The Wardroom - 3. Chapter 3

June 1, 1793

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the Bishop of London said. Granger smiled across at his bride, then allowed his eyes to take in once more the sheer beauty of St. Paul's Cathedral. It seemed ridiculous to Granger to be married in this massive church when there were less than one hundred people in attendance, but that was the way everyone seemed to want it, and Granger decided it was best not to argue about things that weren't really important to him.

Granger looked into the face of his beaming bride and smiled down at her. He wasn't entirely sure this wedding was best for him, or for her. Granger knew that his own true preferences lay with other men. But he and Caroline had had sex at Carlton House, and it had been fun, presumably for both of them, so it might just work. Besides, marriage was more of a property arrangement than a love match.

And that had been the most unbelievable part of the whole thing. His father had negotiated a massive dowry, including a great deal of land and a manor house up in Brentwood. Apparently her father had bought it at some point, but it had stood there empty for quite a while. Caroline was thrilled at the thought of rebuilding and refurbishing the place. They'd also gotten a substantial sum of money from her father, and from his, as part of the arrangement.

Granger knew he was lucky; he'd never wanted for money, or things. But until this moment, he'd been a dependent, relying upon his father for everything. Now he was his own man, established with a wife, land, and money. It was a very refreshing feeling, and very empowering. Not bad for a guy who was about to turn 18.

He leaned down and kissed Caroline at the Bishop's urging, and then escorted her down the aisle, smiling at his new in-laws, Lord and Lady Heathford, ignoring the glares they'd thrown his way. The carriage was waiting to take them to Caroline's parents’ townhome in London.

“What a lovely wedding George. Are you happy?” Caroline asked.

“I can only be happy if you are,” he said diplomatically.

“Then you are very happy,” she said.

They got to Heathford House and were ushered into the grand salon. There were several tables for dinner, just waiting for the guests to arrive. “We have a few minutes,” Caroline said, leading him upstairs to her room. Once there, she turned to him and launched herself into his arms.

“George, last time was so wonderful, so magical, take me again now.”

He responded to her, throwing caution to the winds, relying on her to evaluate the propriety of such a thing. She lay on the bed with her dress hiked up over her head, panniers and all, while Granger took his erection out and slowly pushed it into her. He had a feeling he should have done more to arouse her first, but she was wet enough, and willing enough. He pumped into her, enjoying the feel of her warmth, her wetness, but what really got him going was her responses. She tossed her head back, moaning and thrusting with him. She certainly was a spirited partner, he thought. Then he visualized Travers, and remembered the one time he'd fucked him, and that thought sent him over the edge. He squirmed and thrust into her, his orgasm wracking his body, until he was spent.

“God, George, just like last time. I can't believe I get a lifetime of that.” Granger blushed.

“It is only good because my partner is such a good wife,” he said. They quickly repaired themselves, and headed back downstairs, both looking flushed, and getting dirty looks from both of their mothers.

The dinner went quite well, and there were numerous toasts and well-wishes. Just as the party was winding down, a messenger arrived, carrying a letter written on that unmistakable stationary. “Lieutenant George Granger?” he asked.

“I'm Granger,” he said, taking the letter and signing for it. He mercifully remembered to be patient and wait to open it until he'd withdrawn to Lord Heathford's study. They were his orders. He was to leave at dawn and board HM Sloop Desperate and take passage to Gibraltar. There, he would board a ship of the Mediterranean squadron and make his way to Lord Hood's flagship, HMS Victory. Caroline walked into the study sadly, and he handed her his orders, there being nothing confidential, and no reason not to share them with her.

“But we've just wed,” she whined plaintively.

“I know dear. But orders are orders. We still have the night together. I must pack my gear and get ready to leave, and then we'll make love again, if you want to that is,” Granger said nervously.

“You will find me a most willing partner, George Granger.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Caroline Granger,” he said, using her new last name for the first time. She laughed at that.

He stood at Whitehall, supervising the loading of his chests onto the Desperate's boat. He was surprised the ship had sent a boat to collect him, but was pleased nonetheless. Not only a boat, but a boat officered by another lieutenant as well.

“Lieutenant Roberts,” he said sternly. “I've come to collect you, as it were.”

Granger studied this man, with light brown hair and light brown eyes to match. He was tall for a naval officer, a little over 6', with a broad, massive body. He had the sinews one would expect of a bosun, not a lieutenant. “George Granger,” he said, shaking hands.

He sat next to Roberts in the stern of the boat as they headed toward the sloop. “Who is our Captain?” Granger asked.

“Captain Maynard Wilcox, master and commander,” Roberts said with a smile. Granger kept his face impassive, belying the anxiety he felt. He forced himself to relax. He was a mere passenger, after all, which gave him few rights, but also removed him from Wilcox's direct control. “He's been looking forward to meeting you,” Roberts added.

“I'm looking forward to meeting him too,” Granger said pleasantly.

“You shouldn't.” Granger stared at Roberts, trying to figure out if he was excited about the prospect of Granger being tortured or not. He looked around nervously, and then whispered. “Try and stay in the wardroom as much as possible.”

Granger nodded, and smiled at him. They arrived at Gravesend and found the Desperate waiting, her anchor hove short. She was a lovely little ship. Granger followed Roberts up the side, assuming that he was senior. Every Lieutenant was senior to Granger. But his appointment as Flag Lieutenant gave him extra, informal power, and gave him a thin shield against Wilcox should he decide to make Granger's life a living hell.

Granger stepped on board the Desperate and was shocked immediately. On the Barracuda and Vesuvius, the men had been clothed in the “uniform” of a Royal Navy seaman with clothes from the slop chest. The crew of the Desperate evidently wore whatever they'd been wearing when they were pressed into the King's service. And most of these men looked pressed. They had an angry sullenness to them. It was a very unpleasant feeling, the feeling of an unhappy ship.

He expected the Captain to be on deck to greet him, and to command the sloop as she set sail, but he wasn't. “Graves, First Lieutenant,” the lieutenant with the speaking trumpet said gruffly. “The Captain will see you below immediately.” He nodded to a midshipman who led the way. Graves immediately began rapping out the orders to take them to sea.

The cabin itself was a mess, not unusual for a ship heading to sea, although Granger had never experienced it before. Seated behind his desk, with a glass of whiskey next to him, was an older man, probably in his 40's. He had a round face to go with his round body. “So you're Granger,” he said rudely. “It's a pleasure to have you as part of my crew.”

“Begging your pardon sir, but I'm not part of your crew,” Granger said. “I'm Lord Hood's Flag Lieutenant, taking passage to Gibraltar sir.”

“You will not contradict me on my ship!” the Captain screamed.

“It's been a pleasure to meet you sir,” Granger said, turning on his heel.

“Stop! Where do you think you're going?” Wilcox yelled.

“I'm returning to the Admiralty, sir, to seek a ship that is willing to convey me to Gibraltar,” Granger said calmly, knowing he was playing with fire.

But Wilcox was too. And he was realizing that Granger wasn't a pushover. “Just stay out of my way, and don't interfere in the operation of my ship, and I'll take you to Gibraltar.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger chimed out of habit. “I have orders for you from Lord Chatham, if you'll just sign this receipt,” Granger said formally.

“I'll sign that later,” he said.

“I cannot release the orders to you unless you sign for them sir,” Granger said firmly.

Wilcox glared at him, took his pen, and scrawled out his signature. Granger handed him his orders, then went below to supervise the unloading of his sea chests. He went back up on deck to watch the ship set sail. The crew was new, Graves was impatient, and their sail drill was shoddy. Wilcox came on deck and began screaming at everyone incoherently. Granger began to wonder if he'd make it to Gibraltar in one piece, but he could bear Wilcox's tirades no more. He went down to his cabin and took out the books and materials he'd brought with him.

The first was a book of signals, one that he'd need to master if he were to be a good Flag Lieutenant. The others were recent accounts or views on the conditions in France and Spain.

The Desperate was making excellent time down channel. Granger discovered that since the wardroom was located directly below Wilcox's cabin, he could wait until he heard the Captain snoring and then go up on deck. They'd been at sea for five days now, and there had been a flogging on each of those. Granger had exercised his prerogative as a passenger to avoid them. He hated floggings anyway, and the cruelty he was seeing in Wilcox was too disturbing to watch voluntarily.

Granger was used to a friendly wardroom environment, where officers could relax with each other, maybe gamble, and yarn about their pasts. Nothing of the sort happened on Desperate. The officers ate in virtual silence, eying each other suspiciously, only talking about the men and material of the ship. Granger avoided all of them. He felt lonely, and bored, but there was nothing for it but to wait until they reached Gibraltar.

It was two weeks after they departed when Granger suspected something was wrong. He headed up on deck and saw that they were heading north. Not only were they headed north, they were headed into the wind. The weather was perfect for their course to Gibraltar, but here they were, tacking around in the Bay of Biscay. There was one reason for that and one reason only. Prizes. Wilcox was hoping to snatch up a prize. He steeled himself and went down to the Captain's cabin.

“What d'ye want?” Wilcox asked him rudely as he entered.

“We are heading north, away from Gibraltar, sir,” Granger said matter-of-factly.

“Well isn't that special. You can read a compass,” he sneered.

“Sir, our orders are to make all haste to Gibraltar,” Granger said.

“Our orders? Our orders? What do you know of my orders?” the Captain yelled.

“My apologies for being presumptive Captain. My orders are to get myself, along with dispatches and instructions for Lord Hood, to Gibraltar as quickly as possible. If your orders are inconsistent with that mission sir, then I am at your mercy.” Granger watched Wilcox grin evilly. “Of course, you will understand when I note the position and course of the Desperate in my own journal, and dispatch a full explanation to Lords Hood and Chatham explaining my delay.”

“You young whippersnapper. How dare you threaten me in my own ship!”

“I made no threat Captain. I merely noted that I would track and report the course of this voyage. If you have followed your own orders, sir, there is no need for you to worry.” Granger stared at him coldly.

Wilcox got up and pushed past him onto the quarterdeck, and in 15 minutes they were on course for Gibraltar. That did nothing to endear him to the officers of the wardroom, all of whom were convinced that prize money was just sitting there for the taking. Granger ignored all of them, and kept to himself even more after that.

They were almost to their destination, to Gibraltar. It had been a month of hell, of being in this pressure cooker of a ship, where the enmity between the men, the officers, and the Captain were palpable. Still, he'd kept to himself, avoiding all contact. Roberts tried to be nice to him, but he always seemed afraid. Whenever he'd start to unwind, he'd catch himself and close back up again. Wilcox had spies everywhere, so it seemed, presumably even in the wardroom. No one was safe from his wrath except Granger, and even that was a near thing.

Granger went up on deck to enjoy the beautiful night in July. Roberts was on watch. He eyed him nervously, and then approached him. “I can't be seen talking to you, so I'll make this quick,” he whispered. “Please, please, anything you can do to get me off this ship, I will be in your debt forever.”

Granger glanced around, looking to make sure the skylight was closed, and that the men on watch were distracted. “When you get to Gibraltar, take me ashore. Then get ill.” Granger winked at him and walked off.

He wondered why he was helping Roberts. The guy hadn't really been friendly, hadn't done anything nice to him. But he was a good officer, and knew his stuff when it came to the ship. And he had seen him perform occasional acts of kindness, usually for the crew of this godforsaken ship.

The next day the Captain grumbled as they loaded up the launch with Granger’s chests and supplies, and seemed on the verge of trying to cause him problems. As Granger made to leave, Wilcox got a big grin on his face and said loudly. “Well Mr. Granger, you managed to have a buggery-free voyage this time.” Granger glared at him, trying not to blush.

“That was actually quite simple Captain, since your nephew was not on board.” He saw the Captain's face turn bright red with anger, but he was over the side before the old tyrant could respond. He saw Roberts in the back of the boat trying not to grin. They shoved off and headed to the dock, with Granger studying the ships in port, trying to determine which one was most likely to be ready for sea.

The launch brushed up against the dock, and the seamen unloaded his chests and left them there. “Sorry sir,” said the coxswain, one of the Captain's toadies. “Captain's orders.” Granger looked at him as if he was irrelevant. Roberts had followed him ashore, and then collapsed, gagging.

Granger spotted some marines on guard and waved at them frantically. “Mr. Roberts sir, we better get you back to the ship,” said the coxswain, preparing to guide him back.

“Nonsense,” said Granger. “Sit down Mr. Roberts. You seem feverish.” The marines arrived. “Lieutenant Roberts is ill. Detail a couple of men to take him to the hospital,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” said the marine, and motioned for a few guards to help Roberts.

“Belay that order,” yelled the coxswain. “We're taking him back to the ship.”

Granger smiled. “You have contradicted a direct order from a superior officer. Corporal, did you hear that?”

“Yes sir,” said the Corporal in a nonchalant manner.

“Private, did you hear him?” Granger asked the other marine.

“Yes sir,” said the private.

“Very well. Corporal, place this man under arrest for insubordination. You can detain him in the guard house.” The coxswain spluttered and protested until a marine hit him in the back with a musket butt. The men in the boat were smiling. If it had been the Barracuda, and one of their own was being arrested by a marine, they'd have mobbed the poor man. These men didn't care.

Granger looked at the Midshipman in the boat who was paralyzed with fear. “You may return to the Desperate.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said crisply.

Granger got a porter to carry his chests up to the headquarters building and reported in to the admiral, Josiah Pring.

“Took you long enough,” he said to Granger.

“Captain Wilcox detoured into the Bay of Biscay sir,” Granger said.

“What!? He did what?! You have proof?”

“Yes sir. Here are my logs. You can probably corroborate them with the ship's books sir. If there is a dispute, you may want to check with Lieutenant Roberts sir. He fell ill as we landed, and was taken to hospital.”

Pring eyed him carefully. “Did you not explain to Captain Wilcox that time and speed was of the essence?”

“Yes sir. He explained to me that it was presumptuous of me to question the orders of a superior officer. I apologized, of course sir, and simply explained my own orders. I'm sorry sir. I didn't see that I had the authority to do much beyond protest.”

Pring stared even harder. “In any event, Hood'll want you with the fleet. I'll find you passage as soon as possible. In the meantime, you can stay here if you like.”

“Thank you sir.”

Granger was enjoying Gibraltar, enjoying being around people again, people who would actually talk, interact on a normal basis. Yesterday he'd given a written statement about the incident with the coxswain. Today he was going to the hospital to see Roberts.

They had Roberts in a secluded area in the back. Granger walked in to find him in bed, his naked torso rising seductively above the sheets. Man this guy had a physique. “So how are you feeling?” Granger asked with a smile.

“Terrible. Terrible,” Roberts said, winking. “Desperate sails tomorrow, and unfortunately, I won't be able to join her.”

“Well, if you recover before I leave, come see me at Admiralty House,” Granger said.

“I don't know how I can repay you,” Roberts said. Granger fought down the leer that was forming on his lips. Granger sat on the bed next to him. Was that a bulge in the sheet?

“Mr. Roberts, you have endured the hell of that ship. It was an act of mercy.” Granger couldn't keep his eyes off of Roberts' body. Dailey, the boatswain on Barracuda, had a huge chest and bulging biceps, and Granger thought he'd been the epitome of muscle-bulging men. But Roberts was in a league of his own. “How do you get and keep such big muscles?”

Roberts smiled at him and flexed his arms. The movement pulled his body up more, and the sheet down more, exposing the tops of his pubic hair. They were light brown, just like the hair on his head. “I have a special exercise regimen that I do every day.”

“Well it's certainly working,” Granger said, stopping himself before he licked his lips at this picture of masculinity.

“Feel how tight my stomach is,” Roberts said, and put Granger's hand on his abdomen. It felt firm, hard as a rock, like a washboard. Granger ran his fingers gently over the muscles and noticed a distinct tent in the sheet now. He ran his fingers down Roberts' abdomen to his belly button, then lower, following his treasure trail, stopping just short of his pubes, and then moving his fingers back up to where the washboard began.

Granger moved his fingers down again, the same motion. So far he'd done nothing that could be considered too improper, but this maneuver, moving down again, was pushing the line. As he got down to Roberts' belly button, Roberts kicked the sheet gently, pulling it down more, exposing the base of his hard cock.

Granger looked into his eyes and smiled. Roberts smiled back. Granger moved down his trail to his pubes, only this time, he actually touched the very top region of them. Roberts responded by pulling the sheet down further, exposing his cock. Granger took the invitation and moved his fingers lower, then up his shaft, then firmly grabbing it in his right hand.

“It looks like more than your muscles are hard Mr. Roberts,” Granger said.

“Rodney. My name is Rodney. Say it,” he said seductively, as he moaned while Granger stroked his cock slowly.

“You are a sexy man Rodney. Is this OK?”

“Yeah. It's been so long since someone else has, uh, touched me,” he said, then tossed his head back to just enjoy the sensation.

“Then it goes without saying that it's been a while since someone has done this,” Granger said, and moved his mouth down, licking the head of Roberts' bulging cock. Roberts moaned and thrust his hips up, begging for attention. Granger engulfed Roberts dick in his mouth and bobbed up and down four times before he felt Roberts' salty essence fill his mouth. Granger worked his dick, milking him dry.

“It seems I now owe you even more,” Roberts said, smiling.

“You'll find a way to make it up to me next time we see each other Rodney,” Granger said, smiling.

They chatted about nonsense for a while, and then Granger headed back down to wait for passage to the Victory.

He got back and was instantly cornered by one of the servants. “The Admiral was looking for you sir. He's in a right state cause he couldn't find you.”

Granger headed straight for his office and the secretary went in briefly then came out and guided him in. There, in front of him, was the love of his life. John Travers. Tall, dark, and handsome. Their eyes connected and flickered, but then the shields went up in front of the admiral.

“Well Mr. Granger, Captain Travers is taking the Vesuvius back to the fleet as soon as he's finished re-victualing. I figured you'd rather sail on her than Desperate. Probably get there faster,” the Admiral groused.

“That would be perfect sir,” Granger said.

“Do you two know each other,” the Admiral asked, remembering his manners.

“Yes sir,” answered Travers. “We served together on the Barracuda.”

“Ah, well then. You'll have your orders directly Mr. Granger.”

“Thank you sir,” Granger said.

He and Travers left the room, not looking at each other for fear of giving each other away. Granger led Travers up the stairs to his room and ushered him in, locking the door behind him. Then he turned to see Travers smiling at him, and then he was in his arms, their bodies hard against each other, their lips meshed, their tongues wrestling.

Travers pulled away, then kissed Granger again, then pulled away. Theirs was an urgent need, the need of two people who had been apart too long and needed to couple, to express their love physically. Granger dropped his trousers while Travers pulled his cock out, a nice dick, a little over six inches long, and thick. Granger reached for the lanolin on the bedstead and after slopping some on, he bent over, opening himself up for Travers, for his onslaught.

Travers pushed into him gently, and then began fucking him, pushing in and out rigorously, then lovingly, then roughly, then gently, bringing himself to a massive orgasm. Then he turned Granger around and pushed him onto the bed, moving his mouth onto Granger's cock and sucking him until he was rewarded with his ample load.

“God, how I've missed you,” Travers said, calm now after their fuck settled his emotions and relieved his hormones. He ran his fingertips across the scar above Granger’s eye, and then leaned up to kiss it. He looked into Granger's eyes, projecting his concern and love, and getting solid love back. His heart felt like it would explode, he was so in love with this man.

“I've missed you too. So much has happened,” Granger said. “I got married.”

Travers looked bothered by that. “A bit sudden.”

“Caroline Haversham seduced me, and that pushed her father into more aggressive negotiations. I am still not the most favorite person at Heathford House,” Granger joked. He sensed Travers mood. “John, I have to marry, it is my duty to my family. This means nothing. Caroline is nice, I like her, I can probably grow to love her in a certain kind of way, but you have my heart. You know that don't you?”

Travers smiled, forced at first. “I'm sorry George. I guess I just visualized us growing old together, but now I'll just be a third wheel.”

Granger shook his head. “That's not how this works. You and I will grow old together. If anything, Caroline will be the third wheel. But as enthusiastic a partner as she was, I doubt she'll lack companions.”

“You think she'll sleep with other men?” Travers asked, shocked.

“Eventually. Why shouldn't she? I do. I think right now she's enjoying being her own person. I'm gone, which means that she's in charge of everything, and she can be the châtelaine at Brentwood. She is the Queen, uncontested. I think she picked me because I'll be gone a lot.”

Travers eyed him carefully, this concept of marriage unique to his middle class roots. “So you'll be out here, and she'll be back there fucking around, spending your money?”

Granger laughed. “Come on John. You make her sound like a parasite when she's nothing of the sort. I think you'll like her. She'll spend what she needs to spend, and she'll do what she needs to do. We're a team now, partners. I have her to watch out for me in London now, just as my father has done in the past. And I'm going to need all the help I can get.” Granger told Travers about his experience on the Desperate.

“Wilcox is probably a bitter old man,” Travers said. “He has no hope of promotion, so he'll probably end his days as a mere lieutenant.” A master and commander like Wilcox, and Travers for that matter, got his rank and pay so long as he commanded a ship. Once that ship was paid off, he reverted to the status of mere lieutenant.

“He does not. I hope you don't share his fears?” Granger asked.

“I guess I do. I can't help it George. I made it this far with the help of other people, but I don't like to rely on them.” This was a foreign concept to Granger, where life was a series of transactions with friends helping friends.

“Nonsense. You have friends because of your stellar qualities, and your big dick,” Granger said, teasing him as he massaged Travers' hardening member. “You'll make post soon enough.”

“It would be nice,” Travers said with a wistful look on his face. Of all the promotions, Midshipman to Lieutenant, Lieutenant to Commander, and Commander to Captain, the last was the toughest. To actually hold the rank of Captain, to be “made post”, was a crowning achievement. Once you were on the Captains List, a list of all the Royal Navy Captains, promotion to Admiral was done by seniority, so all you had to do was stay alive to ultimately hoist your flag. It was the penultimate goal of a young officer, being made post.

“It will happen. Maybe Caroline will help, and then you'll have to fuck her to pay her back,” Granger said, joking.

“There's only one person I really want to fuck,” Travers said. And then they made love again, this time more slowly and deliberately, taking their time.

“Let's run away somewhere and just live in a hut on an island, just the two of us,” Granger teased afterward. Only he wasn't entirely teasing. It would be a tempting life.

“And leave your wife and estate behind?” Travers teased. “Come out to the ship with me, share my cabin. I don't have to be on call while we're in port, so tonight, we can spend the evening together, naked.”

Granger leaned up and kissed him lovingly. “Yes sir,” he responded, smiling.

Travers helped Granger get his things together and they headed out to Vesuvius. Granger noted that Travers must have spent some of his prize money to spiff up his gig. He'd had it painted blue, a blue that if it wasn't Bridgemont blue, that shade of purplish blue his family used as a badge, it was damn close. The crew wore jumpers made out of matching blue fabric. “To remind me of you,” Travers said softly, so only Granger could hear.

They reached the Vesuvius and Travers went up the side, such as it was in a small ship like Vesuvius. He was first out, the ancient navy tradition. Senior officers were last into a boat and first out. Granger followed him, a respectful distance behind, waiting until the Vesuvius was done piping its Captain aboard. He saw Victor, the Master's Mate who served the same function as First Lieutenant.

“Good to see you again Mr. Victor,” Granger said in a friendly manner, and extended his hand.

“It is good to see you again to sir. Will you be traveling with us?”

“I will,” Granger said with a smile.

“Well, we're all glad about that, sir. Last time you were on board you brought us luck, and a big slab of prize money.”

“Why thank you Mr. Victor,” Granger said pleasantly. What a contrast from Desperate, a happy ship with camaraderie among her officers.

“I've agreed to allow Mr. Granger to share my cabin since it worked so well last time,” Travers said with amazing confidence. “Will you have a cot set up for him Mr. Victor?”

“Aye aye sir,” Victor said.

Granger saw Travers' midshipman, Chilton, glaring at him, but Granger was in a good mood, so decided to try and placate the little asshole. “And how are you getting along Mr. Chilton?”

“Just fine sir, thank you,” he said deferentially. “Is Mr. Ballvin not with you sir?” They had been friends.

“He is not,” Granger said sadly, and fought to control his emotions. “He was killed in our action with the Rhone.”

“I'm sorry to hear that sir,” Chilton said, working hard to control his own emotions. Were he and Ballvin more than just friends?

“If it is alright with Mr. Travers, would you be willing to supervise the stowage of my chests below?” Granger asked. Travers nodded his assent.

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and dashed below. Granger had given him a ticket to go below and sob in privacy.

Travers led them down to his cabin, and allocated a small corner for Granger to stow his items for the voyage. Granger took out his working clothes. He'd need to have his good uniforms in perfect shape for the flagship.

“That was a nice thing you did for Chilton,” Travers said.

“I know how he feels. Have you fucked him yet?” Granger teased.

“No. I've been tempted though. It's strange now George. Once you're in command of your own ship, it's really difficult to tear down those walls between the Captain and the officers and crew. It seems so inappropriate.”

Granger eyed him and thought about that. A Captain had awesome power, but it must be a lonely job. “Well, you won't have to pleasure yourself on this voyage. I'm here to keep you fully satisfied.”

“Like only you know how,” Travers said as he pulled Granger into his arms and they kissed passionately.