Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) (5 page)

“Ya gonna get grub and eat it on the way. Already
wasted ‘nough time,” Crunch grumbled. Victor already felt eyes drilling holes
in his back. He sighed, too tired after the sleepless night to care. He wasn’t
even hungry yet after yesterday’s feast, but he understood he wouldn’t get
anything else until dinner. Crunch took them to the Feeder where some of the
female prisoners distributed bread and soup to a long line of men and women
separated by a row of chairs across the hall. It was clear no one wanted the
sexes to mingle. The guards stayed at the entrance to drink their tea, urging
the prisoners to hurry through the hall where workers ate their sparse
breakfast sitting on the naked floor. The air smelled of grain, carrot and
milk, nothing exciting, rather bland, but at least it was a warm kind of smell.

They didn’t even get the luxury to sit down. The
moment they got their rations of bread and soup, the whole group was ordered to
march away from the living quarters. One good thing about it was that the
battered metal bowl was warming Victor’s fingers, but he couldn’t stop the
sinking feeling pooling in his gut. Was this how he would live and die? He
refused to agree with that.

As they were leaving the Feeder, he noticed one of
the men at the entrance could barely hold his bowl, one of his hands swollen,
with big red weals all over. It reminded Victor of the back of a flesh-coloured
toad. Jacob leaned over to Victor’s ear before he could flinch.

“A rotter stole his glove in the Hive,” he
whispered. “If it doesn’t heal in a week, they’ll cut it off.”

“What?” exclaimed Victor, his whole body tensing,
but he slouched without another word when a guard ordered them to be silent.

No one spoke as they made their way towards a
long, wooden structure built along the woods. Victor glanced at Crunch’s broad
back, greedily finishing up the thin, vegetable soup and using the bread to
scrape all the residue from the sides of the bowl. He really wanted to speak to
him, to speak to someone normal. It wasn't something he could call his fellow
prisoners. Most of them came from Bylondon, or other seedy places he would
never visit on his own.

The smell of animals and their faeces was
unmistakable. The building was huge, very long, each pen holding several pigs
crowded together. Each one was far better nourished than the people taking care
of them, but they still reacted to humans entering the pigsty by pushing at the
walls of their pens with demanding grunts. Victor opened his eyes wider,
shocked by their shaking ears and assaulted by the smell. He would never eat
pork again.

They were all asked to leave the bowls outside,
and as soon as the whole team was standing in a neat row, guard number two
started instructing them on their tasks in short orders as Crunch watched on,
leaning against a wall. Victor’s heart sunk when he realized he was really to
work with pigs. He’d eaten their meat and occasionally, he even saw their heads
in the butcher’s display window, but he never expected them to be such a bunch
of insistent beasts! They smelled and made noises that sounded like a very bad
case of the runs. In London, he never encountered edible animals that were
alive.

He was scolded for not being attentive enough, but
it didn’t take long until they were all assigned jobs. Victor got the
undignified task of shovelling pig shit, but at least he didn’t have to deal
with the animals, since he was working in an empty pen. And thank God. Those
fat beasts looked hungry enough to try and have a bite from their carer. To do
his task, he was given long, rubber boots that were too large for him, so he
had to stick some hay inside to keep them from falling off with each step. With
no one to talk to, Victor sunk into the fantasy of his soft bed back home and
lemon drizzle cake. He would wake up with a lover at his side and hide him in
the wardrobe so that the maid wouldn’t have to watch their naked bodies tangled
in sweaty sheets. Everything to forget what he was up to, even though he did
have to look at the sickening mush beneath his feet.

A snap of fingers right in front of his face
instantly tore him out of the fantasy. He looked up at a random guard he hadn't
seen before.

“Who told you, you can sing at work?” the man
growled and pushed at his chest, dangerously close to the pile of excrements.
Victor blinked. He didn’t even notice that he had started humming.

“I didn’t think... it wasn’t allowed. Did I hurt
your ears, mister?” he forced with a smile, even though all his limbs turned
into wood.

“Let ‘im sing, Tony!” Crunch chuckled from his
seat by the wall, as he was stuffing his pipe, a good move in a place like
this. “I was told he was a singer in London. Caged canary now.”

Victor swallowed, looking straight into Crunch’s
eyes, even though his heart sunk in sadness at the truth of that last
statement. “Did
you
like my singing, mister?”

“Anything to break the boredom of watching you slugs
work.” Crunch shrugged, but gave Victor a bit more attention as Tony walked
back and sat on the same bench as him.

“What would you have me sing? Is there any song
that you like in particular?” Victor dared a small smile, even though he knew
he had to look far from seductive in shit-stained boots and all sweaty. The job
was harder than he had imagined, especially that he had to clean out all of the
pens and was only finishing up the second one.

“Dunno songs, boy.” Crunch lit his pipe and
scrutinized him with a slight frown.

Victor swallowed and averted his eyes, gathering
another shovelful, which he carried to a buggy they used to take the faeces out
of the building. His biceps were already hurting as he wasn’t used to doing
this kind of labour. His mind focused on how horrible he had to look with his
face reddened and sweaty, with hair sticking to his forehead. He intoned the
first thing that came to his mind, a song his mother liked. When he was still a
child, he used to sing it for her all the time, without understanding the true
meaning of the lyrics. He didn’t know the melancholy behind the longing to
return into the shadows of a weeping willow. To meet a lover, no questions
about it now. And he, whose lovers had to always remain in hiding, understood it
better than most.

Crunch must have grasped the idea, because he
smirked, lazily taking out nuts out of their shells one by one as he smoked.

***

The day went by slowly, with Victor tediously
progressing to subsequent pens, his back and arms stinging like never before.
He was sweating. Like a pig. He wanted to laugh at the pun in his mind, but
wasn’t in the mood. Not even caring to sing anymore, he tried his best not to
stop working. He was certain that if he got some rest, his muscles would refuse
to cooperate.

He got distracted by a
crunch
that sounded
like a breaking nut shell and groaned. He couldn’t understand how Crunch could
be eating anything with the thick odour around.
Crunch
.

Victor glanced to his right, over the naked floor
of the pen and drew in a sharp breath when he noticed the familiar boots. His
gaze trailed up Crunch’s body, all the way to his handsome face. The man was
now leaning on a fence by the entrance to the pen. Getting increasingly
self-conscious, Victor felt an unpleasant heat trail down his back, only to
pool in his gut. Dirty, sweaty and smelly, with his boots ankle deep in the
shit, he was a far call from the young, attractive man he used to be back in
London. It wasn’t the image he wanted to present to the person who would help
him survive all this. He glanced around, not sure whether he wanted them to
have company or not, but he soon found out they were alone.

“Good day to you too,” he tried, leaning the
shovel handle on his arm to pull one of his sleeves down. He quickly wiped his
face with it, doing his best to avoid Crunch’s gaze. His whole body was telling
him to flee.

“They went outside,” Crunch sighed, and his tactic
was entirely different, as he wasn't taking his eyes off Victor.

“I would make myself presentable if I could.”

Crunch shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Yar gonna get
dirty anyway. I thought it’d be better though...? You wanted to be out of the
sun?”

Only now it hit Victor. Would Crunch have ordered
this change for
him
? He looked at the rugged face in mild disbelief, but
soon, he settled for a grateful smile. This man, who was in charge here and
could essentially just have him for plain favours, was actually trying to take
care of him.

“Yes... it’s weakening, and I don’t really want my
skin to get damaged.” He shot Crunch a meaningful glance.

The man scratched his head, lowering his eyes for
the first time that day. “I know it’s a shit job... uh... sorry... I mean...”
He sighed, stuffing his mouth with nuts.

Victor chuckled despite the painful pull in his
muscles and the horrible sticky feeling all over his body. “You might think I'm
some weakling who can't do any work, but I'm not,” he claimed even though he
never did physical work other than perhaps rearranging some furniture in his
room.

“Good. What I wanted to say is that it’s not a
great job, but there are many much worse. Just keep yarself out of trouble.”

Victor gulped, daring to take two steps towards
Crunch. The man was very handsome in a rough sort of way. Looking at his mouth,
Victor still remembered its exact feel on his cock. “I only wish for your
attention.”

“Charming,” Crunch said without emotion, but
couldn’t hide the smirk and looked to his feet.

Victor bit his lip and closed the distance between
them until the tips of their boots touched. “Yes, you are.” He smiled, his
fingers tingling to touch, but didn’t dare to reach out.

“I’m just a guard.” Crunch couldn’t fight the
smile anymore as he looked up to Victor and put a hand on his hip. His touch
was steady, firm, but careful, as if he were dealing with a porcelain teapot.

Victor reached up, brushing the irregular ridge of
Crunch’s nose with the back of his hand. Not for a second did his gaze leave
the other man’s eyes. “So?”

“I’m surprised ya’d find me charming, liar boy.”

Victor frowned. “I’ve been called many things, but
not a liar.”

“Nah?” Crunch raised an eyebrow and slowly
caressed his hip.

“Nah.” Victor nodded, leaning closer until they
were chest to chest, his chin digging into the other man’s breastbone. “Why did
you call me a liar, Mr. Crunch?”

“Cause I’m no gentleman.” The guard snorted.

“Not all gentlemen are charming, believe me.”
Victor looked up at him, but still kept his hands by his sides.

“Can’t do this now, ya know. Anyone could come
in.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t kiss you yet.” Victor
smiled at him. “Who broke your nose?”

“Ah, that.” Crunch laughed and rubbed the ridge of
his nose, looking away. “Lover, long time ago. I’m a bastard, ya know.” The way
he smiled made it seem that he didn’t regret it.

“What did you do to the poor sod?”

Crunch raised his eyebrows with a crooked grin.
“Me? Nah... Can’t ya see I’m the one who got ‘urt?”

“I want to know why you call yourself a bastard.”
Victor sighed and got up to his toes to brush his lips over the rough skin of
the guard’s neck.

Crunch let out a chuckle. “Fucked ‘is son, so I
guess I deserved what was comin’.”

Victor blinked, taken aback. “You fucked both
father and son?”

“Told ya I’m a bastard.” Still laughing, Crunch
guided his hand to Victor’s buttocks. Its warmth seeped through the fabric of
the trousers and coaxed a sigh out of Victor.

“I just hope the boy was already a man.” He gave
Crunch a questioning look, stirring under the already familiar touch.

Crunch lifted his eyebrows. “I’m no cradle
snatcher.”

“Good. Will you snatch me away from my porridge
again?” Victor asked, swiftly changing the topic.

“Can’t today.” Crunch sighed and squeezed Victor’s
arse.

“Oh... no?” Victor slid one arm around Crunch,
practically hugging him. What a wicked thing it was to fuck both the father and
son. He couldn’t really blame the father for feeling betrayed.

“Nah, got duties. Ya keep yarself outta trouble,
yeah?” Crunch leaned down and groaned into Victor’s hair.

“Tomorrow then?” insisted Victor.

“Fuck yeah. I’m so having yar arse tomorrow.”

Victor couldn’t help the blush he felt on his
cheeks. “Can’t wait...” he trailed off, biting his lip with a soft sigh. He
slid his gaze down Crunch’s muscular body and yes, he definitely wanted it too.

“Wish I could today.” Crunch trailed his hands up
Victor’s body. “Yar such a looker.”

Victor lowered his hand, instinctively pressing it
against his side, but instead, he caught Crunch’s palm against his ribs and
froze.

“Watcha doin’?” There was a sharper edge to
Crunch’s voice.

Victor swallowed, giving him a smile that he
already knew was tense and unnatural. “Nothing.”

“I know yar not ticklish. Touched ya there
yesterday.” Crunch raised his eyebrows.

Victor stared at him, his gut clenching. “I have a
hole in my shirt, that’s all,” he lied in hope Crunch would buy it.

“Oh yeah? Show me.”

Victor shook his head, backing away from him with
his heart in his throat. All of a sudden, Crunch became a threat.

“I said ‘show me’.” It was as if the air went
solid around Victor when Crunch grabbed his arm, digging his fingers into his
flesh.

“Please, don’t!”

Crunch’s grasp was becoming painful, almost as if
he wanted to tear a chunk of meat off Victor’s arm. “Ya got a fuckin’ weapon?”
He leaned in, squinting, with his nostrils flaring.

“No!” Victor shook his head. His heart was
hammering so fast it was getting him nauseous. “It’s personal...”