Master and Commander - 3. Chapter 3

April 13, 1794

Granger walked quietly toward the shapes. It was so dark it was possible that he wasn't even seeing shapes, but he had a feeling his eyes hadn't deceived him. He avoided the notice of the helmsman and the other men on watch; It was so pitch black that wasn't hard to do. As he got closer he saw Carmody standing next to Fitzwilliam. Granger stopped for a minute to let his eyes adjust, but it was too dark for that. He saw Carmody's hand moving in Fitzwilliam's trousers, while Fitzwilliam let out a little moan.

“That feels good doesn't it,” Carmody cooed into the midshipman's ear.

“Yes,” he heard Fitzwilliam whisper nervously, even as he moaned again.

“You know what would feel better? If my fingers were my dick. You know how good that would make you feel. You would love it.” Fitzwilliam said nothing, he just moaned quietly. Then he quivered, his body spasming as he came, blasting his load into his trousers. Granger saw Carmody remove his hand. He wanted to wait until they were done, fearful that a panicked Carmody might move away too quickly and hurt the boy, plus he hoped to avoid bringing attention to their little encounter.

“Mr. Carmody, I'll have Mr. Fitzwilliam released,” Granger ordered loudly. The men on watch came hurrying over to obey his order, not even waiting for Carmody to parrot it down the chain of command. He could feel the terror and surprise from Carmody and Fitzwilliam, as they realized that he'd caught them. “I will see you in my cabin at once Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

“Aye aye sir,” Fitzwilliam said. Granger waited until they had loosened the ropes and released Fitzwilliam, and then he walked down to his cabin with Fitzwilliam behind him.

Granger dragged the young man into his day cabin and had Winkler bring a light. He could see Fitzwilliam’s face clearly now, tears running down his cheeks. “Would you care to explain that little encounter I witnessed?”

“Not really sir,” he said.

“Drop your pants,” Granger ordered. Fitzwilliam slowly lowered his pants, exposing his now limp dick and his pubes, all caked with the load he'd just shot. “Mr. Carmody stimulated you until you ejaculated.” Granger felt his hormones rising, but fought to keep control. “Pull up your pants.” Fitzwilliam did as he was told. Then Granger sat there, his eyes fixed on this problematic midshipman, trying to decide what to do with him. “Explain what happened.”

Fitzwilliam looked at him horrified. “Sir, he came up to me when I was strung up there and was so nice. He rubbed his hand across my ass, and it hurt a little at first. He told me how sorry he was that I got beaten, and how he could make it better.” He stopped, convulsing in sobs. Granger just stared at him blankly until he pulled himself together. He wasn't in a sympathetic mood, and Fitzwilliam was an aristocrat and should know better than to bawl at a time like this. “He put his fingers down my pants and ran them along my ass, and then he pushed one into my hole. At first it hurt, but then he started moving it around, and then added another finger, and it wasn't so bad.”

“Why didn't you cry for help?” Granger asked.

Fitzwilliam looked him straight in the eye. “Because it felt good sir, and I liked it. I mean, I wouldn't have initiated it, but he was there, I was pretty much helpless, and it felt good. I'm sorry sir. You're right. I should have called out.”

“You realize that this encounter is enough to have you drummed out of the navy and humiliated in the process?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir. Please sir. Please don't do that. Please,” the young man begged.

Granger considered his pleas. He had no desire to destroy the boy's career, had no desire to bring this issue out in public and embarrass his ship, and he had no desire to enrage the boy's powerful father and make an enemy out of him. Granger allowed this rationale to guide his decision, blocking out the compassion that probably would have made him stay quiet even if the logical reasons weren't there. “Well Mr. Fitzwilliam, this incident will remain between you, me, and Mr. Carmody. I will maintain that confidence conditional on your good behavior.”

“Thank you sir,” Fitzwilliam said, relief and gratitude in his eyes.

“What happened to you was a form of rape Mr. Fitzwilliam. Your error lies in not preventing it when you could have. When you have time to think about this, I'm going to bet you'll find it troubling. And since no one on board knows about this, you may need someone to talk to.” The midshipman stared at Granger, not understanding. “You may come see me and I will try to help you.”

“Really sir? I mean, thank you sir,” Fitzwilliam said nervously. Granger stood up and so did Fitzwilliam, then Granger walked around and put his arm around the boy's shoulder. He sighed to himself. Apparently being a Captain meant being a surrogate father sometimes as well.

“Really. Now go get some food, get some sleep, and show me some better behavior tomorrow.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said with a grin, then left Granger's cabin as quickly as he could without being indecorous. Fifteen years old, Granger thought. He'd been like that boy once. Or had he? Granger was inclined to give himself credit for being more mature, and more self-aware, but it was hard to evaluate one's self objectively.

Ranger walked over to the door and whined. It was nighttime, and he liked to hunt rats. Granger patted the dog’s head and opened the cabin door, letting him out to wander around the bilges searching out pesky rodents.

He turned his mind to the next problem. Carmody. He'd told Fitzwilliam that the incident would remain between them, so he couldn't do anything to publicly admonish Carmody. Still, the man was a pedophile, had buggered one of his midshipmen with his fingers. He had to do something. There had to be some consequence for his actions. Granger laid out his options, made his decision, and went up on deck. He found Carmody, clearly beside himself with emotions too numerous to identify.

“Mr. Carmody, when you are off watch, I would like to see you in my cabin. In the meantime, mention the incident with Mr. Fitzwilliam to no one.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, slightly relieved. He could finish his watch now, knowing that there wasn't going to be a public spectacle. Granger went below and sat at his desk, hoping to find some consolation in his letters, but there was only agony there. He allowed his mind to drift off and think about Travers and Robey, and how they must be in bed at this very moment, fucking each other's brains out.

There was a knock on the door and Carmody came in nervously. He stood in front of Granger's desk. “Would you care to explain yourself, Mr. Carmody?”

“Sir, I like boys.”

“So I gathered,” Granger said. “You realize that this fetish you have is not acceptable in His Majesty's navy?”

“Yes sir,” Carmody said, resignedly.

“I am willing to overlook this incident, to keep it between the three of us, providing you resign your commission,” Granger said.

“Leave the service sir?” Carmody gasped.

“Do you see any other way?” Granger asked. “You're better off serving in a merchant vessel; they always need qualified men, and you are nothing if not a good seaman.”

“Thank you sir. You're right sir.” Carmody seemed lost in thought, and then came out of it abruptly. “I hereby tender my resignation.”

“I accept your resignation, but it will not be effective until we reach port and you can seek passage home. I don't want any scuttlebutt about the reason for your departure. We'll make a statement that for personal, family reasons you had to leave.”

“Aye aye sir,” Carmody said. “I'm really sorry sir. You've done so much for me, given me chance after chance, and I seem to just let you down.”

“You have one weakness, Mr. Carmody. Your love for boys. Unfortunately, you can't control it, and that makes you unsuitable for navy life.”

“It's not just boys sir, it's men too,” he said. “But I like boys better. When I saw that lad bent over, his ass exposed like that, Farrel's rope smacking it, it was so intense, I couldn't help myself. Then when he ran his rope down the boy's crack...I just lost it.” Granger looked at Carmody whose pants were tenting way out now as he thought about it.

“I went back to my cabin,” he went on, his eyes dreamy, as if he were in some far away land, “and pleasured myself over and over again, thinking about his cute ass and how good it would feel to fuck it. When I went up on deck and it was dark, I couldn't resist him. I had to feel him, had to.” Granger stared at the man, amazed at how far away he was. Miles away. His hand had dropped down to his trousers and he began to slowly stroke himself through the material. “His hole felt so good. So good. I wanted him so bad, wanted to fuck him right there on the quarterdeck. And he wanted it.”

“He's just a boy,” Granger said, standing up in front of Carmody. That was a big mistake. First of all, having Carmody, demons and all, stroking his hard cock, was still erotic in its own way, and it had made Granger's trousers tent as well. Secondly, he'd interrupted Carmody's train of thought, only he hadn't come back all the way from his dream. There was a crazed look in his eyes, the look of lust and desire run amok.

“You're a man though,” Carmody said, and pulled Granger to him roughly. Granger tried to push him away, to fight him off, but Carmody was too strong, and had gotten Granger too close in to make his punches effective. Then Carmody's mouth was on Granger's, stifling his cries for the marine guard. Granger fought, pushed him away, even as Carmody's mouth worked on his, as one hand held his mouth and head in place while the other wrapped around his body. He struggled and that only created friction, his hard cock rubbing against Carmody's. He fought, he fought valiantly, but he felt the hormones rushing in, felt his body taking control, felt himself relaxing into Carmody, surrendering to him.

Granger was pissed off, mostly at himself, partly at Carmody, as he completely lost control of his body. He felt like he was having as much of an out of body experience as Carmody had just had, only he was totally coherent, it was his body doing things he simply couldn't stop. His mouth opened, inviting Carmody's tongue in and wrestling with it, his arms wrapped around the big, strong lieutenant, pulling them together. His hips moved against Carmody in rhythm with the other man's thrusts. He felt Carmody's hands move down his back, slowly, tantalizingly, and pushing his trousers down, caressing his ass. He felt Carmody's fingers brush across his hole and moaned instinctively into his mouth, a reaction that was as clear as if he'd said “fuck me.”

Carmody broke their kiss and turned Granger around, felt his lithe body, his perfect ass push against him, and dropped his trousers. His dick was already lubed, both from masturbating all day, and from his anticipation, his hope that he'd be able to fuck Fitzwilliam. He gently probed Granger, probed him lovingly and caringly, savoring every moment of this.

Granger pushed back into his fingers, so keyed up now he was beyond the point of no return. Carmody pulled out and bent Granger over his desk, then pushed his cock into Granger, slowly, letting his Captain get used to the feel, and then he began to really fuck him. Granger let himself go, responding enthusiastically, and Carmody found that his fantasies about fucking boys were nothing compared to the reality of fucking Granger. The man was exquisite, amazing. He tried to slow himself, but he couldn't. It felt too good, and his need was too urgent. He reached around and grabbed Granger's cock, felt it throb in his hand as he stroked him but a few times before he felt the spasms as Granger ejaculated. Then Carmody felt his own load building, and he lost control, slamming into Granger over and over again while he licked Granger's cum from his hand. Then they were spent, and there was silence.

Granger turned to Carmody, furious. “If you ever try that again, I'll have you in irons.”

“You liked it,” Carmody said rudely, holding his hand up, showing Granger his own semen.

“No, I didn't. You confuse bodily response with consent. Any young man will eventually surrender to you if you stimulate him enough. Just like Fitzwilliam did, just like I did. You're a predator, Carmody. I should see you hang for this, but as it is, I will honor our agreement. Your resignation has been noted in the log.”

“Aye aye sir,” Carmody said, abashed, as he pulled up his pants.

“One more thing. You fuck anything, even a sheep, and I will see you swing from the yardarm. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Carmody said, and slipped out of Granger's cabin.

April 17, 1794

It was almost dawn, and Granger was pacing his quarterdeck, enjoying the Captain’s prerogative of taking the lee side. It was about the only thing he was enjoying. The past few days had been hell for him. He found he could barely be civil to Carmody, and several times he'd lost control and lashed out at the man. He felt like he'd made a bad bargain, that he'd let a predator loose. It was as if a tiger had walked into his village and he could have killed it, but he didn't. And now, if that tiger ate anyone, the blood would be on his hands.

And for what? He'd protected Carmody for what? To save himself some embarrassment? No, he told himself. He'd done it to save Fitzwilliam. And that was the only bright spot. The lad had really begun to fit in. It was ironic that the tension had moved up to the senior officers, while the midshipmen seemed to get along quite well now. Granger wasn't sure if it was the finger-fuck, or if it was the beating, but one of those things had knocked some sense into Fitzwilliam.

He pulled himself away from that subject and tried to think of something else. He was like a drowning man, desperate for a rope, anything, to keep his spirits from sinking completely. He noticed the motion of the ship, how she worked in the moderate seas. They'd had storms for the past two days, storms that should have been invigorating, that should have livened things up, but they hadn't. Nothing had brought him out of his own personal doldrums.

Calvert came up to take over the watch. That was the other thing. Calvert had been concerned about his mood, had even dared to ask him about it, and Granger had jumped down the poor man's throat for his efforts. Calvert had been a superb first lieutenant up until now. There was no reason he should be Granger's whipping boy. Granger eyed Calvert as if he were the rope that would save him from drowning, and took the plunge.

“Care to walk with me Mr. Calvert?” Granger asked.

“My pleasure sir,” Calvert said, his huge smile made Granger feel that much guiltier, and threatened to dampen his mood once again.

“We haven't been able to fix our position for two days,” Granger said. The storms had blocked out the sky, and with no stars to reference, it was impossible to tell where they were. “Where do you reckon we are?”

“Somewhere in the Bay of Biscay, I should think. I don't think we've made it to Spain yet, sir.”

“Hopefully not. It would be unfortunate to run right into it,” Granger said, actually making a joke. Granger looked around and saw the deck more clearly now. Dawn was upon them. He picked up the speaking trumpet and shouted to the tops. “Look alive up there!” He heard the mumbled “aye aye sirs” from the various lookouts. That was another one of his standing orders. Double lookouts at dawn and dusk. He was about to make idle chit chat with Calvert when his thoughts were interrupted.

“Sail ho!” Came the cry from the foretop. “Sail close up off the starboard bow.” Granger snapped his glass and found the other ship was so close there was no need to use it. She was a brig, French by the look of her.

“Beat to quarters Mr. Calvert. Clear for action,” Granger ordered. The brig appeared to be a merchant, but it was good to be prepared. Besides, the practice would be good for the crew. They still hadn't been able to achieve his goal to clear for action in ten minutes. He heard the same sounds, the drums beating across the sea as the Brig cleared for action too.

“She's clearing for action sir. That's no merchant brig,” Calvert observed.

“I daresay you're right,” Granger said. A brig like that wasn't a match for Intrepid, or at least a French brig was no match for Intrepid. An English captain would almost certainly accept battle. “Load and run out. Double shotted.”

“Mr. Humphreys, run up the colors,” Granger ordered. He saw the Frenchman respond in kind, hoisting the Republican flag. They were parallel to each other now, at close range, almost close enough for the muskets to bear. He looked down to see the hands raised as the gun crews announced they were ready.

“Fire,” Granger ordered. The Intrepid's broadside crashed out, slamming into the other ship. The Frenchman had made some major miscalculations when he decided to fight, and the first one was showing now. The Intrepid poured four broadsides into the pretty little ship before she could even get off one, and that one flew through the air doing no damage but slicing a backstay.

“Fire as you bear,” Granger called, letting each gun fire at her own pace. The steady bombardment continued for another five minutes until the French flag came fluttering down.

“A prize sir!” Calvert said, his eyes big and hopeful. If this were a normal battle, he would have given Calvert command, a stepping stone to advancement. But this was not a normal situation.

“Mr. Calvert, call away ten of the biggest troublemakers as a prize crew,” Granger said, surprising him. “Mr. Carmody! You will take charge of the prize.” He saw the disappointment in Calvert's eyes. The man would take it personally, would attribute Granger's bad mood to his performance, and that must not happen.

Granger turned to face him. “I need you here. Dine with me and I will explain.”

Calvert gave him a lopsided smile. “Sir, you don't have to explain your decisions to me. But I will be happy to dine with you.” Then he saluted and was off to roust up the prize crew. Granger watched Carmody and his crew row over to the brig and mount her side, staying on deck long enough to make sure there were no problems. Then he went below to get his dispatches in order. He'd learned a long time ago to keep a running report going, so if there was a chance to send it home, it required little embellishment. In this situation, he had to take some time to describe the action with the brig, sign and seal it, and then draft orders for Carmody.

He was just finishing when one of the master's mates came in to report. “She's the French brig Amethyst sir. Fourteen guns, nine-pounders. Her captain was killed in action. There's a lot of carnage sir, but most of the damage to the hull seems to be above the waterline.”

“Very well. Take these orders and these dispatches to Mr. Carmody and wish him a safe voyage back to England for me.” Granger followed him on deck and watched him row over to the brig. He saw Carmody wave his hat at him, but didn't deign to wave back. Good riddance was all Granger could think. Then they set sail and slowly parted company. Within a few hours, the brig was out of sight, and with it, Carmody and ten of his more rabble-rousing crew members.

Granger stood on the deck and felt his mood improve, felt the cloud that was hanging over him lift and fly away. He caught Fitzwilliam's eye and read the same thing in his expression, and actually winked at the boy, getting a big smile for his gesture. “Mr. Humphreys!” Granger called.

“Sir?” Humphreys asked, dashing to the quarterdeck.

“Let's try this again. I'm promoting you to lieutenant. You will assume the duties of second lieutenant immediately, and you may have Mr. Carmody's cabin.”

“Thank you sir,” he said. “I won't let you down.”

“You have not yet, so I have no reason to question you,” Granger said. He saw Calvert standing there with a small smile on his face. He liked Humphreys. Everyone did. He was an easy man to know. The weather that had doused and tossed them for the past few days cleared and now the sun was out and it was relatively warm. Granger convened the midshipmen on the quarterdeck and had them plot their position. Neither one of them came close. “Mr. Carslake, these young gentlemen are adrift with no navigational knowledge. How is that possible?”

“I'm sorry sir. I'll make sure to spend more time working with them.” It was Carslake's responsibility as master to teach the midshipmen how to navigate.

“See that you do. If they are remiss in their attention, I can correct that,” Granger said, glaring at Lennox and Fitzwilliam. They quavered under his gaze.

“Yes sir. I'll keep you posted.” The two midshipmen were much less playful now.

Granger watched Farrel repairing the backstay, their only damage, then turned to Humphreys. “Please rig the wash deck pump. I'd like to take my bath.”

“May I join you sir?” Calvert asked. Granger swallowed hard.

“Of course Mr. Calvert.” And then he went below to get his robe on and beat off quickly so he didn't get hard while showering with Calvert. He came up on deck to find quite an audience. At first he thought they were just voyeurs, but it turns out that the crew actually liked the whole bathing experience. They were waiting for their turn.

Granger handed his robe to Winkler and pirouetted under the spray, letting it wet him, and taking the opportunity to steal glances at Calvert. It was during one of those glances that Granger made an interesting discovery. Calvert was looking at him right back, just as shyly and surreptitiously as Granger had. They finished up their bath and headed below to change. “Join me when you have dressed,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said.

Winkler had opened the windows to let the fresh air in. It was a pleasant smell instead of the normally foul airs that rose up from the bilges. Granger put on his casual clothes, trousers and a shirt he left partially unbuttoned. He felt clean, both inside and out, free of Carmody and the other rowdies he'd taken with him, free of the grime of battle, free. There was a knock and Calvert entered, dressed almost exactly like Granger. They both laughed.

“I assumed it would be a relaxing dinner sir,” Calvert said with a smile.

“Your assumption is correct,” Granger said, smiling back. Winkler had taken the leaves out of the table so it was small and intimate. So intimate it was almost romantic. Granger felt feelings rising in his chest, the same feelings he'd felt before when he'd met men he'd really fallen for. He thought about calling the dinner off, but he couldn't do that. What's more, he didn't want to. He was lonely. He craved love, he craved companionship, and he was horny. Plus the incident with Carmody had made him feel dirty, unclean, and he desperately wanted a meaningful encounter to erase that horrible experience.

“I want you to understand why I gave Carmody temporary command of the brig and not you,” Granger said.

“Really sir,” Calvert objected, “you don't have to explain.”

“But I want to,” Granger insisted. “We have a long voyage ahead of us, and it's important that you and I understand each other. I have been really pleased with your performance, you are the perfect first lieutenant, but Carmody needed to go back to England. Bad enough to resign his commission.”

“He resigned his commission?” Calvert asked, stunned.

“He did. And that's why I sent him home. That, and if we're going to sail to the end of the earth and back, I'd like to make sure I have someone with me that I have confidence in, that I can trust.”

“So you want me to stay because you like me?” he asked, relaxing now.

“Yeah,” Granger said, grinning at him.

Winkler came in and brought dinner, a typically wonderful dinner a la Lefavre. “I think your chef has been one of the most pleasant surprises on board,” Calvert said, relaxing with Granger, leaving the incredible power chasm behind them and becoming instead two young men just enjoying each other's company.

“So how do you know Arthur?” Calvert asked.

“We've been friends forever. We went to school together. Arthur is brilliant but eccentric,” Granger said.

“He certainly is eccentric,” Calvert said.

“So how do you know him?” Granger asked.

“We met at a dinner party and he seemed to take a liking to me,” Calvert said, his attitude cocky, even though he blushed slightly.

“I'm sure he did. You're a very handsome man,” Granger said. Calvert looked at him seriously, those green eyes drilling into him, making time freeze and drawing him in like a magnet.

“So are you,” he said in a soft voice that seemed husky.

Granger swallowed hard. “So he took you for a ride eh?”

“I think his intentions were quite forward,” Calvert bantered back.

“Yet you knew his reputation but you went anyway. Weren't you worried that people would think you're a sodomite like Arthur?” Granger asked.

“I think I was drunk enough not to care, and probably drunk enough to fuck him,” Calvert said, laughing.

“Did you?” Granger asked.

“I never kiss and tell,” Calvert teased back.

“Yes but Arthur might, especially to one of his close friends,” Granger said with an arched eyebrow.

“Well I'll just have to rely on his discretion, or failing that, I'll have to rely on yours,” he said.

“You can rely on my discretion completely, although you haven't told me anything that would require confidentiality,” Granger said.

“I didn't fuck him,” Calvert said.

“But you would have?” Granger asked.

“I might have,” Calvert said, grinning. “He even sat on my lap.” Granger laughed at that, and Calvert joined him. “That's when the carriage stopped and Charlie Blackwell jumped in.”

“That must have been ugly,” Granger said, sad that the mood had changed from flirtatious and playful.

“It was. Actually, Arthur was quite forceful. Charlie was about to challenge me to a duel when Arthur told him if he did, he'd never have anything to do with him ever again. That's all it took,” Calvert said. “Then Arthur arranged for me to get posted here. Why do you think that was?”

“He probably knew what a good officer you are, and was doing me a favor,” Granger said, glad they were back to bantering.

“That doesn't sound like the Arthur that wanted me to fuck him,” he joked.

“True. He probably sent you here so you'd be safe and sound until you got back and he could ravish you,” Granger teased.

“Am I safe and sound here?” Calvert asked. He moved closer and Granger moved to meet him, the distance between them dropping quickly until only a foot separated them. Granger peered into his eyes. They were so deep and so open, they just absorbed him.

“Probably not,” Granger said, and moved in closer. He closed his eyes, feeling Calvert's breath on his face, then he felt his lips meet Calvert's, felt the electricity that flowed between them. They stopped talking then, using their lips to communicate their needs, their wants, their desires. Granger ran his right hand up Calvert's chest, across the small sexy nipple that he'd found so cute, and up to his face and his beautiful chestnut hair. He ran his fingers through Calvert’s long locks and pulled him in closer, opening his mouth to welcome Calvert's tongue in. Granger felt his whole body throb in anticipation, longing to be with this man, and was surprised at the intensity of his feelings, of his attraction.

Calvert broke their kiss and moved his mouth to Granger's ear. “I want you so bad. I've wanted you since I first walked in here, since I first met you.” Granger moaned and leaned his head back, pulling Calvert's sexy mouth to his neck, surrendering to him completely. Granger moved his hand down to Calvert's trousers and gripped his rock hard cock through his pants and smiled.

“You're a big boy,” Granger teased. He had to be at least eight inches long, but with average thickness. The perfect dick to get fucked by.

“If I'm too big, I don't have to fuck you. Maybe you can do me instead,” he said. Granger smiled at that, thinking how sweet that was.

“You been fucked before?” Granger asked.

“No, not before now. I've only been the, uh, penetrator. Have you?” Calvert asked nervously.

Granger smiled. “Yeah, I've been fucked. And I love it.” Calvert smiled, then got serious and pulled him up smashing their bodies together. Granger was about to lead him to his sleeping cabin when there was a knock on his door. They sat down abruptly to hide their erections. Granger gave him a look that told him how frustrated he was. “Enter!”

The door opened and Andrews the purser came in. “I'm sorry to bother you sir,” he said nervously.

“It's not a bother at all Mr. Andrews,” Granger lied. “We were just finishing up dinner. What can I do for you?”

“We have a problem sir,” he said severely.