The Gunroom - 7. Chapter 7

They lay there, panting, trying to catch their breath after another round of sex. “So when I fucked you, was that the first time?” Granger asked.

“It was.”

“Did you like it?” Granger asked.

Travers gulped. “It was nice, I liked it. But I liked being inside you better.”

“Good, because I like that better too,” Granger said, smiling up at him. Travers looked at him and just grinned.

“Really?” he asked Granger.

“Really. Having you inside me, feeling you moving in and out, being one with you, it's the best feeling in the world.”

“I guess I thought that you'd be like me, and you'd want to fuck me,” Travers said.

“What if I did?” Granger teased.

“I'd let you. I'd do just about anything for you,” he said, looking down at Granger. Granger, with his beautiful face, long blond hair, and his blue eyes, looking like an angel, but acting like a little devil. “I'm sorry I ignored you when Artois was on board. He was so fascinating. But then I'd look at you and feel like I had to be with you. The only thing I could do was ignore you.”

Granger moved on top of Travers in one smooth, lithe movement, his young agile body so fluid, so tractable. “Again,” he whispered huskily into Travers’ ear. “I want you inside me again.” And he lowered his ass down onto Travers’ hard member, and they made love yet again.

“You are the first man I've met that is as horny as I am,” Travers said when they were done.

“I'm only this horny around you,” he replied.

“Can I tell you something?” Travers asked. Granger nodded. “I've really fallen for you. I care about you a lot. It's kind of scary to be on the same ship as we are, to be in action, and to feel that way. I worry about you, worry about your safety.”

Granger steeled himself, preparing to risk everything to tell Travers how he felt. “Lieutenant,” Granger said, stroking his chest and playing with his nipples. “I'm way beyond caring. I've fallen in love with you.”

“You love me? You're in love with me?” he asked nervously.

“Yeah, I do. I'm sorry if that bothers you. It's just how I feel. I've known for a long time that I love you. I just didn't want to tell you and make you uncomfortable.” Granger appeared calm; merely a façade hiding his internal volcano of emotions.

“It doesn't make me feel uncomfortable, it makes me happy. I love you too, I just couldn't imagine that you'd feel the same way,” Travers said.

“Are you daft?” Granger asked. “You are amazing. You are strong, you are handsome, way too handsome, and you are brave and honorable. Why wouldn't I be head over heels in love with you? I am, you know.”

“Because you come from one of the leading families in England, and I come from a disgraced one,” he said sadly.

“Disgraced? What do you mean disgraced?” Granger asked.

“In the last war. My father was a King's officer, a lieutenant with a posting as commander. His sloop was captured by the Americans,” Travers said. There were tears in his eyes.

Granger leaned up and kissed them away. “Lots of captains shared that fate.”

“Yes, but they didn't join the other side and command the same ship against their own country.” Travers just looked at Granger, who was staring at him, mouth agape. “So you see, I'm a tainted man.”

“Why did you join the navy? You knew that you'd have to face that your whole career.”

Travers smiled then. “I think it's because of that. My ancestors have been in the navy for generations, serving with honor, sacrificing their own lives for their country. I had to prove that my father was an aberration, and that we are an honorable family.”

“So how did you make the promotion to lieutenant, and how in God's name did you manage a peacetime appointment?” Those two steps usually required a significant amount of influence.

“I owe both of those to Sir Evelyn. He is my cousin, and he has helped me along to the degree that he could. Sadly, this is probably as far as I can go. It is unlikely that the Admiralty will trust me with an independent command when my father betrayed a similar trust.” Travers looked so sad.

“Then you need a boyfriend who is well connected,” Granger said with a grin.

“George, you don't want to hitch your star to me. You have potential, amazing potential. You are smart, you are brave, and you have family connections. You don't need someone like me.” Travers was nearly despondent.

“It seems to me that I told you that I loved you. And that means that I get you, your magnificent body and mind, and any baggage you bring along.” Granger reached down and fondled Travers’ flaccid cock. “And I get this too.”

“That is all yours,” he said with a smile. The two of them just lay in bed, kissing each other, then breaking long enough to smile, then to kiss again. And as soon as their drained bodies could regenerate, they made love yet again, a pattern that would last for the entire night and most of the next morning.

It was early afternoon before they dressed and put their fresh clothes on, the ones the maid had unobtrusively picked up last night. Bathing in fresh water, and putting on clothes that were washed in fresh water, was a luxury most land lubbers couldn't appreciate. It was a short walk to the shops they'd visited yesterday, where they picked up the clothes the tailor had labored all night to make. It cost that much more, but it was worth it. Clay was already acting like a Midshipman, now he'd look the part too.

“Sir,” Granger said as he stared out at the Barracuda. “Isn't that the Royal Standard flying?”

“So it is Mr. Granger. The Count must be aboard. We must return to the ship at once.” They ran to the jetty to find a boat there, waiting for them and the few other sailors who were being rounded up.

“What's going on Mr. Yule?” Travers asked. Yule was in charge of the boat.

“The Count came on board this morning and all hell broke out. The Captain started bellowing out orders, telling me to get everyone back. We've had a squad of marines out, and we've gotten all but a couple, and of course you sir,” Yule said.

They waited for the marines to return with four sailors. Two could not be found which was bad luck for them. They boarded the boat and rowed out to the ship. There must be something urgent; the anchor was already hove short and the topsails were being loosed as they pulled up to the side. They hoisted the boat aboard, passengers and all, as the Barracuda heeled over, yielding to the force of the wind.

Granger snuck below as soon as he could to find Clay and give him his new clothes. Granger smiled at him, at how excited he was, and how good he looked in his uniform. “Try not to grow too much,” Granger said. “You don't want to have to go through this all over again.”

Clay laughed. “I guess I'll have to save up for that event.” There was a knock on the door and the wardroom steward entered.

“Begging your pardon sir,” he said to Granger. “The Captain would like you to join him for dinner.”

“And when would that be?” Granger asked, smiling.

“That would be in about thirty minutes sir,” the steward said, smiling back.

Granger began to roil through his chest, getting out his best uniform and brushing it off. A dash of perfume to cover up his body odor, and any residual smell of sex, his best white shirt and silk stockings, his best trousers with their golden button clasps, and the blue jacket, made of the best broadcloth money can buy. “You should be invited,” Granger said to Clay, “so we can all see how cute you look in full dress.”

“No sir. You're better at mixing with royalty than I am.” Granger rolled his eyes and headed up to the Captain's cabin. It had been modified again to accommodate the large crowd. Mr. Yule had taken the watch, so all of the lieutenants were there, but he was the only midshipman. The sailing master and the senior warrant officers completed the crowd. Granger saluted the Captain smartly.

“Nice to see you Mr. Granger and well turned out too. We were worried that we'd have to leave you.”

“I hope I didn't delay us sir,” Granger said.

“Did you enjoy your time ashore?”

“I did sir. I must thank you again for that.”

The Captain smiled. “No need.” Granger moved off to find the Count surrounded by officers, including Travers. Granger approached him and bowed low.

“Mr. Granger, how pleasant to see you again,” the Count said.

“As it is to see you, your Royal Highness,” Granger replied. They chattered on, and it made Granger smile to see that these men who had taught him so much, and sometimes laughed at his inexperience, were now watching his moves carefully to make sure they acted correctly around a member of the French Royal Family. “Your Royal Highness must find these cramped quarters, and the lax protocol, to be most uncomfortable.”

“Rather, I find it refreshing,” Artois said, laughing. Granger wandered off with Travers to the stern windows, trying to find a quiet place to speak.

“I'm not sure what he'll want from you or me, but whatever it is, I think we should give it to him,” Travers said.

“I agree sir,” Granger said, and then lowered his voice. “Nothing that happens with him will make me love you any less.” They smiled at each other, and then caught themselves, not wanting to be obvious.

“Dinner gentlemen,” The Captain said. The Captain had taken pains to enhance his stores in Gibraltar, so the food was fabulous and plentiful. Granger ignored everything and everyone and focused on eating. He'd learned in these few months on Barracuda to appreciate a good meal. He finally sat there, stuffed, when it was time for his next move.

“Gentlemen, the King,” he said, proposing the toast as the junior officer present. They all stood and toasted. He sat down and caught the Captain's eye, and rose again. “His Royal Highness, le Comte d'Artois,” he said, and they all stood and drank again, all except Artois, who had a slight smile on his face.

The Captain looked down the table severely, and then said “Gentlemen” to get everyone's attention. They focused on him. “I wanted to explain our abrupt departure from Gibraltar. The Admiral has directed that we carry His Royal Highness to England with the utmost haste. There was concern that after our encounter with the Apollo, a larger ship, or even a fleet, may be mobilized to intercept His Royal Highness, or at least keep him in Gibraltar. By sailing now, quickly, we will safely evade any such force. And that is the other thing. Our orders are to avoid any combat unless absolutely necessary.”

“So we're going back to England sir?” Dacres asked.

“That is so Mr. Dacres. Thanks to His Royal Highness, it appears that we may be able to spend Christmas at home.” That brought a murmur of good cheer. After that the party broke up pretty quickly.

“Mr. Granger,” the Captain said, stopping him before he could leave. “Please supervise the rigging of the Count's partitions.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. He told Travers what he was doing so he wouldn't think he was derelict in his duty since it was his watch, and then assembled the Carpenter and some of his mates to set up the screens again. They made for thin walls, but walls nonetheless. Finally everything was finished and he dismissed the hands.

“Your Royal Highness,” Granger said, bowing again, “is everything to your satisfaction?”

“Almost everything,” he said, moving up to Granger and pulling him into a kiss. His kisses were like silk, smooth and perfect, and Granger found himself drawn in completely. He guided Granger to his sleeping cabin and moved in behind him, moving his hands underneath Granger's trousers and massaging his ass. “You have a sweet ass, such a sweet ass. I want you, I want you so badly,” he said to Granger, almost breathing it into his ear.

Granger felt the Count's hand on his ass, and then his crack, and then he felt him slather some lube there. He pulled Granger's pants down to his knees, and pulled his own down in front. He pushed his cock head up to Granger's hole, letting Granger push back into him and take him willingly. “You feel so good,” he cooed to Granger. “I fell in love with your ass, the way you fuck me, the way you quiver around my cock.” Granger just moaned and fucked him back, moving with him, letting him set the pace, and letting him lead them to an amazing orgasm.

“You are exquisite,” the Count said to Granger.

“And you are an amazing lover sir,” Granger said with a smile. There was an awkward pause. “Will you excuse me sir? I have the watch.”

“Certainly. I will call you if I need you,” he said.

Granger smiled; still ginned up from the fantastic orgasm he'd just been given. “Please do.”

Travers was waiting for him. “I'm sorry I was late sir,” Granger said.

“So is the Count settled in?”

“Yes sir. He seems quite content,” Granger said, smiling. He saw Travers cringe. “This is OK isn't it? I thought I was supposed to do whatever he wanted?”

“It is. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I just can't help but feel a little jealous.” Granger smiled at him, thinking about how cute he was.

“He may get my ass for a while, but you have my heart, and all of my love,” Granger whispered. That got him a smile, and they paced the deck, enjoying the relatively warm air. That would change soon enough.

The Barracuda plowed into the sea, taking water over her bow as she thrashed through the Bay of Biscay. Granger watched the water as it poured over the forecastle and rushed out of the scuppers, or down into the waist, where more of it would find its way to the scuppers, but a good deal of it would end up below decks, making it wet as well as cold. Granger missed the Mediterranean, which at least had some warm weather and calm seas mixed in from time to time. In the Atlantic, in December, it seemed that every day brought a bigger storm.

He and Travers began pacing, both of them attuned to the movement of the ship. “How are you holding up?” Travers asked.

Granger smiled at him. What a great guy he was. Granger had turned into the Count's fuck toy, and ended up in his cabin once or twice a day. It had been fun at first, a way to satisfy his libido, but it was getting old quickly. Granger liked the Count, he was a good lover, but he wanted to be with Travers, and that made their encounters tolerable at best. Travers sensed this and approached Granger with sympathy, not judgment. “I'm doing alright. I'll be glad when we get to England.”

“So will I,” Travers said. “We're to go in for a refit, which means extended leave. I'm thinking that we can spend some time in Portsmouth together.”

“I'd like that a lot. What are you doing for Christmas?” Granger saw Travers cringe. “Will you be spending it with your family?”

“No, I'll probably just stay in Portsmouth with the ship.”

“Nonsense. You'll come with me to Bridgemont,” Granger said.

“I can't do that. Your family won't want me around, and I don't want to give people grounds to talk.” Travers was making it seem like it was no big deal, but Granger could feel the loneliness inside of him.

“That's ridiculous. You must meet my parents and my brothers, well, Freddie at least. I want them to get to know you, to see your stellar qualities.”

“And?” Travers asked, sensing there was more.

“And I want you to stay with me and fuck me day and night,” Granger said, whispering. Travers smiled and blushed. “Please? Don't make me beg.”

“We'll see,” Travers said.

“Excellent. I'll send a message to my parents as soon as we land,” Granger said with a grin, assuming that since he hadn't said no, he meant yes. Travers just shook his head.

Their watch ended and they headed below. Granger followed Travers as far as the wardroom. Travers peeked in and, finding a clear shot to his cabin, snuck Granger in. “I want you so bad,” Travers said as he pulled Granger to him.

“I want you too, I want you in me,” Granger cooed, and then they let their bodies do the talking, moving together, quickly but passionately, showing each other their love and sating their desires. It was no more than 15 minutes, but it was 15 minutes of sheer heaven.

Granger walked down the deck and, as he did, noticed a disturbance ahead. He walked up quietly, with no one noticing, and found a group of seamen crowded around Winkler. He was sprawled across the deck and they were tossing pieces of biscuit at him, trying to get them in his mouth.

“What is going on here?” Granger demanded. The seamen broke apart and looked at him, ashamed. “Winkler, get up.”

The poor young lad, his leg still sore, got up and staggered a little bit, limping, trying to stay off his sore leg. “What were you doing?”

“I was hungry sir. These lads was giving me something to eat,” he said, lying.

Granger glowered at the men, watching them shrink before his gaze. “I cannot tell you how disgusting it is to see you men preying on one of your own wounded mates. You have no honor. I catch you doing something like this again; you'll all be on the mastheads, by God.”

“You won't tell the Captain about this Mr. Granger sir? We meant no harm.” This was Jensen, one of the old hands.

“I'll leave that up to Winkler. I suggest you treat him especially well.” They stared at him, understanding that Granger had given Winkler significant power over them now. “Winkler, I'll see you in the gunroom. Jensen, you can prove your love and affection for him by helping him down there.”

“Aye aye sir,” said Jensen.

Their timing was perfect, as it was dinner time in the gunroom and they'd slaughtered one of the cows they'd brought from Gibraltar. The smell of fresh cooked meat permeated the room. He sat at the gunroom table and made Winkler sit next to him.

“He don't belong here,” said the sailmaker.

“He is here as my guest,” Granger said firmly.

“Well then he can share your portion,” he said smugly.

“That's fine Mr. Grindall. Since half the money for the beast came from my pocket that should provide more than enough for the two of us.” Granger just glared at the man.

“Stow it Grindall. Winkler's a good lad, and took a splinter like a real man,” Dailey said. “How's your wound lad?”

“Still hurts sir,” Winkler said sadly.

“What were you doing away from the orlop?” Granger asked.

“It was stuffy sir, and I was hungry. The surgeon has us on a diet of biscuit and ale.”

Granger and the other members of the gunroom stared at him, shocked. “No meat at all?” Grindall asked.

“No sir. Says it will hurt the healing process.”

“Fucking tightwad purser,” Dailey groused. “He's in cahoots with Carker. Keeping the boys down there starving, and pocketing the money for their meat.”

“How many wounded are still down there?” Grindall asked.

“Seven sir, including me.”

“Mr. Granger, I think you have the right idea. There's more than enough for all of us and for those boys on the orlop.” There was a murmur of approval. The steward carved off a plate for each of them and took it down. “The Captain needs to know about this.”

“Well who's going to tell him?” asked Dailey. None of them wanted to enter the lion's den.

Granger sighed. “Stay here Winkler. Keep an eye on him, will you?” he asked Dailey, who nodded. Granger headed back down the deck and nodded to Jensen and his lads and headed to the wardroom. Dacres was on watch, so Preston and Travers were there, eating their own dinner. Granger grinned when he saw that it was significantly inferior to the gunroom fare tonight.

“What can we do for you Mr. Granger?” Travers asked.

“I wanted to bring something to your attention, and to the First Lieutenant's attention.” They looked up at him, questioningly. “I found young Winkler crawling along the deck, trying to find something to eat.”

“He's one of the wounded lads isn't he?” Preston asked.

“Yes sir. It seems that the wounded men have been restricted to biscuit and water only.” He saw Preston's eyes narrow. Just then Carker and Pawley came strolling in, together, looking to the entire world like conspirators.

“Dr. Carker, is it true that you have the wounded men on water and biscuit only?” The Doctor blanched, and then looked around the table, his eyes settling on Granger. He glared at the young midshipman, correctly identifying him as the reason for this unpleasant question.

“It is sir. It is my medical opinion that a light diet is vital for their recovery.” Carker was drunk as usual, and his words slurred.

“And how long have these men been on this light diet?” Preston asked.

“For five days sir.” The lieutenants gasped.

“Mr. Pawley, I want to see your accounts, now,” Preston said.

“I'll have them for you within the hour,” said Pawley nervously.

“I don't think I said within an hour, I think I said now. Mr. Travers, please accompany Mr. Pawley to his cabin and retrieve his books.” Preston knew that if he gave Pawley an hour, he'd spend that time adjusting the numbers.

“Aye aye sir,” said Travers. The purser gulped and led the way aft.

“Dr. Carker, please find me a book in your medical repertoire that indicates that wounded men should be starved.”

“I don't have to prove my medical expertise to you,” Carker said arrogantly.

“No? Are you immune to such questions from the Captain?” Carker blanched.

“Mr. Granger, my respects to the cook and he is to send the allotted portion of food to the wounded immediately.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. “They won't need meat sir. The gunroom shared their dinner with the wounded.”

“D'ye hear that Dr. Carker? Our junior officers have stepped in to right your wrong. If you could feel shame, now would be the time.” Preston had become positively vicious.

“You are dismissed Mr. Granger,” Preston said.

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said.

“Whippersnapper,” Carker growled at him. Granger chose to ignore him. He headed back to the gunroom, surprised to find everyone still there. They wanted to hear the latest gossip. He smiled at Dailey, who had Winkler lying on the bench with his head cradled on his left thigh, lovingly stroking his hair. He knew that Winkler was too young even for Dailey, but the man's genuine affection was quite touching.

“So what did the Captain say?” Dailey asked. Bell was there now too, grinning at him.

“I didn't go to the Captain. I went to Mr. Preston.” They thought about that for a bit and then nodded. It was important to preserve the chain of command. “There is a bit of a hubbub in the wardroom,” Granger said with a smile. They all laughed.

They sat there, laughing and joking, enjoying their meal and their beer, when the door opened and the Captain himself entered. They stood, horrified, to find him, the all-powerful man, in their midst. Dailey stood up so quickly he almost knocked Winkler to the deck. “I hope I am not intruding gentlemen,” he said.

Granger got his wits back first. “No sir. It's an honor to have you here amongst us. A chair,” he said, making room for the Captain. “A pint for the Captain,” he said to the steward.

Winkler looked at the Captain and was shaking with fear. The Captain put his hand on the lad's shoulder in a kind gesture. No wonder his men loved him, Granger thought. “I hear you were hungry lad.”

“Yes sir,” Winkler stammered.

“Well I'm sorry about that. You and your fellow heroes down there will be well fed for the rest of this voyage.”

They all stared at him. Captains didn't apologize. “Thank you sir,” said Winkler.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I have intruded long enough,” said the Captain, standing.

“It's never an intrusion Captain,” Granger said, ushering him out.

“Well there's a first,” Dailey said.

Granger felt genuine relief when the Barracuda reached Spithead and sailed beyond the Isle of Wight and to the dockyard for a brief refit. The brief fight with Apollo had earned her a few holes below the waterline that the Captain wanted the dockyard to attend to. The Count disembarked immediately, relieving Granger of his carnal obligations and the ship of its need to follow Royal protocol as closely as possible. The next two weeks had been filled with getting Barracuda ready for the dockyard, a job for the officers and a few select seamen. Most of the sailors were long gone.

So now, December 19, 1791, only six days before Christmas, Granger found himself on leave. He and Travers got two of the local men to lug their sea chests to the post-chase Granger had hired to take them to London.

“You shouldn't be nervous,” Granger told Travers. “You'll enjoy my family, when you actually see them. Everyone does their own thing. It will pretty much be you and me.”

Travers smiled at him. “That sounds like the best Christmas present ever.” They left the dockyard and were about to board the coach when something stopped Granger. He looked around, trying to place it, intuitively knowing that there was a problem, that something wasn't right. Then, across the drive, he saw an old beggar and a young beggar arguing over who had the right to be on that corner. Only the young beggar was limping. It was Winkler. Granger strode confidently over to them.

“Winkler, what are you doing here?” Granger asked.

“I got paid off and got robbed sir,” he said, close to tears. “I'm hungry.”

“Come on, you're with me.” He stopped at one of the stands near the coach and picked up some food for him and hopped in the coach.

“I'll sit up here with the coachman,” Winkler said deferentially.

“If you do that Winkler, then I can't talk to you.” He smiled and moved down to the coach. Granger rapped the side of the coach. “London postie,” he said. He heard the whip and the coach lurched as it began to tear through Portsmouth and north, toward London.

“So what do you know how to do?” Granger asked Winkler.

“I went to sea a year ago, when I was ten years old. Before that I worked at an inn.” Granger studied him. He was really a cute lad, and when he became a man, he'd be devastatingly handsome. It was a shame about his leg, which would definitely cause him trouble. Granger could see it in his expression. He had been such a happy, vibrant boy before, and now the sadness was there, unable to hide below the surface.

“You served a table?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir. I even know where the forks go.” Granger and Travers laughed.

“Why did you leave and go to sea then?” Granger asked him.

“My parents were wanting to get me out of the way sir,” Winkler said.

“Well Winkler, I could use a valet. If you're interested, that is,” Granger said.

Winkler smiled a huge grin. “Aye aye sir,” he said. They stopped along the Portsmouth Road to change the horses and get more food. There were carolers there to regale them with song. Somehow, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” seemed appropriate.