Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) (12 page)

“So good...” Crunch slid his fingers into Victor’s
healthy, wet hair, cool against his palm.

His cock was already stiff and pointing upwards in
front of Victor’s face. The lad wasted no time and wrapped his fingers around
it, giving it a gentle squeeze as he sucked on Crunch’s sack with a content
murmur.

“I could suck that cock any day,” he declared with
passion, giving Crunch’s nuts one more kiss before progressing up, his tongue
pulsing against the underside of the cock.

“And I could see to that.” Crunch panted with a
smile, stroking Victor’s hair. His heart was pounding, and he revelled in the
attention he was getting. The lad had such a talent for sucking. Being encased
in his soft mouth while staring down into those intense brown eyes had Crunch
galloping towards climax within minutes. Victor was bobbing his head in a
circular motion, his slick tongue pressing into the sensitive underside of
Crunch’s dick at all times, except for those glorious moments when he was
drawing back to play with the crown of the shaft.

“So fuckin’ good,” Crunch moaned, already on the
brink of coming. Just a few licks, a bit more pressure... A bit deeper into
Victor’s throat, and he was there, gripping at his lover’s hair. Victor leaned
in to suck more of him, taking the come straight into his throat. The way he
held on to Crunch’s thighs felt oddly like a hug.

Crunch finished with a few last thrusts, breathing
deeply and looking down at the image of perfection: his cock still deep in Victor’s
mouth. The boy was a bit teary-eyed from taking the prick into his throat, but
he drew back enough to take a breath and whined, squeezing his own crotch
through the stiff cotton of his trousers.

“Ah, stand up.” Crunch gave him a satisfied smile,
dizzy with the intensity of his climax. “Let me take care of that for ya.”
Maybe they could use this shed more often?

Victor released Crunch’s softening cock from his
mouth and gave it one last tender smooch before Crunch pulled him up. He moved
in for yet another crushing kiss and hugged Victor close, his hands already
sliding down to his arse.

“Need you.” Victor cupped Crunch’s face, clinging
to him in desperation. The stiff bulge in his trousers poked Crunch’s hip in a
silent demand.

“Oh yeah? How much?” Crunch slid a hand between
the lad's thighs, while moving the other one to Victor’s crotch and squeezing
it through the fabric. Victor let out a gasp, his eyelids falling shut. With
lips swollen from sucking and the delicate flush on his cheeks, Victor looked
so astonishingly beautiful. He reminded Crunch of a painting depicting a saint
in ecstasy that he had once seen in a church overrun by zombies.

“So much...”

Crunch didn’t torment him anymore, quickly pulling
down Victor’s trousers, but instead of grabbing his stiff cock, he rubbed it
with his thigh, shivering at the sensation of hot flesh against his skin.
Victor pressed into him with a low groan, his hard cock grinding against Crunch
fervently.

“‘ow d’ya like that,” Crunch murmured and finally
wrapped his fingers around Victor’s prick. He loved how it pulsed in his hand.
And when he squeezed it, it earned him an ecstatic smile.

“Love it, Mr. Crunch,” Victor mewled, reaching out
to brush his thumbs against Crunch's cheekbones. They were kissing again and it
was hurried, bruising. Victor was desperate for contact as if it was his last
chance for human touch, so Crunch didn’t keep him wanting for too long. He
started pumping Victor’s prick and in a flash of excitement, slid a finger
between the trembling buttcheeks. The puckered flesh between them was hot as if
it wanted to make up for all that cold skin. Crunch was almost sorry that he
didn’t get to stick his cock in.

“Oh God, yes!” Victor wiggled his foot out of the
trousers and clumsily rested his knee on the tabletop to give him easier
access.

“Such an eager boy.” Crunch laughed into his lips,
pushing just the tip of his finger in, while furiously working Victor’s cock.

“You promised to kiss me,” pleaded Victor, riding
Crunch’s hands like he couldn’t stand the pressure anymore. His stiff cock was
slippery from the precome as Victor thrust it into Crunch’s grasp over and over
again. He came just after their lips met, crying out into Crunch’s hungry mouth
and spilling all over his fingers.

“Mmm... Sweet as honey,” Crunch whispered and
licked the plump bottom lip where he could still taste the sweet nectar. He
felt exhausted but happy as ever.

Victor purred even before opening his eyes.
“You’re so fucking good.”

“Team work," Crunch said, though he couldn’t
help pride bubbling up to the surface in a smile. Victor grinned back, but
leaned most of his body weight on Crunch and gave a tired sigh.

“Yes, we worked well together.”

“Ya want more ‘oney tomorrow?” Crunch nuzzled his
cheek and though his mouth spoke about food, he was up for much more than that.
Victor seemed to understand it as well. He chuckled, hiding his face in the
crook of Crunch’s neck.

“Next time we meet, I want cake.”

“I can try to come up with cake.” Crunch sighed
and released him without enthusiasm to slowly pull up his trousers.

“Thank you.” Victor trailed small kisses along
Crunch’s jaw until he reached his mouth and gave him the sweetest smooch. “I
need to go before anyone notices I disappeared.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Crunch moved aside, so
Victor would have space to get his clothes in order. The lad had something in
him, that made Crunch
want
to satisfy his needs. Maybe it was the
destiny of a working class man to serve a blueblood? More likely, the destiny
of any sod who laid his eyes on the jewel that was Victor.

All too soon, they were both ready to go. Victor
bit his lip and curled his fingers around Crunch’s hand, softly stroking it
with his thumb. “I had a good time.”

“I have to always feed ya ‘oney, if it makes yar
lips so sweet,” Crunch said, before realizing it sounded too lovey-dovey.
Nothing he could do about it now.

For a moment, Victor’s face was completely blank,
but then he smiled, shaking his head. “Charmer.”

“On my best behaviour.” Crunch snorted and opened
the door. “After ya.”

***

It was Crunch’s lucky day. He wiped the water off
a bench and laid down on it with his feet resting firmly on the ground. There
were so many stars tonight, and he enjoyed the peace of mentally connecting the
bright dots in the sky. His time with Victor was running out and as much as he
didn’t like it, that was just his luck, to meet a fantastic fuck the moment the
farm was coming to an end. As unlikely as it seemed, even if Victor would like
to continue their acquaintance and meet in London, Crunch didn’t know if he
would have time to see the lad amidst the revolution. He was important to the
Humanists, a good soldier, and he couldn’t just wander off after this mission
if the country was to swallow the changes. He
could
enjoy those last few
days though. Smiling into the sky, he popped open the two top buttons of his
shirt and slipped his fingers inside to touch the ring
—
Only to sit up in shock at the discovery that it
wasn’t there.

He looked around with his chest clenching as if
the thief could be close by, when of course there was no one. Crunch
desperately searched through the insides of his shirt, just in case the chain
broke and fell into his clothes, but deep down he knew it wasn't what had
happened. The bitter taste of disappointment was already settling on his
tongue.

After a brief moment of fear at the thought of
betraying the trust Victor placed in him, his mind went back to the shed in the
orchard and the way the lad worked his fingers all around his neck. His body
threatened to shudder as if someone poured a bucket of icy water over his head

“Fucker,” he said out loud. But why would Victor
do that? Did the lad simply doubt Crunch's intentions? He looked up to the
setting sun as if it could provide an answer. Was this why Victor suddenly
changed his mind about them seeing each other? Would he be lying about having a
good time as well?

The thought that Victor might have pretended to
want him had Crunch feeling nauseous. He stood up and kicked the bench over in
a fit of anger.

“Oy, what is it?” called Jones, who was also on
break.

“Nothin’! Just fuckin’ nothin’!” He kicked the
innocent wood once more.

Jones raised his hands to signify he wasn’t going
to press the matter, and Crunch was alone once more.
That little,
manipulative, lying fucker!

He huffed like a steam engine, his whole face
burning up to his ears. He was not taking this shit!

With his guts knotting, Crunch turned to where the
barracks were and started stomping that way with clenched fists. The prisoners
should be already done with their meal, so he might have the chance to just
snatch the little bastard out of his bed and confront him about the ring. He
couldn’t believe he let that pretty boy play him like a baby.

It was practically dark when he reached the
buildings, but before he even got near the barrack where Victor slept, he heard
Dorset’s voice calling him.

“Crunch, get yar arse here now!”

“Huh? What’s up, sir?” He tried for it not to
sound like a growl of irritation, but it was a difficult feat with his throat
so tight.

“Just come’re!” The old fuck snarled and
disappeared inside of his cottage. There was a lot of movement going on inside
from what Crunch could see through the windows.

Crunch didn’t want to look reluctant, so he ran up
to the cottage within seconds. He frowned when a man in full protective gear
bumped into him.

“Sorry,” he said through the black leather mask
and entered the main room, which was now full of guards who were hastily
gearing up. In a chair in the corner, he saw a thin, young man with dark
shadows around his eyes. It was a prisoner, but he was wearing a guard’s jacket
and drank from a porcelain mug he cradled in his palms like it was a newborn
baby.

“Can someone tell me, the fuck’s ‘appening?!”
Crunch yelled over their heads, trying to spot Dorset in the sea of thick
leather uniforms.

“They’re trying to flee.”

He frowned, looking at where the feminine voice
came from. It was Dorset’s sort-of-wife, now dressed in a simple, brown gown.
It finally hit him. The prisoner in the chair was a snitch. The tingling in
Crunch’s face came with a heaviness in his legs as blood drained from his head.

“Prisoners? Which fuckin’ barrack?” Crunch’s heart
leapt in his chest all of a sudden. Victor wanted his ring back, because he was
leaving.
Idiot! Fucking, lying muttonhead!

Chapter
9

Victor kept his head low as he ran through the
bushes. It was dark in the shadow of the treetops, but with the moon so full
they could still be noticed. His heart hammered in his chest, making him almost
lightheaded, but the weight of the ring on his neck and the honey pot from the
day before against his leg gave him enough hope to keep going. They crossed the
fence close to the place where the train tracks ended on Honeyhill grounds and
just sprinted ahead, trying to keep the wall running alongside the iron tracks
in sight. Otherwise, they could lose their way in the forest. He didn’t pay any
mind to the other runaways as long as he could hear human footsteps, though
each snapping branch could mean the proximity of something much more sinister.
The brightness seeping through the leaves was a blessing, as he could see the
undead on time and avoid running into them. Oddly enough, he wasn’t tired yet,
but he didn't want to ponder on what would happen once his strength ran out. He
might have never been to a real forest, but he did climb trees in Hyde Park and
was surprised by how unwelcoming the real thing was. With bushes so thick he
could hardly see a thing through them, most of the time he had to rely on his
ears for protection. For a moment, he envisioned walking right into a zombie
and being knocked into the muddy ground, rotting teeth sinking into his flesh.
He wondered how much it would hurt before he passed out.

The plan was to move so far away from the camp
that the guards wouldn't follow them anymore and then move along the walls that
isolated the tracks from the undead. Only this way, did they stand a chance of
reaching London without losing their way. There was at least thirty of them altogether,
so Victor hoped they could survive by protecting one another, and he tried not
to lose his fellow escapees from sight altogether. 

There was a bone-chilling scream, but just as he
mentally said goodbye to a man eaten alive somewhere behind him, loud,
commanding shouts made him aware of a different kind of danger. With the guards
at their heels, the threat of death became all too real, even more so than
being bitten. Gasping, Victor forced his muscles to work harder and sped up,
slouching with a silent scream when he heard the first gunshot echo through the
dark forest. He threw himself into the thick bush, running blindly, just to get
away from the guns. He ignored the sting of branches hitting his face and
hands, desperate to get as far away as he could, even as his throat started
choking with exertion. Suddenly, a tree trunk exploded close to his head, and
he fell down, hit by a small piece of wood.

Victor’s senses ran wild with every gunshot he
heard, every scream. He had no idea who was uttering the cries for help, but he
assumed it must have been the other escapees. He knew the guards were wearing
inhuman black leather masks when on patrol, and those would surely muffle their
voices. Victor envisioned them moving among the trees like silent demons on the
prowl, ready to take them out, one by one.

With bolts swishing over his head, he saw no other
option but to crawl in the mud, his throat tightening as if someone was trying
to rip it out. It was hard to keep focused, so he started setting goals he was
supposed to reach, only to assure himself he was making progress. He could
still do this. Maybe they wouldn’t spot him, small and quiet, on the ground.
But Victor couldn’t muffle the scream that tore out of his chest the moment a
body dropped into the muddy ground less than five feet away from him. Tompson's
wide eyes stared at him while a streak of red outlined them, seeping from a
bolt stuck in the man's temple. Victor shuddered, too stiff to move away, but
it wasn’t the time for mourning a man he didn’t really know. There was a
movement behind the fallen body and the slow, wobbling figure of a zombie was
the only thing that kept Victor from running. With a low, inhuman groan, the
undead dropped to its knees and bit into Tompson’s exposed neck as though it
was Sunday roast. Victor's last meal went up in his throat. He wanted to cry
but was too scared to even move his chest for a sob. The smell of blood and
rotting flesh was so thick he could drown in it. If only he could stop looking
at the dead man’s tender flesh and tendons being devoured... but that would put
him at more risk, both from the monster and the chasers. As long as he stayed
in the shadow of the bush, buried halfway in the cold mud, he still had a
chance. He wasn’t a child and couldn’t just close his eyes to make the
nightmare go away. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have never left the
camp this way.

And then he froze, hearing slow, shuffling steps
coming closer, stomping over wet leaves. Then came a long groan of hunger.  He
would die out here. Hit by a bolt or eaten alive, but he would die. That
thought was enough to push him forward, and he ran like a madman straight
towards a clearing in the woods. If he had a choice, he’d rather have a quick
death.

The whole forest was alive with screams, gunshots
and moans. Victor didn’t even know which ones were of the living, which of the
dead. He couldn’t see well, and it was all too late to change course when he
saw another zombie approaching him from the clearing. A turn to the side helped
to avoid meeting the thing face to face, but it was no use, as it instantly
followed Victor. Yet another rotter, a half naked woman who must have been dead
for years judging by the state of her body, also turned on him.

Too shocked to watch out where he went, Victor
tripped over something with a silent scream, falling face first into the mud.
“Fuck... no!” Trying to get to his feet, he prayed to all the deities he knew
of.

The moment he turned to his side, he wished he
hadn’t. The male zombie lunged at him, and Victor could already hear the
gurgles of the approaching woman. The crackle of yellow teeth in front of his
face was his worst nightmare coming true, and he struggled to keep the zombie
at arms length, its weight forcing Victor down. He didn’t even notice when he
started crying like a newborn baby, his whole body pulsing with dread. In an
effort to keep the monstrous jaws at bay, he dug his fingers into the undead’s
cheekbone and they pierced the paper thin skin, sliding into the zombie’s
flesh. His disgust was beyond anything he had ever experienced when plump,
yellow maggots fell on him from inside of the zombie’s mouth.

And then, the ghoul went still. It took Victor a
moment to realize what happened when he looked up, over the zombie's shoulder. A
guard in one of those black leather outfits was just pulling a machete out of
the undead’s brain. Some of the blood sprayed on Victor’s cheek.

He stared at the pitch black silhouette, too
shocked to utter a word, but then more maggots fell on his chest, making his
stomach twist. He turned his head barely enough to puke into the mud. He curled
his legs close to his body, too afraid to look up.

He was numb by the time the zombie was pushed off
him. After another crackle of bones against metal, the female's moans stopped
as well.

The guard unbuckled the leather muzzle, just under
the big black goggles that made him look like a bug. “The fuck I told ya, ya
fuckin’ cunt?” he screamed at Victor, reaching for a bundle of rope at his hip
in efficient, practiced moves.

Victor’s body shook uncontrollably, even as he
realized why he found the voice familiar. It was Crunch. Covered with mud, with
muscles hurting from the long run, he couldn’t stop crying. “Will I die?”

“Yes, ya fucker! I’m gonna fuckin’ skin ya when we
get back!” Crunch spat on the ground and without a second warning, he dropped
to one knee and knotted up Victor’s ankles.

Victor was dead silent. He couldn’t control his
voice right now, terrified to the point of shaking. Looking away from Crunch,
he focused on a tree, its black branches like skinny zombie hands on the
background of a dark sky. Hot wetness trailed over the bridge of his nose and
then down to his temple. There was no hope for him. It was the end.

It was a heart-stopping experience to see how
quick Crunch was at tying him up. When the guard lurched him over his arm,
Victor couldn’t help but vomit again, this time over the front of Crunch’s
trousers and his shoes. The motion sent his head spinning.

“Yar fuckin’ paying for all of this!” came his
‘saviour’s’ snarl, but Victor was too numb for anything but a loud sob. With
Crunch hating him as well, his life at the camp was over. He didn’t want Crunch
to hate him, that’s why he gave him that goodbye fuck. Could he ever feel as
safe as he did in that shed? Or would Crunch shun him after the betrayal he
suffered?

As they made their way through the forest,
countless screams, moans and even more gunfire got to Victor through the veil
of nausea. He was able to observe first hand how good at killing zombies Crunch
was, as another one approached them on the way. This time, held over the ground
and helpless, he could close his eyes, but he would still hear the bones.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

***

Crunch was sweating like a pig beneath his leather
outfit, trembling with suppressed rage. At least he could stop worrying about
zombies once they crossed the double fencing. Crunch slowed down and took a
deep breath.
Think, Crunch!

Victor didn’t vomit anymore, which was a relief.
The lad just hung over his arm like a sack of potatoes. On the way back to the
camp, Crunch saw other guards forcing their living captives to carry their dead
counterparts back to Honeyhill because it wouldn't be wise to leave bodies
around. The smell would only attract more rotters.

“Don’t say a fuckin’ word, ya dumb fuck. Got it?”
Crunch whispered to Victor, already noticing Dorset pacing in agitation in
front of his cottage. He was screaming at anyone who would listen. Dorset’s
eyes settled on Crunch, only strengthening the burning feeling in his stomach.

“You got one?” Dorset yelled, but shifted his gaze
to Marlowe, who was running around like a headless chicken.

“Yeah. I think there’s five more coming. Rest is
dead.” Crunch was too tired to put any emotion into those words.

Dorset shook his head. “He in good condition?”

“Gotta check ‘im for bites. The usual punishment?”
he asked lazily, trying to sound bored with the idea, though in truth he wanted
to suggest it to Dorset. A lashing would be better than death and in Honeyhill,
Dorset’s word was law. Victor’s body tensed at the mention of punishment. The
little fucker should have thought about consequences earlier.

The governor made a dismissive gesture with his
hand, settling Crunch’s heart at peace. “Yes, just take that fuckin’ piece of
shit out of my sight!”

Crunch didn’t dare sigh in relief and gave Dorset
a curt nod. “I’m gonna enjoy this. Fucker puked all over me,” he complained.

The governor shook his head in disgust. “Take your
time, Crunch. Good job today.”

Crunch turned away and started walking towards the
far off prison buildings without a word. The barracks were luxurious in
comparison to the rooms used for punishment and incarceration. His heart was
pounding in his chest like a giant hammer. What the fuck was he supposed to do
with Victor? Dorset would notice if he
didn’t
lash the prisoner. Victor
sure deserved the lashing, but would he be able to take it?

Screams and commotion were dying out as he went
further down the road to the prison block, his arm already aching from carrying
all that weight. He picked up his pace, relieved when he saw the large shape in
front of him.

Victor sniffed.

“Ya couldn’t fuckin’ listen to me, could ya?”
Crunch snapped. “Ya don’t get to cry now!”

“I’m sorry, Crunch.”

“Yar not sorry! Ya fuckin’ sucked my cock just to
get yar fuckin’ ring back!” Crunch couldn’t stop swearing and already hated
just how wounded he sounded.

Victor stiffened again. “Do you honestly believe
that?”

“Oh yeah! Ya trying to play yar mind games again
already?” Crunch growled as they came up to the large prison building. One of
the sturdier ones in the camp, brick and stone, not wood.

“I would have asked you to give the ring back! I
just....”

“Ya didn’t. And now we’re both fucked.” Crunch
lowered his voice. He knew this building in and out. There would be a guard on
their way.

“How are
you
fucked?” Victor’s voice
tightened.

Of course. To Victor, he was just a violent guard,
a cog in the Dal mob’s infrastructure. Crunch barely acknowledged the guard on
duty as they walked past him, and he picked up a set of keys from the cabinet
on the wall. Cells and torture rooms hid behind harmless looking wooden doors
on both sides of the long corridor. He headed to the last ones to minimize the
risk of being overheard. Victor was just as silent, a dead weight on his arm.

Crunch pushed the thick wooden doors open,
deliberately choosing the room with tiny slits instead of windows, for maximum
privacy. He needed to think.

There were two sets of shackles on the wall, as
well as simple stocks and a chest filled with torture devices. It was simple
and neat, if one overlooked the dark stains on the wooden floor where too much
blood seeped in.

“Crunch?” Victor’s whisper was barely audible.

Crunch put the other man on the floor. Gently,
even though he sort of wanted to just throw him off. Even now he couldn’t stand
being a brute to the fucking liar. He lit the two candles in the room. The heat
at the back of his neck was proof that Victor was watching him from the place
where Crunch left him.

“What?” he finally snarled, as he was meticulously
closing the double locks on the doors.

Victor cowered, hiding his head in his arms like a
sleeping duck. “It... it was a goodbye,” he mumbled, watching Crunch with those
big, frightened eyes. His clothes were covered with a thick glaze of mud, and
he had a fresh scar on his cheekbone.