HMS Belvidera - 40. Chapter 40

August, 1796

The journey from the Alhambra back to Gibraltar had been as hot and dusty as the trip there. George Granger eyed his second-best uniform with disdain. It was almost impossible to get clothing fully dry once it had been permeated with salt water, and in this case the damp wool had attracted the dust of the road like a magnet. More than anything, Granger yearned for a bath and a clean uniform. They approached the border, and the fort that guarded the entrance to Gibraltar. Their trip had been easy enough. Any Spaniard contemplating mischief had only to look at his Collar to know that he was a personage of some consequence, and not to be trifled with.

Granger instinctively scanned the harbor before he examined the fortifications, good naval officer that he was, and was surprised to note another ship was present. He studied the masts of the newcomer and could not contain the smile that spread across his face. He would know those topmasts anywhere; they belonged to HMS Aurore, and that meant that John Travers was here in Gibraltar. He restrained himself manfully from acting on his first impulse, which was to spur the horse ahead and dash across the border. Instead, he did as he was expected, and politely thanked his Spanish escorts.

“Would you care to accompany me, and share some refreshments?” Granger asked, hoping that the tedious Spaniards would refuse.

“If you will not find it impolite, Señor,” the officer in charge replied, “we would prefer to report in and begin our return journey.” Granger hid his relief, and instead plied them with compliments and gratitude for returning him home safely. When the niceties were finally out of the way, Granger, Winkler, and Jorge rode confidently toward the fortress.

“Welcome back, sir,” the officer at the gates said as he saluted sharply. “His Excellency has requested that you call on him at once.” The governor would be anxious to hear about his trip.

“Thank you,” Granger replied. “I will attend His Excellency immediately.” Granger spurred his tired horse forward, although the fortunate beast had but a short distance to cover in order to arrive at Government House.

“Sir, let me at least change your coat,” Winkler said. He hustled Granger off into an alcove and worked diligently to restore his appearance to something that was at least partially presentable. Granger strode through the familiar building unescorted, until he arrived at the Governor’s office. He was announced, and went in to find the Governor, Harleton, and Travers there. His eyes twinkled at Travers, and he got a similar look in return, but their reunion would have to wait.

“You’re back, Granger,” the Governor said unnecessarily. “You made good time.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Granger said courteously. “Here is my report.” He handed the Governor the report he’d drafted the night before in anticipation of his arrival back in Gibraltar.

“I’m sure it will make for some interesting reading,” the Governor said with a small smile.

Granger bowed politely to Harleton, and then turned his attention to Travers. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Captain. Our paths do not seem to cross often enough.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Travers said, his eyes telling Granger how much he’d missed him.

“Ah, that’s right. You two are old friends, are you not?” the Governor asked.

“We are indeed, Your Excellency,” Granger answered. “Captain Travers was the first man I served under; I was assigned to his division on the Barracuda when he was a lieutenant and I was a mere midshipman.”

“Old comrades are to be enjoyed,” the Governor said. Granger’s mind drifted a bit as he pondered how much he’d like to enjoy Travers. “Sadly, your reunion will be short.”

“Your Excellency?” Granger asked.

“I’ve brought orders for you from Sir John,” Travers said. His deep, masculine voice was almost enough to set Granger’s libido on fire, but he contained himself. “You are ordered to return to England at once, carrying dispatches.”

Granger paused briefly to ponder that. So Jervis had decided to send Granger home to deliver his booty personally, and to reap any rewards that may bring. It was a nice thing to do, even though it was politically astute. It would put Granger in front of the mob and remind the people that the government and its officers were achieving great things. Granger pushed his political musings aside and pondered the greater meaning of his orders. He was going home. He thought of Caroline and his children, of his parents, and of all the people he’d get to see when he returned to London. It was impossible for him to repress the smile that formed on his face. “It will be good to go home,” Granger said simply.

“Aurore arrived two days ago, so your excursion in Spain hasn’t delayed you much,” the Governor said. “I think you can spare two more days to prepare for your departure. In that time, I’ll have my own dispatches ready as well.”

“I received some diplomatic briefs from Lord Bute while at the Alhambra. He has directed that they be delivered to England at once, Your Excellency.”

“I understand. If you can depart sooner, so much the better, but you have my authority to stay for two more days.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Granger said as he bowed politely. “If you will permit me to take my leave, I will return to my ship and ensure that preparations to leave are underway.” The Governor nodded his assent.

“If it is not inconvenient, perhaps I can accompany you,” Travers said.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Granger said honestly.

They took their leave of the Governor, and despite Granger’s fatigue, they strolled in the general direction of the harbor. “Would you fancy stopping at that hotel for a bath?” Travers asked.

Granger felt the internal struggle consume him for a few moments, the battle between doing his duty by returning immediately to Belvidera raging against satisfying his carnal urges and bathing with Travers. The lures of the flesh won him over in the end. “I would indeed,” Granger answered. He rationalized his decision by deciding that his return an hour earlier would not make a meaningful difference to their departure. “Winkler!”

“Sir?” Winkler asked.

“I’m going to stop at the hotel and take a proper bath. Will you send word to Mr. Roberts that I will be returning to the ship shortly?”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said automatically.

Granger and Travers repressed their emotions until they were safely ensconced in their room, with the familiar tub full of fresh, warm water. The servants left, and then their restraints broke down. They were in each other’s arms, their lips met, their tongues wrestled, and then they shed their clothes recklessly, tossing them about the room, so anxious were they to couple and renew their love.

When they were spent, Granger found himself relaxing in the water, his back against Travers’ chest, with Travers’ limp cock still lodged between his ass cheeks. “What a wonderful surprise, finding you here,” he said as he looked up over his shoulder at Travers.

“What’s wonderful is actually seeing you. God, how I’ve missed you George,” Travers said lovingly.

“Your new first lieutenant has not served you well?” Granger teased.

“He has done his duty admirably, but he is not you,” Travers said, getting a loving look from Granger in return. “When we couple, it is sex like I have never had, and never will have, with anyone else. But that pales in comparison to the love I have for you.”

Granger pivoted around so he was sitting in Travers’ lap, facing him. He kissed him softly, with deep meaning. “I feel the same way. I feel so complete when we are together.” Granger felt Travers’ cock stirring beneath him and giggled, rubbing his ass against it until it was serviceable again. He slid Travers’ cock into his waiting hole and rode him long and hard until they both ejaculated again.

“You are quite the celebrity in the fleet,” Travers said after they had recovered, returning to normal topics of conversation. It was as if they’d managed to reunite emotionally, almost spiritually, and now that the connection had been reestablished, they could move on to more basic subjects.

“Indeed?”

“Jervis is so obviously proud of you it is making the other officers green with envy. Nelson heard of your exploits in Oran and slapped his leg, laughing. He purportedly said that he wasn’t surprised, that it sounded just like something you’d pull off.”

“I was just doing my duty, and taking advantage of the opportunities in front of me,” Granger said modestly.

“We both know you acted brilliantly,” Travers said, unwilling to put up with Granger’s self-deprecation. “In any event, it won you a trip home.”

“That’s true, and it won you this cushy assignment,” Granger smiled.

“I wonder which city-state I should conquer,” Travers joked.

“I think you will find things here to be pleasant enough,” Granger said. “There is some low-level smuggling going on, which I have chosen to ignore.”

“You’ve ignored it?” Travers asked. Internally, Granger rolled his eyes at Travers’ gentry heritage, and how people of his class so often saw things in terms of moral imperatives, seeing them as either right or wrong.

“The alternatives were to either create a ruckus about it, which would do no good and only create a lot of enemies, or to exploit it and extort money from those in power here. I determined that anything I received would be worth much less than losing the goodwill of the Governor and his Adjutant, while at the same time it would make me complicit in the whole thing. I decided that to choose ignorance was the smartest course.”

“You think that is the best approach?” Travers asked him dubiously.

“I asked that they not be conspicuous, which means that smuggling must be done on a smaller scale, and in exchange I would not probe too deeply into the origins of ships carrying wine.” Sensing that Travers was not convinced, Granger continued. “Instead of having the Governor and his staff as mortal enemies, as Campbell did before me, we have a pleasant and workable relationship. I think that’s worth a vat or two of French wine.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Travers said, laughing a bit to hide his discomfort. “This truly is a plum assignment. I am sorry to wrench it from your clutches. We’d been in the Levant, where I spent most of my time herding difficult merchantmen and fighting off pirates in nothing more than glorified rowboats. I returned to the fleet where everyone was talking about the latest amazing exploits of George Granger, only to be told that I’m to replace you here. You leave big shoes for me to fill.”

“I am glad it will fall to you, and I hope they let you keep it and enjoy it for a while. As for me, I am glad to be going home. Caroline will probably have given birth to our next child by the time I arrive.” Granger paused nervously, wondering how Travers would react to his mention of his wife.

He need not have worried. “I will keep you both in my thoughts. I am sure she will have a safe and healthy birth.” Granger accepted those words at face value, but felt the doubts envelope him. Childbirth was often fatal to both mother and baby, and he suddenly felt consumed by fear and worry for Caroline. Travers brought him out of that cloud by fucking him once more.

It was a clean George Granger that boarded HMS Belvidera and received the honors she reserved for her Captain. The officers and men noticed the extra bounce in his step, and they couldn’t possibly miss the gaudy gold decoration that hung from his neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” Roberts said formally as he stepped forward to greet him. Granger was flattered to see that he couldn’t stop from smiling, and that his words were genuine.

“It is good to be back, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said, then got down to business at hand. “Is the ship ready for sea?”

“Yes sir,” Roberts said, although his tone made it seem as if he were saying “of course”. “We have only to top off our water and bring on a few miscellaneous stores, and we are ready.”

“Excellent! We will be sailing the day after tomorrow on the morning tide,” Granger said. They were all looking at him; all of his officers and the men on the quarterdeck were blatantly eavesdropping. This was the moment when Granger should toughen up and snap at them for not minding their own damn business. Worse than that, he could be truly evil and not disclose their destination. He put those dark thoughts aside. These men had followed him loyally, had earned the right to know what fate held in store for them. “We’re going home.”

“To England, sir?” Roberts asked.

“That is the place I call home, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said with a smile. He went below to check on Robey, and was surprised to find him sitting up and looking much better.

“Hello, sir,” Robey said, and made to get up.

“Rest easy, Mr. Robey. It seems you have recovered quite a bit since I left. I am so pleased to see that.”

Robey smiled. “Thank you, sir. The past couple of days have really been good; I feel my strength returning.”

“We’ll have you up and about in no time at all,” Granger said.

That night Granger dined on board the Aurore, and spent the evening hours after that skylarking with Travers. They had bonded as well as ever, but the more time they actually spent together, the more distant Granger felt from him. This ironic twist disturbed him, but he kept it to himself, and seemed to do it successfully, since Travers seemed oblivious to his deep musings.

“It looks like the wind and tide will push us out, sir,” Roberts observed.

Granger had just awakened and come up on deck, ready for their departure. He paused, letting his instincts tell him that Roberts was right. He felt the soft breeze on his cheek, and noted how Belvidera tugged at her cable with the force of the tides. “It may serve,” Granger stated. “You may call all hands and have the anchor hove short.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said, and began giving orders that rousted the men and sent half of them to the capstan. Granger stood there impassively while listening to the clanking of the capstan. It had been dark when he’d first come up on deck, but dawn was upon them. He could begin to make out some of the details on the deck as the light increased. “Anchor’s hove short, sir,” Roberts reported.

“Take us out, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said, ceding authority for handling the ship to Roberts. It was no great leap of faith, since Roberts was an excellent seaman. Granger usually conned the ship out of port himself, but today he wanted the freedom to look around. He mentally noted Belvidera’s evolutions as Roberts ordered the men out onto the yards while others continued to try and wrench Belvidera’s anchor from the bottom of the harbor. Granger smiled as he thought about the ships and men that had done the same thing he was doing now. Kempenfelt, Anson, Howe, Hood, Rodney, and many of England’s naval heroes must have anchored here. He felt a surge of pride and honor in not only serving his King, but in serving in the Royal Navy.

Granger felt Belvidera break free as her anchor rose from the bottom, a feeling confirmed by the cry of “anchor aweigh” from the bow. He watched nervously as the ship slid sideways, closer to Aurore which rode to her anchor a cable’s length away. “Do try not to collide with Aurore,” Granger said to Roberts with a smile.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said, grinning back.

“Mr. Clifton, have the idlers man the yards!” Granger ordered. The men who were not currently tasked with raising the anchor or working the sails positioned themselves on the shrouds to render passing honors to Aurore. Granger walked to the rail and stared across at the other ship and caught sight of John Travers on her quarterdeck. He raised his hat as he smiled, gestures returned in full by Travers. Granger thought about their time together in Gibraltar, precious moments of intimacy that he treasured, both for the relief it gave his body and the internal strength Travers tended to impart to him.

He replaced his hat and thought about his relationships in general, and with Travers in particular. In many ways, they had grown in different directions since Granger had first stepped foot aboard Barracuda. Then he’d been a novice, and Travers had been the expert. He’d been the willing student, Travers the skilled teacher. Now there was parity, brought about not by age, but by Granger’s own achievements and experience. Travers would always be his senior, which is the way of the Navy, but Granger so eclipsed him socially, it was almost as if their roles were completely reversed. Granger began to pace as he thought about that. He found that he still loved Travers deeply, and always would, but there was no denying that the changes in their comparative levels had dulled some of the enthusiasm Granger felt toward him. That was not significant enough to be a problem, because he was merely splitting hairs over how much he loved the man, but what was becoming more apparent was that as Granger’s love for Travers had slightly diminished, Travers love for Granger had only grown. He worried that there may come a day when those levels would grow too disparate, and that he would end up hurting his friend and lover.

Belvidera was just clearing the shadow of the Rock when a stiff breeze caught them, propelling them forward toward the Atlantic. The fresh air seemed to blow all of Grangers disturbing introspection away, but had left him in a bad mood. He stopped his grumpiness from emerging by forcing himself to focus instead on the business at hand. “You may square away on the larboard tack,” he said to Roberts.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said dutifully. Granger left the deck to him and went below to be depressed in his cabin. He was surprised to discover that he had re-acquired his office.

“Mr. Robey was well enough to return to his quarters, sir,” Winkler said. “I’m just getting things organized for you.” Jorge was there, dutifully helping him. The handsome young Spaniard had fit seamlessly into their routine, and Winkler had seemed to develop an immediate bond with him. Granger had spent time with Jorge on their trip from the Alhambra, chatting in Spanish to kill time and to improve Granger’s skills. He decided that Jorge was similar to the other young Spaniard they’d acquired along the way, and who had adopted Cavendish and stayed in England with him. Jorge’s parents were servants of the Duke, as were his grandparents before them, and so forth. It was a reminder of how moribund Spanish society was, and how difficult it was to break out of one’s pre-determined role. That is why Jorge had volunteered, or begged as Granger later learned, to be detailed to go with him. The young man had an adventurous spirit that was ill-suited to the life of a household servant, and at the young age of sixteen, his wild streak was already causing some discomfort.

Granger sat at his desk and watched the activity around him, as Winkler and Jorge finished replacing his furniture and accouterments. He watched the young Spaniard and noted that he was as different from Cardona and Lerma as his world was from theirs. They had fairer skin, and lighter hair, an indicator of their Castilian roots. Jorge had dark hair, hair that looked black unless it was in direct sunlight, when it looked like a very deep brown. His skin was a golden brown color, the color of strong tea, and was unblemished. His overall features seemed to indicate that there was some Moorish blood in him, but it just made him that much more handsome. Granger felt his feelings shift from merely observing the young man, to lusting after him. He found himself imagining what it would be like to caress that smooth, young skin, to taste his body, his essence.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Jorge asked. Granger realized he’d been staring and Jorge’s small smile told him that Jorge had caught him.

“No,” Granger said stiffly, suppressing the urges that boiled inside. In a calmer moment, he might reason that these urges always seemed to become the strongest when he’d been parted from someone he loved. He would probably attribute that to his need for love, and accept that when emotional love was removed, he craved physical love all the more. But this was not a calm moment, and Granger didn’t have the time or clarity for such introspective thoughts.

“If you will forgive me for making a suggestion,” Jorge said, with the servile demeanor that one found in domestic staff members but not at sea, “perhaps we can practice your Spanish.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Granger responded, not because he really wanted to grapple with Spanish grammar, but because he wanted to spend more time being close to this very sexy Spaniard.

“We will start with parts of the body,” Jorge said. He motioned Granger to stand up in front of him. He covered the basics: arms, hands, legs, knees, and feet. “Nariz,” Jorge said the Spanish word as he traced his finger along Granger’s nose.

“Nariz,” Granger repeated as he duplicated the maneuver with his finger along Jorge’s nose.

“Labios,” Jorge said, tracing Granger’s lips with his index finger.

“Labios,” Granger repeated, only as he traced Jorge’s lips, his tongue flicked out, grazing the end of Granger’s finger. Granger looked down and could see both of them tenting their trousers.

Jorge unbuttoned his tunic, exposing his hairless chest and abdomen. “Pezón,” he said as he took Granger’s hand and pulled it to his chest. Granger repeated the word as he flicked Jorge’s nipple, making the young man moan with pleasure.

Granger had had enough of language lessons. He allowed his hand to move down Jorge’s chest to his abdomen, and to the edge of his trousers. He moved his hand lower still, until he was gripping Jorge’s rock hard dick through his trousers. Perhaps it was the sadness of being at different places in his relationship with Travers, or perhaps it was anxiety over beginning a new adventure, but whatever it was, it drew out the animal in George Granger. He pulled Jorge to him roughly and kissed him, forcing his tongue in the young man’s mouth. Not that Jorge resisted, he responded willingly, wrapping his own arms around Granger’s head to pull him in to a deeper kiss.

They broke off their kiss and stood there, panting in each other’s face, while Jorge untied his trousers and let them fall to the floor. All seven inches of his thin cock popped out, the tip already wet with pre-cum. Granger fumbled in his drawer for his lanolin and then spun the young man around. He liberally applied the lotion to his cock and to the Spaniard’s hole, noting that he didn’t resist much. Granger surmised that this was not the first time he’d let another man fuck him, and as he slid his dick inside Jorge’s cavern easily, he was sure of his surmising. Granger put that aside as he began to frantically fuck Jorge, slamming into him over and over again until he heard the Spaniard gasp and stiffen as he blasted his own load all over Granger’s desk. Granger felt a twinge of guilt for continuing on after the other man had ejaculated, but he was overcome with lust. It didn’t take him long to reach his own orgasm, filling the young man’s ass with his seed.

“Thank you,” Granger said uncomfortably. Now that they were finished, it seemed as if a cloud had lifted, and his mood was stable once again. The only other emotion was guilt that he’d taken advantage of this man who was just here to teach him Spanish and assist Winkler in serving him.

“Any time, sir,” Jorge said with a twinkle in his eye. He hurriedly cleaned up his cum off Granger’s desk and then scurried out, leaving Granger to his thoughts.

Granger thought of London, of going home, and subconsciously pulled out the letters he’d received when he returned to Gibraltar, courtesy of Aurore. He read Caroline’s lines written in her smooth, rounded hand, first describing how unpleasant pregnancy was, and then regaling him with London gossip. She had seen Cavendish around, but he seemed absorbed in his new responsibilities. He had been promoted to lieutenant and was working at the Admiralty. Their new sister-in-law, Davina, was gambling like a fiend and had a run of bad luck, which occasioned quite a scandal as Freddie publicly admonished her. She’d opted to take the waters at Bath to pout, as Caroline put it, while the Duke of Devonshire had created a ruckus with his son-in-law over Freddie’s callous treatment of Georgiana. Caroline’s letter succeeded in making him homesick, so he shifted to the next one.

Just re-opening this letter made him smile. It was from Bertie, and was as full of life and energy as the man himself was. He was governing one of the captured Dutch islands and was making a fortune. He talked of society, such as it was, and hinted at various liaisons with local women and Dutch women who had been captured with the island.

Then there were the professional letters, the most important from Sir John Jervis:

Granger,

I send you to Gibraltar for some light duty and you end up destroying the fleet of an Oriental potentate and then attacking and ransoming his entire city-state. I am hoping you will serve as an example to some that are more moribund here in the fleet, but I suspect many of them are beyond hope. I cashier them and send the worst Captains home, but Spencer just sends me more like them.

I’m sending you home with dispatches. It is only a matter of months, probably weeks, until Spain enters this war, and when that happens, we will be hard-pressed to hold onto Corsica or the Mediterranean without significant reinforcements. Please extend my warmest regards to His Majesty the King and His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. I am relying on you to help them understand that this setback is not due to the efforts of the Mediterranean fleet, but due to the failure of our diplomatic efforts to keep Spain out of the war.

Your Obdt. Servant,

Jervis.

So once again, Granger was being asked to serve as a political emissary. He thought about that, and decided that he probably should be annoyed by it, but in the end, he concluded that having a skilled politician for a wife, and being charming in his own right, had earned him a trip back home. That was worth being a political pawn. He got up and strode over to his stern windows and looked back as the massive Rock slipped beneath the horizon, then went on deck to look forward to where they were going, not from whence they had come.