The Gunroom - 6. Chapter 6

Granger sat in the Captain's office, flanked by Mr. Preston on one side, Travers on the other, and Dailey on the other side of him. The Captain was furious. Granger was conscious of the Captain's awesome power, that with a word he could be tied to a gun like Wilcox and beaten until his ass was red. Or he could be flogged. Or sent up to the mastheads, staying there for hours on end. But the Captain wasn't mad at him, he reminded himself. He was just mad.

“This foot rope was clearly sabotaged,” the Captain yelled, holding the rope ends in his hand. He seemed to realize that he was losing it and paused to calm himself. “I cannot believe that on this ship, on MY ship, we have a saboteur.” None of them said anything; there was nothing to say. “Do we know who did this?”

As the senior officer it was Preston's duty to speak for them, and one thing Mr. Preston never slacked on was his duty. “We do not sir. We are asking questions, making inquiries, but whoever did this did it quietly and during a time when no one was watching.”

“We have officers on watch all of the time, and no one can see who is up on the main mast?” The Captain raged.

“It would appear that the sabotage was directed at those on the main top yard sir,” Preston said.

“Please do not restate the obvious for me Mr. Preston,” The Captain said, irritated.

“Yes sir. That means that it was someone who had a beef with Packer, Forrest, Shepherd, Cowling, Dacy, or Mauldwin, or Mr. Granger sir.” Preston never missed a beat, just continued on slowly and steadily.

“So who wants you dead Mr. Granger?” The Captain asked. Granger wanted to say Travers, so he could run off with the Frenchman, but that was just internal playfulness.

“The only problems I've had on board have revolved around Wilcox sir,” Granger said.

“You are accusing Wilcox of this?” the Captain demanded.

“No sir. I don't know who did it. But that's the only person that I know of who has anything against me.” The Captain studied him carefully.

“Mr. Preston, interview the seamen on the yard and find out when this happened. See if we can narrow things down. Then find out if Wilcox was aloft at that time. I want all of you to keep your ears open. Any gossip, anything from the crew, tell Mr. Preston.”

“Aye aye sir,” they said, standing to go.

“Mr. Granger, a word please,” the Captain said.

Granger remained seated, with the others filing out. “Were you and Wilcox ever intimately involved?” the Captain asked.

“No sir. Absolutely not sir,” Granger said, horrified.

“I'm sorry to ask you, but it is really difficult to understand why this young man has so much antipathy toward you.”

Granger swallowed hard. “He once told me that he was jealous that I was working with Mr. Travers sir.” Why had he revealed that? What was he doing? Granger clamped his mouth shut.

“I will be candid with you Mr. Granger. I really do not care what my officers do on their off watch hours, unless it affects discipline on my ship. This situation has gone well beyond that now.”

“Yes sir. I'm not sure what I can do to solve the problem sir.” Granger really didn't see how this was his fault.

“Is there any reason that Wilcox' family would want to harm your father, or your family?”

“Not that I'm aware of sir. I've written my father about him, asking him, but I haven't heard back yet.” He knew that his father would tell him what was going on, if he knew.

“I have been happy with your performance so far Mr. Granger. You have the makings of an excellent officer.”

Granger gulped. “Thank you sir.”

“Wilcox will be leaving this ship in Gibraltar. That should eliminate this nonsense, if he indeed was the perpetrator.” He paused. “We'll also be rid of our Frenchman. I've asked Mr. Travers to keep him company, to pump him for information, so I suspect he'll be relieved to make port as well. I've already promised him some leave in port. I'll extend the same privilege for you.”

Granger stood up and saluted. “Yes sir, thank you sir.” He felt like shit. He'd been giving Travers a bunch of dirty looks for ignoring him, when he was just following orders.

“That's all. Please find Mr. Travers and tell him I'd like to see him.” Granger stood at attention and then left the cabin, looking for Travers. He wasn't on deck, so he headed down to the Wardroom. It was deserted, so Granger wandered over to Travers’ cabin. He heard voices inside, two voices, speaking French. Granger looked around furtively and then eavesdropped.

“I want you to fuck me,” he heard the Colonel say.

“I can't do that. I can't do this. I have to go on deck,” he heard Travers say.

“You let me blow you, you blow me, you kiss me, but you won't fuck me? I don't understand?” The Colonel insisted. Granger smiled. Travers was adhering to the rules of their relationship as he'd laid them out.

“And those things have been fun. They have. But I can't fuck you.” Travers was so definite in his statement Granger wanted to hug him. But it was time to save him, and he remembered that the Captain was waiting. He knocked on the cabin door firmly, and then entered, catching Travers and the Colonel pulling up their pants.

“Pardon me sir,” Granger said, noticing that the Frenchman had a large cock, about the same size as Bell's, and it was erect.

“Don't you wait for an invitation to enter first?” Travers snapped. Granger just smiled at him.

“I'm sorry sir. I thought I heard you say enter. The Captain wants to see you immediately.” The Colonel watched them both nervously. He knew the Royal Navy rules on sodomy, and he also knew that as an unofficial passenger he was particularly vulnerable.

Granger turned and headed out of the wardroom and into the passageway. He felt a hand on his arm. Travers. “We need to talk.”

“We're on watch in thirty minutes sir,” Granger said. Travers seemed to have forgotten that. He just nodded. Granger headed back to his berth to change into his working clothes. He opened the door and found Clay jacking off in his berth. Was everyone getting laid on this ship?

“I'm sorry sir,” Clay said.

Granger pulled off his pants and pulled out his own hard dick. “You're sorry for wanking? We all do that.” Clay smiled and started stroking his cock again. He was young, with just a dusting of pubic hair and a dick that was barely over four inches long. Granger walked over to his bunk, with his hard cock projecting out toward the bed. Clay looked up at him and their eyes met. Clay moved up so his mouth was lined up with Granger's dick. He licked his lips seductively, so Granger moved his cock forward, felt Clay's lips on his cock, then his mouth wrapped around him. Now that Clay was blowing him he began pumping into his mouth with a mission, and when he blew, it felt like he shot gallons down Clay’s throat.

Clay smiled up at him. “Thank you sir. You tasted good.” Granger laughed and then knelt down and blew him too, just as he'd done to Bell. Clay was young, and it didn't take him long to blow his load. It was a small load, but Granger could tell he enjoyed it.

“I never thought I'd get to do that with you,” Clay said, smiling. “I wanted to, I wanted to so badly, but I didn't think you'd let me.”

“I wanted to do that with you too,” Granger said smiling. “So when you were a ship's boy, did the seamen all chase you around and try to fuck you?”

“No sir. Mr. Preston kept a close eye on us, making sure we weren't bothered. Of course, some of the boys wanted to, made extra money that way, but I couldn't do it.”

Granger thought about that. “But you did it with me, so it's not something you find revolting.”

“Yes sir, but I wanted to do it with you. I'm not a whore.” Granger understood. For Clay, blowing another guy was a significant event, something you only did with friends, or someone you liked. The other boys did it for money. He had too much pride for that.

“So I'm the first one you've been with?” Granger asked.

Clay swallowed hard. “No sir, but I'd rather not say who else.”

“You don't trust me?” Granger said. He felt bad, pushing Clay, but he wanted to know if he'd been with Wilcox.

“I do sir. I'm sorry. But I promised I wouldn't say anything, and my word is important.” Clay was so earnest, begging him. Granger leaned down and kissed him, shocking the shit out of him, then put on his work clothes.

“Alright, I can respect that, but I need to know, was it Wilcox or any of his cronies?”

Clay laughed. “God, no. That little shit. He tried a few times, but I wasn't having it.”

“Do me a favor,” Granger said. Clay looked at him expectantly. “Take care of Bell when he gets back.”

“Like that, I mean, like I just did to you?” he asked, a huge grin on his face.

“Exactly like that,” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” Clay said, making Granger giggle as he left the berth. He met up with Travers on deck and they relieved Bell and Preston.

“Mr. Clay has a surprise for you,” Granger said. Bell looked at him questioningly, then smiled big and tore off for the midshipman's berth.

“Walk with me Mr. Granger,” Travers said as soon as they'd taken over the watch.

“Isn't your boyfriend coming up tonight?” Granger asked cheekily. He saw Travers look to make sure the Captain's skylight was closed.

“It's not like that. I didn't fuck him. I'm not doing anything with him that you can't do with other men,” he said defensively.

“I'm sorry about that,” Granger said. “I heard you arguing before I barged in on you.” Travers looked at him, irritated, but let it go. “Why didn't you just tell me you had to spend time with him? I thought you were falling for him.”

“I'm not falling for him, but I like him. There's something about him, an aura, I can't put my finger on it,” Travers said. Granger stopped walking and just stared at him. He'd assumed this was something he had to do for the Captain, that it meant nothing to him. But it did. “I guess he was so exotic, so different, he just sort of entranced me.”

“So the only reason you didn't fuck him was because you made a promise to me?” Granger demanded.

“Well, yeah. I guess if we weren't together I would have fucked him.”

Granger stared at him. “I don't get it. We're together? But you want to fuck the Frenchman and not me?” Granger's mind was doing cartwheels trying to keep up with the mental gyrations his lieutenant was putting him through.

“I think of us as being together,” Travers said. “I was supposed to get close to him, to find out about him, but I guess I let myself get too close. But I don't want to fuck him, I want to fuck you.”

Granger just shook his head. “I still don't get it. I thought that you were with him because you had to be, and now you're telling me that you want to be with him. That you like him. And you've totally ignored me, so what am I supposed to think?”

“I didn't fuck him. That's what I promised you I wouldn't do. And I didn't do it. Why are you upset about that?” Travers asked.

Granger stared at him and then nodded. “I think that I assumed that being together means more than it does to you.”

Travers looked at him with those penetrating eyes, trying to read his thoughts and feelings. “I didn't mean to lead you on.”

Granger sighed. “It's my fault if I jump to conclusions. The Captain said you're getting leave in Gibraltar. Do you have any commitments on your off time?”

Travers smiled. “Not yet. Why?”

“The Captain told me that he was giving me leave too. I just wanted to see if I could catch you before you made plans with your Frenchman.” Granger said, trying to be cheerful.

“I hadn't thought about that,” he said, concerned.

“Does that mean you want to spend your time on leave with him instead of me?” Granger asked.

“No. I just didn't think about it.” Travers was having a problem with this.

“Look, if you're attached this guy, then have at it. I'm sure there are other people I can spend time with,” Granger said, getting pissed. “You want to fuck your Frenchman, fuck him.”

“Please don't do that,” Travers said, pleading. “I'm trying to be honest with you.”

Granger heard the expression in his voice and eased up. Travers was trying to be open about things, to lay out how he felt and what was going on his mind. That took a lot of trust, and that was worth something. “I know,” Granger told him. “We'll work it out on leave.”

“Sail ho, deck there, sail ho! Close on the starboard bow!” The lookout cried.

Travers nodded to Granger who dashed down to get the Captain. “What is it Mr. Granger?” he asked, pulling himself out of his cot.

“We've sighted a sail, close up on the starboard bow sir.”

The Captain grabbed his coat. “That's all the information you have?”

“Yes sir. I'm sorry sir. Mr. Travers sent me down here to get you as soon as the lookout sighted the sail.” The Captain nodded and they charged out onto the deck.

“Masthead there, where away is the sail?” The Captain shouted through the speaking trumpet.

“Dead ahead sir, five cables away. Square rigged. Looks like a ship sir, and by the cut of the sails, I'd say a frigate or maybe a ship of the line!” The Captain took only a second to decide.

“Beat to quarters Mr. Travers,” the Captain said. Beating to quarters in the middle of the night in peacetime was almost unheard of, but another frigate, or worse, a battleship, bearing down on them was unusual. The marine drummer began pounding out the staccato rhythm and the men began pouring out of their hammocks and frantically breaking down the partitions and putting them below. The Captain's cabin would take the most work, since all of his furniture, carpets, and all of his gear had to be packed in the hold.

Twelve minutes after the drummer started pounding Mr. Preston reported to the Captain. “Cleared for action sir. Shall we load?”

“Not yet. We'll see what her intentions are first. Alter course a point to larboard,” the Captain ordered, trying to secure the wind gage in any fight.

“Fighting at night sir?” Granger asked Travers.

“It's not usually done, but with a full moon like this, with plenty of light, there's no reason they can't.”

“Who are they?” he asked.

“Not French or Spanish, they're too lubberly to sail at night like this. Could be a pirate, but they don't usually have ships as big as that one.”

The ship was much closer now. Yule turned to the Captain. “Sir, I think that's the Frog frigate we saw in Toulon.”

“Colonel, my officer thinks that is the French frigate that was fitting out in Toulon.”

“The Apollo,” the French colonel said, worried. “She is commanded by Capitan LeFebvre, one of the few experienced officers left. She is rated for 44 guns.” So a little bigger than the Barracuda, Granger thought.

“And why would the Apollo have put to sea in a great hurry to catch us?” The Captain asked. “Surely you are not that important?”

The Colonel mumbled, and stammered, then resigned himself. “I am the Comte d'Artois,” he said. Granger gasped and instinctively took off his hat and bowed at the waist.

“What are you doing Mr. Granger?” demanded Mr. Preston.

“Monsieur le Comte is the brother of the King, a Grandson of France,” Granger told him. Showing respect to Royalty was something as ingrained into him as demanding respect from those of lower social orders. If a nobleman didn't respect his king, why would a commoner respect a nobleman?

None of that seemed to bother the Captain. “Load and run out Mr. Preston. Double shotted for good measure,” ordered the Captain.

“The Frog frigate is heaving to,” came a shout from the masthead. “She's lowering a boat.”

“Heave to Mr. Preston,” the Captain ordered. “Monseigneur, had you told me your true identity I could have offered you better accommodations,” he said to Artois.

“I have been quite content where I am,” said Artois. The boat from the Apollo crossed the distance between the two ships quickly. A lieutenant mounted the side, remembering to salute the quarterdeck.

“I am Lieutenant Lucien Vareille,” he said in perfect English. “I have come to return Monsieur Artois to France.”

The Captain frowned at this lieutenant, who was obviously of the new regime. He had none of the niceties of society prior to the revolution. “I am Sir Evelyn Fellowes of His Britannic Majesty's ship Barracuda. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The Captain ended this introduction with a flourish.

Artois moved forward and studied this man who, two years ago, would have been groveling at his feet. The lieutenant eyed him and sneered. “You are commanded by the people of France to return with us, monsieur.”

“I think that would be hazardous to my health,” Artois said nonchalantly. “I choose not to return with you.” Artois' irritation at the thought of being ordered anywhere by the “people” was apparent just beneath his cool veneer.

“Captain,” the lieutenant said, turning to Sir Evelyn, “you must hand Monsieur Artois over to us.”

“Monsieur, I must do nothing of the kind. You are standing on one of His Britannic Majesty's ships, and as such, it is his sovereign property. His Royal Highness is welcome to remain here, and any attempt to take him would constitute an act of war.” Granger admired his calmness. “And now, we must continue on our voyage, so I must wish you a good journey.” He ushered the stammering lieutenant to the side.

When the lieutenant was beyond earshot, the Captain commanded action. “Mr. Preston, square away, topsails only. We'll edge down and if she fires at us, we'll pass her stern and rake her.” Preston saluted and attended to that. “Your Royal Highness, I bid you to please withdraw to the orlop deck in case we are in action.”

“If there is to be a fight, I will stay and help,” the Comte insisted.

“Please Monseigneur, you will only worry us. If I allow one of the direct heirs to the throne of France to be wounded, my career would end most abruptly.”

Artois smiled. “I understand Captain.”

“Mr. Granger, show the Count to the orlop. The rest of you to your stations.” Granger nodded to the Count and he followed him down to the orlop.

“You will be safe down here sir,” Granger said.

“You will keep me company?” he asked with a leer.

“It would be my pleasure sir, but I must attend to my duties. Afterward, I am at your disposal,” Granger said with a bow. Then he dashed up to the gun deck. He grinned at Travers, and then peered through the gun port at the Apollo. He felt the ship start to move and headed over to Travers. He heard a single gunshot.

“Steady there!” Travers yelled. “No one fires until they get the order.” Travers looked at Granger. “They fired a shot, presumably across our bow, as a warning.” Granger nodded. There was another warning shot, and Granger looked out the port and saw the Apollo moving off as they gained way. Then all hell broke loose. There was a belching of smoke and fire from the Apollo's side, followed by the crash of shot into the Barracuda.

On number two gun a ball came through the open gunport and cut down two men, one of them Medgars, before slamming into the opposite side. Granger stared at the gruesome sight of their mangled bodies and remembered to wrap a cloth around his head to shield his ears. “Fire!” came the order from the quarterdeck.

“All right lads, fire as you bear,” Travers said, and before he was done the first cannon had already blasted their deadly messengers into the Apollo. After that first broadside, the hours of drill paid off. Barracuda poured broadside after broadside into the French ship, at nearly double the Apollo's rate of fire.

“Sponge out you oaf,” Granger yelled at one of the gunners. “You'll blow your arm off. Remember your drill.” He walked down to the other end of his division and heard a crash behind him as one of Apollo's balls crashed through the side and sprayed splinters everywhere. There on the deck was one of the ship's boys, Winkler, with a huge splinter sticking out of his leg.

“You there,” Granger said, calling for a few of the loblolly boys who's job it was to carry the wounded below. “Take him below at once.” Granger bit back the horror as shot after shot crashed into the Barracuda, as splinters flew and men fell, men that he knew. The din was overwhelming, adding an aural aspect to the slaughterhouse scene that just made everything more macabre.

“Mr. Travers, double shotted, make every shot count,” came the cry from the hatch. Granger looked out and saw the Apollo's stern looming.

“You heard the Captain! Double shotted lads, and then we're going to deliver these balls right up monsieur’s ass!” They cheered loudly, the cheer taken up on the decks above. Travers rushed forward and walked the deck, personally ordering each gun to fire, determining the pace of the broadside as they passed Apollo's stern. She was a horrible sight. Her main and mizzen masts lay across her deck, and even in the moonlight he could see the blood running from her scuppers.

Granger watched through the port as the Apollo came into the wind, all aback. One of their last shots must have shot away her steering.

“Secure the guns,” came the order down the hatch, and that got a collective moan from the crew. The Captain had crippled Apollo, thrashed her badly. If this were war, she would have surrendered within half an hour and they'd have a prize, with prize money for the crew and officers. That's what the crew was mad about.

“There goes a bunch of prize money lads,” said one grizzled seaman.

“Calm down Packard,” Granger said. “There's no prize money there at all. Even if we captured her and took her into port, it's peacetime. She'd be the property of the admiralty.” He looked at Granger strangely, and then nodded. “Now secure the guns and clear up this carnage.”

The last four days had seen a frenetic amount of activity as they worked to repair the damage from their battle. The worst part of it, four dead and twelve wounded, had resulted in a burial at sea, Granger's first. Then there had been another one last night, when one of the men had succumbed to his wounds. Granger went down to check on Winkler periodically, a handsome young lad of only ten years old. They were still not sure if he'd be able to keep his leg. The surgeon had removed the splinter, but there was always the risk of gangrene. The work had left all of them exhausted.

Still, they'd made time to reconfigure the Captain's cabin as they had for Iggy, to provide the Comte with more privacy and a place more befitting his rank. And the sailmaker had managed to piece together a French Royal Standard, which flew proudly from the mainmast.

“So what did you think of your first action?” Travers asked him as they paced the deck.

“It was bloody and horrible sir,” Granger said. “I guess saying that makes me a coward.”

Travers stopped him and stared at him, then grabbed his shoulder for a moment. “Nonsense. If any man tells you he's enthralled by the carnage of battle, that man is a monster. I watched you during the battle. You were very brave. You did your duty even when cannon balls were flying around your ears.”

Granger grinned. “Thank you sir.” He paused. “So you watched me?”

He saw Travers blush slightly. “I always watch you.” Granger wanted to point out that he hadn't felt that way when Travers was all involved with Artois, but he changed his mind. He understood now, understood the aura of royalty that Travers had picked up on.

“Ah, messieurs,” Artois said as he interrupted them.

“Your Royal Highness,” they said in unison, bowing.

“I was wondering if the two of you would join me in my cabin when your watch is over.” He had a twinkle in his eye.

Granger looked to Travers, as the senior, to answer. “It would be our pleasure sir.” They bowed again as he retired back to his cabin.

“What does he want sir?” Granger asked.

“He wants to fuck you,” Travers teased.

The watch ended and they headed straight down to his cabin. “Ah, gentlemen,” he said. “Follow me.” He led them into his sleeping cabin and moved up to Travers, kissing him. Granger fought the jealousy that rose up, remembering that he'd been invited too. Then Artois moved over and kissed Granger. Damn, he was a good kisser. Granger was so absorbed in the kiss that he was almost shocked to feel Travers move up behind me. Travers took off his jacket and shirt, and then dropped his trousers, leaving him totally naked and exposed.

“He wants to fuck you while I fuck him,” Travers whispered in Granger’s ear. He and Artois switched places and now Granger was kissing Travers. No matter how good Artois was, no one tasted as good as Travers. He felt Artois' hand on his ass, then felt lube on his ass, and then he gasped in pain as he felt Artois drive his big dick into him.

“You have a sweet ass,” the Comte said, letting his dick take over. He pumped in and out of Granger slowly, not wanting to blow their tryst too soon. Granger pulled away and lay down on the cot, his legs pulled back, inviting the Count to enter him again. Artois knelt down and pushed back into Granger, his head tossed back in a sigh. Travers moved up behind him, and Granger watched his facial expression, locked their eyes, as Travers penetrated the Count.

Granger watched the Count's expression change abruptly, first to pain, then to intense pleasure, and then he just lost it. He began moving into Granger and then back into Travers, moving his body while they held still, allowing him to set the pace and determine his own level of pleasure. Granger saw his face change shapes, become contorted, and then saw him bite his finger to stop from yelling as he came. Granger felt Artois' cock expand and throb inside him as the Count spasmed with his orgasm. The Count withdrew with a smile, and Travers moved up to take his place. Now it was just the two of them, and they moved in the perfect sync of lovers who were well used to each other, bringing each other off at almost the same time. They dressed furtively, Granger stuffing a rag in his crack to keep the cum from pouring down his leg.

“I must thank you gentlemen. It would please me if you would make this a regular event after your evening watch,” Artois said. Granger smiled. A royal command was a royal command.

The Barracuda glided gently into Gibraltar, looking every inch the veteran, the warrior. The French Royal Standard was at marked odds with the naval ensign that flew from her flag staff, giving her an even more unique appearance. Granger thought about the last three days and the nightly sex he'd had with Travers and the Count and fought back his grin.

Granger saw Wilcox on deck too, his dunnage with him. No one knew whether he was responsible for cutting that foot rope, but the Captain had had enough of his crap. He was being put ashore to catch the next transport back to England. It was possible that his relatives could save his career, but it would take a lot of work on their part.

Granger stood there on deck, waiting for the launch to return from taking the Captain and Artois ashore, so he could start his leave. Clay was standing next to him, waiting to go shopping. Travers strolled up to join them as well. The ship would empty considerably, as the men were granted leave to carouse in Gibraltar.

“So you are taking Mr. Clay shopping?” Travers asked.

“Yes sir.” Granger answered.

“I'll be at the George,” Travers said. “Meet me there after you've taken care of Mr. Clay.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said with a smile.

They descended into the boat, with Wilcox first, then Clay, Granger, and Travers. Wilcox glared at them, and they simply ignored him. A more twisted young man Granger had never encountered.

“Are you sure you wouldn't like to go shopping sir?” Granger asked Travers as they landed. “We could use your input. I'll bribe you, buy you a new shirt.”

Travers looked at him and shot him that grin with his perfect teeth, and Granger felt his heart melt all over again. “A shirt eh?”

“That's correct sir,” Granger said, teasing him. “Not a really nice shirt, but a shirt.” The three of them laughed and headed off to the tailor first. Clay was really uncomfortable about shopping since he had no money, but having Travers there seemed to keep him in line. In the end, half a day had taken care of Clay's needs, along with a few new things for Travers and Granger. They returned Clay to the jetty and then headed up to the George, the nicest inn in Gibraltar.

Travers got a big room for them, one with a huge bathtub, big enough to fit them both. The servant filled it up, smiling at them, and then left them alone. The door was locked, the curtains were drawn, and for the first time ever, Granger was alone, in a safe place with the man he loved. They undressed carefully, making sure not to damage their second-best uniforms, and then Granger turned to find Travers there, naked and as beautiful as the day he'd first climbed in the cot with him.

“I missed you,” Travers said, as he moved up and took Granger into his arms. Their lips met and Granger moved his body into Travers, rubbing their hard cocks together while their mouths locked and their tongues fenced. “I want to take a bath with you and then fuck you, but I'm too horny. I need you now,” Travers whispered into his ear. Then the lard was out and Granger was on the bed, lying on his back, with Travers on top of him, grinding against him. Granger moved his legs up, giving Travers access to his ass. He felt Travers’ fingers probing him, making sure he was loose, and then he felt Travers’ dick at his hole, and then he was inside.

Granger stifled a loud moan and hung on to Travers, wrapping his arms around him while Travers pumped into him. He felt Travers cock pounding against his spot while his abdomen brushed across his cock and lost himself in the feeling, totally letting himself go, until it was too late and he realized that he was going to cum. “I'm gonna cum,” he said urgently. Travers picked up his pace and really started pounding him, and started shooting his own load right after Granger.

Travers smiled at him and held out his hand, leading him over to the warm bath. They sank into the tub, water spilling over the side, and just enjoyed the feeling of the fresh water. Then they started to bathe each other, body part by body part. It was incredibly sensuous, not passionate. They got out and dried off and lay on the bed.

Granger pushed Travers onto his back and started kissing his body, every part of it, similar to what he'd made Iggy do last time he'd been in Gibraltar. Travers kept trying to pull him in, to fuck him, letting his hormones drive his urgent need, but Granger evaded him. He was determined to make this last, to enjoy every minute of him. He licked and sucked on Travers’ nipples and looked down to see his hard cock twitch. Granger made a mental note to remember that Travers liked that. Then Granger moved lower, across his flat abdomen and down to his treasure trail, and then finally, to the big prize.

He took Travers’ dick in his mouth, savoring the taste. His dick was about six and a half inches long, but pretty thick, the perfect dick to suck, in Granger's opinion. He worked Travers’ cock, going fast and slow, showing him what a good cocksucker he was, how much Granger enjoyed his organ.

“Turn over,” Granger ordered. Travers looked at him nervously, but he was too aroused to resist. He dutifully rolled over on his stomach, exposing his other side to Granger. Granger ran his hands up and down his back, admiring his strong muscles and smooth skin, and then down to his ass, a small athletic ass, with a dimple in each cheek. Granger moved his face down to his ass and kissed each cheek. This was a man's ass, a real man, not the ass of a fop like Iggy, or a boy like him. He moved lower and began kissing and licking the back of Travers’ balls.

Travers moaned and spread his legs, while Granger moved up to his taint, smelling his smell, tasting his body. Travers moaned again and spread his legs wider, practically begging Granger to move up to his ass. Granger didn't hesitate for a minute, running the tip of his nose up Travers crack and then following that with his tongue. Granger focused his attention on Travers’ hole, flicking his tongue around the edge first, and then flicking it up and down. Travers was moaning like crazy now, so Granger decided to really set him free by driving his tongue into his hole, pushing in and out.

“Fuck me,” Travers said, panting. “Fuck me, George.” He grabbed the lanolin they'd brought and handed it to Granger. Granger spread it generously over his crack and hole and then probed in with his finger. His ass was really tight. Tighter than Iggy had been. Granger took his time, playing with Travers’ ass, using one, then two fingers to open him up. “Come on, George, enough already. Fuck me,” Travers said.

Granger put some of the lube on his dick and lined himself up with Travers’ hole, pushing in. He felt Travers tense up, so he waited, then pushed again, and then waited. Travers was grunting now, grunting in pain. Granger knew he should go slower, but tasting Travers’ body, playing with his ass, had gotten him too fired up. He started to push forward slowly but his body wouldn't stop and he drove into Travers. He cried out in pain, and then gritted his teeth.

“This hurts at first, but if you relax, let me in, you'll be amazed at how good it feels,” Granger said as he started moving in and out of Travers’ ass. Gradually Granger felt him loosen up, and then finally he seemed to respond. Granger began pumping harder now, and Travers finally seemed to get into it, as he was moving his ass back into Granger, back into his dick, asking, begging to be fucked. Granger began really fucking him now, and that was a mistake, because he came in no time at all.

Granger just lay there on top of him, spent, panting. “Was it OK?” he asked.

“It was really nice, wonderful,” Travers said. Granger rolled him over and there was Travers' cock, still throbbing and hard, and he moved down to complete his oral exercise. He was on a mission now, a mission to make Travers cum. It didn't take long. When he shot, it was a massive load, almost more than Granger could swallow, but he did nonetheless. Granger moved up to him and kissed him, then curled up next to him, with his head on Travers’ chest.