St. Vincent - 21. Chapter 21

January 1, 1797

Winkler prodded Granger several times before his young captain responded. “Sir, it’s almost dawn. The Dons will be arriving shortly.”

Granger finally let Winkler’s words penetrate his brain, but let his eyes open slowly, adapting to the light of the lantern. He was hung over and disoriented. The last he remembered, he’d had Gatling sprawled across his body. The thought of that made him smile, and made his morning erection throb a little bit more. But there was to be no relief for that. Gatling was gone, and Winkler was being most insistent about him getting up. “Alright then,” he groused, and reluctantly sat up in his cot.

“I’ve got you some breakfast ready,” Winkler said. That comment seemed to spur Granger’s stomach to action, reminding him most forcefully that he’d drunk much too much last night. Granger jumped out of the cot and rushed into his privy, vomiting his guts out when he got there. He allowed himself a few minutes to just kneel there and retch, before going back out to surrender to Winkler’s ministrations.

“I won’t tell Lefavre that you reacted that way to the mere mention of his cooking, sir,” Winkler said with a smile.

“Why is it that you never have a hangover?” Granger asked. “You must lead a very boring and sedate life.”

“I am kept much too busy to enjoy the pleasures of drinking oneself into a stupor, and then feeling crappy the next day, sir,” Winkler said with a smarmy grin.

“Then I am doing you a service,” Granger said. He headed to the dining table and found that his stomach was willing to accept food, but only at a slow and deliberate pace, for which he didn’t have time. He left his breakfast half-eaten and went up on deck. “Good morning,” he said to Clifton cheerfully, more to hide his hangover than as an indicator of any genuine good mood. He fancied that if he acted as if he were happy, his officers would assume that he was immune to their weaknesses. He was thankful that the pre-dawn light hid his blood-shot eyes.

“Good morning, sir,” Clifton responded pleasantly, having the good sense to speak softly.

“Any sign of the Dons?”

“No, sir. I sent the launch to retrieve them. I felt that might hurry them along.”

Granger chuckled. “I’m not sure anything will hurry them along.” The Spanish were notorious for taking their time, even when they were at sea. “You’ve done quite well, getting the ship in order.”

“Thank you, sir,” Clifton said, and Granger’s comment had so pleased him that he allowed himself to smile. The smile vanished as he changed the subject. “I thought that perhaps we could bury Mr. Ramsey at sea.”

That would be disturbing in the extreme. They would have the Spanish officers who buggered him aboard, and the whole affair would then be a topic for scuttlebutt. Then again, it already was. “You may arrange it as you see fit, Mr. Clifton.”

“Aye aye sir.” Granger moved away from him and walked to the rail. It was lighter out now, and he could start to distinguish larger shapes over the side of the ship. He heard a hail from the bow, and heard the response as Belvidera’s launch announced its return to the ship.

Granger returned to Clifton’s side. “They moved quickly enough this morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Clifton said, grinning again.

“Let’s get the anchor hove short.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton acknowledged. The watch was called, and men stampeded to the capstan, where they began the laborious process of raising the anchor. In the midst of that activity, the Dons arrived, saluting the quarterdeck as they boarded.

“Welcome aboard, Don Jacobo,” Granger said affably.

“Thank you, Capitan,” he said, in just as friendly a manner.

“Gentlemen,” Granger said, addressing all of the Dons, “we have configured space for you much as before. These men will guide you to your cabins and allow you to settle in.” He gestured to Winkler and some other servants.

“You are too kind,” Stuart said, bowing politely, then ushered his men off to their cabins. The two Spanish lieutenants who had buggered Ramsey tried to avoid his eye, so great was their guilt, although Granger felt no better about the situation than they did. They’d been unwitting accomplices in his plot to rid himself of Ramsey, and now their reputations would bear the stain of that action.

“Anchor’s hove short, sir,” Clifton said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Very well, Mr. Clifton. Weigh anchor. Let’s get the hands aloft.” He turned to shout at Brookstone to handle the signals, but found Gatling in his place. Such was the way of the navy: a man was promoted or died, and another filled his place. “Mr. Gatling!”

“Sir?”

“Make Belvidera to Commodore: Permission to proceed.”

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said. There was a hint of sadness in his voice, and Granger began to wonder at this melancholy midshipman fate had handed him. He allowed that thought to occupy his mind for the brief period it took Nelson to grant permission. That was one thing about Nelson: there was no dilly-dallying around.

The deck was light enough to see quite clearly, and by the time the anchor was hauled off the bottom of Porto Ferrajo, the sun had burst out over the eastern horizon. Granger was of a mind to let Clifton con the ship out of port, but decided he had put enough pressure on the young lieutenant. Instead, he handled Belvidera himself. With the channel under British control, and thus adequately marked, there was no need for a pilot. It was well into the morning when Belvidera cleared the harbor and spread all but her royals in her quest to reach Spain. Only then did he hand back control of his ship to the officer of the watch: Meurice.

Granger was about to retire to his cabin when he caught sight of Gatling over by the rail, obviously deep in thought. “Mr. Gatling!”

“Sir?”

“Walk with me,” Granger ordered. Gatling acknowledged his order and fell in step with Granger as he paced the quarterdeck. He didn’t say anything at first, but just looked sideways at the handsome young man. He was clearly more tortured than before, something Granger didn’t expect at all. Their encounter last night had helped clear his mind by relieving his libido, but it had evidently not had that effect on Gatling. “What vexes you?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said.

“That does not answer my question.”

“I’m feeling guilty about last night, sir, and then I’m feeling bad about, well, about other things.”

“I am sorry you did not enjoy yourself last night,” Granger said evenly, not because he was angry, but because he wanted to draw the young man out. “Personally, I enjoyed it immensely.”

“No, please sir, it’s not that,” Gatling insisted, almost too loudly. He quickly got himself under control, lest other members of the crew wonder at what they were talking about. “I enjoyed it probably more than you.”

“I do not think that is possible,” Granger teased, smiling. “Yet you were gone this morning. I missed you.”

He smiled at Granger, such a cute and adorable smile that Granger wanted to drag him down to his cabin and fuck him on the spot. “I didn’t want to get in the way, sir. I knew you’d have a busy morning.”

They paced a couple of lengths before Granger spoke again. “So I am still unclear as to why you are so upset. I have not usually gotten this reaction from people I have been with.”

Gatling swallowed hard, as if physically preparing himself to plunge into this topic that had so plagued him. “I am guilty because I feel as if I cheated on someone, sir.”

“I did not know you had a formal commitment,” Granger said. “I am sorry for leading you astray.”

“I’m not sure how formal a commitment it is, sir,” he said hastily. “I think the commitment is internal, on my part. And you certainly did not lead me astray. I’ve wanted, uh, that for quite some time.” He was blushing now.

“You are going to tell me who this lucky person is?”

“I’m going to bet, sir, with your wealth of information, that you already have an idea,” Gatling said, grinning shyly. But Granger wanted him to admit it, to say it, although why he wasn’t sure. “Mr. Roberts.”

“Which is why you were so upset that he sent you back here,” Granger interpreted. “You think that if you did not have that liaison with him, he would have let you stay.”

“Yes, sir,” Gatling said.

“I know Rodney very well,” Granger said. He watched Gatling process all that could be implied in that statement. “I suspect there were multiple reasons for his decision that would have caused him to take the same course even if your personal relationship were not factored in.”

“Sir?”

“First of all, an officer must have accompanied the men back, otherwise how would Mr. Roberts have adequately presented his report. He had little enough time to write anything. It required embellishment. Which of the seamen had a clear enough mind to stand here in front of me and Commodore Nelson and relay his words, and expand on them?” They would have been terrified into virtual silence.

“I see your point, sir,” Gatling said.

“Mr. Roberts must have known that you would be exchanged, but as a midshipman, your lot would have been less pleasant than his, or Captain Somers’. You would have found it much more taxing. And as you have probably noticed, you have a form that some find attractive. None of us want to subject you to that kind of treatment. None of us would voluntarily let a midshipman go into captivity.” Midshipmen were not recognized as full-fledged officers, and they were not guaranteed to be given the freedoms of the prison simply by pledging their word of honor, freedoms a lieutenant could almost rely on.

“You make it sound so logical, sir.” Gatling seemed relieved, as if he could finally grapple with Roberts’ reasons.

“And if you would have confided in me sooner, I could have clarified this for you then.” Granger gave Gatling a reproving look, followed with a smile.

“Yes, sir,” Gatling agreed, grinning back at him.

“So now you are worried that your partner will be mad at you for our encounter,” Granger said quietly. “Did he say anything of fidelity to you?”

“He told me to act as if we were not together, sir,” Gatling said, the anguish in his voice apparent. “I don’t see how he expects me to do that.”

“I had a similar relationship with a lieutenant when I was a midshipman,” Granger said, opening up to Gatling more than he had planned. “When we were parted, he explained to me that in the Navy, it is rare to be together, in the same ship, forever. It is too much of a strain on a relationship to be monogamous in these surroundings. I have seen others try it, and I have seen them fail miserably.”

“I didn’t think of it that way, sir,” he said. “I guess it would be very tough.”

“Do you think he is going to find relief with other people if the chance arises?” Granger asked. He thought of Somers, and was sure that chance would indeed arise.

“I don’t know,” Gatling said, and his jealousy was obvious in his voice, and in the fact that he omitted the word “sir” from his statement. Granger overlooked that.

“Did your evidently unpleasant encounter with me diminish your feelings for him in any way?” Granger asked.

“Sir…” Gatling objected, but caught Granger’s smile, and got that his captain was teasing him. “No, it didn’t.”

“But you assume that if he does, it will,” Granger stated. “So you are a better man?”

“It’s not that, sir. It’s just that, well, it’s just that with him, I don’t want to share.”

Granger chuckled. “I suspect that when you are around, that won’t be a problem. In the mean time, when you are not, it may be unreasonable to expect otherwise.” They walked in silence for a few more lengths. “At the minimum, you should realize that you have set standards for your own behavior that he has not agreed to, or required of you.”

“That makes sense, sir,” Gatling said. They both saw Winkler come up on deck, obviously looking for Granger. “Thank you, sir. You made things so much clearer. I feel better.”

“You’re welcome,” Granger said. Gatling walked off smiling, much as he had before he’d let these issues cloud his mood.

“It looks as if you have helped clarify things for the lad, sir,” Winkler said as he watched Gatling walk below.

“One can only hope,” Granger observed. “As for me, I am hoping you are here to tell me dinner is ready.”

“As always, I try to anticipate your needs, sir,” Winkler said. “I took the liberty of setting up dinner in your day cabin. The Spaniards are waiting for you.”

“Marvelous,” Granger said sarcastically, allowing himself to unbend with Winkler as he would with few others. He followed Winkler to his cabin and was surprised to find that the only Spaniards there were Stuart and his two sodomizing lieutenants. “I am sorry I have delayed our dinner,” Granger said, slipping easily into Spanish. He was proud of how fluent he’d become.

“There has been no delay,” Stuart said in his friendly manner. “We understand the exigencies of commanding a ship, although sadly it has been a while since we have done so.”

“I suspect that problem will be corrected shortly,” Granger said with a grin. “I fear that will not be a banner day for His Britannic Majesty’s Navy.” Stuart beamed at the compliment, while the other two were too nervous to show any emotion.

As they began to eat, Stuart raised the issue all four of them had been dreading. “I hope you will not mind that it is only us at dinner, but I wanted to discuss the recent events ashore.” He scowled at the two lieutenants.

Ramirez, the senior lieutenant, cleared his throat in preparation to speak. He was the handsomer of the two, with dark hair and brown eyes, like you’d expect of a man from southern Spain, but with fair skin that seemed incongruent with his other coloring. It made him sexy. “Capitan, you have shown us nothing but kindness and courtesies, and we are both devastated that we have done this thing, and caused you so much trouble.”

“We truly are, sir,” said the other one, who had similar coloring, but with darker skin. His name was Perez. “It was an incredible lapse in judgment.”

“Gentlemen, I will be candid. If it were up to me, I would like to pretend as if the matter never happened. Mr. Ramsey has paid for his crime by his own hand, and nothing good can come of reliving this issue. We all make mistakes.”

“Surely you would ask these men to atone for their crimes,” Stuart demanded. Granger eyed him carefully, and deduced that his arguments were for show. He had no more reason to want to prosecute these men than Granger did.

“Señor,” Granger said, addressing Stuart, “these men have clearly tortured themselves far worse than anything you or I could ever do. They are good officers who made a mistake. It is within our power to overlook that error, and let them serve your King without such a stigma attached to their names.”

“You are asking me to pardon them?” he asked. Ramirez and Perez stared at him, stunned that there was a small chance they could escape from this nightmare.

“You have mentioned how much you appreciate my hospitality,” Granger responded. “I do it because it is an honor to entertain such valiant warriors. I do not ask for anything in return, because you would do the same for my officers. But if you were to ask of a way to do a similar favor for me, I would ask that you pardon these men, and forget this whole affair.”

Granger watched Stuart hide his smile. Granger had given him just the excuse he needed to let these men off the hook. “To deny such a request, Capitan, after you have been so cordial to us, would be a grave breach of manners.”

“Then you must grant my request, señor,” Granger said with a smile, “since such a grave breach is unthinkable for you.”

Stuart smiled back, and then turned to his stunned lieutenants. “The incident of which you were accused did not happen.”

Granger watched Ramirez and Perez, watched their shock change to joy. Perez was so overcome he actually wept. “I do not know how to thank you,” Ramirez said. “I simply do not know how.”

“I would suggest that you eat some of this food. I assure you that if you don’t, my chef is much less forgiving than I am,” Granger said. That got smiles, and these two men who could start their lives anew devoured the meal, as if they’d been fasting as a penance. Dinner became a pleasant affair after that.

“If you do not mind my asking,” Stuart said, “Can you tell me where you are taking us?”

“I have orders to take you to Spain, and I plan to get you as close to Cartagena as I can in the next ten days. If we have not made much progress, I will have to land you at the closest port. I am needed for another mission after that.”

“That is more than we can ask for,” Stuart said. “We will be happy as long as you do not put us ashore in France.”

Granger laughed at that. “I will disobey my orders, rather than do that.” They finished dining, and then Granger broached one final, negative topic. “After dinner, we must bury Mr. Ramsey. I will understand if none of you wants to attend.”

“Thank you, Capitan,” Stuart said. That served to end the dinner, but as the lieutenants left, Stuart lingered to speak with Granger alone. When they were gone, he spoke again. “I must thank you for your act of mercy. They are good men, good officers, who let their bodies overrule their minds.”

“I suspect that both you and I have let that happen before as well, señor,” Granger said. “They will perhaps learn from this.”

“Perhaps,” Stuart said, eying him strangely. Granger went up on deck after that for Ramsey’s funeral, which he read in a formal manner, keeping any emotion out of his voice. Granger was surprised at how easy that was, even though he was melancholy afterward. A festive supper with his officers and the Spaniards did much to push that aside and it was a very tired George Granger that got ready to retire for the evening. He was so tired, he did not question why Winkler insisted on undressing him in his main cabin. In fact, it was not until he entered his sleeping cabin that he understood Winkler’s motives: his sleeping cabin was occupied.

“I hope it is alright that I am here, sir,” Gatling said. He was in Granger’s cot, under the covers, and when Granger pulled them back, they revealed Gatling’s naked form.

“It is very alright,” Granger said, shucking off his nightshirt as he climbed into bed with the handsome young man. Their lips met as their bodies did, and Granger lay on top of Gatling, thrusting against him gently as their mouths linked. He felt Gatling whimper as he wrapped his legs around Granger, and the whimper seemed to indicate that he was surrendering himself, giving into the lust and attraction that overwhelmed both of them.

Granger slid off him and let his hands explore Gatling’s amazing body. He avoided touching the young man’s dick, sensing that he was so keyed up even slight stimulation would set off his fuse, and played with his balls instead. When he let his fingers go lower, to his perineum, Gatling smiled and rolled over, as if presenting his perfect little ass to Granger as a gift.

Granger kissed and nibbled his way down Gatling’s back until he got to his ass, to the two skinny butt cheeks that did little to guard the way to his hole. He let his fingers run up and down Gatling’s crack, flitting gently over his hole, and received a muffled moan in return for his efforts. Granger smiled, and urged on by Gatling’s response, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, and his tongue. Gatling’s moans became stronger, so strong he buried his head in the pillow to remain silent. Granger took his time, savoring this cute ass he’d lusted after for some time now, and rimmed him well beyond what Gatling probably expected to show him his appreciation.

But that had fueled Granger’s lust, and his hormones drove his body forward, demanding that he take this to the next step. He grabbed the lanolin and worked it into Gatling’s hole, first with one finger, then with two. Granger had heard rumors of his prior liaisons with crewmembers, and Roberts was certainly not a small man, yet for all of that, Gatling seemed remarkably tight; he was almost virginal. Granger moved up, sliding between his legs, and lined his dick up with Gatling’s hole. As he pushed in, he felt Gatling tense up, so he stopped until he relaxed. When he felt the resistance ebb, he pushed in again. Granger had fucked a virgin or two, and fucking Gatling was very much like that. It took him a while to work himself in, and it was only then that Gatling started to respond.

“You feel so good,” Granger cooed in his ear as he slowly moved in and out of Gatling’s tight hole. He adjusted himself, working to locate that spot that would set the young man free. It didn’t take him long to find it. Now Gatling was moving with him, thrusting back into him, grinding his ass into Granger’s pelvis, as if demanding that he go deeper and harder. From there, Granger picked up his pace, building up to a crescendo, as his orgasm built up and then exploded. He was quite sure he’d flooded the young man, so intense had it been. He pulled out slowly, letting Gatling adjust to the loss of his presence, until he finally slipped out. He turned Gatling over as soon as he did, and found that his dick was still hard as a rock. Granger smiled and moved down, absorbing him into his mouth, and Gatling came almost immediately. Granger took his dick deep into his mouth, so that as he swallowed, Gatling’s load flowed almost straight down his throat, while those muscles served to milk him dry.

Granger moved up to him and kissed him, letting Gatling taste some of his own essence, then lay there on his side while the young man lay on his back, gently stroking his chest. “I hope I did not hurt you,” he said.

“No, sir,” Gatling said. “That was truly wonderful.”

“You were, uh, you, uh,” Granger stammered, trying to say what he wanted to say. “You seemed less experienced than I would have thought.”

“You think I am a slut?” Gatling asked, with a teasing grin.

“You have been with Mr. Roberts, and he is not a small man,” Granger said, letting Gatling know that he’d been with his lover. It was reassuring that that admission didn’t seem to bother Gatling.

“You are only the second man I have done that with. It just takes me a bit to get used to someone.”

“So it is as if you must learn how to do this all over again when you are with someone new?” Granger asked. He’d never met anyone like that. Usually, once a man learned how to get fucked, he had it down, or at least that had been his experience.

“My body knows what to do, but my mind won’t let it. If you are willing, sir, and there is a next time, I think you will find it easier.”

“That was wonderful. I’d be content to have it stay the same.” Gatling smiled at him, kissed him, then made to leave, but Granger held him back. “Cannot you stay just a little longer?”

“I can,” Gatling said, and relaxed. After their bodies recharged, Granger fucked him again, and this time Gatling was noticeably more into it.

January 11, 1797

George Granger paced his quarterdeck in frustration, not that a casual observer would note that from his demeanor. They had just taken their noon sightings, and those calculations had told Granger what he had already known. They’d made precious little progress toward Cartagena. In fact, they were barely at the Franco-Spanish border. Granger was supposed to have unloaded his passengers yesterday, but he’d been so determined not to land them in France, he’d kept them aboard.

The foul winds they’d encountered the day after they left Elba had persisted, slowing their progress to a crawl. Still, the voyage had not been without its amusements. Granger had spent most evenings with Gatling, and every time Granger fucked him, it had gotten a little better, with the young man opening up and letting him in just a little more, both physically and emotionally. He was truly enjoying this young midshipman of his, so much that he feared he would really miss him when Roberts got back.

Don Jacobo came up on deck and strode purposefully toward Granger. “Good afternoon, Capitan.”

“Good afternoon,” Granger said.

“Rumor has it that we have just barely passed into Spanish waters now,” he said.

“The winds have been adverse enough to frustrate a saint,” Granger fumed.

Stuart chuckled. “And we both know that you are no saint.” Granger laughed with him at that comment. “We are quite near the port of Roses. Why do you not just land us there?”

Granger paused at the mention of Roses. “The last time I was there, I had to fight my way past a French 74 and a large frigate to escape.”

“I am familiar with that incident,” Stuart said. “You acted admirably, and earned the respect of my countrymen at that encounter.”

“Thank you,” Granger said. He didn’t realize the news of it had reached that level of notoriety.

“I hope you know that will not happen this time,” he said. “This time, you are under a flag of truce, and you are under the protection of His Most Catholic Majesty.”

Granger wanted to point out that last time he had been there, Spain had been a neutral country, and these guarantees he spoke of so boldly had been in place then. He doubted that the Spanish would enforce them against an ally any more than they would have when they were neutrals. But he had escaped before, and if he needed to, he would probably escape again. Probably. “I had hoped to get you closer to your base.”

Stuart smiled. “You are getting me back to Spain. That is all I can ask, and all I can hope for.”

“Very well,” Granger agreed. “Mr. Clifton!”

“Sir?”

“Set a course for Roses,” Granger ordered. “We are going to land Don Jacobo and his officers there.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Within 30 minutes, Belvidera was making her way toward shore, heading once again for the port of Roses.