The Gunroom - 12. Chapter 12

The Barracuda was standing out to sea, about 50 miles off Ushant by their last reckoning. In the strange, fickle way of the Atlantic Ocean, the sea had moderated so it was rough, but not uncomfortable. Granger strode onto the quarterdeck and touched his hat to the Master, Mr. Buckle, relieving him.

“Anything to report?” Granger asked.

“No. Sky's overcast so can't see the stars. Dark as hell out there,” he said casually. Granger had developed his own routine for taking over a watch. He'd start early, patrolling the decks to discern if there was mischief among the crew, then stroll around the upper deck, inspecting the rigging, and then he'd relieve the officer on watch. After that, he checked the binnacle, talked to the helmsman about his course and the feel of the ship, and then he'd begin his walk.

Granger began his pacing and thought about inviting Ballvin to join him, but he was enjoying the solitude, the peace and quiet. Truth be told, Granger thought, pacing a deck in nice weather, or even weather like this, that was cold but not tortuous, was one of life's greater pleasures. He wrapped his coat around himself a bit tighter and adjusted his scarf to keep his ears from freezing.

He turned on his heel and was about to begin another length when the bell rang two times. He smiled, and then cocked his ear. Out there, beyond the Barracuda, there were other bells ringing, and ringing quite close.

“Quiet on the deck!” he ordered in a loud whisper. Everyone stared at him and shut up, such was the discipline in a King's ship. “Did you hear that?”

“I did sir,” said one of the ship's boys, then tried to slink away, horrified that he'd accidentally spoken to a lieutenant.

“What did you hear boy?” Granger demanded.

“Bells sir. Off the starboard bow. Probably at least five.”

Granger looked at him. “My respects to the Captain, and tell him that we may have other ships in proximity.”

“Proximity,” he said, repeating a word new to him. “Aye aye sir.”

“No one is to make any unnecessary noise, do you hear that?” Granger said. “Pass the word.”

A muffled “Aye aye sir,” came from the group.

He found Yule and Dailey staring off into the dark, aroused by the word being passed. “Gentlemen, please select the four best lookouts and have them report to me.” They saluted and said nothing, but rushed off to track down the men.

“So Mr. Granger, what's all the commotion about?” The Captain asked softly, startling him.

“Sir, when we rang two bells I heard several other bells quite close. I think there may be other ships nearby.”

The Captain strolled over to the side of the ship and gazed out. Dailey and Yule returned with four men. “I want you in the tops. We think there may be ships off to starboard. Keep a keen eye, and a keen ear peeled. You hear anything; send a runner down unless it's an emergency.”

“Aye aye sir,” they said softly and hurried to the shrouds.

“Mr. Granger, I don't want the bell to ring at three bells,” the Captain ordered.

“Aye aye sir!” Granger said quietly. They stood there waiting for the next round. When three bells came, they heard bells chiming all about them.

“Well Mr. Granger, we appear to be in the middle of some sort of fleet.” The Captain stared off again. “Pass the word to clear for action, but to do it silently!”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, and passed the word. Without the drummer rousing everyone, and it being the middle of the night, it would take significantly longer to accomplish.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Dacres asked loudly as he came up on deck, clearly rousted out of his bed by seamen removing cabin partitions. It was absolutely vital to clear away all furniture and partitions because if they were in a battle, those items could become flying splinters if smashed by a cannon ball.

“What about silent do you not understand Mr. Dacres?” The Captain hissed at him.

“Sorry sir,” said Dacres, abashed.

A seaman came swinging down to the deck, gracefully using a backstay. He walked up to Granger to report until he saw the Captain, and addressed him instead. “Captain, there's a sail two cables off the starboard bow. It's a ship, hove to. Looks like a merchant ship sir,” he said.

“Helmsman, starboard two points. Ease us over there,” The Captain said. They sailed on in the darkness, everyone holding their breath, when suddenly a ship appeared close in on the starboard side.

“Qui va la?” came a shout. A French ship. Granger rushed to the rail with the others and stared at her. A French West Indiaman. They must have stumbled right into a convoy.

“Port a point!” The Captain snapped at the helmsman. He then shouted in French, mumbling his words while throwing out information about current and wind and finishing with directions to sheer off to avoid collision, hoping to tell them what they wanted to hear. It seemed to work.

“Mr. Granger, lower the launch, fifty men armed with cutlasses only. I want you to board that ship and take her with a minimal amount of noise. Mr. Bell, fit out the cutter the same way. I want you ready to pounce on the next victim. Any ships you capture, take them straight to Portsmouth, or the nearest English port.”

“Aye aye sir,” they said quietly, and began the heavy evolution of launching Barracuda's two largest boats. Granger took Ballvin and Clay with him, along with Yule. It took a good 15 minutes to get the boat lowered with the men appropriately armed. Granger could see the gleaming cross-belts of the 15 marines in his party, spit shined. For once Granger found himself wishing they were a little more slovenly.

“Hook up to her main chains on her starboard side. Her attention will be focused on Barracuda still,” Granger said. The boat cut through the water quickly, the men energized. They neared the ship and Granger felt his heart beating so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest. They shipped the oars and glided in, hoping they'd remain unnoticed.

It wasn't until they were alongside that the Frenchmen noticed them. “Qui va la?” someone demanded urgently.

“Orders from the admiral,” Granger said in French, knowing they wouldn't believe him, but just buying a few precious seconds of time. “At 'em lads,” he said to the men in the boat, as he leaped through the air and grabbed on to the Frenchman's main chains. He hauled himself up quickly, his shoes slipping on the wet ropes, his hands freezing from clutching them. He heard something whiz by him, a bullet, but ignored it and pushed on. All around him his men poured up the side and then they were over the railings and on the deck.

Granger almost tripped when he landed but recovered his balance only to find himself face to face with an officer. The French officer drew his sword, but too slowly. Granger already had his out, and with one strong thrust he ran his blade into the poor man's stomach, and pushed him back. At the sight of such overwhelming force, the others surrendered. Granger didn't have time to contemplate that he had killed a man in face to face combat, the first time he'd done such a thing. He glanced at the man, bleeding and dying on the deck, and felt the bile rise in his throat. He hurried aft to the quarterdeck, to both secure the ship and to get the awful sight out of his mind.

He left half the men and marines with Yule to secure the ship and headed back into the launch. Just off the merchantman's starboard quarter he heard another ship. They rowed in that direction and almost plowed into her, hooking into her forward chains. Another Indiaman. They were over the bow and across the deck before the French even knew what was happening.

“Corporal, you and your men round up the crew and lock them below. Any man who has a drink, a single drink, will get a dozen lashes and a court martial,” Granger ordered. British seamen had a weakness for drink, and without a word otherwise, they'd bust into the ship's stores and drink themselves into blissful oblivion.

“Aye aye sir,” the Corporal said, and they tore through the ship, rounding up the prisoners.

“Mr. Ballvin, get the men to the braces and prepare to square away. Who's a good helmsman?” Granger asked, and got a volunteer for the wheel.

The Corporal came up pushing a groggy man in a nightshirt. “This 'ere's the Captain sir,” he said.

Granger took a second to change his demeanor. “Please accept my apologies for waking you up so rudely monsieur,” he said politely. “You and your crew will be treated with the utmost of courtesy, provided of course you do nothing to interfere with our operation of this vessel.”

“I understand,” he said sullenly. “I spent four years in an English prison during the last war.” The sadness in his voice was truly depressing.

“I have it within my power to prevent that from happening again to you, monsieur. You have but to tell me the composition of this convoy and its plan of sailing, and when we get to England I will see that you are paroled.”

The Captain labored with that, weighing his options, and decided in the end that his loyalties to the new republic were not as strong as his own freedom. “There are 15 ships in the convoy. We are to make for Le Havre if we can, Brest if we need to. There are three warships protecting us, a line of battleship, a frigate, and a corvette. We are to the rear of the convoy.”

Clay was standing next to him. “Did you get that down Mr. Clay?”

“Aye aye sir,” Clay responded, repeating the numbers, types and destinations, but in English.

“Good. Take 20 of the Frenchmen and five marines; have them row you to the Barracuda and report to the Captain. Tell him we're heading north at once, for Portsmouth. Hail Mr. Yule as you pass the other Frenchie and tell him to do the same.”

“Aye aye sir.” Clay dashed off to round up his men, taking a bosun's mate with him for support.

“Stand by to come about,” Granger said, and put the huge, lumbering Indiaman about, standing before the wind on a northerly course. He looked at his watch. 4am. In three hours they'd sighted and taken two large merchantmen laden with cargo. He smiled. This would yield a substantial amount of prize money.

He rummaged around the quarterdeck and discovered the name of the ship, the Volante. Her large bulk handled the sea with ease, compared to the Barracuda. He was starting to get the feel of her, how she sailed.

“Helmsman, how's she feel?”

“Right good sir,” he replied. Morning would be on them soon, and there was a corvette and a frigate out there to be avoided. He turned to Saul, the bosun's mate. “Let's get some more sail on her. I want a goodly distance between us and the convoy when morning dawns.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. They had the mainsails and topsails set then, a pretty risky proposition, putting so much sail on an unknown ship, but Granger had a feeling that they'd need the speed and distance.

“Seems lighter sir,” Saul said. He was right. It seemed that in no time they could see the bow, and then the mastheads, and the immediate sea around them.

“Lookouts ahoy. Look alive up there!” Granger yelled. No need to be quiet now. It took a full half hour before there was enough light to see the ocean. One of the seaman skidded to the deck to report.

“Sir, the other merchant we took is about three miles behind us on the same course. Looks like Barracuda is attacking the convoy.”

Granger smiled. The Captain would never risk combat against those odds, but by being there and remaining a threat, the corvette and frigate could not be detached to chase them.

It took them three days to beat across the channel and reach the safety of Spithead. Granger stayed on deck for most of the voyage, so it was an exhausted young acting-lieutenant that guided the Volante into Portsmouth harbor with the other merchantman following smartly. There was considerable commotion on their entry, the first prizes of the war to be brought in. Granger glanced proudly at the flags, the Royal Navy ensign flying over the new-fangled French tricolor flag. Granger turned the merchant ships over to the Port Admiral and found accommodations on the Isis for him and his men. The Isis was once a proud 74 gun ship of the line, but now, worn out and discarded, she was just an old hulk used for housing officers and men in transit. She was a foul ship, old and rotten, but Granger knew that as England mobilized her fleet the crewmen with him, some 50 men and marines, were as valuable as gold, and he wasn't about to allow them to be pressed by another ship. The men seemed to understand this, and they knew that if they deserted they'd lose their share of the prize money, and based on his initial review of the cargo, that should prove to be a lot of money.

Still, Granger knew that he was only an Acting Lieutenant, and that any senior officer could easily bully him out of the men. So he made a pilgrimage to see the port admiral once again to see if there was a vessel putting to sea that could perhaps return them to the Barracuda.

Admiral Sir Robert Stranger was not happy to see him. He had enough on his plate, trying to mobilize the world's largest navy without some trumped up lieutenant bothering him. But this acting lieutenant was the son of an Earl and well-connected at court, so Sir Robert deigned to grant him an interview, albeit with little grace or courtesy.

“What is it Granger? I've not got time to spend chatting,” he growled.

“I'm sorry to bother you sir, but I was wondering if there's a ship that could return me and my men to the Barracuda? She's patrolling in the Bay of Biscay.” Sir Robert eyed the handsome young man, probably about 5'11” with thick blond hair, bright blue eyes, and turned out well in a new uniform. Sir Robert allowed himself to study his body, fit and trim, accentuated by a perfectly cut coat, sewn by one of London's best tailors. Of course.

He sighed. “There's a bomb vessel headed for Gibraltar, the Vesuvius. I'll draft orders for her to take you and your men along as cargo.”

Granger's face split into a huge grin, not just at being freed from the purgatory of the Isis, but from being assigned to Travers' ship. “Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

Sir Robert stared at Granger, knowing that he'd want to wait for his orders, and gave a weary sigh. He called for his secretary and dictated out orders for Granger, and for Travers, and sent him on his way.

Granger gathered up his men and marines and extracted their ship's boat from the dockyard. After almost fighting a press gang who wanted to grab the men, they finally managed to escape from Portsmouth and the Isis.

The Barracuda's launch, loaded with her 50 men and marines, sailed across the smooth waters of Portsmouth harbor and out into the much choppier reaches of the Solent and Spithead. The men were relieved that there was a wind to save them from rowing, but that soon changed as the boat began to ship water. Instead of rowing, they ended up bailing. Granger scanned the crowded roads until he spotted the ungainly bomb vessel close inshore, pulling at her anchor with her foretopsail set at an angle to take some of the pressure off.

He studied her carefully. Ungainly was a nice way of putting it, ugly may be more accurate. The bomb vessel carried two huge mortars mounted amidships. Because they fired up and out, there could be no foremast to get in the way. That left the Vesuvius with a bow sprit, and then a main mast and mizzen mast, both set farther back to accommodate the mortars. It gave her a queer, unbalanced appearance.

The coxswain guided the boat to her lee side. As they approached the ship, a voice called out “Boat ahoy!”

“Coming aboard,” Granger shouted. “Orders from Sir Robert Stranger.” If this were a neutral port, a boat full of armed men might be somewhat disturbing, but here in Spithead, the heart of Britain's most important naval base, a cutting out expedition was unthinkable, even assuming the French had the ability to do such a thing.

The boat hooked on to the Vesuvius' chains and he bounded up the side. He was conscious of what a small ship she was, with a significantly lower freeboard than the Barracuda. Climbing aboard was a snap compared to climbing up the side of a frigate, much less a ship of the line. There was a Master's Mate there to greet him nervously.

“Where is your captain?” Granger asked.

“He's ashore sir. He's expected back shortly,” the man answered gruffly. “I'm Victor, Master's Mate.”

“We have orders from Sir Robert Stranger that we are to be conveyed to HMS Barracuda. The men will need to be brought on board at once,” Granger said assertively. It was bad form to do this to Travers, when he was still ashore, but the alternative was to leave his men languishing in the boat in the dead of winter, and he wasn't going to do that under any circumstances.

Victor looked at him nervously, and then yielded to the inevitable. The men came up in a torrent, swamping the little ship. “Mr. Yule, work with Mr. Victor here to plan where we'll stow the launch. I'd like to speak with your purser too, if I may.”

Granger met with the purser, a miserly man like all pursers, and sent him ashore with Ballvin to acquire additional stores for the men. His crew would put a significant strain on the Vesuvius' victuals. He'd handed Ballvin a generous number of guineas to ensure they'd have decent food. Hopefully he was a sharp enough lad to keep a wary eye on the purser.

“Sir, we'll clear away a cabin for you in the wardroom,” Victor said.

“Let's wait until your Captain returns Mr. Victor. I'm hoping I can persuade him to share his quarters to ease your overcrowding.” Victor stared at him with a raised eyebrow. It was unlikely that any captain would yield part of his space to a mere acting lieutenant. Granger smiled to himself. Victor would be surprised. Most captains weren't fucking the acting lieutenant in question.

Granger was admiring the handiwork that Yule and Victor had achieved, rigging up a spot to secure the launch in between the mortars, when he heard a booming voice from the ships side. “Mr. Victor, what in blazes is going on here?!” Granger turned to see Travers coming aboard. He was followed by a young midshipman, probably all of fifteen years old, with bright red hair and freckles across his nose. He reminded Granger of how Bell looked when he'd first joined the ship. He fought down his jealousy.

Granger stepped forward and saw Travers' expression change from anger, to delight, and then back to a severe countenance. “And what exactly are you doing here Mr. Granger?”

“It is good to see you too sir,” Granger said cheekily. Travers rolled his eyes, but they twinkled a bit, and Granger knew that he was happy to see him too. “I brought orders from Sir Robert for you to convey me and my men and marines, along with our boat, back to the Barracuda.” Granger pulled out the orders and handed them to Travers.

“Very well. Carry on Mr. Victor. Mr. Granger, will you accompany me to my cabin?” Travers took his agreement for granted and led the way down to his small cabin. Granger smiled. It was barely larger than the one he had in the Barracuda. As soon as they were through the door Travers pulled Granger to him, pulled him into a tight embrace.

“God, I missed you,” Travers whispered into Granger's ear, and moved his mouth along Granger's jaw line to his mouth. Their lips met and Granger felt his heart soar at being held by, and passionately kissed by this man that he loved.

“I missed you too. So much I can't begin to tell you,” Granger said, breaking the kiss. He dropped to his knees and pushed Travers against the cabin door to bar anyone from entering. Then he tugged down the front of Travers pants and pulled out his rock hard cock. It was already leaking pre-cum just from their brief passionate embrace.

“We can't do this now,” Travers whispered urgently.

“I have to taste you,” Granger said, and inhaled his smell, then sucked his cock into his mouth. There was no time for niceties now, just time to get off, so Granger worked him quickly and efficiently, using all his skills to bring Travers to an intense orgasm and earn himself a sizable and tasty load. Granger stood up and got ready to go back on deck when Travers pushed him against the cabin door and returned the favor. The feel of his warm, wet mouth on his cock, his tongue swirling around the head, was enough to set Granger off faster than even Travers had blown.

Travers stood up, licking his lips, and then they kissed again. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” Granger responded, grinning. “I was wondering if you'd be willing to share your cabin with me. It's going to be a bit overcrowded in the wardroom.”

Travers smiled. “I'd be happy to do so, but I may require payment of some sort.”

“And what kind of payment might that be?” Granger questioned.

“Your ass. I get to fuck you day and night.”

“That doesn't sound fair,” Granger teased. “I'm supposed to be paying you.”

They laughed and headed on deck to figure out where to put all the extra men and supplies that the purser and Ballvin had brought back. It was no mean feat, but the men took it in stride, seeming to enjoy the break in the routine. That and the fact that Granger had subsidized a veritable feast for their first day.

“Mr. Victor, I'm going to allow Mr. Granger to share my cabin. Do you think you could scrounge up another cot?” Travers was obviously trying to keep up appearances. Victor was a resourceful man, and achieved that with ease. Granger couldn't help noticing the occasional dirty look he got from Travers' midshipman, but giggled to himself when he noted Ballvin looked at Travers the same way.

It seemed like an eternity before they could retire to the cabin. Once through the door, Travers pushed Granger's cot in front of it, to keep any nocturnal visitors out. Then they stripped off their clothes and stood in front of each other, naked and hard, appreciating the sheer masculine beauty of the other. But that appreciation could only last for a short time, and then they embraced. Travers pushed Granger onto his cot and lay on top of him, grinding his body against Granger, chest against chest, abdomen against abdomen, cock against cock.

Granger wrapped his legs and arms around Travers, pulling him in with an intensity he'd never felt before. Their mouths met in a kiss then broke off, panting with their exertions as they writhed against each other. “God, John, you're going to make me cum,” Granger moaned urgently into Travers ear. Travers picked up his pace, grinding harder and faster, until he felt Granger's body tense, then convulse underneath him as the younger man let himself go, let himself enjoy his orgasm.

Travers moved off of him and used his mouth to lick Granger's cum off of his body, then straddled Granger, his cock swaying in front of his mouth. He grabbed Granger's head firmly but lovingly and thrust his cock into his mouth, pumping for only a short time before he enjoyed his own orgasm, blasting his load down Granger's throat. Then he collapsed next to Granger, his head on Granger’s chest, kissing his nipple while Granger ran his fingers through his hair.

Granger gazed down at this amazing man and inhaled his scent. Both men had been working all day, and they reeked of body odor, yet to them, it was like perfume, a pheromone cocktail.

“See, if you get yourself a bigger ship you could bring me aboard as your lieutenant and we could do this all the time,” Granger teased.

“Right. If I had a bigger ship there would be more eyes and we'd rarely get to do this.”

“So how's your crew?” Granger asked.

“Pretty good. Cream of the press. If the war lasts, we won't see this again. Then we'll have to take whatever the press scrapes up.” Travers seemed fatalistic about there being a long war, and Granger found that, deep down, he felt the same way.

“Your midshipman seems to have a crush on you,” Granger said, teasing him.

“So does yours,” Travers said. Granger smiled, happy that he noticed, happy that he cared.

“Did you fuck him yet?”

“Not yet,” Travers said. “I've been too busy to think about it, and then, out of the blue, comes the love of my life, so now I don't have to look elsewhere just to get off.”

“No, you don't,” Granger said, and nudged his knee up slightly so that his leg brushed against Travers' hardening cock. “Seems like you promised me that you'd fuck me day and night.” Then he kissed Travers again and rolled over onto his side, offering himself to Travers.

Instead, Travers knelt between his legs, lowering his ass onto one of Granger's thighs and raising the other leg into the air, stretching him apart widely. Granger lay there on his side, feeling his leg straining as Travers pulled it almost vertical, and then felt Travers' dick probing at his hole, demanding entry. He slid forward, pushing in, this new angle letting Granger adjust his own body for maximum pleasure.

Travers began to thrust in and out, allowing his ass to rub across Granger's thigh, taking advantage of the dual stimulation of having his cock lodged in Granger's ass, and having his ass, his hole, rub across Granger's leg.

Travers grabbed the leg in front of him, admiring it. Granger's muscular calves, lightly dusted with blond hair, and his ankle and foot extending involuntarily as he was stimulated. He grabbed the leg more firmly, using it to leverage his thrusts while simultaneously stroking it with his hand, then he began to kiss and lick Granger's calf, locking eyes with him while he did it. Travers moved up to his ankle, lightly biting it, then licking it, then kissing it, then working back down to his calves again. With his other hand he grabbed Granger's balls, gently caressing them while he continued to fuck him.

Granger stroked his cock in time with Travers' thrusts, keeping himself on edge without going over, prolonging the pleasure that was building in his loins. They said nothing, their mouths open in an “o” shape as they panted and moaned. All the communication was with their bodies and their eyes, and when Travers knew he reached the point of no return, the glazed look in his eyes brought Granger to the same point, and they exploded, perfectly in sync, achieving that ultimate of erotic pleasures, a simultaneous orgasm.

“Mr. Beecher, encourage those lads with your starter if you have to,” Travers shouted to the bosun as he, in turn, shouted to the men at the capstan. Granger stood there, somewhat detached since he was only a passenger, watching Travers get the Vesuvius underway for the very first time. He had a definite advantage, with a huge crew thanks to the Barracuda's men being on board. Even the marines were helping, stumping about forming the afterguard, ready to pull on the braces.

“Anchor's hove short!” Beecher reported.

“Loose topsails!” Travers shouted aloft, and as if by magic the topsails appeared.

“Anchor's aweigh!” Beecher shouted, indicating that the anchor was now off the sea floor. The men, encouraged by this news, increased their efforts to bring the huge iron thing up.

“Square away!” Travers yelled. Then he dictated a course to the helmsman and the Vesuvius yawed under the press of canvas, and began to move forward slowly, picking up speed quickly.

“Well done sir,” Granger said with a smile. He saw Travers smile briefly so only he could see, and then wink at him. Granger moved to the taffrail and stared at England as they left her behind. He found that he felt no real sadness about leaving, and considering his feelings, he found that there was really nowhere else he'd rather be. Granger decided that happiness was fleeting, something to be enjoyed while it was there, and he grasped it firmly with his mind, allowing himself to smile and grin as he stared astern, where no one could see such unprofessional glee.

After adopting a more severe look, Granger turned back to the deck and watched from afar as Travers worked Vesuvius out of the harbor. Granger could tell from the feel of the ship that her ungainly looks yielded even more ungainly handling. He watched Travers experiment with the sails, setting mainsails instead of topsails, working with the helmsman to see what made her easier to handle. By the end of the day, with the sun setting in the west, he seemed to have a handle on her, and he also had a very exhausted crew. He turned over the watch to Victor and headed below, with Granger in tow, to enjoy dinner, just the two of them.

“Not a very handy ship eh?” Granger asked.

“No, she's not. She tends to yaw like a drunken whore, and makes a considerable amount of leeway. But did you notice how light she was in stays? When we tacked, you could damn near force her straight into the wind and she'd recover. It would take some effort to have her flat aback.” Granger smiled at him, the pride in his new command apparent.

“You've got a couple of long nines in the bow, and then only carronades?” Granger was surprised at that.

“Yeah, but they're 12 pounder carronades, six on each side. That means that if we get into a scrape, it better be at short range.” Travers was right. Carronades tossed a big ball, packed a lot of punch in a small package, but the tradeoff was that they could only lob it short distances. “Tour the ship with me tomorrow and I'll show you the mortars. They are the ultimate refinement in naval gunnery.”

Granger smiled at that, at Travers’ love for artillery, and let him ramble on and on about ballistics and fuses. Finally Travers' servant cleared dinner away, helped by Winkler, and left them alone. “I had fun last night. You are an amazing lover.”

Travers actually blushed. “I wish we could do that again, but I'm on constant call, you know that.”

“You saying you don't want to fuck me?” Granger teased.

“No, I'm saying that we're going to have to do it dressed, with our pants pulled down,” Travers teased back.

Granger got up and dropped his pants and bent over the table, his ass right in front of Travers. “OK,” he said coquettishly, looking back over his shoulder at Travers. And Travers smiled back, and then willingly obliged him.