce “pot pourri”. ‘Jury’s still out.’

‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, the feeling was – and continues to be – mutual.’

Douglas felt the smile on Martin’s face. He pushed the finger inside the other man a little deeper. ‘Now. Tell me. What’s your star sign?’

‘You’re lucky I can’t slap you right now.’

Douglas laughed.

‘You’re the only man I’ve been with,’ said Martin after a moment.

‘Oh,’ sighed Douglas.

‘I mean. There’s been women. A few women. I always thought I was straight. And then… Douglased to within an inch of my life.’

‘Gracious.’ Douglas took a couple of seconds to digest this. ‘Well, there’s a piece of information that could either cause a chap to feel overwhelmed by the pressure of expectation implied or incredibly smug.’

‘Yes. You see now why I didn’t really want to talk about it?’

‘Luckily for both of us, “incredibly smug” is rather my default setting, so I think I’ll settle for that.’

Martin gave him another smile.

‘So,’ continued Douglas, ‘is that why you insist on keeping this a secret?’

The smile dropped.

‘Look,’ said Douglas. ‘Whatever it is – because we’re both men, because we work together, or just that it’s because you’ve managed to fall for someone with several dozen bedpost notches and two decades on you…’

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘I think it would be easier to overcome than you think.’

‘For the last time, Douglas, I just don’t feel ready for it, yet. It’s all of those things. All of them and more. And once it’s out, it’s out, whatever we do, so would you please just give it a rest?’

‘Fine.’ Douglas sat back, withdrawing his hands. This wasn’t foreplay any more. This was the edge of a nasty argument. Still. In for a penny, in for a pound.

‘Why does my likeness to Peter Mannion upset you so much, Martin?’

Martin glared at him for a second, before starting to wriggle furiously in his bonds.

‘Let me go.’

‘Just tell me!’

‘Let me go, Douglas. I want to go home.’

‘Martin, would you please tell me?’

‘Concorde, Douglas. Bit fat Concorde!’

‘You’re safewording out of a conversation?’

‘Yes! Let me go. Let me GO!’ Martin was frantic to get out, now. With hindsight, Douglas wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t untie Martin there and then. He watched him with a grim fascination - curiosity and concern urging him to find out what on earth it was about that man’s name that caused such a violent reaction in Martin.

‘Good God, Martin. What did he do to you?’

‘Douglas, I will scream. You’re not allowed to do this.’

‘If you don’t tell me, Martin, I’ll ask him. He’s got a website.’

‘No.’

‘There’s a comments section – admittedly, it’s being moderated, considering his current popularity, but I’ll ask, and I’ll ask until I bally well get an answer.’

‘Don’t you bloody dare.’

‘Why do you hate him so much, then?’

‘I don’t hate him!’ Martin was fighting back tears, now. Douglas knew he’d gone too far – much too far – but he had to know, now. He just had to. Mental images of the sorts of thing somebody with the sort of cash and contacts Mannion would have could do to an impressionable, confused young man and then cover up flashed a lurid horror show through his imagination.

‘What did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Did he… fuck you? Did…’

‘Jesus Christ, no, that’s disgusting!’

‘Why? He’s not much older than me.’

‘He’s my father, all right?’ Martin stared up at him – still naked, still spread out on the duvet, the suggestiveness of the pose he was trapped in utterly at odds with the fury and humiliation in his expression. ‘Are you happy now? He’s my father.’

Oooooh, Douglas... bit not good, there. You're going to have to do a whole lot of grovelling to make up for this particular incident, I reckon.

Loved it. It and all its angsty angstiness.

Sherlock is Johns plus 1 attending Johns family reunion.

Harry has been rather unpleasant about this, because Sherlock is Sherlock and most likely to affront the whole family.

Sherlock on the other hand is (secretly) scared about not knowing how to interact with normal people, therefor will embarrass John terrible in front of his family.

Except the extended Watson family is quit loving and welcoming. (at least most of them)

Also you could say many things about cousin Arthur, but certainly not that he is boring or thinking like everybody else.

And Sherlock is...brilliant.

I would prefer Ace!Sherlock/BiJohn in a romantic relationship, but every kind of relationship is fine.

If Sherlock and Martin are related is up to you author.

Bonus Points: Sherlock falls in love with the game of yellow car

OMG! This! A thousand times!

See that tiny, millimetre sized sliver im hanging onto?

That's the edge of my seat!

Hundred and Billionty out of ten for suspense.

NEED

...Is this on the right kink meme? This looks like a Sherlock/John prompt - the Cabin Pressure aspect is pretty minimal...

Hurrah! This is great! *waits enthusiastically for more*

Thirded *swoons*

For a moment I thought you meant "raptors" as in "velociraptors". I was wondering who on earth would put Martin in charge of even a "small" contingent of raptors.
Regardless, seconded!

Part 3 is more of a "Part 2 Addendum". Sorry about that!

Jesus.’ Douglas’ hands scrabbled to untie Martin’s wrists. ‘I’m so sorry. I… I knew there was something up, but… your father. Really?’

‘Really.’ Martin wouldn’t look him in the eye.

‘So, the electrician from Wokingham…’

‘…was my Dad,’ interjected Martin. ‘Will always be my Dad. Nothing will ever change that. He raised me, and he loved me, and he always… well, he always tried to do what was best for me, although we didn’t always exactly see eye to eye on that, and I still miss him, every day. But he wasn’t my birth father.’

Now completely freed, Martin perched on the end of the bed. Douglas apologetically passed him his underpants and trousers, but Martin just clutched them over his lap.

‘My Mum told me,’ Martin continued. ‘When she found out they couldn’t operate on her cancer. She wanted me to know the truth, before she… well. Her and Dad went through a really rough patch a couple of years into their marriage. For a while they were living apart, seeing other people. And there was this guy, a regular at a restaurant she worked at, who took a shine to her, and showered her with gifts and attention, and one thing led to the other… Mum said it only lasted a few weeks. He was married, and an MP, so he couldn’t be seen to be with her, even though they all had mistresses, apparently. Mum didn’t even know she was pregnant until she’d already patched things up with Dad. She told me… she told me I was always wanted. I was a surprise, and not the best timed one, but I was always wanted, by her and by Dad. And most of the time I believed her, but then I’d look at the way dad was with Simon and Caitlin – with his own kids, and I’d wonder.’

‘So, your Dad knew.’

Martin nodded. ‘He knew, and he knew that Mum had told me. But we never talked about it. And, five years later, he died. So it’s all too late for that, now. Simon and Caitlin don’t know. And I don’t want them to.’

‘Does Mannion know?’

Another nod. ‘Mum said she’d told him when she’d found out she was pregnant, but that he wasn’t all that interested. She sent him a baby photo, but he asked her not to send any more. I looked him up. Tried emailing, when I found out. Just let him know how I was getting on, you know? He sent me a reply. Pretty generic. I emailed again when I became a pilot, and a couple of Christmasses since, just to keep him up to date. I got a “Well Done”, and a string of “Season’s Greetings” in return. “Kind Regards, the Right Hon. Peter Mannion MP”, yadda yadda yadda.’

‘Charming. Do you want some water, or something?’

‘Please.’

Douglas hurried out to the bathroom to wash his hands and pour out a glass of tap water for Martin. When he got back, less than a minute later, the other man looked on the verge of tears again. Douglas handed over the glass without a word.

‘And then I got this job,’ said Martin, ‘and I saw you. And… oh, God.’ He covered his face with his free hand. ‘You’re going to think I’m such a pervert. I saw you, and you looked so much like his pictures, and you sounded so much like the radio clips I’d heard. I wanted you to like me so badly. And I wanted you to care, and I wanted you to be proud, because he wasn’t…’ his voice petered out as he fought back a sob.

‘Martin,’ sighed Douglas. ‘Dear God. Please, please tell me that these last months haven’t been because you think you need to have sex with me to get me to like you.’

‘No,’ said Martin. ‘No. No, I do really fancy you, and sometimes I think that those feelings sort-of evolved naturally from really wanting to impress you. And sometimes I think… well, like I say, I don’t fancy men. I just fancy you. And maybe that’s because you look like… Because it’s in those awful magazines sometimes, isn’t it? Long lost parents and children and siblings and when they finally meet and they’re all grown ups they’re attracted to each other, only in this case I went for a proxy and oh God, this is so messed up. I’m sorry. I can’t even have sex without it turning into some Godawful Jeremy Kyle worthy mess.’

‘Don’t you dare apologise for any of this.’ Douglas rubbed at his face. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed the matter. Certainly not the way I did, that was appalling.’

‘Well. Yes.’ Martin took another little sip of water. ‘I was going to tell you off about that after I’d finished feeling sorry for myself over this.’

‘Will you still stay the night?’ Douglas asked. ‘I’ll take the sofa, of course.’

‘No. No, I should probably… er.’ He looked around. ‘Where are my trousers?’

‘You’re holding them.’

‘Oh!’ Martin looked down at his hands. ‘So I am.’

‘Martin. Are we OK, here?’

‘I think we’re really quite far from OK. And I’ve known it for ages, I just haven’t been able to stop myself, because I fancy the arse off you, idiot that I am, and for once somebody actually feels the same way, and to top it all, the sex is absolutely fantastic.’ Martin slumped. ‘Just my rotten luck.’

‘Yes. Poor you with your unfortunately incredible sex, with somebody you fancy who cares about you.’

‘You know what I mean. You can’t seriously be thinking about carrying on with this, knowing the truth about Mannion?’

‘It’s not like I’m your father.’

‘Douglas! I’m serious. And if people find out about this, and then it ever gets out about Mannion, what are they going to think? Everyone says you’re the spit of him - everyone. Even Arthur. They’re going to look at this as if it is incest. What would they say about you? What would they say about me? They’d see me as some sort of... Gay Oedopus or something.’

Gay Oedopus. Good grief. Douglas was caught in that danger zone between really wanting to laugh and really, really knowing that he mustn’t. It happened a lot, with Martin. Usually, laughter won out, but this was rather too serious. What felt like a hundred instances of when he and Martin had laughed inappropriately flashed through his mind as the other man dressed, and suddenly the thought of losing him as a lover felt horribly sad. The thought of them growing apart as friends as a result of this nagged at him as well, but felt so utterly intolerable that he dismissed it as quickly as he could.

Mannion. Bloody Mannion, that Champagne swilling, children’s slide hogging, philandering arse. This was all his fault.

Well. It had been well over 30 years since Mannion’s indiscretion with a waitress had brought about the most wonderful, ridiculous young man, and a host of problems, neuroses and unhappiness to boot. It was about bloody time he was held to account.

A good friend of Douglas's brother (Peter Mannion as the brother?) dies, and leaves her two slaves to, well, Peter Mannion. He doesn't need them, but he promised his friend he would take care of them, so he gives them to Douglas, who really does need a bit of care and looking after and someone to clean his house and cook him decent meals after his last divorce.

Douglas isn't one of those anti-slavery activists, but he doesn't like the whole concept and he certainly does not want to own slaves. But if he doesn't accept Peter's 'gift', they'll be sold seperately, and they are best friends, having worked together for over 10 years.

So, Douglas suddenly has two slaves, who seem quite happy with their new owner and are enthusiastically making his house into a home again. And while he's still thinking of ways to rehome them, he realises he loves coming home. He talks with them, and slowly begins to understand what drives them. They are real people, witty and clever. The male slave, Martin, is actually a pilot, he actually sold himself into slavery to become a pilot, and he has flown his former owner's private plane for ten years. Slaves have free education, free healthcare, and lots of other benefits, and Martin would always rather be a slave flying a plane than a free man with a van.

The female slave, well, is the reason I am not writing this myself. I've tried, but all I can come up with is horribly Mary Sue, even without making it into a threesome.

Anyway, Martin falls desperately in love with Douglas, angst and UST and hot fantasies and problems and stuff and eventually the hottest sex ever, because Martin is trained at the academy and has all the skills, but never used those skills with someone who he's madly in love with, and someone who is secretly madly in love with him.

TL;DR: Martin/Douglas with a plot

I just thought of Arthur/Molly as a couple and my brain began exploding at how RIGHT it is. Does anyone else see it? Can someone please make this happen for me?

(If you want to include any other Sherlock/Cabin Pressure characters, I'm not afraid to let it be known that I also enjoy Douglas/Martin, Johnlock, and Mystrade.)

laughing so hard I can't breathe now oh god

Douglas had seen so much in his life, in his long, long life. His mutant ability to heal himself gave him so much confidence, so much recklessness. It still amazed him when other people couldn't live their lives the same. It frustrated him when other people couldn’t live their lives the same way he did – full steam ahead and full of nothing but pride in his ability.

He didn’t like senseless violence either, but he couldn’t help seeing Magneto’s side of the debate. Humans could just be too cruel to each other, and why fight evolution? Better to get it over with than hold back evolution; really, it was just simple logic.

When he first joined MJN, he had been upfront about his abilities, and Carolyn and Arthur had taken it in stride, and to Douglas’ knowledge, been great champions of non-mutant rights for Douglas, especially since very human, very non-mutant, Arthur was the weirdest thing Douglas had ever seen.

But then he met Martin Crieff.

Bumbling, silly, devastatingly weak-egoed Martin Crieff, now his Captain. Douglas had been furious – naming such an obviously unstable and inexperienced person as Captain over Douglas?! What the devil was wrong with Carolyn? Her decision would get them all killed within a week!

But Carolyn had only shrugged and snarked Douglas back into his seat. His First Officer seat.

Surely one day Captain Crieff’s nerves would finally beat him, force him to surrender, and Carolyn would have to see sense when he finally crashed the plane or something.

It took him a whole year to realize that that was bad thinking, and immensely cruel, to wish such a fate on anyone, least of all poor Martin. Only Douglas had the magic self-healing, after all…

He never thought Martin would have a reason, a very good reason, for struggling so hard to even live a single day as it came by, a reason that even Douglas would have to concede to, a reason that would convince Carolyn to take such a risk on a pilot like Martin.

He found out the reason at the protests.

Mutant protests never went well, but lately, with the X-Men overseeing them and their debates, they had been much safer to participate in, so Douglas hauled his senior-citizen ass out to the streets to Magneto’s side.

Besides, it was rumored that Magneto himself would show up. So Douglas settled himself in amongst like-minded people that also believed themselves to be the greatest thing to happen to the earth since peanut butter, and had himself a jolly good time.

He didn’t bother looking too closely at the pro-human side. Silly, naïve, pacifist humanhuggers, the whole lot.

When a few hours had passed, whispers started floating up as more and more people noticed that the X-Men had become increasingly tense, their anxiety starting to drown out the protester’s cries.

The veteran protestors raised the alarms: Magneto. And he came in a flash of theater, all reds and purples and charisma. A hero. Douglas’ hero.

But Magneto did not stop in front of his supporters, or go to Professor X, who was watching Magneto with a strange look on his face. He flew straight at the opposition.

Panic immediately set in, and people scattered away from the spot Magneto was slowly floating towards. Soon, everyone had left a half-circle open at the front, leaving only Magneto and one man in the center.

Douglas gasped. Martin.

But Martin Crieff, poor human, normal, weak Martin, seemed completely assured of his surviving to the next day, which was, frankly, an insult to Magneto. In fact, Martin was so calm that he spokefirst.

“What the hell do you want?” Martin asked, his usual stuttery voice magically vanished to be replaced by an edge Douglas hadn’t heard before.

Magneto was silent. The whole crowd froze, waiting for a reaction. Douglas tried to crane his head, but could see nothing. A minute went by…then two…then three…

Screaming sliced through the tranquil sky above them, multiple screams, and Douglas lost his self-control. Even if it was Magneto, even if he had no hope of beating him, still…Martin!

Douglas just barely managed to push to the front to see Magneto and Martin stuck at a standstill, tensed hands outstretched at each other. Fighting stances.

And matching fires in both men’s eyes.

“Leave me alone. I’ve made my decision.” Martin said again.

“It is a stupd decision.” Magneto retorted. “The two of us together would accomplish so much-”

“How’s Wanda? Pietro?” Martin cut in, and the crowd gasped. To call Magneto’s children by their human names – what was Martin playing at?

“Martin!” Douglas cried out, unable to help himself anymore.

Martin’s head snapped left to look at him. “Douglas!” He cried out too, fire disappearing for a moment to be replaced by fear.

Magneto’s eyes flashed too, and in that split second, Douglas was jerked in two directions at once before being coldly dropped on the ground. When he regained his breath (having lost it from his screaming), Magneto and Martin were once again at a standstill. Magneto had hardly moved an inch, body still frozen in his iconic mutant stance.

Martin however, had been forced to crouch lower, with his right hand trapped in his left, forced dangerously out.

“Don’t you dare,” Martin warned.

“My son, stop this foolishness. You playing pilot has gone on long enough. You know you are not as talented as your siblings; you never have been able to control your powers in a crisis, and yet you still lock yourself in a flying metal tube for weeks on end-” Magneto ranted.

Martin threw his hands up in the air before swinging wildly at Magneto. A light post slammed into Magneto before dropping to the ground. Martin had collapsed onto the ground as well.

Magneto got up shakily, watching Martin with contempt. “You have even less control than Wanda. I should pull your plane out of the sky and clip your wings before you do it yourself and kill other civilians.”

Martin laughed cruelly from his spot on the ground. “As if you ever cared for civilians or collateral damage. And…”

Martin got up, limb by gangly limb, pushing himself up until his body started to resemble the steel in his face. “If you ever try that on GERTI, I will rip your heart out. Father or not. Even if it’s the last thing I do. Especially if it’s the last thing I do.”

Douglas’ blood turned to ice.

Finally, Magneto stepped back. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone. And heaven help you if you dare get in my way!” And with that, Magneto swept away from Martin and disappeared into the sky.

Finally, Martin looked up at everyone. Nobody acknowledged him.

Finally, Martin turned to Douglas. “Douglas?” He whispered, pleading softly. Douglas could only freeze in place and watch as the light in Martin’s eyes disappeared and his head dropped before he started to trudge away from the protest.

CABINPRESSURECABINPRESSURECABINPRESSURECABINPRESSURE

The next day, Martin tried to arrive early to lose himself in paperwork, but it didn’t work. A hand fell on his shoulder, and Martin Crieff turned to see his First Officer looking at him with a lost look on his face.

“Douglas. Nice to see that I’m not some Unspeakable to you again.” He choked out before swearing profusely inside his head. He had promised himself he would be strong and unrelenting too! No, no, this won’t do –

Oh, hell, what does it matter, Douglas will have probably figured out and already complained to Carolyn enough to get rid of him. Magneto would be happy, the bastard.

Magneto never believed in flying. He never believed in hope. But hope was all Martin had. Hope and spirit. He had to hold onto them…

“Martin, Magneto called you his son…?” Douglas asked, still holding onto Martin’s shoulder.

Martin sighed. “I’m his son. Born after he left my mother, I also have his powers.” He looked up at Douglas. “I’m also a mutant.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Martin groaned. “Because I have far less control, and it is quite likely that one day I’ll just drag GERTI to the ground because I couldn’t control my powers or something. Its why Carolyn doesn’t pay me – even being allowed to fly a plane is extraordinary. The son of Magneto, with his same metal-wielding powers. I’m a walking disaster, a ticking bomb. Ridiculous.”

But Douglas couldn’t take the self-deprecation anymore. “Martin, Carolyn wouldn’t have hired anyone unreliable or who couldn’t do their job, no matter how much money she might save. She’s not stupid, you know. Even if she didn’t value her own life, she values Arthur enough to not risk it if it were really that bad. Carolyn trusts you, Arthur trusts you, and I trust you. So stop beating yourself up.”

Martin still looked unconvinced, so Douglas took a deep breath and started on his last-ditch make-amends-with-Martin-before-Douglas-dies-from-guilt plan. He let his hand start to glow, and at Martin’s questioning gaze, he said, “Healing’s my trick,” and reached out to Martin’s chest.

Martin looked down; Douglas had his hand right above his heart. “Wh-Douglas?”

Martin was struck speechless, because the Douglas looking back at him seemed the most lost and sorrowful man he had ever seen, even sadder than the Martin Martin saw in mirrors every day and was suck a stark contrast from the usual Douglas that Martin was starting to doubt if this was Douglas at all. Perhaps aliens were impersonating him.

“Wish I could heal the scars on your heart.” Douglas muttered.

Martin laughed nervously. “You are a romantic, Douglas.”

Douglas shook his head. “What good is healing if I can’t do it when it’s really important. But maybe words might be just as good…”

Douglas lifted both his hands to Martin’s face before cupping it gently. “Martin, you don’t need healing. You are talented, powerful, passionate, and a wonderful person. The whole’s world told you No all your life, but it just made you more persistent, more stubborn. And look at you now; all your dreams come true. Maybe not perfect, but life rarely is. Oh Martin, you are the greatest man I have ever met.”

Martin’s whole body shook from his tears for hours, but every time he turned to look at Douglas, it was with the brightest smile that had ever existed.

Perhaps Douglas had healed his heart.

omg please, please keep on with this, i cannot even tell you how many of my buttons you are mashing right now. PLEEEEAAASSE.

I bet Mannion didn't even get the messages- he's too nice to ignore his child. I suspect Stewart of meddling.

Arthur, Martin, Douglas, and Carolyn are 4 feudal farmers who left the farm to independently join the Cruisades.

Problem: they're lost.

Who got them lost, what do they do now, or shall they even continue?

+1 Unless he was quite not nice as a younger and more ambitious man...

that Duncan guy was kinda cute and witty. This could be a nice Carolyn-centered fic. Why Duncan and not her dog walking park guys? Why doesn't their lunch date work out?

It certainly wouldn't be CP or The Thick of It without some serious Miscommunication Issues!

Sorry, I don't know if I got it right in English. What I mean is that Douglas has perhaps reached retirement criteria and is planning (or he's actually decided) to stop flying and devote himself to enjoy his retirement money and other activities.
Hoe does MJN air react?
How will Martin, clearly grown attached to him as a guiding figure other than just a friend, react? Will he beg him to stay? Will he enjoy not be teased in the flight deck anymore?
(Yes, it is a D/M prompt. Maybe not established relationship?)

A/N - I'm not sure whether Mannion's constituency is mentioned at all in The Thick Of It - if it has been and I missed it, I apologise. I made it Oxfordshire since I wanted somewhere not too far from Wokingham or the general ball park area Fitton would be in where a Tory seat would be a pretty safe bet.

Warning for some swears & a bit of violence.

Douglas drafted three separate emails to Mannion the next day – ranging from the long, detailed missive to a concise request to meet up with regards to Martin Crieff. In the end, he sent none of them. The email address given on his website was not a personal one, and would most likely be opened and read by a PA rather than Mannion himself. Douglas suspected that Martin wouldn’t have thought of that. What Douglas had to say to Mannion really needed to be said face to face, and he didn’t want the MP to find a way of weaseling out of a meeting.

A little research brought to light that Mannion’s constituency wasn’t too far away, and that he held a monthly surgery at the Town Hall. He browsed the area’s local paper’s website for an issue to pretend to be concerned about, phoned ahead and politely booked an appointment for the following Tuesday. He remained calm and collected for the next week and a half, only losing his cool slightly when Carolyn phoned on the Tuesday morning to demand he go to the MJN office there and then to complete some paperwork that wasn’t in the slightest bit urgent. He told her no – he had an important appointment that day and he had to drive over to Oxfordshire to make it, so she’d just have to wait until he was back that evening for him to do it, and slammed the phone down. He imagined he’d regret it later, but he was sure he would regret missing this meeting more. Martin had barely spoken to him since the revelation – to anybody, for that matter. He’d been withdrawn and obviously miserable. Occasionally, Douglas would catch Martin staring at him, only for the younger man to suddenly look away, shamed. Something had to be done, and soon.

His phone buzzed as he set off on his drive. Carolyn. After the third call attempt, he switched his phone off. He vaguely entertained the possibility that Carolyn could then phone Martin and demand that he do Douglas’ paperwork for him, if she was so desperate for it to be done. What he didn’t consider in his haste was the chance that Carolyn, in her put-out state, could then complain to Martin that Douglas had sailed off on a jaunt to Oxfordshire instead of doing the work, and that Martin might then manage to put two and two together and run to his van, leaving Carolyn still woefully understaffed with regards to the paperwork issue.

Mannion was holding his surgery in a small office. There was a waiting room outside, in which a series of elderly people came and went. There was a PA, but she spent most of her time at a desk in the waiting area, tapping away at a laptop. Douglas was pleased that, when he was shown in, it was just he and Mannion in the room.

‘Good Lord!’ Mannion did a double take and smiled delightedly at Douglas. Douglas managed a small smile in return. Forewarned as he was of the likeness, it was still rather offputting to be confronted with it in the flesh.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Douglas.

‘And the voice, too!’ Mannion laughed, standing to shake his hand. ‘You know, that really is very good. Are you here from some Lookie-Likey agency or something?’

‘No, no. I really am here to talk with you about an issue I have.’

‘A happy coincidence, then.’

Douglas forced another polite smile. ‘Quite.’

Mannion sat back down behind a small desk. ‘Well then, please. Take a seat. What issue is it that you’d like to raise?’

‘I’d like to speak with you about Martin Crieff.’

All of the geniality drained from Mannion’s face. ‘What?’

‘I’m a father myself. I barely get the chance to see my daughter, but I jump at every opportunity I get, even when it means night drives up to Cumbria. This office isn’t an hour’s drive from Wokingham, but you just didn’t bother. I’d like to know how you could so callously abandon your own son.’

‘What do you want from me?’ Mannion’s voice was low and angry.

‘I believe I just said what it is that I want. I want an explanation, and I want you to at least begin to try putting things right for a young man who you have horribly hurt…’

‘”Horribly hurt”? Listen – I don’t know who you are or who’s sent you after me, but you can get your facts right for starters. As far as everybody who is actually involved in this matter is concerned, Martin Crieff is Trevor Crieff’s son. Martin has always been part of a loving, caring, traditional family unit, and it was never my place to upset that particular apple cart. It was best for the boy to leave things as they were. It was Carol’s choice to tell Martin about me. Now, I know she had her reasons…’

‘Because she was dying.’

‘A horrible loss,’ added Mannion, floundering a little, ‘which was deeply saddening for all who knew her. I did send my condolences to the family…’

‘Oh, you sent condolences over the early death of the mother of your child. How thoughtful of you.’

‘Well, what was I supposed to do?’ retorted Mannion. ‘Crash the funeral? Further distress her grieving Widower and children? I did not abandon Martin. I kept a respectable distance – I have always kept a respectable distance, because it was best for him. He has a Dad. Trevor Crieff is his Dad, and he does just fine with Trevor Crieff as a Dad, and I respect the Crieffs too much to try to muscle in on that. So go back and tell that to your editor, or whoever it is that sent you.’

‘Firstly, Mr Mannion, I am not a journalist. I’m a pilot. I’m Martin’s friend. Martin told me about you last week, but believe me, he is not “just fine” - he hasn’t been “just fine” in a very long time, which you would know if you ever bothered to contact your son, or even properly reply to his attempts to get in contact with you. And secondly – this may come as a shock to you, although it really, really shouldn’t - Trevor Crieff’s been dead for the last six years.’

Mannion blanched, shocked. ‘Dead? No, I… well, why would I…?’

Douglas balled his fists. ‘He’s been emailing you for years. During which time, he’s been orphaned, he has worked his arse off for very little in return, he’s starved and suffered, and he hasn’t asked you for a single thing except for a bit of human contact, and you’ve ignored him.’

‘He emailed me once! Sent it to my office email. It was very vague, mentioned that he’d just qualified as a pilot – which I congratulated him on.’

‘That email would have been sent just a couple of months after his Dad had died. Poor sod just wanted somebody to be genuinely proud of him.’

‘He didn’t mention anything about his Dad,’ protested Mannion. ‘Or being out of pocket, or anything. He didn’t include a phone number or address, he didn’t say he wanted to meet… there was just an email address, and that’s hardly the medium for sending any messages that are particularly…’

‘Incriminating?’ Douglas interjected.

‘I was going to say, “private”.’

‘Same thing.’

‘I’d already had a spot of bother concerning my personal life a few years back, and I just didn’t trust email as a dependable method of communication. Still don’t, as a matter of fact, but especially in the early days of the internet…’

‘2006 was hardly “the early days of the internet”.’

‘It was for me. I sent him back a polite, supportive, short email, thinking that if he wanted to get in touch again he knew how to get hold of me, and I honestly haven’t heard from him since.’

‘You’re a bloody liar, Mannion. He’s been sending you messages at Christmas, to which you’ve replied, very dismissively.’

Douglas could practically see the cogs in Mannion’s head turning. He frowned to himself. ‘Oh. Christmas. Yes, well, I go on leave every Christmas week. I rather delegate email duties during that time. Urgent ones are sent on to me, ones that look like Round Robins are to be wished Season’s Greetings. Please, do pass on my heartfelt apologies.’

‘Apologise to him yourself, you feckless piece of…’

‘How can I? He’s not here, Mr… er…’

‘Richardson.’

‘Mr Richardson. Does Martin even know about this meeting?’

‘Martin would be too polite, or too worried about blowing your rotten little secret to want to bother you,’ Douglas told him. ‘But you need to find a way to make good of this mess, somehow. Discreetly. I know you politicians are good at that.’

Mannion stared at Douglas for a second. ‘Has he told many people?’

‘Just me, that I know of.’

‘He just so happened only to tell a “friend”, who looks eerily similar to me.’ Mannion paused. ‘How is it that you know Martin, again?’

‘We work together. I’m his First Officer, as a matter of fact. Did you even know he’s a Captain now?’

Mannion blinked, and smiled faintly. ‘At his age? That is good. So you’re just… very good chums. That’s all.’

Douglas so very nearly lied. It would probably have been the wisest thing to have done, in the name of Martin’s privacy and a swifter resolution with Mannion, but there was something about the hopefulness of his tone while he was trying to be sure of the just-good-chumminess of Martin and Douglas’ relationship that made Douglas see red.

‘Well, I am sleeping with him, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

The way that Mannion paled was pure Martin. Good grief – hopeless in a crisis, horrible communicator – the apple was certainly in a tree adjacent location in this instance.

‘Oh, good God.’

‘Don’t,’ warned Douglas. ‘Don’t you dare. You have got absolutely no right to pass comment on the private lives of others – nor do you have the right to affect any sort of parental alarm over the life of a child you’ve done nothing but ignore.’

‘But look at you! You’re just like me!’

‘I’m nothing like you. I just look a bit like you.’

‘That’s not what people will see,’ argued Mannion. ‘If the press get hold of this, do you have any idea what they’ll do to him – what they’ll do to you?’

‘I have a pretty good idea of what they’d do to you, which, I suspect, is your primary concern, here.’

‘Oh, don’t start.’ Mannion was on his feet again. ‘I’m not going to stand here and be lectured by somebody who’s clearly taking advantage of whatever Freudian nightmare it is Martin’s going through for your own filthy ends.’

Douglas stood up. ‘You take that back.’

‘You’re old enough to be his father! How would you feel if it was your daughter?’

‘You’ll leave my daughter out of this. She knows I’m always there for her, whereas you… you didn’t even let his mother send baby photos!’

‘I couldn’t see him! How would you feel if you were being sent pictures of a child you couldn’t spend any time with – pictures that broke your heart, that could ruin your marriage or your career…’

‘And again, we come back to your career.’

‘Oh, you know what, Mr Richardson? This lecture is officially over. Get out.’

‘Don’t tell me to…’

‘And if I were you, I’d search my conscience over what you’re doing to that young man. Good day.’ Mannion scrubbed at his face. ‘Good Christ,’ he muttered, softly, ‘first Silicone fucking Playground, then Tickle, now this. All I fucking need…’

It wasn’t like Douglas to snap like that. To be honest, he only realised he’d thrown the punch when it came into contact with the side of Mannion’s face.

‘Ow! What the fuck?’

‘That’s all he is - another inconvenience to you, isn’t he?’

‘I’ll have you arrested for this,’ replied Mannion, clutching his cheekbone. ‘You’re a maniac!’

‘And explain what I was doing here?’ sneered Douglas. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Mannion picked up his chair. ‘Fine! You have three seconds to get out of my office, or I’m going to come down on you like a council estate on a suspected paedophile.’

‘You and your little chair? I’d like to see you try.’

Douglas had presumed that the commotion outside the office had been due to the parallel commotion within, and in a way he wasn’t wrong. He had expected the door to the waiting room to fly open and somebody to rush in to intervene. He just hadn’t been expecting the somebody to be Martin.

Everybody was shouting now – Martin at both of them, the PA at Martin, Mannion at Douglas…

Mannion, his defensive rage so focused on Douglas that he didn’t even see Martin at first, Martin so intent on getting between the two men that he didn’t notice the chair… two generations worth of poor luck and ill timing crashing headlong into one another.

Mannion swung the chair. Martin tried to stop, but skidded.

There was a crack, and Martin fell to the floor like a broken doll.

Douglas is Maverick, breaking all the rules, getting all the cool points, riding a motorcycle in his leather jacket.

Martin is a civilian instructor whose obvious charms intrigue the young Maverick.

Herc is Iceman, Douglas's rival for standing.

Bonus points for fighter-pilot!Carolyn and/or "Take My Breath Away"

Not to mention, Douglas in a leather jacket!

For example:
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6w69z0VmJ1r6iszmo10_1280.png

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Page 69 of 218

Prompting Post VI

Please see the most recent MOD NOTE and ADDENDUM

FILLING GUIDELINES

REPROMPTING

As for everything else

REALLY IMPORTANT ADDENDUM

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 2/?

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 2/?

Sherlock x-over family reunion Caroline is Johns Aunt

Re: Inception x-over

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 2/?

Re: reluctant!dom Martin

Re: Sherlock x-over family reunion Caroline is Johns Aunt

Re: Learning to Fly 2/? (AU)

Re: Virgin!Timid!Martin, Martin/Douglas

Re: My Zoo Now

The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 3/?

Slave society AU

Arthur/Molly (Cabinlock)

Re: My Zoo Now

Re: X-Men Crossover/Fusion

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 3/?

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 3/?

ni or swallows or some thing

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 3/?

Re: Ipswich missing scene

Re: The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 3/? OP

Douglas is retiring

The Thick of It Crossover - Fill 4/?

Top Gun AU

Re: Top Gun AU