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“Captain Laurence!” Granby cupped his hands to his mouth, the better to carry through the early spring air. Above him on the cliff face, Laurence was dangling by one arm, fighting to unhook the strap and carabiner now just out of reach. "If you have gotten yourself into trouble you must get yourself out of it or look to your fellows for help." Granby called. He raised his voice to shout up above Laurence’s head. "Why is everyone so far above the last man?"
At once there was a flurry of calls of encouragement, like the peeping of many sparrows. "Hold on, sir!" "Sir, Lizzie is coming!" A dark haired girl of about eight or nine lengthened her straps and scrambled down to unfasten the stuck carabineer. She prised the mechanism open with nimble fingers and locked it quickly to the next heavy ring anchored into the rock, hovering as Laurence unlocked the next carabiner and set it deliberately above him. Once he was moving again, the little cadet kept pace with him, easily slinging her carabiners to the next hold while Laurence fumbled with his own.
It was their third afternoon of this particular mutual torture. Laurence, used to clambering about rigging with naught but his hands and a prayer, had the vexing combination of strength, ease with heights, an utter indifference for harness. It was a combination no aviator raised to the life had suffered from, and one Granby was at a loss to correct. The end of every afternoon had seen them shouting at each other through the veiled excuse of distance. Even the unpleasant joy at the indignity of sending him up with the rawest squeakers was beginning to pall.
He had not been shocked to read his name on Celeritas' roster rotation for Temeraire's crew, although he was surprised to see he would have a turn as acting first lieutenant. He supposed the captain would readily have died before questioning the decision of a superior officer. That he was truly being considered for the post was a foregone thought. If he hadn't damned himself the first day, he'd certainly set his feet down the road and kept walking.
Laurence had no patience to be treated impertinently, Granby no inclination to do otherwise. They had crashed together again and again, a fresh argument every day. When at last Laurence, rash with fatigue and ire, had seized Granby's shirt front, Granby, equally incautious with spite and liquor, had pulled him forward.
They had been bedding each other for a fortnight with the ferocity of a military campaign. Appallingly, Granby had found he liked the way Laurence undressed him with the efficiency of a man stripping a rifle, and the clandestine tattoo inked just below his collarbone. Laurence's own turmoil over the mutual seduction would have been almost comical, had his gasping, halfhearted protestations not been criminally effective at setting Granby on fire.
Surely there were worse scrapes one might get himself into. He was quite certain in a week they would be shot of each other. Granby would be off on rotation to that Chanson-de-Guerre coming up from Austria, and Laurence would gratefully take on a pleasant and biddable lieutenant. If chance brought their formations to the same covet again, well, he certainly wouldn't begrudge his future self the opportunity to be dragged into a private corner.
The other alternative, as Granby watched Laurence's shoulders go stiff with what he was sure was a suppressed oath, was that they killed each other before the end of the week. He watched as Laurence continued his grim progress to the midway point in the wall, now surrounded by the nearly dozen cadets who had waited for the slowest of them.
"Gentlemen," Granby called. "The Frogs have boarded. Your Captain is engaged. Your dragon will be taken." There was a general hiss of displeasure and one vehement oath, unfortunately audible in a high, piping treble, followed a moment later by Laurence's sharp rebuke. Granby rolled his eyes but continued, now shouting over the racket of many hastily clinking carabiners. "Do you want to spend the rest of the war in a French covet?"
"No!"
"Then get to your posts!"
The scrum of cadets surged upwards, and Laurence came with them. He continued gamely at first, until the heels of the last child outpaced him. Granby saw him lean back from the wall to look up, shake his fair hair out of his eyes, and gather himself. Granby sighed.
Laurence swarmed up the rock with the force of main strength, straps long, only stopping at every second or third latch; enough precaution to save him from a lethal fall, nothing more. Without the encumbrance of the unfamiliar locking in and unlocking, he closed the distance quickly. He pulled himself over the stone lip at the top and reached back to help the cadet behind him. If he noticed Granby's scowl, he ignored it.
The cadets -and one captain- came down by rapid rappel, hurried by Granby's chivvying and uneventful aside from one minor collision when both cadets were distracted by the swoop of a courier overhead. "Can you see out of the eye?" Granby inspected the bloodied face of the hapless cadet while his friend waited beside him, miserable with guilt. The boy snuffled an affirmative. "Go see if Tully will give you a bit of ice for it. Davis, go with him and for God's sake, watch where you are putting your boots." He sent them off with a little shove and turned to survey the rest of the crew.
Laurence had lowered himself to the ground a little ways off to drink from the canteen a runner had brought. Sweat soaked his hair and he was red faced. Winded as he was, there was a look of easy contentment to him that slipped into formality as Granby's shadow fell across him. "Lieutenant Granby," he said.
"Sir," Granby said with careful politeness. His voice was low and they were too far away from the others to be easily heard. He nudged the trailing carabiner straps closer to Laurence with the toe of his boot and crouched next to the man, sitting back on his heels. "If you are so absolutely determined to dash your brains out during your first aerial battle, I wonder if you might see your way to waiting until I am no longer your acting first lieutenant to do it."
It was as easy as throwing a punch. He saw a moment of restraint flicker across Laurence's face as temper warred with better instincts. Granby inclined his head to the captain another deferential inch. "Grateful for your consideration."
That cracked it. "Oh for God's sake," Laurence said hotly and they were off in another bloodthirsty argument, whispered too low for the cadets to overhear.
—---
"Must everything be a pretense?" Laurence complained, though he had accepted Granby's thin excuse and the hand on his wrist when Granby intercepted him on his way back from flight practice with Temeraire. He was still in harness and flying coat, his face and hands still chilled as they pressed together and fumbled with each other's clothes.
"Oh, yes, sir. I will leave my card with your footman next time." Granby said, and added before Laurence could reply. "I have never seen someone look more in need of a bit of diversion. Now do you want this or not?"
"If I did not, I would not be here." It was not the most cutting riposte, but Granby raised his eyebrows, pleased despite himself at the candor of Laurence's answer.
"Very well." Granby's hands slid first down the flat planes of Laurence's stomach to the belt of harness and the waistband of his trousers, then kept going. Laurence's eyes widened in surprise as Granby went with them, lowering himself to his knees. Granby met his gaze with frank amusement. "What, no other officers with pretty mouths at sea?" Laurence's shocked face gave him his answer. "No?"
He moved Laurence's hand away from the harness belt impatiently and set to undoing the buttons of his trousers with languid care. He could feel Laurence's rapt attention on him and glanced up again when he drew away the last of the fabric. Laurence's lips were slightly parted, his gaze hot and intense. He flushed when Granby met his eyes and looked away.
He took him into his mouth at once, pressing down furiously and swallowing him to the base. Laurence made a harsh noise and his hips jerked forward. Granby drew back at once, "You must not move, sir."
There was some choked, half coherent apology from above him as Granby immediately once again applied himself to the task at hand. He twisted his hands into the leather straps of harness and pressed, pinioning Laurence to the wall as he took him into his mouth with fast, sure strokes. Laurence's hands were first clenched in fists at his sides, then pressed flat to the wall, then fists again.
He heard the hitch in Laurence's breath at nearly the same moment a hand touched the side of his face in warning. He knocked it aside and pressed down again, pulling the harness forward. Laurence gave a shocked cry, muffled by his own hand as Granby swallowed around him.
Laurence's hands were heavy weight on his shoulders for a moment as he caught his breath, then they were under his arms, pulling him up. Granby let him.
"I could," Laurence said. "That is, if you should–. Will you–?" He was strangely diffident and all at once Granby took his meaning.
"Get on your knees," Granby said breathlessly. Laurence hesitated for a moment, then sank down. Granby's eyes closed and he tipped his head back as Laurence pulled the fabric from his hips with brusque efficiency and bent his head to him.
He could feel Laurence's lips on him, not hesitant, but unsure. His hands were flat on the planes of Granby's hips. Laurence took an experimental breath in through his nose and began to move cautiously along him. Granby grit teeth and twisted his hands in his coat, fighting the urge to gather up thick handfuls of hair.
A rough groan left him as Laurence's hand moved to grip him. "Yes," he gasped, and Laurence began to move more quickly, finding a rhythm that drove the breath from Granby's body. "Make it good for me." Laurence's eyes flicked up to his face and Granby was surprised to see the bright, almost vicious note of satisfaction. He was being inexorably close to the edge, driven by the unexpected heat of Laurence's gaze.
"Your mouth or your coat," Granby managed to get out and Laurence hummed –Lord save him from this man– in consternation and there was nothing more Granby could do. He came in a rush and Laurence broke away, panting as Granby slumped back. The wall was the only thing holding him up. He leaned against it, ass against the cold stone, trousers still around his knees, wondering how he could feel so thoroughly debauched by a man who still probably could not bring himself to name the act he'd so recently put into practice.
Laurence had stood and was working fussily at the waistband of his trousers, hampered by the harness he still wore, now twisted from Granby's earlier attentions. "Here." Granby took hold of him roughly and drew him close, straightening out the leather with a few quick tugs. His carabiners still dangled long at his sides. Granby caught them up, doubling the thick leather in his hands. He set them to the rings at Laurence's waist with two quick clicks, then bent down to speak into his ear. "I don't care if we're midair and your cock is still out: leave these a mess like this again and I will start you with them."
Laurence's hand was on his wrist. "This must stop." Granby was already stepping away, slipping his wrist from Laurence's grasp. Laurence caught at his arm again, holding him fast this time. "Granby." There was the edge in his tone and Granby paused and met his gaze directly.
"Oh," Granby raised his free hand to Laurence's grip. "I would prefer it very much if it was 'Lieutenant Granby', if you please, sir," he said, took Laurence's hand from his arm, turned, and went to leave.
He made it three paces.
"Lieutenant Granby." Eighteen years of military service rooted him to the spot. He turned. Laurence was regarding him, his expression somewhere between exasperation and bemusement. "Are you always such a prick?"
Granby's eyebrows raised. Whatever he had been expecting, some flagellation about duty or decorum, it had not been that. "No, sir." Granby pressed his lips together into a flat line. He could feel the corner of his mouth threatening to rise and forced it back to grave formality. "I sleep sometimes too."
—-----
Granby hung from the straps and squinted against the headache that was rollicking behind his eyeballs. Temeraire and Maximus had been flying inverted maneuvers all morning, shedding crewmen like flies with one injury and the next. He felt the slow roll of scales under his feet as they reached the turn and Temeraire coiled and doubled back on himself to twist upright again. Granby's feet found their footing automatically and across the dragonback there was a simultaneous sigh as the pounding began to leave everyone's temples.
There was a clatter. Beckett, one of the rifleman, had fainted, sending his rifle sliding along the scales. Laurence, still staggering to find his own footing again, dived for it and caught it just before it tumbled over the edge of Temeraire's shoulder. Riggs was shouting something incoherent over the wind and the blood still thick in Granby's ears.
They were coming out of the next turn when a little courier rocketed past them, folding his wings to dart between Temeraire and Maximus and drop to Celeritas' place in the training grounds. "That is Volly!" Temeraire said with interest as the little courier's captain scrambled down with haste.
"Get ready to shift quickly," Granby said quietly to Laurence who looked at him, surprised. "I don't like the look of this." They were flying fully equipped for campaign, the better to accustom Temeraire to the weight, but they carried plain roundshot instead of bombs, the better for target practice, and their ammunition was limited. "I will go tell Fellows to be ready to dump the marching gear."
“Listen, you great lummox; if it is any of your affair you will be told,” Berkley was yelling from aboard Maximus “Will you get back to maneuvers?” Despite his bluster, Granby could see men moving on Maximus' back too, checking over the harness for loose buckles and bringing up the belly netting in preparation for a long flight.
They cut the weight away quickly when Celeritas did finally fly over with their assignment. The round shot tumbled away and Temeraire hardly waited for the last of it to be gone before beating away at a tearing pace. Granby, still in the belly netting with Fellows, working out how much of Victoriatus' crew they could accommodate if necessary, frowned. Temeraire would exhaust himself at this rate. He hesitated and was on the verge of climbing back up to speak with Laurence when he heard him call to Temeraire. Temeraire's wingbeats slowed to a more moderate pace. Fellows paused speculatively, and Granby knew he must have noted it too.
"Mr. Granby," One of the signal ensigns stuck his head down into the belly netting. "Captain wants a word."
Laurence had a strange light in his eyes when Granby climbed back up to the top. His speech was as careful and mannerly as ever as he made several inquiries about the relative speed of the injured dragon and his support. Granby answered him automatically, fascinated. Satisfied with Granby's answer, he turned away and Granby could see that his hands clasped behind his back held all the pent energy of a coiled spring.
Bemused, Granby set about arranging for the exchange of topmen and bellmen and the round of target practice. The crew in motion, Granby made the long circuit of Temeraire's main harness. Bellmen and topmen moved methodically past him as he climbed down and around. Above him, he heard a stern caution from Laurence, calling young Allen back to his watch. Everything else was as in order as Granby could make it.
There was some small pang about moving to his next assignment. Laurence was still Laurence, but Granby was well pleased with the rest of the crew. Three weeks of effort on all their parts had seen them much improved, and Granby could not help but feel a satisfied pride in the work. Beckett no longer threw up whenever they went through a corkscrew, the ensigns could reliably be trusted to give the correct flag signals, and the riflemen had improved by leaps and bounds.
Above him, the call went up for the first round of fire. He lengthened his straps and set his boots against Temeraire's hide to hang out and observe the volley of target practice. Laurence, looking down from Temeraire's neck, saw him leaning out to watch and called "Mr. Granby, Mr. Riggs, I make twelve targets out of twenty; you concur?" Granby waved his arm in agreement and continued on down to the belly netting as Laurence and Riggs prepped the men for another volley.
"We're all fine here, sir," Fellows said. They were making ready the large pads of bandages drawn hastily out of stores should what Victoriatus' party was carrying be insufficient. One of the harnessmen handed him another pack of the clay target discs to bear up with him and he slung it over his shoulder and continued on.
Allen was at his lookout's place at the shoulder as Granby clambered up. The boy's attention had wavered again and he was surreptitiously sneaking looks at the practicing riflemen when Granby came over the edge of the shoulder. Granby said nothing, but met the boy's eyes and raised his eyebrows incredulously. Allen went first pale, then red, and turned at once to look out with focused diligence.
"A wing!" he said almost immediately. Laurence had his glass out at once to look and Volly came swooping over to them with word of the injured dragon.
After the long flight, swooping up under Victoriatus had the same dreamlike feeling as many other aerial engagements: the long tense anticipation and then the encounter almost surreally brief. There was a fleeting moment of terror as the yellow reapers struggled to dive out of the way and all the crew could do was cling for balance, and then Temeraire shouldered him up and they were flying smooth and level, pretty as a picture. A cheer of "Temeraire!" went up from the men, which Granby did not hesitate to join.
He was still drawing breath for a second cheer when Temeraire cried out in pain, followed a second later by Laurence's shout of horror. The Parnassian's great claws dug slashing furrows into Temeraire's side as the injured dragon, only stuporously aware, had shifted and then panicked as he nearly overset himself.
There was nothing to do but hang on. Granby saw Hackley, positioned nearly at Temeraire's shoulder, hurriedly lengthen his straps and drop out of the way of a scrabbling foreclaw. He made it, and latched on again a good distance below, face pale. Laurence had flung himself to his knees and was calling to Temeraire, even as above him the other captain shouted to his own beast.
Granby would bless the man later for whatever he said, for the talons stopped as abruptly as they had started, and Victoriatus was once again sagging and quiet against Temeraire. The dragon was stoically keeping on with measured wingbeats, but spatters of black blood were pattering down into the belly rigging to drip in spattering trail out being them.
"Stay there," Granby shouted viciously when he saw Laurence would have left his place at Temeraire's neck to clamber over to him. Two mids were already climbing from the belly netting, battling the cut ropes that now whipped about them in the wind. He shouldered his own pack of bandages and hurried to meet them.
The jagged edges of the scales were wickedly sharp, but the flesh underneath was cut barely to the pink. The first cut Granby reached had already stopped bleeding. The second was deeper and bled sluggishly under his hands as he pressed a heavy pad of bandage to it. He looked down the line to see Dunne and Hackley both holding down their own compresses, the bandages still reassuringly white.
"Not deep!" Granby cupped a hand to bellow up. He could not see Laurence's face clearly, but he saw the line of his shoulders relax. Next to him, Dunne swore, and Granby turned to see a long strip of cloth unrolling like a banner behind Temeraire. Another frayed strap in the belly rigging had given way, sending several rolls of bandages bombing down on to the countryside below, and several more in imminent peril.
Laurence was shouting something up above as Granby and the mids hastily shuffled packs into the undamaged portion of the rigging. "A moment!" Granby yelled, "Or we will have no bandages at all." The shouting stopped and Dunne and Granby swung the last pack over together, one hand on each end.
He left the two mids to hold the netting and bandages as best they could. Fellows was making his way up with two coils of rope slung across his shoulder like bandoliers. Laurence, neither agile moving dragon back, nor keen to leave his post, had disappeared from his place at Temeraire's neck. There was no way to climb straight up again, the Parnassian's claws were now in the way, ready to slice anyone unwary enough to try and scramble over them.
He gained Temeraire's back sideline, angling away from the claws and shredded netting. Three pale ensigns huddled together, various arms and legs tucked firmly under the main strap, their harnesses vanished. All three pointed in a chorus of voices as Granby locked his last carabiner and staggered to his feet. He stared at them for a moment, dumb, and then the treble voices penetrated through the whipping wind and he understood.
There was another set of Parnassian claws to scramble over, and Granby cursed each individual toe as he went over them, trusting that he wouldn't be cut to ribbons with another spasm. When he reached the shoulder joint he was sickly glad he had taken the shortcut over them. The roughly sistered harness, made fast with the little ensigns' gear, was enough to bring his heart into his throat.
Laurence looked up when Granby's shadow fell across him. "Call up Mr. Fellows." An absurd request, for a man balanced on the edge of a three thousand foot precipice. Granby turned to shout first at the signal ensign and then back to unleash further oaths at Laurence but as he opened his mouth the first invective was covered by the harsh snap of wings.
Temeraire's wings stuttered, then floundered. Above him, Victoriatus shook, his claws scrabbling once again at Temeraire's back. They did not dig in again, but one very nearly slipped off and Temeraire was obliged to hunch uncomfortably to prevent it. A flailing wing fouled Temeraire's next stroke and Victoriatus came down heavily on Temeraire, the shock of it nearly throwing Granby off his feet. Temeraire let out a harsh gasp as the air was knocked from him and his shoulder dipped alarmingly.
Granby watched with horror. What had once been the broad plane of Temeraire's shoulder was now a great sloping hill. Laurence had been thrown to his knees by the initial shock and was now sliding, catching vainly at straps with his hands until one final hold brought him to a brief moment of arrest. It was a tentative thing at best, with nowhere to pull himself up and no rings to take the strain of his hands. With another convulsion or fouled wingbeat he'd be thrown free.
"Laurence, hold on!" It was almost a surprise to hear that it was Temeraire's voice and not his own. Granby unlatched his straps and threw himself forward.
He slid down the tipping surface of Temeraire's shoulder, half in freefall himself, his boot heels digging into the hide for what little arrest he might afford himself. One foot caught on a lifted edge of an old scale and dug in hard. For a nauseating moment his weight shifted forward and he thought he would overbalance and go tumbling off the sloping side. The scale popped free. Granby slammed himself backwards and they both went on, the scale skittering like a dinner plate before him before the wind caught it and sent it whirling away to the ground below.
His carabiners were a heavy weight in his hands. He sped by the first ring too fast entirely to make a try for it, then missed the next by a closer margin.
Two more rings remained before Laurence. He readied the carabiner in his right hand and reached for the short, heavy blade at his belt with his left. A blade to the hide here would be painful but superficial. Jammed between heavy scales it might slow him enough to ensure he made the final latch before Laurence. If he missed the next ring, he'd have to risk the damage and make the catch. Otherwise he'd strike Laurence and send them both spinning out into the air.
Ring and carabiner clicked together and the latch held. Granby gave a shout of relief as his harness brought him up short. The knife fell, tumbling down merrily in the bright sunlight and Laurence looked up from where he was still clinging grimly to the makeshift repair. His knuckles were white, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself on with every jerky wingbeat.
Granby set his next carabiner to the last ring before the cut harness, lengthed his straps, and dropped.
He caught Laurence with hands, and arms, and legs and damn well would have used teeth if he thought it might do him good. "Lock on to me!' he shouted over the tearing wind and Laurence let go of the fraying harness at once to clip onto him. Granby closed his eyes in relief as the first carabiner latched and they clung to each other there with bruising force, dangling far above the rushing landscape until the midshipmen reached them.
Granby did not let go until they had been pulled up to the flat of Temeraire's back and only then found he could unwrap himself with some difficulty. Many hands locked many straps to him. Carabiners clicked to every loop of harness, at thighs and hips, chest and shoulders, until in a moment he would not have been able to rise. He looked over to see Laurence, similarly pinned like Gulliver.
"Enough!" Granby said, waving Riggs off before he could set another strap to him. He unclasped two more carabiners and sat up to take the canteen being pressed into his hands. To his surprise, they were trembling. "No," he said, when someone would have passed him a flask of something stronger.
Next to him he heard a cough and an oath. Laurence took a drink from his own canteen and spat over the side, then raised the speaking trumpet to his mouth once more. "All is well," he called hoarsely. “I am fine, Temeraire; only keep flying.”
At once, the great broad back beneath them, rocky with knotted ropes of muscle began to smooth and Temeraire's jerky wingbeats lengthened into full easy strokes that beat them higher aloft. Granby allowed his head to tip back, drawing in a few more gulps of air until he no longer felt his pulse pounding in his ears.
The afternoon sun was warm on his face, the wind cooling the sweat at his temples and the back of his neck. The panic had receded, leaving a brimming exhilaration that would not be tamped down.
"Well done, gentlemen," Laurence was saying to the midshipmen. They had at last deigned to begin removing some of the many buckles from him and he was already standing to straighten his coat. "Mr. Granby," he turned to Granby, who had not yet struck the mad grin from his face, and paused. "Be so good as to send someone up to Victoriatus' captain and see what assistance we can provide; we must take what precautions we can to keep him from further starts."
"Very good, sir," Granby said with a jaunty salute. He turned to the task, but he could feel Laurence's gaze on him as he went about the work. When he looked back after sending Allen up, Laurence was in his place again at the base of Temeraire's neck, crouched to put a hand to the scales and his face turned towards the wind.
They were nearly five hours in the air back to Loch Laggan. With Maximus' support Victoriatus could be carried entirely without the need to beat his wings, and with that respite the injured dragon quickly fell into an restless drowse, his padded talons twitching occasionally against Temeraire's back. Temeraire, unable to turn his head or shift his position, could only be set at ease with frequent reassurances from Laurence, who was obliged to stay at his place at the base of Temeraire's neck. They changed Temeraire's bandages once more as the wound continued to bleed sluggishly with the continued motion.
Many crew and dragons were there to meet them when they landed. Laurence was at once at Temeraire's head to stroke his nose and offer every praise and encouragement as the dragon's wounds were inspected and cleaned. Temeraire, in turn, cupped his talons jealously about Laurence.
Laurence's expression remained strained even after the surgeons had affixed the last loose pad and pronounced Temeraire in no danger. "Mr. Granby," he asked when Granby had at last shoved between enough of Temeraire's foreclaws to speak with Laurence directly. "Do you think there would be any offense at asking Celeritas to meet us here?"
Laurence's profound horror at the thought of asking a superior office to report to him was clear, and he looked equally loathe to leave Temeraire, even if he could have been extricated. There were few aviators who would suffer being parted from a wounded dragon, and none worth any of Granby's good opinion. "You must stay with Temeraire, of course," he said and saw the talons around Laurence ease fractionally even as Laurence's own expression went slack with relief.
"Thank you," Laurence said in a rush and with real feeling, then added with more formality. "I would be very obliged to you."
"Pfft," said Granby, and went away at once to find Berkley and go to Celeritas.
—-
Granby slept long into the morning and woke, ravenous, near noon. Every muscle protested when he swung his feet out of bed. He dressed with some appreciation for the myriad of bruises that had bloomed on his skin overnight wherever the harness had caught him.
"Granby!" There was a knot of aviators from the formation, captains and officers, clustered thick as thieves in the common room. Sutton waved him over at once and Granby found himself put down into a chair with a glass of beer pressed into one hand. Little passed him a plate of sandwiches.
"Hear, hear!" Berkley said, raising his glass. Several others raised glasses or bottles as well and Granby hurriedly took a swallow of his own around a mouthful of bread and cheese. The sandwich was gone almost at once from his hands, and he was halfway through another before he began tasting it.
"That was quick thinking from the both of you. I don't know that we could have done that." Chenery said with a mild gesture over at his first lieutenant, Hoarse. They were an odd pair; Hoarse as handsome as Chenery plain, but with the same casual manners and easy good humor.
“Oh we would have managed,” Hoarse said easily. "Dulcia is small enough we likely could have used our belts, though then we’d have given ourselves a new problem.”
“Hell of an eyeful to give the French, britches to our ankles, firing away.”
“Terribly demoralizing, I’d expect.”
There was a general round of snickers that lapsed into a companionable silence for a moment before Harcourt sighed and set her bottle down with a thunk. "Well I suppose I have gotten the wrong measure of him," she said.
Granby looked at her with interest. She was a young captain, even for the corps, but like most of the girls had been dragonback since birth.
"Bit rude," said Chenery, amused, and Harcourt waved him off at once.
"Not you, Granby. You're a good fellow. I mean our Navy captain. I thought he was a peacock, but that was well flown."
"And Tully says he is still out there with Temeraire," added Little. There was a general murmur of approval to this.
"What do you think, John?" Martin asked. "Will he make an aviator?"
"Oh for pity's sake, don't put him on the spot," said Sutton. "He may have to serve with the man. Let him keep his cards a little closer to his chest! Augustine, who do you think they will bring up to cover for Victoriatus?"
The discussion shifted into speculation about the various available middleweights. Granby let the easy conversation wash over him through two more sandwiches and another pint of beer, until they all paused to look expectantly up at Hollin, who had edged uncertainly into the officer's lounge, looking for Granby.
Several offers were at once made to see to Laurence and Temeraire in his stead, but Granby shook his head. "No, I will go." He set down his glass and rose with a groan as his muscles protested. "If he's slept outside all night, I'm surprised he can even move."
Laurence did indeed climb down from Temeraire's foreleg a little stiffly. He was rumpled and unshaven, as far from his usual smart looks as Granby from Beau Brummel. A streak of dragon blood ran from his forehead into his hair where he had brushed it with a careless hand and more droplets spattered his shirt and coat. Moreover, he seemed wholly unaware of it until Granby's quiet suggestion for hot food and a bath hit his ears and he looked down at himself, alarmed.
"Good God," he said, but would not let himself be sent away until Granby at last swore up and down that he would fetch Laurence with any change in Temeraire's condition and pointed out, somewhat cuttingly, that Laurence dying of pneumonia would not likely improve the dragon's recovery either.
The rest of the officers had set their things a deferential distance away and Granby meant to do the same. The fire, gear, and the mild spring night meant they need not huddle to him to keep warm and setting far away would give Temeraire the space to sprawl as he liked. He had brought a pallet with him, intending to sleep rough for the night, but as he set down the pack Temeraire cracked an eye and Granby went over to him at once.
"No, I am quite well," Temeraire said in answer to Granby's hurried questions. "It does not hurt at all –well not a great deal."
"I am damned glad to hear it," Granby said. "Laurence is eating and is to sleep in his own bed. Riggs and I will see to anything you need.
"That is very good of you," Temeraire said politely, then put out a foreclaw to draw Granby in more conspiratorially. "Laurence says you saved his life. Though I am quite sure I could have caught you both," Temeraire said. He flexed his claws uneasily, as though to reassure himself of it.
"It was a little thing," Granby lied easily. "You must not be worried for him." He put a hand out to Temeraire's muzzle to give him a consoling pat.
"That is not true," Temeraire drew back abruptly, before Granby could touch him, his ruff fanning out. The great walls of Temeraire's forelegs shifted and came about around him to top Granby's head. Granby, who had wrestled bones from between the back molars of a regal copper, felt abruptly like a mouse between a cat's paws. “It was a very near thing and he will always be doing things like that.”
"Saints, Temeraire,” Granby fought to keep from flinching as Temeraire eyed him narrowly, close enough for a whuff of draconic breath to stir his hair about his face. He recalled uncomfortably why Temeraire more than most dragons might take exception to being spoon fed anything he might consider an untruth. “Well it was a nearer thing than I would have liked either, but I would not have let him fall," Granby said.
"No," Temeraire, studying him for a long moment before sitting back with satisfaction. He shifted his foreclaws again shifting them around behind Granby’s back as though Granby were a card in a gambler’s hand. "That is why I will tell Laurence that he should name you first lieutenant." Temeraire said with a pleased air.
"Temeraire, you must not. They will think I have put ideas in your head." Granby said desperately. This sort of intercession was wholly inimical to the corps. Granby might very well be sooner excused for taking his captain to bed than interfering with his dragon. "You must promise me you will not. My name will be as good as mud to every one of my fellows, and I would damn well deserve it!"
"I do not see why it should matter so much," Temeraire said. "It is not as if you will not be my crew too, so I think I should be consulted in the decision. Besides, we decided on you a fortnight ago. Only," he put his head down to eye Granby with some suspicion. "Laurence said you might not like to take it."
"Oh yes?" Granby said with a wince. He could well imagine Laurence might think so.
"Yes, though I do not know why since I am sure we will win a great many battles." Temeraire said. "You might come and fight with us and I will squash anyone who tries to fight either of you." He paused for a moment. "And I am quite sure I could have caught you."
Granby could not keep the smile from touching his face. It was quite a thing to have a dragon coiling about you, threatening to squash anything that menaced you, even if it was not your dragon. "That is a handsome offer, Temeraire. I should be honored to consider it if your captain brings such a thing to me."
"Oh he will; you are the best," Temeraire said blithely, then leaned in to add more quietly. "Though I think you are very rude to Laurence, and you might take a little more care with brushing your coat."
"I shall certainly take more care with the coat, in the future," Granby said promptly, then stumbled as a talon, big around as his waist, knocked against him in draconic reproof. "Only joking."
"Hmm," Temeraire settled again, folding his wings more carefully about him. "We shall call it a compromise then. Now, how is your penmanship?"
----
Laurence opened the door in his dressing gown. He was still pink from the heat of the baths, blond hair still damp at the roots. Anxiety was writ across his face. "Temeraire?" He asked.
"He is fine, but–" Granby said, and would have said more but Laurence's hands were on him as soon as the first words were out. Granby pulled the door closed hurriedly as Laurence put a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down to be kissed.
The dressing gown was gone almost at once under Granby's hands. Laurence's skin was warm under Granby's palms as he drew him back and down to the bed. They worked together to shed Granby's coat and neckcloth, waistcoat, bracers, shirt, trousers, stockings. He kicked off his boots and nearly swam free of the last of it as Laurence put his arms about him.
Laurence's mouth moved from collarbone, to neck, to jaw, the raw scrape his cheek, heavy with two days stubble, a counterpoint to the urgent softness of lips and tongue. Granby groaned and shifted under him, reaching down. He wanted to feel the heat of him heavy in his hand, but Laurence shifted away. Granby arched, chasing after him.
"Show me," Laurence said, low, in his ear. His hand caught up Granby's, moving it to Granby's own member. "Show me how you like it."
Laurence's fingers twined with his own and they moved together in slow strokes at first, then faster, until Granby's hand fell away to clutch at the bedsheets as Laurence continued, matching each slide of his hand with a thrust of his own against Granby's thigh. He could feel the heat of Laurence's breath against his own lips, the quick, urgent pants. His whole awareness was contracting to a single point. Laurence's free hand rose to grip his bicep, fingers overlaying the circlet of bruises and Granby's eyes fell closed with a moan as suddenly the ground fell away and he was airborne again, clutching at Laurence with desperation and adrenaline, now mixed with a brimming pleasure. He was lost, carried away in a wrenching rush into Laurence's steady grip.
It was delicious to lay breathless for a moment, the awareness of broad shoulders above him, the soft roving of hands over his body. Laurence's gaze was intent upon him when he opened his eyes again. With an effort Granby moved to prop himself up on an elbow, to pull Laurence over again.
"Come here. I want to– oh lord, what don't I want to do to you?" Laurence said nothing, but pressed him back down into the mattress, fitting himself against Granby's hip and moving greedily against him. His face was pressed into the crook of Granby's neck, his breath hot. Granby brushed his hair away and bent to speak softly into his ear.
"Won't you say please for me?" Granby asked, low, then laughed as Laurence's teeth were suddenly a sharp warning against his collarbone. "All right, all right," he relented, and instead gentled a hand into his hair and pressed his lips to Laurence's temple.
He had not meant the tenderness, but it struck him all at once, with force. He felt the brush of Laurence's eyelashes just below his ear, the heavy twist of hair careful between his fingers. Could it be so: not a few stolen moments, carved out from each other, but some stronger hold?
Laurence shifted above him, his body a taught bow against Granby and his breathing ragged, and Granby gave up the strange chase of thoughts for the sweeter immediacy of the present. Come what may, it was a pleasure now to let himself be pulled close, to twine arms about his neck, and to breathe "Oh yes, there," as Laurence made a choked gasp and spent against him.
For some time after they lay limp and entwined, languid with the sweet press of skin, until finally the the heat was enough to begin to drive them apart. Granby at last wrested an arm free and groped blindly at the side of the bed for his neckcloth to sacrifice. "Oh, don't," he said when Laurence would have risen hurriedly to dress. He reached out and caught his arm to tug. Laurence allowed himself to be pulled back down again, but with such a dubious expression that Granby felt a momentary pang. He didn't know what to say, so he settled instead for arranging them both; shoving Laurence about until they lay side by side, leaning together comfortably at hip and shoulder.
He waited to speak until Laurence no longer felt like he might spring from the bed. It was almost a shame, Laurence's form against him terribly comfortable, his foot begun to brush absently against Granby's. "So as I tried to say before," Laurence's eyes, drifting half closed, opened a wary fraction. Granby continued mercilessly. "Temeraire tells me you want me to be your first lieutenant."
The foot stopped. Laurence put his hands to his face and groaned at this new intelligence. "I see I am not to be allowed any secrets. I beg of you, if you have any hesitation, tell me now and there will be an end to the matter."
"Oh I'm certain that would suit you: to be left to your own devices to be killed in some mad fashion." Granby said tartly.
Laurence laughed. "Now I am certain you have been talking to Temeraire."
"Why me?" Granby asked. He waved away Laurence's quizzical expression. "I know I have been playing the scrub. There are a few likely fellows here and another half dozen anyone could recommend in Edinburgh. No one would refuse a spot on a prime goer like Temeraire."
"You would."
Granby opened his mouth and shut it again. "Well."
"Oh I will regret saying this," Laurence sighed. "But I would rather have sound sense shouted at me than be politely allowed to cut my own throat. I have little enough time to catch up twenty years of training, far longer to earn your good opinion."
"Why Laurence, are you saying you mean to court my favor?" He asked, bemused.
Laurence's tone was bland, his eyes very blue. "You had not noticed?"
"Well you have chosen a rather backwards way to come about it."
"There is little enough that has been straight forward these last few months," Laurence said prosaically. There was such a note of candor in his voice that Granby looked at him with a frown. "So, will you do it?"
"Don't be daft. Of course I will." He saw the line of Laurence's shoulders relax, but Granby was already propping himself up on his elbows, the better to tick off names with his fingers. "You will want Ferris for second then, and Dunne, and not Pryor. And if they will let you have another mid then–"
"Hold, hold!" Laurence, laughing, rolled from the bed. "I cannot do this without clothes. Get dressed and I will take down some notes."
-----
The camp at Jena smelled of smoke and the slightly nauseating aroma of food being prepared. Granby dipped fitfully in and out of sleep. He was dimly aware of Will sitting next to him for some time, his hand a comforting weight on his shoulder. It came to him after a while longer that Will was speaking, and he made some little answer which was apparently muddled enough to bring Keynes over to pry up his eyelids and prod him about for a bit until he was satisfied and Granby could at last drift back to sleep.
He woke some time later to an odd half twilight and a mouth that felt like it had been packed with sand. The twilight above him shifted and his bleary mind realized it was the membrane of a wing, mantled carefully over him with sunlight filtering through. He had some memory of being roused to climb groggily aboard Temeraire, then set down again.
"Ow!" Temeraire said, then more plaintively. "Ow!" Temeraire's wing shuddered above him and there was a metallic clink of something dropping into a bowl. "Ow!"
"Stop keening. If you will insist on flying within range of the rifles you will be quiet and take your medicine for it." Keynes' disgruntled voice came from above him and there was a shadow over the membrane as someone came scrambling across it. "Hold still."
The fall. The memory being seized and thrown came back abruptly, and the visceral sense of the plunge was enough to send a jolt through Granby, like the sensation of freefall just before sleep. He jerked fully awake with a gasp, his arms flung out to either side as though he might grab something and make himself fast. He snatched his hand back as his knuckles collided dully with the porcelain feel of an egg.
He sat up cautiously, rubbing his knuckles. There was an initial wave of nausea, and a dull throb behind his eyes, but none of the bleary vertigo of the night before. He'd been set side by side with them, tucked in nearly as carefully with a roll of blankets to either side. Bemused, he put a hand out to the egg he'd struck, the swirling and speckled red and green of the Kazilik, now nearly as thick and sturdy as good earthenware.
"Keynes said to let you sleep." Temeraire said. He had twisted his head to put it under his wing and inspect his charges, nosing first the eggs, then Granby.
"Do not do that," Granby said warningly, when Temeraire had tested the temperature of both eggs with a flick of his tongue and then had turned speculatively to Granby.
"You are sure you are quite well?" Temeraire asked, retreating somewhat only grudgingly. He still sniffed the air dubiously.
"No, I am all right," Granby said. "I am only damned tired of always getting knocked about the head."
"So we have heard," Keynes said dryly, and Granby realized his words had the familiarity of something oft repeated throughout the night. The surgeon had set down his enamel basin of bullets and forceps and come down from Temeraire's to look at Granby. "Follow my finger."
Granby obeyed, and followed the rest of the small tasks Keynes set out for him, relieved to find them well within his ability. "No, and I could not do that before, either," he said finally, when Keynes had asked him to sum two large figures. "Where is Laurence?"
He followed Keynes and Temeraire's gaze to the low wall where Laurence sat, legs outstretched, head tipped against the collar of his coat and face slack with sleep. "Oh for pity's sake, he will break his neck when he wakes up." Granby said.
"That is his business," Keynes said unsympathetically. He picked up the basin. "Do not pick at them," he said to Temeraire and bore his bloody pile of instruments away.
"They will itch terribly," Temeraire said morosely. He put his head down to Granby, who patted him consolingly. "I am sorry to have knocked you about so. I hope you are not overly troubled by it."
"Never in life! I do not know another dragon that could have done it," Granby said, very truthfully. "I find I've run up quite a debt with you, Temeraire."
"Oh never!" said Temeraire promptly. "I told you I was quite certain I could catch you and now see I have done it!"