Stung: Winter Special

Winter Special

K.A. Merikan

Acerbi&Villani
ltd

About
Stung: Winter Special

This short
story is set a few months after the events described in our novel,
Stung
. It could be read separately, but we advise
to read the novel first, as it is not a stand alone.

by K.A. Merikan

—
If
you want honey, prepare to get stung —

October 1907,
Honeyhill

Twenty years
into the Plague

Victor is a man
of delicate sensibilities, not fit to do backbreaking labour on a
farm ran by the mob. Upon arrival in Honeyhill, he decides he needs
an anchor, an alliance with one of the guards, if he wants to
survive. That anchor comes in the form of Crunch, a hunky ex-sailor
with a pair of tight leather trousers and a ruggedly handsome
face.

But from day
one, Victor knows he won’t last long with the hard physical work
assigned to him and the torment he suffers at the hands of a
sadistic guard. He needs to run, and his new alliance might prove
to be a burden instead of solace.

If Crunch wants
Honeyhill liberated, he needs to focus on his job, not on
protecting Victor, one of many new arrivals on the farm.
Distraction is the last thing he needs after months of undercover
work. But it’s hard not to get seduced by Victor’s big brown eyes
and fingertips that don’t know work. Hundreds of people depend on
Crunch keeping his identity a secret, revealing it could be fatal
for both him and Victor, and a failure of his mission.

Thankfully,
Victor would never be dumb enough to try and escape through a
forest that’s swarming with zombies. Would he?

*

‘
Stung’ is a
standalone book set in the universe of
Zombie
Gentlemen
.

*

Genre:
dystopian homoerotic thriller

POSSIBLE
SPOILERS:

Themes:
zombies, prisoner/guard, beekeeping, gore, deception, undercover
agent, captivity, romance, brutality, forced labour camp, murder,
farm, torment, forbidden romance, Victorian

Erotic
content:
explicit m/m sexual scenes (including dubious
consent)

Length:
~ 50.000 words

This is a work
of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons,
living, dead, or undead, events, places or names is purely
coincidental.

No part of this
book may be reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means,
without the written permission of the publisher. Uploading and
distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means
without a permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by
law.

Text copyright
© 2014 K.A. Merikan

All Rights
Reserved

http://KAMerikan.com

Cover design
by:

Book Cover
Masterclass

http://bookcovermasterclass.com

Cover photo
by

Nikos
Vasilakis

http://nikosalpha.com/

Used with
permission from the author.

Winter Special

Crunch was
pushing through the snow that kept sneaking into his eyes. He never
thought he’d be grateful for a blizzard, yet here he was. End of
January, middle of London, pushing to a house he only knew by
address. If it wasn’t for the ghastly weather, he wouldn’t have
been able to get any time off from his duties. With the
bone-chilling wind roaring through the narrow streets, he was
thankful for the thick woollen scarf Victor sent him for Christmas.
They have exchanged letters over the weeks since Honeyhill’s
liberation, but he was still surprised to receive a box of gifts
that contained mostly luxurious food and tobacco, as well as a
bottle of fine cologne with a copper canary head on the stopper. It
seemed fancy in comparison to what he usually used, but hoping to
see Victor tonight, he used it.

He only got
short notice on the possibility of leaving for a few nights, so he
didn’t even bother sending Victor a message, instead wishing to
surprise him. Deep down in his heart lingered the thought that
maybe he would be an unwelcome guest. Following the directions a
local shopkeeper gave him five minutes ago, he walked deeper into
one of those new, affluent neighbourhoods built on steel platforms
over the slum. Walking up the street, he carefully watched the
numbers on identical copper plates. The houses here were twins and
villas with small gardens, and each had its own style. Unlike the
tidy quarters preferred by the former gentry, the Terrace of
Tomorrow was the top residential area for the nouveau-riche, and
its occupants were keen to display their wealth with complicated
architecture.

Crunch stopped
in his tracks, raising his head to gape at house number
forty-three. Victor’s house. It looked like something from a
fairytale, with a huge clock with female-shaped hands and two tiny
towers topped by pointy roofs. So, would his prince be at home?

He smiled to
himself and took the goggles off before knocking on the door. He
didn’t want to seem threatening, and since the recent riots in the
East End, people weren’t exactly welcoming.

He waited for
an answer in front of the grand wooden doors, but nothing happened.
Crunch sighed and looked around for the doorbell, only to spot a
metal lion’s head with a button embedded between the animal’s jaws.
He pressed on it in resignation and blinked, startled by a loud
tweet from inside. It sounded remarkably realistic, as if there
were a live bird on the other side of the door. He looked up to the
tower once again, feeling inadequate.
Prince and the Pauper
,
huh?

The clang of an
opening lock brought him back to the present, and Crunch found
himself facing a white-haired, middle-aged man in a bottle-green
uniform.

“May I help
you, sir?” It came in the most proper accent Crunch had ever
heard.

“Yeah, I
kinda... I’m lookin’ for Victor Sheppard?” Ridiculous. He killed
more zombies than he could count but was intimidated by a butler? A
butler who managed to keep his face a mask of polite indifference
even when his eyes flashed with understanding.

“Certainly,
sir. Please, come in.” He opened the door wider, letting Crunch
into a high hall that resonated with the sound of several dozen
clocks. The mechanisms, both antique and modern, took over all the
walls up to the ceiling.

Crunch slowly
pulled off the scarf, amazed by the interior. He walked up to a
large grandfather clock made of copper and glass. The mechanism
inside moved with perfect precision, drawing him in.

“May I take
your coat, sir?” asked a soft female voice from the side. The
pretty, blonde maid wore the same colours as the butler, who left
the hall after asking Crunch for his name.

“Yeah, I
suppose.” Crunch felt awkward but quickly started unbuttoning his
leather jacket. She took it from him with a curt nod and moved to
put it inside an antique wooden closet, giving Crunch more time to
stare at the countless clocks. They had to belong to Victor’s
father, as Victor himself never mentioned an interest in clockwork.
As fascinating as they were, the constant ticking noise of the
mechanisms started getting to him after only a minute or two. He
imagined the servants hated the hall with a passion.

One of the
bigger clocks had a portrait of an elegant man on its face, and
even looking at it made Crunch self-conscious again. All he had on
were his dirty combat boots, a pair of insulated leather trousers,
and a shirt that had seen better days. He could have looked for
better clothes, but it was either that or taking a quick wash, so
he figured washing was more important when he’d be naked anyway...
if
he would be naked, that is. Crunch sure hoped so, but
Victor could have forgotten all about him, now that he was again
surrounded by classy gentlemen. If he rejected Crunch, they’d
probably have to do some small talk, reminisce, and he’d go home
sulking. At least he would have a beautiful boy to remember.

A loud thumping
had Crunch turning his head towards the top of the stairs on the
other end of the hall. It was Victor. He emerged from the corridor
and jumped down the first top steps with the grace of a ballet
dancer, only to stop and flash him the brightest grin. In fine,
well fitted clothes, without the tense look of fear Crunch now
realised was ever present on his face back in the camp, Victor
looked even more handsome than Crunch remembered him.

“Crunch!”

“I...” His
voice was stuck in his throat. “Victor.” They exchanged letters
whenever it was possible, but seeing him now was a whole different
story. It had been
months
since they had touched each
other.

Victor raced
down the stairs, keeping his eyes on Crunch. “You haven’t said a
thing!”

“Yeah... Short
notice. I only got to leave thanks to the blizzard.” Crunch licked
his lips and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Would they
be able to touch at all with so many servants around? He got his
answer when Victor lunged himself at him and pressed a kiss to his
mouth.

“Thank God for
the blizzard then.” Victor’s smile was bright as sunlight when he
looked up at Crunch with his pretty brown eyes. Even his hair,
which had been a pathetic mess the last time they had seen each
other, had gotten long enough for the curl to start showing.

Crunch couldn’t
help but smile into those eager lips. He instantly remembered how
soft and hot they were on his prick when he noticed Victor’s
knowing gaze.

“Are you
hungry?” Victor drew a step back, sliding his hands down Crunch’s
arms to entwine their fingers in one smooth motion. Only now, after
the first touch, it occurred to Crunch how fine and dandy Victor’s
outfit was. He was wearing narrow trousers that showed off the
shape of his legs and hips, along with a purple vest, and a white
silkshirt with an eccentrically ruffled collar and wide sleeves. A
thin scarf of brown and purple curled around his neck in a loose
circle, completing the outfit.

“Yes, please.”
He laughed and pulled Victor into a hug. Being able to hold him
close was satisfying one kind of hunger already.

Victor purred
into his neck, and Crunch sensed his fingers touching the ring he
wore on a chain through the fabric. “You’re wearing it.”

“I promised to
bring it back, right?” Crunch tried to forget about the servant,
who never left the hall, and enjoy Victor’s smell. If Victor’s
carefree demeanour was anything to go by, the domestics were used
to similar displays, but he himself didn’t feel comfortable with
being watched.

“And you keep
your promises.” Victor’s soft lips brushed against the side of
Crunch’s throat, making his body tingle.

“Uhm, should we
go somewhere?” Crunch slowly pulled away, worried he might get too
excited about this meeting.

Victor squeezed
his fingers. “Only if you’re satisfied with a cold meal.”

Crunch took a
deep breath not to say something like ‘I’m happy with anything’,
and settled for “I’m happy to see you” instead.

He flinched
when a door opened and they were joined by a slightly rounded man
in a chequered suit. The newcomer stopped midway, looking at them
through a pair of round glasses that seemed too small for his face.
A curly bush of white hair and a fluffy grey beard framed the face
from all sides, except for where he had a bald spot on the top of
his head.

“Evenin’, sir.”
Crunch took yet another step away from Victor. He didn’t want to be
thrown out of this house minutes after he’d arrived. This had to be
Victor’s father, who now looked more lost than rightfully enraged
like any other father would be.