Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) (16 page)

“Victor... who did this to ya? Sharpe?” Crunch
gathered him in his arms with a sigh, enveloping Victor in the scent of leather
and sweat. A soft kiss to the top of his head followed by a blow of warm air
gave Victor a shudder. He looked up at Crunch, frozen by the display of
tenderness, and for a moment he was too choked to reply. He did his best to
sound enthusiastic when he eventually spoke. He didn’t want to look like a
wuss.

“At least it wasn’t what I thought he wanted. I
just need to uh... tidy it up a little?” His eyes searched for confirmation in
Crunch’s eyes.

“Shave it off completely. A new beginning.” Crunch
smiled at him, and locked the door. They made their way down the corridor and
eventually left the dome. Victor hoped that it was for good. Only now did he
get a glimpse at the extent of the attack on the camp. They passed dozens of
dead guards on their way down the hill. The stench of death was thick in the
air, but he decided not to look too closely. Sharpe was one thing, but he
didn’t feel all that bloodthirsty.

He leaned closer into Crunch, gently sliding his
hand in between the closed buttons of his shirt to touch hot skin below. A smile
spread on his lips when he felt the heartbeat against his fingertips. “This was
both the worst and the best day of my life. I admit you heading over to see
what happened to me was one of the best parts.” He was hoping a man like Crunch
wouldn’t find that too soft.

“I wanted to be there sooner.” Crunch sighed, his
chest sinking under Victor’s palm. They were walking past the barracks, in the
same way many other former forced workers did, to where the train spit them out
on their first day in Honeyhill. It wasn't a mellow walk though. Everything was
happening so fast, with the prisoners being herded by armed men and women.
Victor gazed towards the governor's cottage but had to look back when he saw
dead bodies pulled into a pile by a woman in a brown dress. Those were things
he wanted to leave behind.

He shook his head with a snort, not giving a damn
if someone saw him and Crunch embracing, not after all he’d been through. He'd
never been too discreet anyway. “At least I am not doomed to play the damsel in
distress all the time.”

“Wha’?” Crunch clearly didn’t get his sentiments.
“Ya will be taken to London by train.”

“I will?” Victor grinned at him, feeling as if
those words lifted an immense weight from his chest. “When?”

“Now. This place will need work. Some people ‘ave
already chosen to stay. There are talks with others that they will join the
Humanists in the upcoming revolution.”

Large groups of prisoners, some of whom Victor
knew, were talking to men in green helmets, and every single one of the newly freed
had some kind of food in their hands. While he appreciated seeing them taken
care off, it was all too sudden. Minutes ago, he killed a man, and now Crunch
just wanted him to enter a train and leave?

“Will there be no other train... in the evening?”
His heart beat right in his throat when he looked up at Crunch.

“No, luv... Yar free.” Crunch slowed down, as if
he too wanted to prolong the way to the station. “Only the new soldiers will
stay.”

Victor swallowed around the tightness in his
throat and nodded. What was he even supposed to say?

Crunch cleared his throat. “It’s the train that
takes the dead away from London. The Humanists will take you to safety. A lot
of the men and women will be kept in hiding for a few days so that we don't
have a horde of people reappearing on the day of its arrival. But ya... I’ll
make sure they know to let ya go right away.” Crunch’s large arm over his
shoulder was something Victor didn’t want to let go of.

He sighed, reaching up to hold the hand resting on
his collarbone and squeezed the thick fingers. Where was his time for closure,
damn it.

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” He leaned in
to press a kiss to Crunch’s jaw. “What about... that snitch Jacob? It was him,
wasn’t it?”

A crooked smile appeared on Crunch’s lips. “He’s
been dealt with.”

“And you? When will
you
be back in London?”
Victor decided to voice the question that weighed down on his chest, ignoring a
female gasp from the side. It was his lucky day and he didn’t care what some
lady thought of their closeness.

But Crunch apparently did, as he pulled away
slightly, which forced Victor to take his hand from the guard's chest. “I
dunno. This will all take time.”

Victor nodded and looked at the all-too-familiar
wagon train, which was now again filling with people. Only this time, they
entered it out of their free will, with hope pictured on their faces. The
makeshift station was bustling with people, almost as busy and loud as Victoria
Station in the morning. But Victor felt empty when he looked at Crunch, who kept
his eyes on the ground as they progressed further down the track.

Without a smile, he didn’t look like someone
celebrating a big achievement. “I’m a soldier for the Humanists. It’s a proud
day, I’ve finished my mission. A new one starts tomorrow.”

Victor looked into his face, feeling strangely
sad. Didn’t Crunch want to meet him back home? He didn’t seem too enthusiastic.
Now that he didn't have to keep his identity a secret, Crunch would probably
turn his attention to someone else, like... that beautiful young man with
dreadlocks who winked at Victor in passing. It was silly of Victor to dwell on
it though. There were no promises between them. “And... will that brave soldier
tell me his name?”

Crunch bit his lip, also sparing a glance at the
blonde boy rushing past them, but he didn't turn his head after him, leading
Victor all the way back to the first wagon behind the locomotive. “It’s
stupid.”

“So is my hair.” Victor wiggled his eyebrows.

Crunch laughed. His hand rested on Victor's back
as they walked up a stepladder and into the wagon filled with shabby, wooden
coffins. “Eugine.”

It was a name more suitable for a pale choirboy
than someone like Crunch, but Victor didn’t laugh. He looked outside. They were
alone, the roar of conversations and commands muffled by the walls around them.
“It doesn’t suit a man as brave as you.” It came out as a whisper as Victor
leaned closer, rubbing his nose against Crunch’s. He already knew he would miss
him, such a strange thing after a mere few days of sneaking around.

“I’m more of a ‘Crunch’, right?” He slid his hands
to Victor’s hips and looked into his eyes, making Victor’s stomach feel warm
and gooey as he threw his arms around Crunch’s neck. They weren't kissing yet,
but he could feel the heat of Crunch’s skin on his lips already.

“I promise not to tell anyone what your real name
is, so you’re not uncomfortable when you visit.”

“Thanks.” Crunch snorted. “Yar pop’ll love me.”

“He pretends not to see certain things.” Victor
rubbed their noses together once again, drunk on the heat of Crunch’s breath.
His body refused to let go.

“Off ya go.” Crunch laughed and prodded him
towards one of the coffins.

“What, inside?” Victor blinked in shock, looking
back at the empty caskets.

“This is our first class, pretty boy. Someone will
cover you when the train approaches the gates of London. And you’re the first
one here, so you can chose your seat.”

“Am I that important?” Victor was reluctant to
move away at first, but finally sat down in the box, which was broad, most
likely designed for someone much heavier than him. There was a layer of
padding, so it wasn’t all that uncomfortable to sit in it, but the idea of
being smuggled into the city in a coffin was turning Victor’s stomach. He could
bet it would all be better if Crunch travelled with him. The man was now
towering over him, his dark silhouette sharp in the rays of sun coming in
through the door. Victor looked at the tiny particles of dust floating in the
air.

“Well, ya deserve it for spicing up the tea,
right?” Crunch smiled. His gaze followed Victor’s every move.

Victor sighed and grabbed the chunky hand to pull
Crunch down to the floor. “What, am I a war hero now, too?” He chuckled, never
looking away from the handsome face. He wanted to keep it in his memory for as
long as possible. He was leaving this camp after only a week, more strained and
hurt than he had ever been, and meeting Crunch was the only thing that made it
all feel somehow worthwhile.

“I suppose.” Crunch bit his lip, but didn't move.
He didn’t seem all that eager to leave the wagon, which set Victor’s heart
aflutter. He cleared his throat and reached into the thick, beekeeping outfit
and, between the folds, he closed his hand over his mother's ring. Slowly, he
pulled it out, still keeping it on a chain around his neck, much like Crunch
did. He swallowed nervously, daring to look at his saviour again.

“Thief.” Crunch laughed and nuzzled his cheek,
leaning over the casket.

“I know. I should have given it back to you,”
Victor replied, forcing his tightened throat to work. His whole body was
suddenly tense.

“Too late now.” Crunch sighed and gently stroked
Victor’s nape, making him almost purr.

“No, it’s not. Who knows whom I will stumble upon
on the way home.” Victor tried to look straight into Crunch’s eyes. He wanted,
needed him to understand what he was really trying to say. “You can bring it
over when you come back.” He swallowed at the hope in his voice.

“Hmm... if you put it like that.” Crunch reached
out for the ring, brushing his thick fingers over Victor’s hand.

“Take it off yourself.” It was only a whisper, but
he was sure Crunch heard every word. He touched the other man’s chest again.

“Ya want me to take it for good luck?” He was
barely holding back a small smile, as he gently took the ring off Victor’s
neck. His rough fingertips brushed the sensitive skin, and Victor closed his
eyes for a moment before looking at him again.

 “I want you to take it and protect it. You know
how much it means to me.” Victor’s heart was fluttering in his chest like a frightened
bird in its cage. He hoped Crunch would understand. With his dangerous
lifestyle, maybe it wasn’t the first time something like this happened to him,
but Victor would never forget those few days.

“Guess I’m just not allowed to die now, am I?” Crunch
leaned in for another kiss, and Victor pulled him closer into a desperate
embrace. What was Crunch thinking bringing up something like that now!

“Of course not, you knobhead.” He bit Crunch’s
lip, savouring the last moments of closeness they could have. “I would be very
cross with you if you did. And we don’t want that.”

“No we don’t. Yar a killer after all.” Crunch
awkwardly bent into the coffin, to prolong the kiss, tasting every inch of
Victor’s mouth. It was bliss, and for a moment it felt as if they were in a
world of their own, touching, petting, heartbeats pulsing against each other.
Victor didn’t want to let go. He never felt this kind of intimacy and even
though the time they shared had been so short, danger and need for human touch
brought them together in a way he would have never predicted.

“I’ll be waiting,” Victor whispered against
Crunch’s lips. “These things that happened here, I can only share with you.
Only you will understand.”

“Gotta lock ya in or I’ll never leave.” Crunch
sighed, finally pulling away without breaking eye contact. “See ya in London,
boy,” he whispered and gave him one last smooch before putting the wooden lid
over Victor's face. He closed the coffin.

The
end

About the author

K.A. Merikan is a
joint project of Kat and Agnes Merikan, who jokingly claim to share one mind.
They finish each other’s sentences and simultaneously come up with the same
ideas. Kat and Agnes enjoy writing various kinds of stories, from light-hearted
romance to thrillers. They love creating characters that are not easy to
classify as good or evil, and firmly believe that even some villains deserve
their happy endings. It is easiest to find them in galleries, good restaurants
and historical sites, always with a computer or notebook, because for Kat and
Agnes, every day is writing day. Future plans include lots of travel and a
villa on the coast of Italy or a flat in Paris where they could retire after
yet another crazy venture, only to write more hot homoerotic stories.

Kat and Agnes
started as popular authors of online serials written in their native language,
but are now focused on reaching a wider readership by writing in English. As
K.A. Merikan, they have published a number of books, which cross genres while
always staying homoerotic.

More information about ongoing projects, works in
progress and publishing at:

http:/KAMerikan.com

K.A. Merikan on
Goodreads