The Wardroom - 7. Chapter 7

August 23, 1793

“My lord, this is a note from Captain Frederick of the Illustrious. He is claiming to be short of water and supplies, and begs your lordship's leave to return to Port Mahon,” Granger said, placing the note in front of the Admiral. Hood sighed, and Granger felt sorry for him. All of the nitpicky details that came from running an entire fleet were draining.

“The French show no sign of stirring so I suppose it is alright. Signal Frederick that his request has been granted,” Hood said wearily.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Granger said dutifully.

A knock on the cabin door interrupted their normal flow of business, as one of the flagship's many midshipmen burst in a bit too impetuously. He got a severe look from the Admiral for this oversight, making him pause and catch his breath. “Signal from Vesuvius my lord. She's bearing dispatches.” Granger forced down his enthusiasm at hearing that Vesuvius was near. He forced himself not to think about Travers, and how much he missed him. “Mr. Cavendish instructed me to tell your lordship that she is under all plain sail.” Now that was interesting. She was in a hurry.

“Very well,” Hood said steadily. “Signal her captain to repair on board forthwith.”

“Aye aye my lord,” he said, and left, remembering not to run.

“Granger, go up and make sure he doesn't botch the signal and send Vesuvius to China, then bring our guest here when he arrives.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said with a grin, and walked nonchalantly up to the quarterdeck. He supervised the string of signals that flew to Victory's masthead and waited for acknowledgement.

“Vesuvius has acknowledged sir,” the signal midshipman said.

“Very good. Mr. Shafte, please convey that to his lordship,” Granger said, then turned back to the signal midshipman. “Another signal Mr. Humphreys. Make Flag to Illustrious, request granted.”

Granger studied the Vesuvius, and using his glass, he could see Travers on deck giving orders. The sight of him, the sight of him in command, sent tingles up his spine and straight to his groin. He put the glass down reluctantly. No need to embarrass himself with an erection on the quarterdeck.

“Illustrious has acknowledged sir,” Humphreys said. Granger turned his glass to the ships of the line and saw Illustrious tack slowly and ponderously out of her place in line. The sight of the big 74, yawing slowly over as she headed away from the fleet, was truly beautiful. She began to set more sail, first her mains, then her royals, as she headed for Port Mahon, seemingly trying to get away as fast as possible. Most captains hated being attached to the fleet, with its need for constant course adjustments to maintain station, and its total lack of opportunity for initiative or independence. Granger turned his eyes back to the line where HMS Captain, next in line, increased sail to fill the gap and take station on the fourth ship, while all the ships behind her followed suit.

Granger was so entranced by the fleet maneuvers that he was caught by surprise when he heard the pipes twittering, announcing Travers' arrival. Then he was there, in front of him, the man who had taken Granger's heart and given him his own. Only he wasn't alone. There was a well-dressed person with him, with clothing that was obviously ornate and even more obviously French. Granger stepped forward. “Welcome Captain Travers,” he said, shaking Travers' hand, feeling the shockwave fly through his body from this simple touch.

“Thank you lieutenant,” Travers said. Their tones were formal, but their eyes danced with delight at seeing each other. “Allow me to present Monsieur d'Aubert. He is an aide to Baron d'Imbert, commanding the army in Toulon. He wishes to speak with Lord Hood.”

“Welcome aboard,” Granger said in his fluent French, bowing to the aide. He was in his mid-20s or thereabouts, and had the looks and bearing of an aristocrat. He smiled brightly at Granger's use of his native language, and recognizing Granger as someone of his social order, he bowed deeply in return. “If you will follow me, I will take you to see the Admiral.” Granger turned and led them past the marine guarding the Admiral's cabin, and into the luxurious sanctuary of the great man.

“My lord, may I present Monsieur D'Aubert. He is an aide to Baron d'Imbert, who commands the army in Toulon,” Granger said, introducing him. Granger felt Travers move past him, felt his hand brush across his ass surreptitiously and almost giggled.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Monsieur,” Hood said, deigning to bow slightly. “I suppose you can explain all of this, Captain?” he said to Travers.

“Yes my lord. Monsieur d'Aubert contacted the inshore squadron requesting a meeting with your lordship, and I was ordered to convey him here.”

“That is correct milord,” d'Aubert said in perfect English, shooting a sideways grin at Granger. “I have been instructed on behalf of the forces in Toulon to come treat with you.”

All three Englishmen pretended not to be surprised, but it was a hopeless effort. “Pray be seated gentlemen,” Hood said calmly. “Some wine I think.” He motioned to his servant who brought them glasses. “You will pardon me Monsieur, in advance, for the wine. It is not French. The recent enmity between our nations has restricted our flow of imports.” Hood was really pouring on the charm.

“I must thank you milord,” d'Aubert said politely. “It is true that France produces the best wines, but she is not the only producer of good wines.” Small talk and banter continued for a few minutes.

“So tell me monsieur, what exactly are we to treat about?” Hood asked, getting to the point.

“The City of Toulon is prepared to declare for Louis XVII,” d'Aubert said cautiously. The three sets of English eyebrows went up again, unable to hide their surprise. “Provided it is given support from your forces.”

Hood stared at the young Frenchman, who despite his bearing was clearly quite nervous. He'd just committed treason against a government that was slicing heads off at a prodigious rate for much lesser offenses. “Toulon would be a most welcome ally, monsieur, but what the city wants and what I want are to be of little consequence if Admiral Trogoff does not agree as well,” Hood said, referring to the Admiral commanding the French fleet in Toulon. “His sixteen or so battleships could make providing aid somewhat difficult.”

D'Aubert swallowed hard. “Monsieur le Comte de Trogoff is willing to discuss terms of surrender as well milord.” Now they were visibly stunned. A whole French fleet, the entire French Mediterranean fleet surrendering in one fell swoop. It was a victory that would have no equal in British history.

“Then that makes such an arrangement practicable,” said Hood calmly, as if it were no big deal. “What do you want from me?”

Then, assuming he had Hood's agreement, d'Aubert began to divulge details of the situation in Toulon. The southern cities had risen against Robespierre's oppressive regime, and the rising had expanded to include both Jacobins and Royalists. Paris had sent an army to crush them, and was about to succeed in retaking Marseilles, after which blood would undoubtedly flood the streets as the Republicans extracted their reprisals. The overworked guillotines would be working overtime. Hood already knew about that, as he'd had a delegation from Marseilles begging for help just yesterday, but the thought of dissipating his paltry 1200 or so marines in that city was unattractive.

Toulon was a different story entirely. With the Republican Army headed for them, the small Royalist army there was bracing itself to defend the city, but to do so it needed additional troops. Not only that, supplies were running low. So what they needed were troops and supplies, and what they offered was the entire French Mediterranean Fleet plus a toehold in southern France from which a liberating army could be formed and launched. Toulon could be the beginning of the end of this war. Granger watched Hood digest this, digest the possibilities, and could see the gleam in his eyes at what a coup like this would mean for him and his family.

“Captain Travers, you will stay with the fleet until I am ready to convey Monsieur d'Aubert back to Toulon.”

“Yes my lord.”

“Mr. Granger, please ask Captains Curtis and Knight to join me, along with the rest of the staff. And have Devlin sent in at once.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said, and both he and Travers left together. They paused briefly outside the cabin.

“It is good to see you George,” Travers said quietly.

“It is good to see you too. No time for a proper reunion now though,” Granger teased. “Perhaps I can visit you later on the Vesuvius?”

Travers grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Not only yours,” Granger said softly, winking. He saw Travers over the side and felt lonely without him. Maybe someday they'd be together, but right now, a brief taste of his company would have to do.

Not surprisingly, the rest of the day was consumed with meetings. Hood had broken the negotiations wide open when he'd offered to safeguard the port and the French fleet until which time it could be turned over to the reconstituted French monarchy. A surrender that wasn't a surrender after all. Granger glanced at the clock on Hood's wall. 7pm. He could tell that the Admiral was tired. He could tell that everyone was tired.

“Well gentlemen,” Hood said. “I would like to think on our discussions, and I would like you to consider them as well. We will reconvene here at 7am.” He used civilian time to make sure there was no discrepancy. They all filed out, but Granger remained. Hood looked at him wearily and sighed. “What is it Mr. Granger?”

“My lord, I've been invited to sup aboard the Vesuvius if I can secure your lordship's permission.” Granger knew that a long-winded request would just irritate the Admiral, so he kept it short.

“Enjoy yourself Mr. Granger, but not so much that you cannot function tomorrow morning.”

“Yes my lord. Thank you my lord.” Granger almost dashed up on deck and secured use of a ship's boat and crew, and in a short period of time, he was heading for Vesuvius. It was eerie being on the water like this at night, such a beautiful night. The ships were marked by lanterns hung from their masts to help avoid collision, and the stars burned brightly above them.

“Boat ahoy!” came the call from Vesuvius.

“From the flagship,” the coxswain yelled in reply. He turned to Granger. “Will you be long sir?”

“No more than a couple of hours,” Granger said nonchalantly, trying to keep from getting hard in anticipation.

“With your permission then sir, we'd just as soon wait for you. Save us rowing about.”

“As long as it is alright with Captain Travers, it is fine with me.” They hooked onto the Vesuvius and Travers was there, ready to lead him below. A brief nod to Victor and Chilton, a brief walk to the cabin, and they were there, alone at last, and he was in Travers’ arms.

They kissed passionately, and then gave into their desires, using their time-honored method to avoid interruption. Granger dropped his trousers and leaned against the door, waiting for the welcome intrusion. Instead, he felt Travers hands on his body, running gently over his ass, then up, under his shirt, feeling his chest and abdomen. Granger moaned in pleasure, and relaxed into Travers, letting him into his body, his mind, and his heart. They made love standing there, leaning against the door, taking their time even though they didn't have it, until their climaxes were imminent. Afterward, their temporary physical bond ended, they resumed their emotional one.

“I hope you end up as the inshore squadron's messenger more often,” Granger teased.

“I suspect I'll be busier if we actually take Toulon. I'll be shelling enemy troops.”

“You'll be in harm's way,” Granger said nervously.

“It comes with the territory. Besides, you don't get to have all the fun.”

They ate a light meal and chatted about their doings, Granger filling him in on the whole affair with the Desperate, and Travers filling Granger in on life closer in to Toulon. And then it was time to leave.

“I don't know if I'll see you tomorrow, but if not, take care of yourself,” Granger said, trying to be strong.

“You too,” Travers said, and pulled Granger into a tight embrace, and a deep kiss. Granger responded enthusiastically, trying to express all the love he felt in that kiss. Then there was a knock at the door and it flew open before they could separate. They turned, still intertwined, to see Mr. Chilton staring at them, shocked.

Travers got his senses together first. “Come in Mr. Chilton.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt sir. I'm truly sorry,” he said nervously. Granger eyed him carefully, trying to decide on his attitude and how to handle him.

“Can we rely on your discretion Mr. Chilton?” Granger asked nonchalantly.

“Yes sir. Certainly sir. I, uh...” he stammered, clearly uncomfortable. Granger looked down and noticed that Chilton's trousers were tenting and giggled.

He walked up to Chilton and pulled him into his arms, feeling his hard member pressed against him, feeling his body responding to Granger even as he nervously eyed his Captain. “His heart is mine, but I'll share his body,” Granger said softly into Chilton's ear.

Travers stood there embarrassed, and clearly irritated at being talked about as if he was some piece of meat or possession. “Yes sir. Thank you sir,” Chilton said with a grin, then looked at Travers and blushed.

“I have to leave now,” Granger said. No more words seemed appropriate or necessary, so he just turned and left the cabin, feeling unsettled by the whole thing. He was upset that Chilton had caught them, happy that he'd been able to break the ice between him and Travers, but fearful that Chilton would replace him in Travers' heart. He let these emotions flow through him as they rowed back to Victory, and in the end, he decided that the love he and Travers shared was strong enough to endure a playful young midshipman. After all, he'd been with other men and he still loved Travers. He just hoped Travers worked the same way.

August 24, 1793

The meeting reconvened at 7:00am, precisely as scheduled. Lord Hood looked stronger and more resolved as he announced his plans to accept the French offer, and began intense negotiations to solidify the deal. The French fleet agreed to surrender itself, and the ships would be held in what a Catholic might call purgatory. It would be unable to fight, but would be there when King Louis XVII ascended the throne. Once that was done, then the real work began. Hood issued a barrage of correspondence to his superiors in London, to Gibraltar, and to his allies, asking for troops. At the end of the day, it was a very exhausted George Granger that stood on the poop deck, leaning against the taffrail. For him, being at the center of such a momentous event, the excitement of it all had paled long ago when the sheer volume of orders, dispatches, and other arrangements to be made had fallen mostly on his shoulders.

Curtis was a good manager, but that is what he did, he managed. Devlin was hopeless at paperwork, an organizational disaster, so that had left Granger to step in and coordinate everything, to make sure the idiotic clerks drafted things correctly, and to make sure nothing fell through the cracks. If it weren’t for Shafte it would have been impossible. The young man had shown himself to be incredibly adept at paperwork and organization, plus he had fair penmanship himself. Granger sighed as he watched the next ship in line follow the Victory along ponderously. There was a flurry of activity on the quarterdeck, more signals, but he ignored them. He'd seen enough signal flags to last him a lifetime. It wasn't until he heard the twittering of pipes announcing the arrival of at least a commander that he pulled himself away and paid attention.

Glancing down at the quarterdeck, Granger saw Captain Elphinstone of the Robust (74) coming aboard and smiled. Elphinstone had a good reputation, and was considered one of the navy's rising stars, much like Captain Nelson of the Agamemnon. He saw Shafte come charging up on deck, obviously looking for him, and briefly thought about hiding. “You are looking for me Mr. Shafte?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir,” said Shafte, relieved. Granger smiled at him. Shafte was actually a very handsome lad when you had a look at him. He was bookish, and seemed to migrate toward corners where he wouldn't be noticed. He was only a year younger than Granger was in age, but looked much younger physically. Slight and short, with mousy brown hair, his plain looks could only help his apparent desire for anonymity. It was only his green eyes, bright and intelligent, that showed the extraordinary young man that hid inside his somewhat boring body. Shafte seemed to melt under his stares, and Granger became aware that he was making him nervous, so he looked slightly away. “His lordship requests your presence, sir,” he stammered, seemingly able to utter his words now that he wasn't being watched.

“Very well Mr. Shafte,” Granger said, and turned to follow him. As he went to climb down the stairs the back of his coat flipped up with a gust of air, exposing the other feature on Shafte that was attractive: his cute little ass. Not muscular, just pert, and comfortable looking. Granger looked away to avoid contemplating what he really wanted: to lodge his cock in Shafte's bowel. Granger stopped him before they entered Hood's cabin. “By the way Mr. Shafte, you did very good work today. Your assistance was invaluable.”

Shafte gaped at him, very shocked. Then he showed a shy little smile, incredibly cute, and looked at the deck. “Thank you sir. I was just following orders.” Granger squeezed past him and felt his hand brush across Shafte's body, across his groin, and felt the slightest pressure from him as he responded. He put that aside as he entered the admiral's cabin.

“Ah Mr. Granger. You know Captain Elphinstone I believe?” Hood was in a good mood apparently.

“Yes my lord,” Granger said, and then turned to Elphinstone. “It is good to see you again sir.” The Captain merely nodded and smiled.

“We've slated our entry into Toulon for the 28th. I've ordered Captain Elphinstone to lead the landings. I'm dispatching 1200 marines to give him an organized force, plus a couple of hundred seamen. I want you to go with him. You speak French, and you're relatively bright,” Hood said, teasing.

“Relatively, my lord,” Granger said with a grin.

“Then Captain Elphinstone, you will make arrangements to embark the marines. Mr. Granger will join you on the 27th and bring your orders with him.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Elphinstone said, and with a mere nod to Granger he strolled out of the cabin.

“More orders for you to write up, Granger,” the admiral said with a wry smile.

“Yes my lord. If I ever find myself boarding an enemy ship, I fear I will carry my pen instead of my sword out of habit,” Granger said, quite daringly. However, he knew Hood's moods now, and it worked. The old admiral chuckled, and then nodded to dismiss him. Exhausted, Granger wandered down to the wardroom to grab a bite to eat, and then headed to his cabin. Devlin was already asleep so he stripped quietly and climbed into his cot, hoping for six hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Granger heard a shuffle in the cabin and then felt his cot move as Devlin climbed in behind him. Granger smiled and reached around to find Devlin’s hard cock, well lubed, and guided it toward his ass. Devlin was a mediocre lover at best, and sex with him was barely adequate, but it beat jacking off. Granger cringed as Devlin entered him, then relaxed and enjoyed the ride, stroking himself as Devlin softly but urgently thrust into him. Granger worked his cock, masturbating himself while Devlin's dick assaulted his prostate. It was as if they were having sex separately, yet together. Granger brought himself off first, blasting a huge load into the rag he kept near his bed, and then gritted his teeth while Devlin pounded on, a feeling of relief coming over Granger when Devlin finally came, then returned to his cot. Granger drifted off to sleep, wishing it were Travers that had fucked him instead.

August 27, 1793

Granger sat in the nicely appointed day cabin of HMS Robust, updating Elphinstone and his First Lieutenant, Mr. Brewer, on the situation as last known in Toulon.

“You are telling me, Mr. Granger, that I may end up going into action with some 1300 individuals, including yourself, above complement?” Elphinstone asked with no small amount of incredulity.

“Yes sir. Admiral Trogoff has agreed to the neutralization of his fleet, as it were, but his second in command, Admiral St. Julien, has not. In fact, St. Julien has told the Committee, the group in charge in Toulon, that he is going to line his battleships across the entrance to the harbor to prevent our entry,” Granger said.

“Then we'll be sailing into an ambush. The shore batteries, along with their battleships, will pound us into boxwood,” he said, frustrated.

“That is unlikely sir,” Granger told him. “There is considerable division within their fleet. The Committee has told St. Julien that if he does not surrender, the shore batteries will fire on him. So it seems, sir, that it would be our fleet against part of the demoralized French fleet, while that demoralized French fleet would also be enduring bombardment from the shore.”

Elphinstone nodded. He knew, they all knew that Toulon's batteries and defenses were formidable. “Well then Mr. Granger, we will just have to hope that Lord Hood is right.”

“The ship's a bit crowded Mr. Granger. If you'll follow me, I'll find somewhere for you to rest,” Brewer said kindly, effectively ending the interview.

“Yes sir,” Granger said, and followed him. They headed below to the wardroom, which was quite crowded. Brewer knocked on a cabin door and entered when bidden to do so.

“I brought you a roommate,” Brewer said. “Mr. Granger, allow me to introduce you to James Robey.”

Granger swallowed hard, trying to get his emotions under control. This was the man that was supposedly in love with Travers. Granger wondered if he still was. Robey stood up and they shook hands. “It's nice to meet you Mr. Granger. Welcome to our humble abode.”

“Thank you Mr. Robey,” Granger said formally. He didn't know if Robey was his senior or not, so he didn't know whether to call him ‘sir’. This seemed like the best way to handle things. “It's nice to meet you as well.” He studied Robey carefully. He was of average height, with blond hair and blue eyes. While their facial features were different, Granger realized that he was looking at someone quite similar to himself.

“Well then I will leave you, gentlemen,” Brewer said. “Tomorrow looks to be a busy day.”

“Yes sir,” they said almost at the same time.

“You look at me like you know me,” Robey said. “Have we met?”

“We haven't met, but I've heard a lot about you. I joined the Barracuda as a Midshipman after you left her.” Robey's eyes lit up.

“Ah yes, I heard all about you Mr. Granger.” Granger eyed him coolly. His shields were now fully up.

“Indeed?” Granger said. “And what have you heard?”

“I've heard that you are so amazing as to be the next messiah, and I've also heard that you are Satan incarnate,” Robey said playfully. Granger grinned. Robey was too cute and too funny to be severe with.

“And which do you believe?”

“I don't know yet,” Robey said. “You don't look too evil and scary to me though.” His smile was infectious.

“Well maybe if you tell me what you heard about me, I'll tell you what I heard about you,” Granger teased.

Robey suddenly got serious. “I heard that you were very brave, very smart, and that you had an unnatural relationship with John Travers.”

Granger chuckled, trying to laugh away the last statement. “That's funny. I heard you were very brave, very smart, and you were pissed off because you couldn't get in John Travers' pants.” Robey laughed loudly at that, and it wasn't the laugh of someone who was guilty.

“Well it seems that John Travers inspires a lot of lust from His Majesty's Midshipmen, wouldn't you say?” he joked.

“So it would seem,” Granger agreed.

Then Robey got serious again. What an interesting trait, to go from gleeful laughter to a sober attitude in a flash, Granger thought. “Seriously George, you are no friend of the Wilcox family, and as that is no secret in the navy, any comments they make about you will be discounted by all but their sycophants.”

“So the Wilcoxes and their stooges think I'm a bugger, but no one else does?” Granger teased back, keeping the mood light. He liked Robey when he was laughing and joking, when he was flashing his charming smile and his cute dimples.

“That's right. The rest of us are just hoping,” he joked.

“Well then lucky you, you get to share a cabin with me,” Granger kidded back.

“Better sleep on your back.”

“With you, I think I'll sleep on my stomach,” Granger said and arched an eyebrow, skirting that line, the line between joking and flirting.

“A dare?” Robey said, raising his own eyebrow to coincide with the rising sexual tension. It had gone from nonexistent to as thick as pea soup in just a few seconds.

“An invitation,” Granger said, not knowing why even while knowing it was a bad idea. Robey stood up and so did Granger. There were only a few feet between them, a huge chasm. They moved closer to each other, each of them moving slightly, wanting to connect, but not wanting to be accused of making the first move. Their bodies were so close now Granger could feel the heat emanating from Robey. He could feel Robey's breath; smell his dinner as he exhaled. Their lips were so close now, so close. Just another bit, less than half an inch...

There was a sharp knock on the door and Robey instinctively pushed Granger away, the force knocking both of them back onto their bunks. “Enter!” Robey said, uncharacteristically frustrated. A Midshipman came in, looking appropriately terrified. “What is it Mr. Seaton?”

“Captain's respects sir, and he'd like to see you at your convenience.” Robey nodded and grabbed his hat and jacket.

“Not convenient at all,” he said to Granger with an evil smile. “I want to finish our, uh, conversation later.”

“I'll be right here,” Granger said with a smile. “On my stomach.”

Robey burst out laughing, then he was gone, and the cabin seemed quite lonely. Granger realized that he was suddenly extremely tired, so he carefully stripped off his clothes. Winkler appeared as if by magic and carefully hung or placed them in the space Robey had given him. He smiled to himself, an evil smile, and took some lanolin out of his kit to lube himself. Just in case, Granger thought. Normally Granger slept on his side, but that night he opted for his stomach instead.

Granger awakened some time later and felt a hand brushing over his naked back, then down lower and lower, stopping just above his ass. For a minute, he fancied he was still on Victory and that Devlin was paying him a visit, but Devlin was never that kind and loving. Granger moved his arm out, finding a body, a warm body, and ran his fingers over the calf of another man. The calf had a lot of furry hair. The man must be standing, because when Granger touched his calf two things happened. He knelt down next to Granger's cot, giving Granger access to his thigh, and his hand moved down lower to Granger's ass.

His touch was soft and loving as he explored Granger's ass, stroking his cheeks, running his fingers down his crack while not pushing far enough in to graze his hole, and just flitting slightly over Granger's taint. Granger moaned softly and reflexively thrust his ass up toward the hands that were driving him wild. Granger moved his hands up the strong thighs of the man, thighs that were much less hairy. The man moved himself, giving Granger access to his groin. Granger moved his hand up slowly, teasing the man just as the man had teased him, until he found what he was looking for. Granger felt the throbbing cock respond to his touch, and heard the man moan. Granger could tell just by touching him that his cock was unusual; a long thin shaft with a large round head at the end, much bigger proportionally than you'd expect the head to be.

Fingers probed him more insistently now, sliding across his hole and, feeling the lube, probing in. “You weren't kidding, it was an invitation,” he heard the man joke in his ear. Robey. Granger smiled, relieved to learn who it was. “God, you have a sweet ass,” he said as he lay on top of Granger, guiding his cock into Granger's hole.

Granger felt the large head push against him, felt the enormous pressure as it demanded entry, and then with a pop it was in. Granger arched with Robey, enjoying the feel of his cock as it slid in and out, but not quite ever sliding all the way out of him. He was conscious that the big head was grinding against his prostate. He arched his ass up higher, allowing him to squeeze his own hand under his body to stroke his cock.

“Does this feel good?” Robey asked, breathless.

“Yes,” Granger whispered, afraid to let a vocal sound slip out of his mouth, afraid it would turn into a moan. Robey plowed on, playing his body like a flute, keeping him on edge for the longest time. Then, almost without warning, Granger felt him stiffen and felt his body spew its seed up his ass. Granger was a little disappointed, thinking that Robey, for all his soft touches, would have been a more caring lover.

Robey pulled out of him carefully and rolled him over, not harshly, but urgently, and took Granger's cock into his mouth. Granger put his hand over his own mouth to stifle the moan as Robey began to suck him, bobbing up and down. Granger felt his load building, felt his excitement building, when Robey's finger shot up his ass and hit his magic spot. That did it. It was as if he flipped Granger's switch. Granger blasted into him, stream after stream of cum flew down Robey's throat, until Granger was as spent as he was.

He heard Robey swallow loudly, then felt his lips, their mouths meeting in a kiss, a sweet kiss. “I wish I could stay here with you in this cot, but I'll just be right over there if you need me. You were a lot of fun George. A lot of fun. I can see why John fell for you.”

“Thanks James,” Granger replied. “You were amazing.” But Granger wasn't thinking about the great sex he'd just had. He was wondering how Robey knew that Travers had fallen for him, and then began wondering just how close Robey and Travers really were.