Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) (4 page)

“I must be, with such a handsome captor,” breathed
Victor.

Crunch looked up at him with a snort. “‘andsome?
Me? I’m gonna suck ya anyway ya know.” To emphasise, he squeezed Victor’s ass a
bit harder.

“I know, you can’t wait to feel me in your
throat.” Victor wiggled his brows, stroking the short hair on Crunch’s scalp.

“I don’t think I can go that far.” Crunch smiled
once more, leaning into the caress. It only reminded him that he hadn’t had a
taste of tenderness for
months
. He kissed the cockhead once more, before
sucking it into his mouth. The salty, slightly bitter taste exploded on his
tongue as he swirled it over the silky smooth skin.

“Maybe I could train you, mister guard?” Victor
rasped, his hips thrusting up gently. “I’ve been very effective as a teacher so
far.”

Crunch moaned into his cock, unable to answer. He
couldn’t believe Victor’s audacity, but took more of the delicious meat into
his mouth. It was hot and pulsing, just as he liked it. He missed that so much!

Victor supported his weight on one elbow, looking
down at Crunch with a slack, relaxed look on his face. He stroked Crunch’s head
so very gently, rubbing the skin with his fingertips, teasing him behind the
ear. It made Crunch eager to please his new lover, so with another moan, he
bobbed his head on the stiff cock.

“Yes... that’s good, Crunch.” Victor’s thigh
muscles tensed up as his hips rose off the floor, grinding into Crunch’s mouth.
The smooth cockhead sliding over the roof of his throat was enough to get him
gagging.

“Oy!” He frowned and pulled away, ignoring the
sting in his throat. “I said I can’t do it, so don’t push me.” Crunch gave
Victor’s arse a pinch for emphasis.

The lad laughed, showing off his perfectly white
teeth, which stood out on the flushed face. “And I thought you were the villain
here.” He slid his fingers down Crunch’s face, brushing his thumb over his
cheekbone, and Crunch leaned into the touch with a sigh.

“Would a villain be suckin’ yar cock? I don’t
think so!”

“He would if he liked it. So be a good villain and
suck,” murmured Victor, embracing Crunch’s shoulders with his warm thighs.

Crunch grumbled, but didn’t waste time, sucking on
the salty prick, as his fingers slowly made their way in between Victor’s
arsecheeks. It was met by an approving grunt as the other man ground his buttocks
against his hand.

“Nn, I only let you slide in if you’re naked,”
breathed Victor, smiling at him.

“I don’t think I’ve got it in me for another go
just yet.” Crunch laughed, before sucking down on the cock once more.

“And yet you’re assaulting my backside,” whispered
Victor, his eyes fluttering shut.

Crunch smiled over the cock and teased the
delicate flesh with his thumb. Victor didn’t talk anymore. He laid back on the
blanket, with his throat exposed as he enjoyed the attention, gasping louder with
each passing second.

Crunch didn’t spare him any caresses he could
think of, working his tongue the best ways he knew how to. Arousal overcame his
body when the cock in his mouth grew harder, the first spurt of cum hitting his
throat. Victor stiffened around him, clutching at his skull with a broken
whimper. Crunch swallowed every single drop, pulling back his hands to stroke
Victor’s tense stomach as he let out a grunt of satisfaction. The younger man
slacked, grabbing at him with a dreamy expression that sent warm shivers all
the way down Crunch’s spine.

“Come here, Crunch...”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. He crawled up
Victor’s body and laid on top of him, savouring the warmth and softness with
every inch of his skin. “That was good.”

The other man gave him a satisfied smile, looking
at Crunch from below his thick lashes. He threw his arms around the Crunch’s
neck, leaning in to lap at his mouth. “Yes.”

“Yar one pretty fucker...” Crunch sighed and
closed his eyes.

“You’re too handsome to be a rapist,” Victor
replied with a delighted chuckle. He crossed his ankles on top of Crunch’s arse
and licked his lips again.

“Glad to be of service,” Crunch caressed his
sides, groaning with pleasure at being allowed to touch a man so fine without
any limits.

“Isn’t it ironic that you’re the one to service
me?” Victor kept stroking Crunch’s head and arms, looking at him with
half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t get ahead of yarself. I just returned the
favour.” Crunch smiled at him. The tenderness was slowly choking breath out of
him.

“You’re just saying that now to save face.”
Victor’s tongue dug between his lips, demanding entrance.

“Caught red handed.” Crunch sighed and took over,
abruptly forcing his tongue through the opening of Victor's mouth, penetrating
its soft heat. It was passionate, yes strangely sweet at the same time, with
Victor teasing his tongue and sucking on it gently.

Crunch didn’t know how long they simply laid in
the embrace, sharing tender kisses as if they weren’t in the middle of a prison
camp run by the Dal mob. He felt sorry for Victor. Most workers were partially
responsible for their own fate by becoming indebted to the Dals. It was only
when they couldn't pay the money back that they were sent to Honeyhill and
other such places. But if Victor's story was genuine, his case was most
unfortunate, without a way out whatsoever. And he didn’t look like someone who
would last here long.

“So...” murmured the prisoner. He nuzzled the side
of Crunch’s face, his stubble scraping his cheek, arousing Crunch as if there
were naked nerves on the skin. “What’s that nickname about?”

“Ah... that. I’m good with the deadies.” Crunch
slowly rolled over to his back, utterly satisfied and flattered by the
interest. “The others laugh that when I go out there, all ya hear is ‘crunch,
crunch, crunch’ of their bones.”

“But you don’t crush the bones of the living?”
Victor followed his move, throwing an arm over Crunch's chest.

“Do I look
that
‘armless?”

“Not really, but one can hope.” Victor circled
Crunch’s nipple with his finger, gently swiping it over the other man’s chest.

“Let’s just say I don’t carry a machete for the
rotters only.” He reached to his jacket for the pipe and tobacco. With carnal
urges satisfied, it was time for another type of pleasure.

“But you wouldn’t ‘crunch’ my bones, would you?”
muttered Victor, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. Accompanying
it were a quiet sound and a rush of air. Victor was sniffing him. For a moment,
Crunch felt self conscious, but since Victor wasn’t moving away, it had to be a
pleasant scent for him.

“Not if ya do good, do yar job, and don’t cause
problems.” He had to say it if he wanted Victor safe. The lad looked like he
was going to stir up trouble, and if Crunch didn’t make it known to him that
the rules were strict, another guard most certainly would.

“What would you do without me? I can see you
haven’t bedded anyone in a looong time.” The soft whisper tickled Crunch’s ear.

“I’m no animal. I can do without it.” Though it
wasn’t all true. He missed being close with another person. Nothing could
compare to it, and he didn’t have a chance for a lover since he joined the Dal
mob a year ago. And the more established he was, the less opportunities he had.
But it was the six months in Honeyhill that got him desperately hungry for real
human contact. The place was full of criminals, and by that he didn’t just mean
the guards. If he wanted to survive, he needed to watch his back at all times.

The smile on Victor’s face told him that his act
wasn’t working. “I will tell you what I think, Crunch,” the prisoner said with
yet another soft kiss to Crunch’s cheek. “You’re going to do a lot to keep me
alive and well. You’re only saying all this because you’re afraid I would get
in trouble with the other guards.”

“I’m not soft-hearted,” Crunch whispered and
hugged him slowly. “But I’d lie if I said I don’t want ya to do well ‘ere.”
Even
if this place is getting liberated next week.

Victor smiled, snuggling into his chest as if they
had been lovers for a long time. “I promise not to get in trouble with anyone
but you.”

“Good. I’ll take that. Keep quiet, don’t engage
much, and you’ll do well. They don’t want the prisoners dead ‘ere. They want
them working.”

“You want to smoke that?” Victor glanced at the
pipe.

“Ah, yeah.” Crunch looked back to the pipe he was
holding and sat up to light the tobacco. Victor snuck up behind him and the way
he ran his nose down Crunch’s nape, smelling his skin, made it break out in
goosebumps.

“How old are you?”

“A hundred,” Crunch said without blinking an eye.

“Are you now?” Victor kissed the side of his neck,
moving his hands to the front of Crunch’s body, starting to pop open the
buttons of the shirt. “This doesn’t feel all that ancient.”

Crunch took into account that Victor could be some
lunatic waiting to attack him, but he wasn’t afraid. He had enough experience
to deal with some pretty-boy-strangler if necessary. “Twenty seven, you?” He
took in the first breath of smoke, relaxing to the touch.

“Twenty three. Almost.” Victor kept kissing and nibbling
on Crunch’s neck and arm but finally managed to open the shirt, sliding his
hands under the fabric with a soft hiss. “You have hair.” That was definitely a
sound of appreciation.

“Sure do. Just not much on my ‘ead.” Crunch
laughed and slid his palm over less than a quarter of an inch of hair on his
head. It was a practical do in a place like this. “Yar so young ya probably
don’t even remember the Plague.”

“No, I just heard stories.” Victor pulled back
Crunch’s left arm to remove the sleeve.

“Ya ever killed one, or are ya one of them London
boys?” Crunch let Victor undress him. They’d be sitting ducks if someone came
to check up on him, but he knew no one would. No guard cared enough to leave
their post.

Victor cleared his throat, embracing Crunch from
behind and pressing into his back, his breath going shaky. “I... I’ve never
been out of London and Bylondon. Have you?”

“I am ‘ere, right?” Crunch snorted. “I’ve been out
and about
a lot
.” He passed the sweet-smelling pipe to Victor.

“Me too. I am here, I mean.” Victor sighed,
inhaling some of the smoke and returning the pipe.

“My advice to ya: ya get tired, upset, don’t think
that you’ll be the one who can make it to London through the forest. Ya can’t
and no one can, but there’s always someone trying now and again. That’s what we
‘ave these for.” Crunch pointed to the horn by his trousers. “I blow on that
and ‘alf the camp is up on their feet in a matter of minutes.”

“How do you know they didn’t reach the city?”

Crunch looked back at Victor and grabbed his chin.
“‘Cause we ‘ave crossbows for more than just the zombies. Get it? I’m gonna
walk ya back soon. Ya need rest.”

Victor tensed against Crunch’s naked back, looking
at him like a frightened animal, but it only lasted a second, and he gave
Crunch the same seductive smile he used to lure him in. “I want to see you
tomorrow.”

“Ya sure will.”

Chapter 3

Victor still felt the heat of Crunch's body when
the door of the barrack shut behind him. The thick stench of a few dozen unwashed
bodies and faeces wiped the smile off his face. The wooden building was
immersed in semi-darkness, with just a few candles lit here and there, and he
was getting the impression that in the soft glow, he could see malodorous vapour.
There were three rows of bunk beds: two standing by the long walls, one in the
middle, with just two narrow passages between them. He didn’t yet know how many
men he shared the space with, because from what he could see, most shared their
palliasses with someone else.

“Oy, posh boy, you too good for dinner with
everyone?” he heard someone call from the side.

He narrowed his eyes, putting on a mask of rage,
but his heart skipped a beat. “I had porridge, like everybody else!”

“Why’d they wanna see you?” A hand emerged from the
shadows of the upper bunk to Victor's side and grabbed at his forearm. A young,
slightly cross-eyed man leaned forward, squeezing his flesh demandingly.

Victor shoved his hand away. “None of your
business.”

“Ah, let the pretty boy go, he’s not gonna be so
pretty after a month here,” said another voice. Victor didn’t even know when so
many people turned their attention to him, but there were dark faces all
around, all eyes scrutinizing him. He looked back at the second man and tried
not to let his distaste show, as the view wasn’t very pleasant. The bloke
looked like a victim of trampling. His skin was dirty, nose crooked and broken,
and a few bruises bloomed in different colours on his face. Victor’s stomach
turned. He couldn’t let that happen to himself.
Crunch
wouldn’t let that
happen... it wasn’t like the man had that many options here.

“What, like you, Jake?” sneered a balding man with
several teeth missing and  hollowed cheeks. He seemed to be a veteran here,
judging from the patches of rough skin and bony frame.

“Yeah like me!” Jake spat to the floor, and Victor
noticed he was missing a few of his front teeth as well. Would this be his
future? “I should have never gone into business with the Dals. You all think
that, but I’m the one to say it.”

“How long have you been here?” Victor licked his
lips, slowly walking deeper into the barrack where his shared bunk was.

“A month? Lost count. What’s your name anyway?”
Jake shot him a look that Victor could not decipher with so little light.

“I’m Victor. You?” He found the right bed and sat
on his squeaky bunk. There was another man already laying on the palliasse, but
all Victor could see from beneath a thin blanket was thinning, dark hair.

“Jacob. What’re you in for, Victor?” Jacob crooked
his head, eyeing him up in a way that gave Victor chills. As if the man was
already counting what he could scavenge from his body.

The bald man cackled. “What could he be in for?
Look at’im! Used more money than he earned!”

“No I didn’t.” Victor scowled. He might have been
somewhat spoiled, but he wasn’t brainless enough to borrow money from the Dal
clan. He didn’t say that, of course, in a room full of men who had done just
that. “I... had an argument with Frey Dal.”

“Ouch.” One of the men who arrived on today's
train walked up to them. He introduced himself before as Tompson when they had
a sneak chance for a chat in the orchard. “Not good at all. Frey sure knows how
to hold a grudge.”

“Well, I don’t think there’s much chance for him
to recognize he’d overreacted.” Victor shook his head and reached over his
bunkmate's body for his own blanket, which was thin and smelled of filth, but
it was the only one he got. Nothing like the thick ones Crunch had in the
watchtower.

“You lookin’ awfully clean.” Baldy’s voice made
Victor’s throat go dry.

Jacob approached him and squinted, looking at him
as though he was examining the teeth of a farm animal to assess its health.
“Clean as a priest on Sunday and not comin’ to dinner...”

“Got friends here, Vic?” Tompson walked up closer,
slouching his powerful body over Victor like a tidal wave ready to break and
choke him.

“No... it’s just...” He felt blood draining from
his face. “I am a singer, you see, so one of them wanted me to perform. That’s
all.” He hoped his blatant lie wouldn’t be discovered.

“Oh a singer!” He heard a laugh from the side.
“This is gonna be a jolly barrack from now on.”

“Unless they get fed up with this canary some day
and cut his tongue out.” Jacob, whom Victor already recognized as the grim
character of the barrack, glanced in their direction from his own bunk.

Victor managed a polite smile, even though the
sole thought made his stomach clench. “Let’s hope not. And you? What are you
here for?”

“I did a job for the Dals.” Jacob spat onto the
floor again. “But fuckin’ Bluefinger didn’t like how I spoke to his fuck-pet,
and I ended up here. Now I actually hope change in the Parliament is coming.
And when it comes, I hope all the Dal heads end up on spikes!”

“I couldn't care less whether they rot or not. The
question is whether we should simply take all of this with our heads down?”
Victor looked at Jacob, biting his lips hard. He would never be able to sneak
out alone. Crunch wasn’t a bad man, but it
was
in his interest to keep
Victor here, and staying was the last thing he wanted. He would eventually
wither like Baldy or that poor creature next to him. And once he outlived his
usefulness, no one would care to protect him.

“What do you think you can do?” Jacob sniggered
and laid down on his own cot. “There’s no way out. The guards are armed as
fuck, and there’s zombies all around the farm in the forest. And you know what?
I’ve seen people try to escape before. Most of them got shot and some came back
on their own," he went silent for dramatic effect, “as zombies.”

“So?” Victor swallowed, leaning forward and
looking at the tired faces around him. Only now he realized many of the men
were already asleep, too tired to join the conversation. “Did anyone ever
return home after serving their sentence?”

A man, who had to be in his late twenties but
looked much older due to the lack of fat on his body, shrugged, curling the
blanket much tighter around him. “No.”

“So why don’t we try?” Victor swallowed around the
bile in his throat. “I don’t want to die here.”

“I heard there is a way up. There’s a guard,
Sharpe, he used to be a prisoner. Years ago. From one of the first shipments
sent here,” said an older man whose looks suggested he might remember those
times. He turned to his stomach on the bunk across from Victor and cackled. “But
you, boy… You wouldn't make it--”

Tompson interrupted him and dismissed his words
with a gesture, focusing on Victor and some of the other new arrivals who
flocked around them at the suggestion of freedom like moths drawn to fire.
“None of us want to die here or even lose our fuckin’ teeth.” He pointed at
Jacob, who just sneered. “Why wait till they tire us out. We’ll find a way out
and then protect each other in the forest. There’s twenty of us at least!”

“That should work.” Victor licked his lips, eager
to take big, strong thugs with him. “It’s still warm, we could use spiked
stakes as weapons...” He trailed off and got to his feet, straightening to make
an impression on the other men. “I’d rather die trying than stay! This is not
life. Each and every one of you should recognize that.”

Baldy shook his head, cackling. His jaw bobbed up
and down as if it was fastened on springs. “If you wanna die so badly, go ahead
and die. Be my guest!”

Victor opened his mouth to answer, but was
interrupted by a banging on the door, which then continued along the wooden
wall of the barrack.

“Sleep!” They heard a yell from the outside.

The prisoners stirred, the sunken eyes of the
veterans flickering with fear, providing Victor with enough reason to shut his
mouth. He hurried to crawl into his bed before the last candles were blown out.
The man he shared the bunk with didn’t even flinch when Victor snuck his back
against him. He wasn’t sure what to think. Now, that he spoke his mind, it
occurred to him that there might be some people here willing to trade words for
food. Then again, the prisoners that have been here long, didn't consider
escape a valid option. Maybe it would have been wiser to speak to the men he
knew from today’s transport only?

His eyes roamed through the darkness that hid the
source of coughs, snorts, and other animalistic sounds. No talking or
whispering, as if the mere thought of a guard overhearing a few sentences was
life threatening.

Victor shifted as fear gripped his chest, refusing
to let go. That Jacob man only spent a month here, and already looked rugged,
his manly charms gone like the knocked out teeth. He refused to let that happen
to him, he’d rather die. He swallowed, closing his eyes in desperate need for
sleep after the exhausting day. Only it didn’t come quick enough.

***

It seemed that Victor had only closed his eyes
minutes ago when a racket of metal hitting against the bunks roused him from
his slumber. His mind was still hazy when he heard voices that could only
belong to the guards, strong and healthy.

“Up!”

“Get up!”

“Quick, or there’ll be no breakfast, you lazy
fuckers!”

Victor froze, recognizing the last one as Crunch,
but was knocked down by the man he slept with. The poor bugger was alarmed and
ready, as if the guards were the only people he was conditioned to respond to.
Victor didn’t even know his name. He followed him though, quickly strapping his
sandals. He tried not to look at Crunch, but his eyes instinctively gazed to
where his voice came from.

Crunch didn’t seem to pay him any mind, walking
back and forth through the barrack with a bared machete in hand. He was
approached by another guard, tall and bulky, with a bush of blonde hair.
Whatever it was he wanted to say, Crunch dismissed him with an impatient
gesture, striding towards the door.

“That’s Sharpe,” Jacob whispered to Victor from
the side. Victor let out a sharp breath, straightening up as soon as he was
done with his shoes, eager to look at the man who served his sentence in
Honeyhill and stayed. But it wasn’t the image he had hoped to see. Sharpe’s
skin was in horrible state, with deep pox scars. Their eyes met for a brief
moment and before Victor willed himself to look away, the man raced toward him.

“The fuck ya lookin’ at!” Victor tried not to
stare, but the dark, metallic spots between the white of Sharpe’s teeth scared
the hell out of him.

“I’m... sorry, mister...”

“For fuck’s sake, Sharpe...” Crunch followed with
no hurry. “Can’t ya see the boy looks as dumb as a sack of potatoes?”

It was almost physically hard for Victor to keep
his calm and not give his saviour a disapproving glance. In the end, he just
hung his head down, hoping he wouldn’t lose his teeth yet. Sharpe exhaled,
moving about restlessly.

“He’ll learn soon enough not to
fuck with me
!”
he growled like a rabid dog and shoved Victor back, knocking the air out of his
chest. Victor fell down with a yelp, and it was only thanks to his quick
reflexes that he didn't bang his head into the wall. His lungs filled in relief
when he looked up straight at Crunch, who laughed, presenting the gap between
his front teeth.

“I know! I’ll take him to the pig house
today," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Back at the exit,
prisoners seeped out of the building, guided by three other guards.

Sharpe grinned, tonguing his ugly teeth as if he
was proud enough of them to show them off. Much to Victor’s discomfort. “A lil’
toffer shoveling pig shit? Sounds good t’me!”

Victor swallowed and bit his lip, trusting it was
just Crunch’s way to keep him close and out of trouble. He could appreciate
that.

“Who do ya wanna take? This barrack only?” Sharpe
spit on the ground, too close to Victor’s feet to his liking but he forced
himself not to flinch.

“Up, boy!” Crunch's yell was enough to urge
Victor's heart into a gallop. The guard grinned at Sharpe and elbowed him in
the ribs. “Told ya he’s dumb. Nah, I’ll take ten of the fresh new daisies.”

“All yours.” Sharpe shook his head and went deeper
into the building. Victor stole a moment to look into Crunch’s face. Was he supposed
to go outside and wait there? Stay here?

Crunch furrowed his eyebrows, leaned down and
pulled Victor up by the arm in one abrupt move. His grip was so strong Victor
imagined it could in fact ‘crunch’ his bones. It made him breathless, and he
swallowed, lowering his gaze to the ground, or rather to Crunch’s dirty leather
boots. “Sorry.”

“Should I send ya yar daisies, or will ya move yar
arse and do it yarself?” shouted Sharpe who stood several cots away from them.
All the prisoners who hadn’t been called out yet stood in neat rows by their
beds, with eyes submissively cast down.

“I’m comin’ for fuck’s sake!” Crunch snarled back
and pulled Victor along with him as he made his way to the exit on the other
side of the building. As they went, he tapped nine other new men on the chest.
The morning chill was a shock to Victor's system. He started frantically
rubbing his arms, looking back at the familiar faces trailing behind them like
zombies, but then directed his gaze down, afraid he would stumble.

Crunch finally let go of Victor’s arm and led them
forward, with one more guard closing the group at the back. Watched so closely,
the prisoners remained silent, and the only things Victor could hear over the
constant buzz of the bees far away were gasps and clattering of teeth. He
looked down to the grass beneath his feet, trying to disconnect from his body
so that the cold wouldn't affect him as much, but without much success.